“No no no no no! They shouldn’t be here - Why are they here?” A tall, thin man cursed from beneath the dark hood that covered his face. The others had made fun of him for wearing the hood - said it was too ‘cliché’, and he was just ‘feeding into the cultist stereotype.’

Well, shows what they knew. He’d tried to warn them about the group sniffing around at the hunters guild, but did they listen? No, of course they didn’t. They were so sure their ‘guardian’ would protect them, they never bothered to put even the slightest of protections in place.

But he did. He’d given all the workers bracelets enchanted with the alert spell and given them strict instruction that, in the event the alarm ward he’d placed at the door was triggered, they should immediately head to the hunters Guild and make an emergency request, asking specifically for the guardian to respond.

This way they would have a record of the rats sneaking around their property, and they could also request for reinforcements to deal with the problem... Provided the workers had actually listened to him and they made it to the guild in time.

He looked down at the melon sized purple stone on the floor at his feet. This was the key, literally, to opening the dungeon. He had to protect it at all costs, which was why he’d stole it out from under his partners’ noses and hid with it the moment they triggered the alarm. They’d refused to listen to him, mocked him, and that little shit Grady had stolen his lunch a couple of days ago and never paid him back for it.

So, fuck em.

He could hear the battle raging on less than a hundred feet away. But he didn’t care. Either his compatriots would be victorious, and they would complete the ritual, or the hunters would kill them, and he would sneak out the secret back entrance with the key while they were distracted. Either way, there was no point to him risking his neck for those assholes.

After a few minutes, the sounds of battle waned. And the cultist had to strain his hearing to pick up even the slightest of sounds from his hiding spot behind a few large boxes, on top of one of the many thirty-foot-high storage racks that lined three of the four walls of the main room.

The main room - hell, this entire warehouse had been specifically built for this purpose. His superiors had spent hundreds of platinum coins to get it constructed in the years leading up to this ritual. And the inside was purposefully smaller than the outside would lead the casual observer to believe.

Once you pass to the front door, there were a series of false rooms leading off the main corridor. And almost none of them were finished. They didn’t need to be. Only this, the main room, had been completed. 10,000 ft.² of open space, save for the large shelves that lined three of the four walls. Twenty-five magic bulbs lit the room from the fifty-foot ceiling, but even with all of those bulbs on at once, the room was barely lit. There was only enough light for them to complete their work safely and accurately. Any more light than that and they’d have trouble once they got the dungeon open.

Demons didn’t do so well in bright light. It wouldn’t kill them or anything, but the light stung their eyes, and they didn’t need to give the demons another reason to want to eat them.

He’d chosen one of the storage racks farthest from the only ‘visible’ entrance. So, if he dared risk it, he could’ve had a good view of the entire battle. But instead of watching the battle, he knew the safest thing to do would be to keep his head down and wait... But now that the battle was over, and only silence remained, the curiosity was gnawing at him.

Surely a quick peek wouldn’t hurt? There was no way they were looking in his direction. The others might not have been combat experts, but they could hold their own against monsters well enough. Surely, they’d have been able to tire the hunters out - but what if they’d won and the hunters lay dead? Would they punish him for fleeing before the battle? Would they punish him for wasting his Lord’s time by not coming out immediately, and thus delaying the ritual?

With a nervous grin on his face, the cultist rose to his full height and peered over the top of the boxes he’d been hiding behind - He came eye to beak with a pitch-black raven that was purchased atop the box.

The raven gave him a slow blink, then let out a cry loud enough to make his ears ring and his head ache. Like someone had jammed an ice pick through his temple. Dizziness and disorientation followed the pain, and he had to catch himself on the box to avoid falling to his knees.

“Shriek of the death bird? Really? I didn’t think anyone used that spell anymore.” He shook his head to clear it, pulled a three-inch dagger out of his belt, and pressed the blade against his arm. “Through the oath of blood, I call upon the power of Bozzen; Viscount of the Misty Castle. Your servant requires aid O dark one: spatial step.” A veil of blue mist sprung from the cultist’s back while he scooped up the purple sphere and, like a hungry beast, swallowed him in a single bite. Once the cultist’s body was gone, the mist dove into the wall behind the storage rack, easily phasing through the wooden planks and vanishing with the cultist.

Seconds after the cultist disappeared, Sulika and Oladi arrived at the foot of the storage rack. “Where did he go?” Sulika shouted.

“Gray saw him over here, but he spatial stepped through the back wall.”

“Then we need to go after him. My research said the purple orb is supposed to be the key to this whole ritual, and it wasn’t with the other cultists.”

“What if it’s just hidden nearby?”

“Do you have enough mana to summon another familiar?”

“Of course.”

“Then summon one and the three of you should search the warehouse from top to bottom. If it's here, I want you to find it and take it back to The Fancy Dryad. Catch up to us soon as you can.” Sulika jogged back to the center of the main room, leaving Oladi to accomplish her tasks.

She found the guys in the middle of searching the cultists’ bodies... Well, looting would be the technical term for what they were doing. But in their line of work, they were technically the same thing. Hunters made most of their money from selling off the ‘treasures’ they found after a battle.

The three men were haggard looking, their weapons and armor splashed with red - some of it theirs, but most belong to their enemy. Still, it was clear they wanted a break.

She almost felt bad telling them they had to now chase a frightened cultist through the city... Almost.