The Demon Queen's Royal Consort-Chapter 96 - Dungeon - IV

The world was collapsing around them when Glenn acted. His body hurled into the abyss the exact moment the last stones at the edge gave way. A violet aura of gravitational energy erupted from him, wrapping him in a cloak of distorted force as he fell into the void.

His feet struck the vertical cliff wall with calculated impact. Every muscle fiber in his legs strained to the limit before he pushed off with superhuman strength. The rock behind him shattered into a momentary crater as his body shot forward like a human projectile, controlling the fall with inverted gravity.

Dália spun uncontrollably below, her hair whipping like banners in the whirlwind of air. Glenn's right arm stretched out with absolute precision, his fingers clamping around the healer's wrist in a steel grip. The sudden yank made his shoulder pop painfully, but he pulled her against his chest in a protective embrace, encasing them both in the energetic cocoon of his gravitational magic.

'I need more reach!'

His violet eyes blazed as he spotted Dorian plummeting like a stone, his right shoulder completely blackened by necrosis. Glenn kicked the air with monstrous force, gravitational waves visible as distortions in space, launching himself into an accelerated descent.

His left hand seized the warrior's thigh with enough force to dent armor. Dorian let out a muffled grunt of pain and relief. Now they formed a grotesque trio: Glenn at the center like an anchor, Dália shielded in his arms, and Dorian dangling upside-down by his left leg like a macabre trophy.

A thunderous crash came from above.

Aeloria and Seraphine had leaped into the abyss. Glenn gritted his teeth, veins bulging in his neck. The aura of gravitational magic enveloped him, slowing their fall as he waited for Seraphine and Aeloria to reach them.

"Hold on!" he roared, his voice distorted by strain.

Seraphine, in her daze, clung to Aeloria with the desperate strength of the dying. The ice mage, in turn, latched onto Glenn's back like a shipwrecked survivor to driftwood. Even with gravity drastically reduced, the group's combined mass sent them plummeting at an alarming speed.

Seconds later, the five of them hit the ground.

"AAAAAAAGH...!" they cried out in unison.

The impact should have shattered bones. Instead, their feet touched down with the gentleness of falling leaves. Knees bent to absorb the shock, bodies rolled across the damp floor—but everyone remained intact. Dália slipped unharmed from Glenn's arms. Dorian rolled like a battle-hardened feline, catching his breath. Aeloria and Seraphine collapsed in a panting heap.

Glenn dropped to one knee, his magic dissipating. Blood dripped from his nose—the price of overexertion.

But they were alive. All of them.

"CRUUUNCH"

The sound came from above like a final warning. The dungeon gnashed its stony teeth. From the cracked ceiling, a downpour of putrid, acidic water rained down, burning exposed flesh, corroding metal and leather wherever it touched.

"Move. Now!!!" Dorian coughed, spitting black blood as he yanked a pulsating amber stone from his pouch.

The light revealed horrors beyond comprehension:

Walls that breathed. Not metaphorically, the stone literally expanded and contracted in a cadaverous rhythm, exhaling fetid vapors that scorched lungs like liquid fire. The ground beneath them wasn't cold but warm and sticky like dying flesh, coated in an unknown moisture that clung to their boots.

Seraphine collapsed without warning. Her body hit the floor with a dull thud, limbs convulsing in violent spasms. The venom beneath her skin now glowed like phosphorescent rivers, revealing her skeletal structure in sinister flashes before Dália draped her in a healing cloak.

"Two hours, or she turns to stone," Dália murmured as golden threads of vital energy wove around the warrior's neck. The acrid stench of burned flesh mixed with the ancient mildew permeating the place.

Dorian, cradling Seraphine, broke into a sprint with the group at his heels.

Behind them, the sound of the collapsing hole echoed, driving them forward in a desperate search for shelter.

"Are all dungeons like this, or am I just unbelievably unlucky?" I muttered.

"UNLUCKY!" came the exhausted, muffled chorus.

The metallic screech of chitin against stone joined the symphony of horrors, growing louder, more frenzied.

"I think the centipede fell too. We need to hurry and find a place to regroup," Aeloria said.

"Judging by the sound, it's trapped in the rubble—but it won't stay stuck for long!" I argued.

The fork in the path loomed like another trap. Three dark passages, three lethal possibilities.

"Which way?" Dália whispered, her eyes fixed on Seraphine's convulsing form.

The pulse came before any decision was made. A near-imperceptible vibration in the air, like the heartbeat of a womb about to birth something abominable.

"Right," I pointed instinctively, my hand tingling with residual energy.

Dorian, Aeloria, and Dália frowned but didn't question it. Only hurried footsteps echoed as we raced down the narrow passage.

My hands slid along the damp walls—then I felt them. Deep grooves, five parallel marks as wide as swords, gouged deep enough to swallow an arm up to the elbow.

"What the hell...?" Aeloria choked, eyes widening.

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Dorian raised the glowing stone higher. The corridor ahead curved downward, descending deeper into the dungeon, the light revealing a bizarre circular chamber below.

It was as if we were running across the ceiling of a dome.

Without hesitation, I grabbed the three and hurled us downward, gliding slowly.

**

It was a vast, ruined dome. And an uncanny one.

The walls weren't stone or metal but something fluid and silver, dripping like mercury yet never falling. Slow ripples traversed its surface, as if breathing, reflecting light in unsettling ways.

The air here was colder, less oppressive than the swamp's stench, yet still thick with something indescribable, a metallic tang, almost like freshly spilled blood, but without the iron. The floor, unlike the previous passages, was dry and smooth, as if polished by countless years.

As the group moved toward one end to rest, their reflections in the liquid walls grew sharper.

Not just images—details. Sweat trailing down Glenn's face. The golden threads of energy Dália still wove around Seraphine. Even the nearly imperceptible tremor in Aeloria's hands.

The group finally exhaled in relief, collapsing onto the floor to recover. Seizing the moment of quiet, Dália focused on healing Seraphine, her fingers agile as her energy battled the stubborn venom.

Dorian had already recovered, but exhaustion weighed on his broad shoulders. Aeloria and I simply collapsed onto the cold floor, letting pain and fatigue claim us for precious moments.

Dorian knelt, pressing his palm against the ground. Then he leaned in, pressing his ear to the cold surface. His fingers dug in slightly, as if the earth here were softer than it should be. He didn't speak, but his eyes narrowed, calculating.

"It took a different path," he murmured, standing. "Moving away... for now."

"This was supposed to be an intermediate dungeon. Why is it so hard?" Aeloria asked.

"I don't know," Dorian said, dropping to the ground to rest. "But one thing's certain—this dungeon isn't suited for Awakened-level challengers. Maybe not even for a full team of Champions."

"If that deranged centipede is just a regular monster in this damn dungeon, then what's the boss like?" Aeloria muttered.

"The boss will be worse. Much worse," Dália answered.

Seraphine, still pale but now breathing steadily, showed no signs of waking. Dália examined her wounds, fingers glowing faintly.

"She should wake in a few minutes, but she'll need much longer to recover."

"And you? How's your prana reserve?" I asked.

"I'm fine, Young Master. No need to worry."

I nodded, scanning our surroundings.

The place was strange, yes, but not openly hostile. The liquid walls reflected our images, but now, my reflection looked... tired. As if carrying a weight I didn't yet feel.

Somewhere in the ruins, a centipede—its head, legs, and chitin partially destroyed—stalked forward in wide strides, hunting its prey.

And as we rested in that bizarre refuge, at the dome's distant edges, our reflections continued moving autonomously, always half a second delayed, with smiles we never made, blinks that never happened.

Somewhere in the darkest depths, something far worse than a mutilated centipede tracked our scent with lethal precision. And newly formed cracks spread around ancient claw marks—deep enough to tell stories of past horrors.