Samael was sent to Earth to retrieve a rebellious Lich soul, who was causing a lot of trouble by reviving the dead in a local novice dungeon. Samael stretches as he is sent to the mortal world; it had been a while since his last visit.
Samael: It seems things haven't changed much around here. Well... (changing his appearance to that of a human) since we're here, let's take a stroll.
Samael walks through the wide, bustling streets of Pritha, the proud capital of the Kingdom of Grarília. The setting sun bathes the white towers of the Royal Palace in gold in the distance, while flags with the red griffin flutter in the wind. The avenues are paved with polished stone, lined with ornate fountains, luxury artisan shops, and adventurers' guilds with imposing facades. The scent of exotic spices, freshly baked bread, and forged metal mingles in the air.
Samael: (observing everything with an ironic smile) Ah, Pritha... Always trying to impress. Tall towers, gold everywhere, and yet fear stinks stronger than the expensive perfume these nobles wear. What delightful hypocrisy.
He arrives at the Blade Quarter when the crowd in front of the Guild is already thinner—the more cautious adventurers prefer to discuss quests inside the taverns, by the warmth of a mug. Only a few guild officials and a handful of curious onlookers remain near the large quest board.
The red scroll is still there, pinned to the center, illuminated by a magic torch that doesn't flicker. No one seems to have the courage to formally accept it; it remains untouched, like a warning rather than an opportunity.
Samael stops a few steps away, his hands in the pockets of his black robe. His golden eyes scan the text once more.
Samael: (muttering mockingly, with a wry smile) Fifteen platinum coins for a mystery that is devouring the kingdom's youth... What an insult. But it's not the gold that interests me.
He looks around. Two guild receptionists chat distractedly behind the inner counter, visible through the open doors. A sleepy guard leans against the wall. A drunken adventurer staggers away. No one is paying real attention to the painting now.
Samael slowly raises his right hand. No dramatic gesture—just a slight movement of his fingers, as if brushing away an invisible fly.
The scroll detaches from the nails that held it, without noise, without wind, without any visible sign of magic to mortal eyes. It floats smoothly to Samael's open palm, curling up on its own as if it had a will of its own.
Samael: (putting the folded scroll inside his robe, close to his chest) Secrecy is an art that mortals have forgotten. It's better that no one knows that someone accepted it. So, when I'm finished, they'll think the problem simply... disappeared overnight.
He turns his back on the now-empty board—where the emergency mission once was, there's only a blank space, as if it never existed. The receptionists don't even notice; tomorrow they'll think someone removed it early, or that it was a filing error. Rumors will circulate. Fear will grow.
Perfect.
Samael: (walking calmly towards the north gate, the shadows of the night seeming to follow him like old acquaintances) No witnesses, no records, no heroes wanting to share the glory. Just me, the dungeon, and whatever is awakening down there.
The cold night breeze carries the distant scent of damp earth and ancient stone from the north—the scent of the Crypts of Eldor.
Samael: Let's see who's messing up the mortals' backyard this time. And let's do it my way: quietly... until the silence becomes deafening.
He disappears into the darkness beyond the city gates, without looking back. The full moon illuminates the entrance to the Crypts of Eldor like a cold spotlight. Samael, still in his perfect human form—tall, elegant, his black robe clinging to his body like liquid shadow—pauses for a moment in the stone archway. No guards, no lit torches. Only silence and the smell of ancient death.
Samael: (low voice, amused) Showtime.
He enters; the vast initial training hall is dark, but his scarlet eyes see everything. From the shadows of the columns, five armed skeletons emerge at once, bones creaking, swords raised in grotesque synchronicity.
Samael doesn't even slow his pace. With a single thought, two Kyton chains emerge from his back—black, thorny, pulsing with an infernal red glow. They spin around his body like living serpents.
The first skeleton advances. Samael hurls one of the chains like a flaming harpoon. The chain pierces the skeleton's sternum, the spikes digging in deeply. With a brutal pull, he drags the monster through the air towards him and grabs the skull with his hand, exploding it with his Flaming Hand magic.
The other four try to attack as a unit, Samael laughs. He spins his entire body in one movement, the two chains striking two skeletons at high speed. The remaining two try to flank him, but Samael fires a Fireball, exploding them both together. Samael shakes the chains, cleaning them of bone dust, and continues walking as if nothing had happened.
The black mist on the ground comes to life. From it emerge three enormous zombies, rotting flesh hanging, empty eyes, and a translucent specter hovering above.
A specter flies straight towards him, necrotic claws extended.
Samael: A trick like that doesn't work on me.
Samael waits the last second, leans his body to the side and throws the chain like a flaming whip. The spiky tip pierces the specter, trapping it in mid-air.
With a violent tug, he drags the spirit to the ground and stomps on its ethereal "head". The second chain descends like a hammer, piercing the spectral core. The ghost dissolves in a piercing scream, leaving only black ashes floating.
The zombies arrive roaring, Samael advances to meet them. He leaps upon the first, wrapping both chains around its neck while airborne. As he lands behind the monster, he pulls forcefully—the zombie's head is ripped off with a wet sound of torn flesh, rolling across the ground still biting the air.
The second zombie tries to grab him from behind. Samael spins, plants the chain in the ground as an anchor, and uses the momentum to spin his entire body in a hellish uppercut: the chain rises from below, piercing the zombie's chin and exiting through the top of its skull. He pulls down violently—the zombie's body is split in two vertically, falling into two symmetrical, smoking halves.
The third zombie hesitates for a second.
Samael extends both chains to the sides, the spikes opening like steel flowers.
He runs straight toward the monster, leaps high, and crosses the chains in mid-air in a perfect X. As he passes the zombie, the chains close like gigantic scissors.
The zombie is cut into four pieces that fall separately around Samael, who lands crouched in the center, the chains slowly retracting.
Samael: (rising, wiping a drop of ichor from his cheek) Pathetic. This Lich is up to something big, wanting to delay me this much.
The final chamber before the top floor is dominated by a colossal zombie ogre, rusty chains embedded in rotting flesh, wielding an execution axe larger than a man. He roars and charges forward, the ground trembling.
Samael maintains a neutral expression as the ogre swings the axe in a devastating horizontal arc. Samael leaps over and unleashes a Venom Blast at the ogre, which quickly begins to corrode its skin.
Two chains shoot out like harpoons, piercing the ogre's chest. Samael pulls with full force, flying back toward the monster like a living projectile. At the instant of impact, he spins in the air and kicks the ogre in the face with both feet, using the momentum to spin again and wrap the other two chains around the axe's arm.
With a synchronized pull of the chains, he tears the ogre's entire arm off at the shoulder, the axe flying aside with a clang.
The ogre roars in pain and tries to crush him with its remaining fist.
Samael slides between the monster's legs, the chains cutting through rotten tendons in their path. Emerging behind, he leaps onto the ogre's back, wrapping two chains around its neck and the other two around its shoulders.
He pulls with all his might.
The sound is grotesque: vertebrae cracking, flesh tearing. The ogre's head is ripped off with a gush of black fluid, still roaring as it flies through the air.
Samael lands softly, the head falling at his feet; he steps on it casually, crushing the skull like a rotten watermelon. The chains retract, disappearing into thin air with a metallic whisper.
Samael: (looking at the staircase descending to the fourth and final level, his scarlet eyes gleaming intensely) The warm-up is over.
The dark mist swirls violently around them, as if sensing what is to come. The bodies scattered in the hall begin to tremble, heads slowly turning towards the staircase.
Something down below is calling.
Samael adjusts his robe, cracks his neck, and begins to descend the steps with deadly calm.
Samael: (low voice, laden with promise) Let's finish this quickly. I sense more people coming this way.