25 Minutes Later
He could hear them before they arrived, footsteps masked by practiced silence, gear carefully packed to reduce clatter, breath controlled. Well-trained, likely experienced.
Caelun remained motionless atop his perch of fractured stone, partially concealed by the curling mist and the ambient curse-thick haze of the 46th floor wrapped in his cloak which seemed to swallow light, nothing of him but his golden eyes remained visible. The runt lay coiled behind him, watching the corridor below. Both predator and bait.
There they were.
Six in total. Five women, one man. Odd. But not unprecedented. 4 similar shades of a darker tan, reminiscent of the women of the badlands. The other 2 shared a pale complexion which wouldn't be out of place in Limgrave.
They moved with discipline, weapons loose in their grips, eyes scanning with deliberation, though only one of them lithe, dagger-drawn, truly moved like a killer. 'Not bad' . She walked ahead, blonde hair tied back, emerald green gaze wary but focused. Yet she wasn't the strongest.
His eyes passed over the rest, mage, archer, a cleric of some kind, and then halted on the largest of the women.
Tall even when compared to most mortal men, a giant among mortal women no doubt. Wavy dark crimson hair flowed freely and danced in the dim light of the dungeon with each heavy step. Bronze skin, muscles that would have been considerable even on a man's frame, corded beneath her armor. Voluptuous curves, the kind that could stop a man's charge or tempt one to start a different kind of battle altogether, yet clearly for most she was more dangerous than her looks. Wide hips. Ample chest. Striking. Commanding. Yet not cold. She walked as if used to shielding others—he could tell by the way she angled her stance and shield whenever the party slowed, mace at the ready.
He would have to get her name later. For now, she was just the tank. The strong one. His type.
Caelun felt the flicker of heat in his chest, something old and entirely human surfacing beneath layers of curse-scorched thought. He smirked, faintly. 'Demi-god. Omen. Both. Doesn't matter. Even if I've outlived nations and crossed realms, it doesn't make me any less of a red-blooded—er—black-blooded man who can appreciate the beauty of a woman.'
He snickered to himself quietly amusement, though no audible sound passed through his teeth.
Then his gaze turned to the only male in the group.
The man had canine-like ears, softly perked, twitching now and then at ambient sound. Real. A natural part of him. Not grafted, not stitched or any other chimeric abomination. A heritage thing, then. Some beast-blooded lineage perhaps. Unique, but not unheard of. He didn't smell like a monster or mutt. A hybrid, maybe he really wasn't quite sure. Perhaps the height was a pat of it also, the man stood nearly 15 cm taller than that beautiful brute at the front of the pack. He moved in the center, the formation around him granting great forward mobility, he had a certain bearing to him, like he'd survived worse than his comrades and lived to tell the tale proudly, though his eyes kept darting. Uneasy. Nervous. 'He senses something. Good. Smarter than he looks.'
One of the women—a younger one, slim and pale—looked visibly shaken. Her magic was near the surface, clinging to her like frost, but her fear was louder than her casting. 'Hesitant. First time seeing a hellhound up close, maybe. Or first time being tracked. Understandable. Perhaps that strange magic is what allowed them to find us in such a short time.'
They hadn't seen him yet. His rune pulsed faintly, dimmed beneath the haze. No aura. No magic stone. Nothing for them to sense. That was how he wanted it. Let them sweat a little.
He watched for another few seconds, judging their spacing, their posture, the scent of their anticipation curdling with unease.
Then he carefully stepped down from the rock in a practiced way.
One stride, then another, deliberate, nearly silent and slow. The weight of his presence trailing behind him like smoke.
A shadow stretched long from the torchlight behind them.
The man turned first, those ears twitching just a moment before his body followed. The others turned next, slower. Eyes widened. Hands began to rise.
Caelun spoke. He doubted that those from a foreign world would speak to him fluently in the common of the lands between but perhaps one had influenced the other a long long time ago after all, he was here, why couldn't someone else from his home get here or vica versa, a heavy, weathered voice like gravel beneath steel. A question, not a threat.
"My hound. Why follow it?"
He saw the confusion flash in their eyes, followed by a flicker of recognition. The big one -the tank- twitched. She understood enough. She repeated, what she thought she heard him say to her fellows, in what didn't seem like the common tongue given that the pale girl didn't understand what she was saying and she followed up by speaking what seemed to be the common of this world
"did… He just ask why were were following his hound?"
"$%... #^ #^! !#&(# #&@* @!^&^#!&^ + !**# (#&!..."
Good.
'Different tongue. Close to what im used to hearing in the land's between, but more than a touch twisted. Not my home tongue, not truly. But it shares its bones… I'll learn it soon enough, that other one though… might take a year or so of exposure to pick it up conversationally, i've always been good with languages like that, il probably always have an accent though, oh well.'
"... # -# @*@!# *#!&#( $ !#&*!..." the man said, in a language he couldn't understand but a tone he read as disbelief.
He tilted his head slightly, posture relaxed but unmistakably prepared. Muscles like hewn rock flexed beneath soot-dark skin, multi-horned crown catching faint light. The rune on his chest glowed faintly, pulsing in time with his breath.
He could see the way they froze. Could smell the fear now, sharp and sudden. The runt yawned behind him.
He smirked.
Let them decide what to do next.
...