Crimson Overlord-Chapter 300: Raised to the ground 2

Orpheus chuckled a low sound that sent shivers down the spines of those nearby. Delving into his cloak, he produced a seemingly bottomless pouch, extracting a hefty chunk of gleaming gold even in the dim lighting. Big Lucy’s skepticism vanished, replaced by a glimmer of respect in her eyes.

"Welcome to the Forgotten Tavern," she said, accepting the gold and wiping it on her apron with practiced ease.

"What brings a gentleman like yourself to this fine establishment?"

Leaning in closer, Orpheus let his piercing gaze sweep across the room.

"Just passing through," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"In search of some information, perhaps a rare treasure that may be hidden away in your possession."

The air crackled with unspoken tension. Big Lucy, a woman who had witnessed it all during her years at the Forgotten Tavern, remained unfazed.

"Information comes at a price," she remarked, a knowing glint in her eye.

"And rare treasures come at an even steeper cost. Are you certain you possess the means to acquire what you seek?"

Orpheus smiled, a slow, chilling smile that did little to assuage the uneasy patrons.

"Let’s just say," he drawled, his crimson eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity, "I have a knack for making things... intriguing."

The dregs of night clung to the Rusty Nail like a second skin. Orpheus, several emptied glasses and a growing pile of gold coins later, finally pushed himself away from the counter. The cheap liquor did little to affect him, but it had loosened the tongues of the bar’s patrons. He’d gleaned a few tidbits of information, cryptic as they were, about the hidden network beneath the city.

With a final nod to Mama Jabari, whose respect had warmed slightly during their extended conversation, Orpheus headed towards the back of the bar. A faded poster advertising a "Strongman Competition" hung askew on the wall, partially obscuring a worn wooden door. He reached out, pushing a small, nearly invisible button hidden within the faded paint.

A faint click echoed in the otherwise silent bar. The door swung inward with a groan, revealing a narrow, dimly lit passage that plunged into darkness. This was it. The hidden entrance to the assassins’ guild, a network whispered about in hushed tones but rarely seen.

Taking a deep breath, Orpheus adjusted the weight of his hidden weapons and stepped into the passage. The door slammed shut behind him with a heavy thud, plunging him into darkness. He could smell damp earth and the faint metallic tang of blood – an unsettling, yet oddly familiar, welcome to the assassins’ den.

A single, flickering torch sputtered to life on the wall, casting a long, dancing shadow down the passage. Orpheus, a predator entering his hunting grounds, stalked forward, a sense of anticipation coiling in his gut. His crimson eyes, unfazed by the darkness, gleamed with an unnerving intensity. Tonight, the hunter had become the hunted, and the assassins’ guild was about to face a reckoning of its own.

Descending into the earth, the passage felt less like a tunnel and more like a descending ribcage. Rough-hewn rock pressed in from all sides, the air clinging thick and heavy with a metallic tang. The faint glow of bioluminescent moss, the color of dried blood, provided an eerie illumination, revealing faded glyphs scratched onto the walls. These symbols, depicting scenes of violence and shrouded figures, were a grim welcome message to the Blood Hall.

The passage finally opened into a cavern, but not the kind sculpted by nature. This was a monstrous chamber carved with brutal efficiency from the living rock. Here, bathed in an unnatural crimson glow, lay the Blood Hall, the clandestine heart of the assassins’ guild.

The air pulsed with a dark energy, a symphony of violence and fear hanging heavy. Crimson banners, crafted from a material that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light, hung like macabre tapestries. Their surfaces writhed with shadowy forms, hinting at past assassinations or perhaps the tormented souls of fallen foes.

Glowing orbs, nestled in recesses carved into the walls, pulsed with an otherworldly red luminescence, their source not bioluminescent moss but something more sinister. The crimson light, unnatural and harsh, distorted the cavern’s true size, making it seem to stretch endlessly into darkness. The polished obsidian floor, slick beneath unseen droplets, reflected the grotesquerie above like a twisted mirror, threatening to swallow anyone who dared walk upon it.

In the center of the Blood Hall, a throne of power commanded attention. Hewn from a single, massive block of obsidian, it exuded a chilling coldness. Razor-sharp spikes, polished to a deadly gleam, jutted from its armrests, a constant reminder of the guild’s ruthless methods and the swift retribution that awaited failure.

Before the throne, a raised platform of bloodstone throbbed with a malevolent, internal light. Here, bathed in this crimson pulse, initiates swore their vows, their lifeblood binding them to the guild’s murderous code. Here, too, whispers claimed, the guild leader conducted dark rituals to bind the souls of slain victims to their service, creating a legion of silent, spectral assassins.

Across the cavern, weapon racks gleamed with an arsenal that could bring swift and silent death. Each implement – polished daggers, wickedly-curved blades, and silent crossbows – whispered promises of stolen breaths and extinguished lives. The air itself hummed with a dark energy, a symphony of violence echoing in this chamber where countless lives had been ended with brutal efficiency. This was the Blood Hall, a testament to the assassins’ guild’s power, a place where darkness held court and loyalty was measured in blood.

Orpheus, his crimson gaze cutting through the oppressive darkness, stood poised on the threshold of this macabre world.

A prickling sensation, like a spider scuttling across his senses, alerted Orpheus to a new presence. He didn’t turn. Instead, he let the silence of the Blood Hall hang heavy for a moment, a predator savoring the anticipation before the kill.

Then, a flurry of movement. Men materialized from the shadows, dark shapes against the crimson backdrop. Their faces, hidden in cowls, were masks of grim determination. Blades flashed in the flickering light, glinting with deadly intent. They charged, a pack of wolves surrounding their prey.

Orpheus let out a low chuckle, a sound devoid of humor and laced with an edge of something far more chilling. It echoed in the vast chamber, bouncing off the obsidian walls, before he snapped his fingers – once.

The world seemed to stutter for a moment, a single, horrifying heartbeat. Then, crimson bloomed. The assassins, mid-charge, crumpled to the floor in a gruesome tableau. Their weapons clattered uselessly, their surprised expressions frozen in a rictus of finality.

Blood, a grotesquely vibrant red even in the unnatural glow, pooled beneath their lifeless forms, staining the obsidian floor. The silence, shattered by the metallic clang of falling steel, returned thicker, heavier, punctuated only by the rhythmic drip, drip, drip of the assassins’ demise.

Orpheus surveyed the scene with a detached coolness that sent shivers down the spines of any shadows still harboring potential attackers. He wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t worried. The massacre had begun, and it seemed the assassins’ guild, for all their brutality, had underestimated their opponent. Here, within the darkness of their own lair, they were about to face a nightmare far more terrifying than any assassin they’d ever sent out.

Tonight this assassin guild would be raised to the ground.