The Hell Dog Handler
Was it Russia?
A few years back, there was a country that sent hundreds of active-duty soldiers into the Tower all at once.
They aimed to conquer an entire floor outright.
They mobilized massive supplies, manpower, and even special forces.
The floor they entered wasn't 7F or even 6F—it was a mere 2F.
They figured they'd take it slow, conquering from the lower floors step by step.
But the result was a catastrophic failure.
The return rate didn't even hit fifty percent, and the survivors all said the same thing.
That only five people, including themselves, made it out.
That they hadn't spotted a single other ally during the escape.
The Tower had split those hundreds into groups of five and scattered them across different Towers.
There had been cases before where five or more entered together, but everyone just assumed they'd landed in different areas.
So no reinforcements, no rescue teams.
You have to get out on your own.
Detection Skill level has risen to 5.
Stealth Skill level has risen to 5.
Tower 7F is riddled with countless hazards.
But the hellhounds are the worst of the bunch.
I never crunched the numbers myself, but they probably top the hunter death rate on 7F.
At least, that's how it was in Tower Escape.
Hsssh!
I killed my breathing and flattened myself to the ground.
Still in the corpse pit, so it probably hadn't spotted me yet.
Hellhounds have a keen nose for scents, but this place reeked of garbage and rotting bodies.
Once one locks onto you, you're done for.
Even if you kill them, they resurrect and keep coming.
And their incessant barking draws every other monster in the area.
The counters are either killing the Hell Dog Handler or tossing them the special consumable called "dog treats."
Of course, I didn't have any.
What is a da-da-ik-seon item?—useless digging through corpses for it.
The hellhound prowled the area for a bit before vanishing somewhere.
The Hell Dog Handler spawns in random spots, but I never expected one this close.
I decided to put some distance between us first.
I wasn't ready for this right now.
I've lost almost all my gear and supplies.
I figured the backpack would get looted, but they took every last scrap.
Digging through the dump wouldn't turn up anything worthwhile anyway.
I gripped my only remaining weapon, a dagger, and headed for a nearby house.
It was too short to rely on much.
Could I even stab a living person or monster with it?
Click.
Luckily, the house was empty.
Makes sense—right by the outpost.
On the kitchen table sat a soda and a can of food.
Lucky break.
Not left by anyone, obviously.
The Tower spawned it fresh.
Even if hunters loot stuff from the Tower, similar items respawn in the same spots a few days later.
Same goes for bosses and monsters.
I ransacked the house top to bottom.
A few junk items popped up, and my mental calculator started whirring.
This'll fetch 30 gold from the Goblin Merchant. This is useless... Why the hell are there cigarettes?
7F loot is high-quality, but random houses don't spit out top-tier gear.
For the good stuff, you gotta hit the dangerous spots.
Sky was getting late, so I crashed in the bedroom for the night and set out again at dawn.
The hellhound territory was too risky, so I bailed early for another area.
To take down the Hell Dog Handler, I needed at least grenades or a sniper rifle.
Preferably Tower-made ones.
Like the world's best artisan bootlegging luxury goods.
Tower gear is beyond humanity's tech level.
That's why everyone risks their necks to raid it.
I scoured the surroundings—decent loot here and there, but I needed real weapons and supplies.
Times like this, corpse farming is king.
Pick up what other hunters left behind.
But damn, corpses always vanish when you need 'em most.
Bang, baaang!
My body shuddered at the faint gunfire echoing from afar.
Detection Skill level has risen to 6.
Stealth Skill level has risen to 6.
Running solo had leveled my Stealth Skill up to match Detection.
Any creak, and I'd hide on instinct.
While poking through alleys like that, I spotted a corpse that looked pretty fresh from a distance.
Huh? That's...
Had a gun, even a thick backpack.
Something felt off the second I saw it.
Didn't look long dead, yet it was intact?
The corpses I'd looted at the start had more people and were already half-picked over.
Too much loot to carry, so they'd left some behind.
Trap.
My Tower Escape streamer instincts whispered it in 0.1 seconds.
I held my breath, climbed through a broken window, and hunkered down.
Couldn't move rashly—not knowing where their buddies were hiding.
How long after that?
With all my senses on high alert, footsteps approached nearby.
A mix of light and heavy—orks and goblins.
Detection Skill level has risen to 7.
"Kee?"
The monsters spotted the corpse and approached carelessly.
Pfft, psssh!
Gunfire erupted from a nearby building, silencers muffling the shots.
The monsters didn't even scream—wiped out instantly.
Totally a trap.
The corpse was real enough, but the loot was bait planted by the hunter who'd set it.
They came down from the building and rummaged through the goblins and orks.
Wore military uniforms and carried guns, but something about them looked half-assed.
No night-vision goggles or high-end body armor—nothing pricey.
Probably hunting other hunters for a life-changing score.
Gear on First World hunters costs a fortune.
They spat curses and kicked the corpses.
Obviously speaking their native tongue, but somehow I understood.
"Damn it, trash mobs took the bait. Wasted bullets."
"Anything good?"
"All garbage. Let's bounce."
They grabbed their packs and moved out.
Asking those types for help? Suicide.
They'd shoot me without blinking if I got annoying.
Long after they'd gone, I looted the goblin and ork bodies.
Garbage to them, treasure to me.
All their armor's shredded.
Idiots.
How'd they expect to score loot spraying like that?
Should've aimed properly.
Too many targets, so they panicked and mag-dumped, probably.
A few goblin armor pieces were intact, but wrong size, no point wearing 'em.
Get spotted anyway, you're dead.
Still, I snagged a rifle.
Beat-up, but functional.
Beats nothing.
Small backpack and some supplies too.
Ah, but no recovery items at all.
Not asking for potions, but hemostatics and bandages would've been nice.
I hauled the supplies back to my temporary hideout.
But those hunters from before were scavenging nearby.
"Anything?"
"What'd be in a tiny house like this? Let's hit the apartments."
Stealth Skill level has risen to 6.
Good thing I'd erased my tracks on the way out.
Almost got made.
7F really isn't a place to stick around long.
Not that any Tower floor is, but this one's brutal.
Still, my weapons were too weak...
No choice but to push on like this?
No way.
I couldn't land headshots like in the game anyway.
No matter how I sliced it, this wouldn't cut it.
In the end, I headed for an area likely to have weapons and supplies: a massive hospital building.
The spot goblins and orks used as a base before setting up outposts.
High-value loot hotspot—super popular.
Odds of running into other hunters or monsters skyrocket.
But I couldn't take the Hell Dog Handler like this.
Had to risk it.
Plus, the hospital was huge, tons of nearby buildings—easy to bail if needed.
Gotta head out now.
Not far, but sneaking took nearly two hours.
Practically crawling.
Made it without issue and started searching.
The loot quality jumped the second I entered.
Bandages, meds, ammo.
Even snagged a grenade.
Oh, this goes for 500 gold per kg.
Too many Tower Escape runs—prices calculate automatically by weight.
But before finding a proper weapon, super light footsteps approached.
Detection Skill level has risen to 7.
Skill told me the direction—and what it was.
Below! Too light... No way, a hellhound?
Impossible.
The Hell Dog Handler's a roaming boss.
That's why it claims the top spot on 7F death rates.
But I definitely saw it near the outpost earlier.
It couldn't have moved to the hospital right when I arrived.
No such rotten luck.
Crazy...
I bailed without a second thought.
Had a gun now, but hellhounds just resurrect.
Standard strat: Wait for all three to group up, frag 'em with grenades, then rush the Handler.
Handler's no pushover either—need at least two grenades.
But the pawsteps grew louder.
Tracking my stench.
Click!
Barricaded a few doors, but they wouldn't hold hellhounds long.
No dog treats—once tagged, no escape.
Gotta get the Handler.
"Woof, woof woof!"
One hellhound barked, drawing a second.
But no Handler.
Smart bastard—hunkered down safe while they hunted.
All three'll bunch up soon. Use the grenade?
But waste it on hounds, and Handler's a problem.
I slammed the sturdy stairwell door and headed down.
Then the last one pinged below me.
Insane.
Think rationally.
A single hellhound isn't that tough.
Resurrection's the issue.
Gotta drop one with the gun somehow.
Steeled myself, kicked the door open—and a massive dog charged, eyes blazing blood-red, drooling like bloody foam.
My body froze under that glare, but I forced the trigger.
Bang!
"Grrr..."
First shot hit pure luck.
Tried mag-dumping, but click!—jamming sound.
"Ah, come on!"
Durability was crap to start—already broken.
No time for fixes.
Chuck the useless gun, draw the dagger.
But the hellhound lunging to rip me apart suddenly flinched and leaped back.
"Yelp!"
"What?"
Its huge eyes were glued to my dagger.
Scared of this?
Never knew the Death Priest's Ritual Tool had this effect.
Makes sense—a Death Priest might tie into hell.
Then Detection pinged another presence.
"What're you doing! Bite him already! If you're chewing treats again, I'll boil you into stew..."
The Hell Dog Handler.
Coming this way from beyond the wall.
Checking why the hound hadn't finished me.
Trembling hands yanked the grenade pin and safety lever.
Haven't touched one since basic training.
Clink!
Cooked it a bit, hurled it down the passage toward the voice.
BOOM!
Tower grenade—whole building shook.
But he wouldn't die from that.
Dagger ready, I advanced.
Strike before he recovers.
The Hell Dog Handler lay sprawled in the wrecked passage.
The old man with dark-red skin spotted me and bulged his eyes.
Specifically, at the dagger in my hand—the Death Priest's Ritual Tool.
"You mad bastard!"
He jammed his right hand into his own chest.
Squelch!
Dropped dead, body sucked into the ground.
Burn site left a small heart and a few loot items.
Hell Dog Handler hunt complete.
"...What?"
Dude self-destructed to avoid getting stabbed?
Suicide's not trendy these days.
Well, stats say it is.
Didn't expect it in the Tower too.
Snap out of it. Other hunters incoming soon!
Whipped myself, stuffed the loot in my pack.
Lollygagging like this on stream? Viewers would roast me.
Gotta outperform my game self now.
I stripped the hellhound corpses clean and bolted from the hospital.