LUCK MINUS ONE

Diaval stood up, holding both black keys with the demon skull design at the end.

He stared at them for a moment, talking to himself.

"If I get lucky enough with the first key being the dungeon to the Mask of Mammon, it's well and good, but I doubt it. With my shit luck my entire life, it's reasonable."

He clutched one of the keys tightly and inserted it into the air as he remembered from the novel.

A keyhole appeared in thin air, crackling with energy. It was dark and ominous.

As Diaval turned the key, he put the other key in his pocket.

The key remained hanging in the keyhole, suspended in the air, while more crackling energy swirled around it, creating gusts of wind that made papers fly around and his clothes flap.

"Maybe opening it in my room wasn't a good idea," he thought as a black door materialized, shrouded in dark smoke.

It had an ancient, foreboding design. With a deep breath, Diaval pushed the door open and stepped through.

The door vanished behind him along with the key, leaving him stuck in the dungeon until he either killed the final boss or found the Mask of Mammon.

"Shit, guess there's no way back."

Inside, the dungeon resembled a dark, oppressive cave.

The air was thick and cold, and the only sound was the distant drip of water echoing through the cavern.

Diaval conjured a small fireball in his hand to guide him, its warm light casting eerie shadows on the rough, uneven walls.

As he moved deeper into the cave, he began to sense movement around him.

The first signs of life, or rather, demonic presence, came in the form of glowing red eyes emerging from the darkness.

The creatures were grotesque, twisted amalgamations of flesh and shadow, with jagged teeth and sharp claws.

Diaval recognized them from his readings—they were Vylor demons, notorious for their ferocity and cunning.

"Ugly bastards."

"This is it," he muttered to himself, trying to steady his nerves.

"My first real fight since being transmigrated."

The Vylor demons lunged at him, their movements swift and unpredictable.

Diaval dodged the first attack, barely escaping the swipe of a claw that could have easily disemboweled him. He retaliated with a burst of fire, but the demons were agile, evading his attack and circling him menacingly.

"Come on, focus," he whispered to himself, his heart pounding.

He cast another fireball, this time hitting one of the demons squarely in the chest. It shrieked and disintegrated into a puff of black smoke. But there were more, too many for him to take on individually.

Diaval moved quickly, his agility the only thing keeping him alive.

He jumped and twisted, avoiding their attacks while landing blows where he could. His dragon blood gave him an edge, but it was clear he was outnumbered.

As the battle raged on, he found himself getting the hang of it, adapting to their movements and striking with more precision.

With a roar, he transformed partially, his wings sprouting from his back and his hands morphing into clawed, scaled appendages.

His newfound strength and ferocity gave him the upper hand.

He ripped through the demons, tearing heads from bodies, his claws slashing through their flesh like butter. But the demons kept coming, their numbers overwhelming.

Bloodied and exhausted, Diaval realized he needed a strategy.

He scanned the cave, noticing a narrow passageway that could funnel the demons and limit their advantage.

He retreated towards it, using his fire to keep them at bay.

"Think, Diaval, think," he muttered. "You need to outsmart them."

He lured the demons into the passage, where their numbers worked against them. With the narrow walls, they couldn't all attack at once, allowing Diaval to pick them off one by one.

He fought with everything he had, his dragon claws and fire magic working in tandem.

His breathing was heavy, his body aching from numerous cuts and bruises. But he couldn't afford to stop.

The demons' relentless assault was taking its toll, but he knew he had to push through.

In a final, desperate move, Diaval conjured the largest fireball he could manage, hurling it at the remaining demons.

The explosion lit up the cave, disintegrating the last of his attackers.

The silence that followed was almost deafening, broken only by Diaval's labored breathing.

"Fuck, too much use of stamina...my insides are burning up..."

*Huff

*Huff

He leaned against the cave wall, his body trembling from exertion.

"That... was intense," he panted, wiping blood and sweat from his brow.

He glanced around the cave, ensuring there were no more threats.

"First real fight, and I didn't die. Not bad."

As the adrenaline began to wear off, the pain of his injuries set in.

He tore a piece of his shirt to bind a particularly deep cut on his arm.

"Gotta keep moving. Can't stop now."

He continued deeper into the dungeon, the fireball in his hand providing a dim, flickering light.

The air grew colder and the atmosphere more oppressive with each step. He couldn't shake the feeling that something even more dangerous awaited him.

"Come on, Mammon," he muttered. "Show yourself."

After what felt like hours of wandering through the dark, labyrinthine tunnels, Diaval came upon a massive, ornate door. It was covered in demonic symbols and radiated a sinister energy. He knew this had to be it—the final chamber.

Summoning every ounce of his remaining strength, Diaval pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The chamber was vast, with high ceilings and walls adorned with ancient runes. At the center stood a pedestal.

But instead of the Mask of Mammon, a fat, ugly demon stood there, holding a massive axe.

"Are you fucking...kidding meee!"

Diaval's heart sank with frustration.

"Just as I called it... unlucky once again," he muttered, feeling his anger rise.

He knew he needed to channel that frustration into fighting the fat bastard demon in front of him.

The demon grinned wickedly, hefting its massive axe onto its shoulder.

It let out a guttural laugh, the sound echoing through the chamber. Diaval clenched his fists, his anger boiling over.

"Time to use this frustration," Diaval growled, stepping forward, his eyes locked onto the demon.

The two faced each other, the air thick with tension, as the battle was about to begin.

///NEXT CHAPTER: THE FAT DEMONIC BEAST