The adrenaline from his confrontation with the Cave Serpent still hummed beneath Elias's Scaly Skin, but the familiar grip of exhaustion quickly returned.
He had pushed himself to his limits, and even his anomalous healing couldn't negate the body's fundamental need for rest.
Finding a truly safe spot in the Dungeon of Death was a constant, dangerous gamble, but he knew he couldn't afford to collapse mid-passage.
He sought refuge in a narrow, almost hidden fissure high up on the cavern wall, accessible only by a difficult scramble that tested his Enhanced Agility. Crammed into the cold, damp rock, he extinguished his lantern. His Low-Light Vision pierced the gloom, but even in the relative security of his perch, rest was a fragmented, vigilant affair.
Every distant echo, every scuttling sound picked up by his Enhanced Olfaction, jolted him back to full alertness. He drifted, then snapped awake, pickaxe clutched tight, the Constricting Grip of his hand a silent reassurance. The dungeon never truly slept, and neither could he.
After a few hours of this tortured slumber, Elias forced himself to move. He felt slightly restored, the heavy weariness eased, though true recuperation felt like a distant memory from another life.
[Notification]
Rest Duration: 3.5 hours (Fragmented Sleep)
Health: 100/100 (Fully Restored)
Stamina: 95/100 (Significantly Restored)
Mental Fatigue: Partially Alleviated
He descended from his perch, his movements fluid and silent. The air grew progressively colder as he ventured deeper, the humidity giving way to a drier, dustier atmosphere.
The very architecture of the dungeon seemed to change here: the chaotic natural caverns yielded to more structured, almost carved passages, hinting at a higher intelligence or purpose behind their creation. Old, crumbling masonry jutted from the walls, hinting at ancient structures long swallowed by the earth.
His Perception began to prickle, a high-pitched hum different from the low thrum of generalized danger. This felt more precise, more predatory, and crucially, it seemed to originate from above. He instinctively glanced upwards, his Low-Light Vision straining against the vast darkness overhead.
Then he heard them. A series of high-pitched, guttural screeches that echoed unnervingly through the cavern, followed by the distinct sound of leathery wings beating through the stale air.
His Enhanced Olfaction caught a new scent—a mix of stale blood, guano, and something vaguely avian, but far more sinister.
Three shapes detached themselves from the impossibly high ceiling, swooping down with terrifying speed.
They were Dungeon Harpies, grotesque parodies of humanoids. Their bodies were gaunt, covered in stringy, matted grey feathers, with leathery bat-like wings that spanned several meters. Their faces were bird-like, with sharp, hooked beaks and piercing, intelligent yellow eyes. Their hands and feet ended in wickedly sharp talons, clearly designed for grasping and tearing.
They circled, their screeches grating on Elias's ears, disorienting him. Their speed was unnerving. He had faced ground-based brutes and a constricting behemoth, but aerial attackers were a new challenge. His pickaxe felt heavy, ill-suited for striking fast-moving targets above him.
One Harpy suddenly folded its wings and dove, a feathered arrow aimed directly at him. Its talons were spread wide, intending to snatch him. Elias used his Enhanced Agility, rolling to the side at the last possible second. The Harpy slammed into the rock where he had been, its talons leaving deep gouges in the stone, and shrieked in frustration as it banked sharply.
The other two Harpies followed suit, diving in quick succession, trying to overwhelm him. Elias dodged, weaved, and scrambled, his heart pounding. The constant screeches were disorienting, and the wind from their wings buffeted him. His Armored Hide and Scaly Skin provided minimal protection against their razor-sharp talons if they managed to connect. This was a struggle of evasion, an aerial dance he was ill-equipped for.
He needed to ground one of them. He needed leverage. He looked for a narrow passage, a choke point where their wings would be hindered. He spotted a series of jagged, low-hanging stalactites.
As one Harpy dove again, Elias waited. Just as it extended its talons, he launched himself forward, not dodging away, but into its path. He brought his pickaxe up in a desperate, wild swing, aiming for its wing joint.
The Harpy, surprised by his sudden, reckless counter-move, tried to pull up.
The pickaxe connected with a sickening thwack, tearing through membrane and cartilage. The Harpy shrieked, a sound of agony, and its flight faltered. It spiraled downwards, crashing heavily against a sharp rock formation with a sickening crunch of bone and feather. It lay twitching, its wings bent at unnatural angles.
He didn't have time to celebrate. The other two Harpies, enraged, descended upon him simultaneously, their screeches turning into piercing battle cries.
This was his chance to prove if his growing monstrosity was enough to survive this aerial assault. He gripped his pickaxe, ready to meet them.