The second time heroes came to Malgorath's dungeon, they did not arrive arguing about lunch.
They arrived prepared.
The System Screen warned Malgorath with an almost smug little chime, as if it enjoyed informing him that trouble was incoming.
[ALERT: HERO PARTY DETECTED]Entry Point: Floor 1 — Undead BiomeParty Size: 6Estimated Strength: ModerateThreat Rating: CrunchyNotable: Returning Scout's Report Confirmed
Malgorath's grin split his face.
"Ah," he whispered, hands clasping behind his back as he loomed over the scrying console. "They return. And they brought friends."
Splurg, already standing beside him with a clipboard and a worried crease between his oversized ears, said, "Master… that's a lot of friends."
"More friends," Malgorath said, voice warm with delight, "means more fear. More fear means more points. More points means… me."
Splurg opened his mouth, then shut it again, because arguing with Malgorath during an alert was like arguing with a volcano after it had already started bubbling.
They stood inside The Eye of Malgorath—still a tree stump with a crystal lens, but Malgorath had hung a bone chandelier above it to make it feel more official. He had also placed a small chair behind it, which he called The Throne of Tactical Observation.
He sat in it now, leaning forward like a gambler watching his favorite dice roll.
"Show me," Malgorath commanded.
The crystal shimmered.
The gate creaked open.
And six figures stepped into the cemetery forest.
They were… not what Malgorath expected.
He had expected shining armor. Banners. Heroic music.
Instead, he saw an assortment of people who looked like they had been assembled by someone who didn't understand teamwork but wanted to try anyway.
The first was a large man in heavy armor—clearly the tank—who carried a shield so big it looked like he had stolen a door. He wore a helmet shaped like a boar's head and walked with slow confidence.
Behind him, a slender woman with a rapier twirled it nervously, muttering to herself. Every few steps she practiced lunging at the air, then winced as if she'd insulted it.
A mage followed, but unlike the trembling one from last raid, this one had a bushy beard and an expression of constant disappointment, like he was grading the world. His robe was embroidered with stars, but the stars had been patched repeatedly.
A priest trailed behind, clutching a holy book and whispering loudly. "Remember, friends, we must remain calm and focused and also—oh no, is that fog? I hate fog."
Next came a ranger carrying two short bows at once like he couldn't commit to a single decision. He kept sniffing the air and making faces.
Last was a small hero—short, broad, with a bright red scarf—who was eating something as he walked.
Splurg squinted. "Is that… an onion?"
The scarf hero crunched loudly and nodded to himself, completely unbothered by the haunted environment.
Malgorath blinked.
"That," he whispered, "is the bravest fool I have ever seen."
The priest whispered, "Please stop eating in cursed places, Corin."
Corin crunched louder.
The boar-helmet tank raised a fist. "Halt." He spoke in a deep voice, as if he believed the forest should be intimidated by him. "This is the dungeon. Remember the scout's report. Undead. Traps. A Demon Lord who talks too much."
Malgorath's eye twitched.
Splurg coughed awkwardly. "They're… kind of rude, Master."
Malgorath smiled slowly. "Excellent. I shall teach them manners."
The System Screen displayed a new bar beside their silhouettes:
Fear Output: Low-MediumDP Gain: +2 (ambient)
Malgorath sniffed. "Only two?"
Splurg leaned closer. "They're trying to look brave."
Malgorath tapped the bar. "We shall fix that."
They advanced cautiously, weapons ready, stepping around the cursed statue near the entrance.
The statue whispered.
It always whispered.
But this time, the heroes heard it.
The boar-helmet tank frowned. "What's it saying?"
The mage squinted. "It's… insulting your posture."
The priest recoiled. "It's definitely insulting my posture."
Corin the onion-eater leaned close to the statue and held his onion up like offering. "You want some?"
The statue whispered louder.
Corin nodded. "Okay, rude."
Malgorath watched through the crystal, torn between annoyance and fascination.
"Who offers an onion to a cursed object?" he muttered.
Splurg shrugged. "Maybe he's friendly?"
Malgorath scoffed. "He is disrespectful. Prepare the skeletons."
Splurg nodded, fingers flying over the System Screen.
A set of icons lit up.
Skeleton Knight: Active PatrolSkeleton Archer: Hidden PositionZombies: LurkingTraps: Armed
Malgorath's chest swelled.
This was it.
A true raid.
A proper clash.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes gleaming as the heroes crossed the first marked zone.
The ground clicked.
The pitfall trap opened.
This time, it was not the knight from before.
It was the ranger with two bows.
His foot slipped.
He yelped, flailing, and dropped into the trap.
But instead of spikes, thorny vines caught him, tangling him like an angry net.
"HELP!" the ranger shouted. "IT'S EATING ME!"
The rapier woman peered down. "It's… vines."
"They're pointy!"
Corin leaned over, onion still in hand. "You okay down there?"
The ranger thrashed. "NO!"
The boar-helmet tank sighed. "Pull him out."
Malgorath grinned.
"First act," he whispered. "Comedy."
The System Screen chimed.
Fear Output: ModerateDP Gain: +7
Malgorath licked his lips.
"Yes," he murmured.
But then, before the heroes could fully regroup, the fog thickened.
Lanterns flickered.
And three skeleton warriors rose from behind tombstones like old regrets.
The heroes reacted instantly.
The tank raised his shield.
The mage lifted his staff.
The rapier woman lunged forward with an awkward little squeak, stabbing at the first skeleton's ribs.
Her blade slid clean through.
The skeleton clacked its jaw as if laughing.
The rapier woman froze. "Oh. Right. Bones."
Malgorath laughed out loud this time—then clapped a hand over his mouth.
Splurg hissed, "Master!"
Malgorath waved. "Shh. The sport is beginning."
The skeleton warrior swung its sword. The rapier woman stumbled backward, almost tripping over the ranger being hauled from the pit.
The mage shouted an incantation and hurled a bolt of fire.
Flames washed over the skeleton's chest.
It staggered, but did not stop.
The priest raised his holy book and screamed, "BY THE LIGHT, BEGONE!"
A flash of sunlight burst outward, cracking one skeleton's skull clean in half.
It collapsed, bones scattering.
Malgorath's grin tightened.
He didn't like losing pieces.
But losing pieces was part of the game.
And now…
Now the real piece stepped in.
From deeper in the fog, armor clanking with deliberate menace, the Skeleton Knight emerged.
He strode into the clearing like doom given form.
The heroes froze.
Even Corin stopped chewing.
The Skeleton Knight raised its sword and pointed it at the boar-helmet tank.
The tank grunted. "So. That's the big one."
The rapier woman whispered, "He's… bigger than the others."
The mage's eyes narrowed. "That's not a basic skeleton. That's a knight-tier undead. Everyone, focus."
Malgorath leaned forward, delighted.
"Yes," he whispered. "Focus. Fear."
The Skeleton Knight charged.
Steel met bone.
The tank blocked with his shield, but the impact rattled him. The Skeleton Knight's sword slammed down, denting the shield, cracking the wood beneath.
The tank grunted, feet sliding.
The knight swung again.
The rapier woman darted in from the side, stabbing at joints, but the knight's armor deflected her strike with a scraping scream.
The Skeleton Knight backhanded her with the flat of its blade.
She flew backward, hitting a tombstone with a sickening thud.
Blood bloomed across her lip.
Her eyes widened, unfocused.
Malgorath's grin faltered for half a heartbeat.
That sound… the thud… the way her head snapped—
He shook it off.
This was what dungeons were for.
This was how he grew.
He forced his grin wider.
"Fall, mortal insects," he whispered.
The System Screen chimed.
Fear Output: HighDP Gain: +14
Splurg whispered, "Master, she's hurt badly."
"Good," Malgorath said automatically, then paused. "No. I mean—good for DP."
Splurg looked at him strangely but returned his focus to the console.
The priest rushed to the rapier woman, hands glowing with healing light. "Hold still! You're going to be fine!"
The rapier woman's lips trembled. "I— I think I'm bleeding in a new way."
The healer's hands shook.
The mage shouted, "Stop babysitting! Fight!"
And then the zombies arrived.
Two hulking shapes emerged from the fog, mouths slack, hands reaching, dead eyes fixed on warm flesh.
The smell hit the heroes like a wall.
The ranger gagged. "OH NO. OH NO."
Corin sniffed. "Smells like my uncle's cellar."
The priest screamed, "WHY DOES EVERY DUNGEON SMELL LIKE THIS?!"
One zombie lunged for the ranger.
He fired an arrow point-blank into its face.
The arrow sank in.
The zombie didn't care.
It grabbed his arm and bit down.
The ranger screamed.
A raw, tearing sound followed as teeth met flesh.
Blood sprayed onto fog.
Malgorath's fingers tightened on the throne arms.
For a moment, it wasn't sport.
It was… a person screaming while something dead ate him.
The mage hurled lightning. It cracked into the zombie's shoulder, blowing chunks of rotten flesh into the air.
The zombie staggered—still biting.
The ranger's scream turned hoarse.
Then the Skeleton Archer—Malgorath's hidden investment—fired.
An arrow whistled through the mist and struck the mage in the thigh.
The mage shouted, collapsing to one knee.
"ARCHER!" he roared.
Splurg, watching through a smaller side lens, saw the Skeleton Archer's position.
He whispered to it through the System's command channel, "Good job, but maybe aim less… deadly?"
Malgorath snapped, "Do not coddle the archer! Let it shoot!"
Splurg swallowed. "Master, if the whole party dies, no one spreads word."
Malgorath grinned. "Their screams will spread word."
"That's not how word works," Splurg muttered.
The boar-helmet tank bashed the Skeleton Knight back, shield slamming into ribcage. Bone cracked.
The Skeleton Knight staggered, then swung again.
The tank's helmet dented.
He grunted. "That's… a strong skeleton."
Malgorath's pride swelled.
"Yes. Mine."
The rapier woman, healed enough to move, stood shakily and whispered, "We should run."
The mage snarled, "NO. We finish this. We take the treasure. The scout said there's a boss chamber."
Malgorath blinked.
"You know about the boss chamber," he whispered, equal parts enraged and flattered.
Splurg grimaced. "The runaway hero told them, Master."
Malgorath hissed. "I hate publicity."
The fight turned uglier.
The ranger, bleeding, hacked at the zombie's head with a knife. The zombie's jaw tore loose, still clamped to his forearm like a grotesque bracelet.
The ranger's eyes glazed with panic.
Corin charged the zombie with his onion held like a weapon.
He swung it.
The onion exploded into pulp against the zombie's face.
The zombie paused—confused.
Corin shouted, "TAKE THAT!"
Malgorath stared.
Splurg whispered, "Master… I think he's a problem."
The zombie grabbed Corin.
Corin squealed, onion gone, scarf flapping as he was lifted off the ground.
The zombie bit into his shoulder.
Corin screamed—high and terrified, the scarf darkening with blood.
The priest sobbed, "NO! CORIN!"
The priest ran forward, holy light flaring, smashing his book into the zombie's skull.
The zombie's head cracked.
It still held Corin.
The Skeleton Knight stepped forward and, with brutal efficiency, drove its sword through the priest's chest.
Time slowed.
The priest's eyes widened.
His mouth opened, silent.
Blood spilled down his robe like spilled ink.
He fell.
The holy book hit the ground with a soft thump.
For a heartbeat, the whole clearing went silent except for the crackle of lantern flames.
Malgorath's breath caught.
The System Screen chimed loudly.
Hero Death Confirmed: 1Life-Force Collected: +55 DPFear Output: ExtremeDP Bonus: +12 (witnessed death)Current DP Total: +67
Malgorath stared at the numbers, hunger roaring in his chest.
He should have laughed.
He should have cheered.
He did—halfway.
But his eyes stayed on the priest's body, the way it lay twisted, the way Corin screamed in the zombie's grip, the way the mage's face contorted in horror.
A twinge passed through Malgorath.
Not pity.
Not guilt.
Something colder.
A solemn recognition: this is what you are building.
He swallowed.
Then he forced his grin back.
"Excellent," he whispered hoarsely.
Splurg's voice trembled. "Master… that's… that's a lot of DP."
Malgorath nodded, eyes bright. "Yes."
Splurg looked sick. "But… the priest…"
Malgorath snapped, "He was a hero. This is what heroes do."
Splurg didn't reply.
He crawled away from the console toward the Skeleton Archer's hidden nook. The archer had been struck by a firebolt and lay half-collapsed, one arm shattered, bow snapped.
Splurg knelt beside it, whispering, "It's okay. You did great. You'll be repaired. Don't fall apart on me."
The skeleton's jaw clacked weakly, as if grateful.
Splurg patted its skull gently.
Malgorath watched, briefly confused by the tenderness.
Then he refocused on the battle.
The heroes broke.
The tank roared, grabbing Corin from the zombie's grip and yanking him free. Corin's scarf was soaked in blood. His eyes were wide, unfocused.
The tank shouted, "RETREAT!"
The mage, limping with an arrow in his leg, grabbed the rapier woman's arm and dragged her backward.
The ranger stumbled, half his forearm numb, jaw clenched to hold back screams.
They fled through the fog.
Malgorath leaned forward, ecstatic.
"Yes! Run! Run!"
The Skeleton Knight pursued a few steps, then stopped—dungeon boundaries held it back from chasing too far.
The heroes vanished into the gate, carrying Corin and leaving the priest behind.
The forest fell quiet again.
The fog thickened.
Lanterns flickered.
Malgorath sat back slowly, breathing hard as if he had fought personally.
The System Screen bloomed with new notifications.
[RAID SUMMARY: FLOOR 1]Party Size: 6Hero Deaths: 1Hero Survivors: 5(one critical condition)Dungeon Points Gained: +84Floor 1 Progress: 62% → 78%
Malgorath's grin returned, full and triumphant.
"We did it," he whispered. "We held. We broke them. We fed."
Splurg returned, hands dusty with bone fragments, the skeleton archer patched enough to stand.
Splurg looked up at Malgorath, eyes shining with exhausted pride. "Master… we survived the big raid."
Malgorath stood, cape flaring. "Of course we did. My genius is unrivaled."
Splurg smiled weakly. "Yes, Master."
Malgorath glanced once more at the priest's corpse lying in the moss, holy book beside him.
His grin dimmed, just for a heartbeat.
He felt that cold solemnity again—the knowledge that these weren't just numbers.
They were people.
Brave, foolish people.
And he was turning their bravery into currency.
The feeling passed quickly, buried under triumph.
He turned to Splurg and nodded once. "You did well, goblin."
Splurg's ears perked up. "I did?"
"Yes," Malgorath said, voice almost sincere. "Your traps, your repairs, your… whatever you call comforting skeletons. It contributed."
Splurg beamed so brightly it was almost out of place in the gloom. "Thank you, Master!"
Malgorath looked back at the System Screen and saw his own stats, still laughably small beneath the growing DP.
[DEMON LORD: MALGORATH]Level: 1DP: 151Floor Count: 1Notoriety: Low-MediumThreat Rating: Annoying
Malgorath scowled at Level: 1.
Then he lifted his chin.
"Level is a lie," he declared. "Power is what matters."
Splurg nodded enthusiastically, not understanding but believing anyway.
Malgorath smiled into the fog.
He had survived a real raid.
He had earned enough DP to expand again.
He had proven his dungeon worthy.
And he had no idea he was still, technically, a weak little demon lord stuck on his very first floor—playing god in a cemetery forest while the true monsters of the world built empires elsewhere.
But for now, the Undead Necropolis belonged to Malgorath.
And the next raid would be even better.