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"Mister Lone... what are you waiting for?"

Tycondrius stood with his arms crossed, impatiently tapping a finger against his bicep.

The bronze-skinned Ranger was spending an overlong amount of time inspecting a set of ornately carved double doors. The concentrated care and cautiousness he was displaying was... bizarre, particularly for him.

He was being timid.

"I uh... I dunno, Boss..." Lone idly scratched the scar on his cheek, "Every time I go into one of these rooms, I get really hurt..."

The first two rooms, it was Lone\'s fault that he blundered into injury. In the storeroom-- notably free of hostiles, he overdrew from his mana reserves. Each instance was his own thrice-damned fault.

"Move," Tycon ordered, "If you won\'t open the door, I\'ll breach it for us."

"I mean... if you want. But I really should be the one--"

Tycon rolled his eyes, "Away, Mister Lone."

"Aye aye, Boss..."

Tycon smashed the center of the double-doors with his boot, the sound of a thick wooden barricade snapping behind it.

Hm... His knee ached from the impact, but he took no substantial damage. He leisurely leaned over to stretch his leg while observing the open room. Beyond was a chapel-like area, filled with chairs and benches, with various iconography for many gods on the walls. At the end was a carved stone table elevated by a few small steps.

There was dried blood on it-- an unsurprising feature, thus far.

Displayed behind the stone altar was the symbol of the snake god, the most prominent of deific representations... a small venomous snake, inside of and wrapping around a broken human skull.

Finding such a symbol in this Dungeon was... unsurprising.

Also, the snake was not a hooded cobra. It was probably a viper.

There was a single, roughly hewn stone statue in the chapel. A bit over ten fulms tall, it was nothing near the height of the Mosaic Guardians they encountered earlier. Thankfully, this one wore proper armor, as to not purposely offend Tycon\'s senses.

As mediocre as the craftsmanship was, the armor carried a hint of familiarity.

"Athanasius... is that?"

Tanamar walked to Tycon\'s side, his arms crossed and wearing an expression of deep loathing, "It is. It\'s *his* armor."

Tycon nodded in thought. The human-shaped armored statue was reminiscent of that of Tanamar\'s teacher, a Divine Blacksmith named Harkus Mors. As such, the statue was probably Harkus\' student-turned-traitor, Orcus... the Oathbreaker, the so-called \'greatest\' Champion of the Snake Cult. Tycon spotted an engraving near its base that proved his assumption correct.

Zenon crinkled his mustache... "You think it\'ll come alive and attack us, Optio?"

"Likely," Tycon shrugged noncommittally.

The Lone Shadowdark groaned as he warily entered the room... "There\'s no way it\'s only going to be just one enemy..."

"Agreed," Tycon nodded, "Shall we inspect the area or get this over with? Athanasius?"

Tanamar looked back to Athena, who raised both of her hands, lifting both thumbs and smiling radiantly. Nodding to her, the Holy Lancer pointed his left arm forward, raising his right fist adjacent to his ear. Forming a lance in hand, he hurled it at the statue\'s chest.

Instead of obliterating the stone... it merely cracked, the mana-created weapon shattering and dissipating into residuum. Fragments of stone began to peel and fall off... unveiling dull metal underneath...

--which made absolutely no sense to Tycon.

He threw his hands up in incredulity, "What kind of MAD wizard encases a perfectly good set of armor inside hardening clay?"

Zenon pat Tycon on the shoulder, "I uh... I think you just answered your own question, Optio."

Of course.

As the metal construct began to break free from its prison, Tycon noted two things. First were the red, profane lines of runes that lit up around the chapel, previously not quite so apparent. Second was... the merest glimpse of moving shadows in a darkened corner.

« System, analyze: The first creature. »

⟬ Lesser Steel Golem, Gold-Rank Construct. ⟭

Gold?

...Only?

To Tycon\'s memory, Steel Golems were costly, thirty-fulm tall, Adamantine-Rank city-destroyers. The golem at the opposite end of the chapel looked like it could threaten a small village, at best. It was a glorified autonomous set of armor, rather than a \'proper\' magitech monstrosity.

Concerning the runic script on the floors and walls... and the obvious wafting of fire and brimstone, it seemed a few small portals to one of the seven hells were opening up.

Predictably, Sergeant Salt\'s squad and the members of Guild Letalis fell into a panic. The large gentleman that was William Lawrence was literally shaking in his boots-- he looked absurd.

Lone looked bored. Korr was staring at a random wall, no emotion apparent. Sorina was playing with her Armor Cube-- not noticing or caring that they would shortly be under attack.

Tycon shook his head. He\'d let his companions deal with it... "Korr, for this encounter, help only when necessary. Ensure no one dies. The rest of you, defeat the enemies before you with great prejudice and without mercy."

Korr nodded without complaint. It was nice that she didn\'t ask where he was going. He appreciated that trust.

"Where are you going, Sir Tycon?" Athena\'s wore a sulky pout, her concern apparent.

...It was nice that she asked. Tycon appreciated that his frost-haired ally worried about him.

Tycon smirked and walked off, refusing to answer.

"Focus on the battle, young lady. I will be back shortly."

...

Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark set his mimic-smashing hammer against the side of the chapel double doors. He grabbed his Dark Iron wolf-hammer from his waist and casually tossed it up. A deep, chilling howl split the air as it transformed into his loyal companion.

Formerly known as Moon-Moon-Moon, the metal wolf covered in flames had a different name... Tres Leches.

It meant Three Moons-- at least he was pretty sure it did.

He drew the Shatterspike from its scabbard and began to walk forward... the chapel walls in a dozen places began to tear away, revealing a reddish hellscape beyond. At the very end was a big, bad-ass set of metal armor, hefting its greataxe in its hands.

"Hmm..." Lone pursed his lips, "Doesn\'t look... too tough."

Looking at it a second time... it did look... a little tough. Hm. It looked really tough. But... he had a feeling-- a weird, not quite unfamiliar feeling, that there was nothing to be afraid of... not with the allies at his back, anyroad.

He wondered if Boss used a skill on him that took away his fear. Whatever it was, he felt a lot better than he usually did... which was generally terrified.

"Mister Lone!" Athena shouted, "Be careful!"

"Lord Ranger!" Cecil called out, "What should we do?"

Lone rolled his shoulders, switching the Shatterspike to his left and rotating his wrist to spin it threateningly, "Cover me, I guess."

He glanced to the side... meeting Sorina\'s gaze.

She turned away in a huff, crossing her arms... "Don\'t die."

"I can\'t, even if I wanted to," Lone smirked.

He was immortal, after all.

Lone knelt down... then broke into a full run, Tres Leches running by his side, ready to play-- which for him, was just another game.

He dashed to the left around the stone altar as his wolf sped right, "⌈Flamewolf Rush.⌋"

Tres Leches dashed ahead, the glow of his coat turning bright-white with searing heat. He crashed into the side of the tall metal statue, allowing Lone to leap up and bring down the Shatterspike on its neck.

One slice! The statue\'s head was severed clean off!

Landing at the armor\'s feet, Lone spun his body, smashing his shin into its heels and toppling the heavy thing onto its back.

Seven hells, his leg hurt... but it wasn\'t broken, or anything, so he\'d manage. Deep in a Dungeon like this one, a broken leg would be a death sentence.

Creatures began to spill out from the Gates on the walls... familiar, red-skinned horned creatures from the depths of the seven hells, they climbed into the world choking and gasping for air like drowned victims crawling out of a lake.

Lone knew of them... and just like the ones before, they looked really, really weak. When he encountered devils before, he nearly pissed himself. Invading warriors from the hellish planes in the stories? Just the thought of it sounded like an impossible challenge.

But they were just like people... Err... They were people, too?

There were strong devils... and there were incredibly weak ones. And the ones coming out of the portals? They looked like they were half-dead, just from crossing through.

Ignoring the fallen and decapitated suit of armor, Lone dashed to a Gate with a red, muscled arm reaching halfway out of it. He stabbed his sword through the meat of its forearm... then pulled the creature forward so its head and torso were just out of the magic portal.

Red face and skin. Tusked, jagged, and misshapen yellow teeth. Black spikes and runic tattoos covering its head. All the devils were a little unique but easily identifiable as... devilish.

It wore a surprised look in its eyes, clenching its teeth in pain... "L-legion armor...? What BATTALION is this??! Who... ARE you people?!"

"I have no idea," Lone answered honestly.

He drew his Hextech pistol with his right hand and jammed it into the devil\'s mouth and down its throat.

He clicked off the safety, "Requiescat in pace."