Chapter 25
As I stepped out of Ebony's room, the cool night air greeted me, a stark contrast to the heat that had filled the space moments ago. I took a deep breath, rolling my shoulders as I let the tension ease from my muscles. The exhaustion was finally catching up to me, my limbs feeling heavier with every step.
Instead of wandering aimlessly through the halls, I left my body for a moment, my consciousness drifting through the dungeon's network like a phantom. I searched for Nike, hoping he had already settled in for the night. Sleep was calling to me, and as much as I had enjoyed my time with my lovers, I needed rest.
Through the dungeon's senses, I found him in his quarters, curled up in bed. His breathing was slow and steady, a peaceful rhythm that suggested he had already succumbed to sleep. I smiled to myself, a wave of warmth spreading through me at the sight. Despite the chaotic day, knowing Nike was safe and comfortable eased something in my chest.
Rejoining my body, I made my way toward him, my footsteps quieter than usual as I moved through the halls. The dungeon felt different at night—quieter, more still, the ambient glow of the crystals casting long shadows along the walls. It was a reminder that while the dungeon was always alive, there were moments of calm between the storms.
By the time I reached Nike's room, my exhaustion had deepened, making each step feel heavier. I pushed open the door carefully, not wanting to wake him if he was already asleep. The dim light revealed his form beneath the blankets, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He had curled himself around a pillow, his soft features relaxed in slumber.
A small chuckle escaped me as I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. I shed my clothes, not bothering with formality, and slipped under the blankets beside him. The warmth of his body was immediate, and as I settled in, he instinctively shifted, pressing closer against me.
For a moment, I simply lay there, enjoying the quiet. The day had been long, filled with pleasure, tension, and the ever-present responsibilities of running a dungeon. But here, in this moment, with Nike's warmth against me, I allowed myself to simply be.
As sleep began to pull me under, I idly wondered what tomorrow would bring. The dungeon was still growing, new threats and challenges looming on the horizon. But for now, at least, I could rest.
And with that thought, I finally allowed my eyes to close, surrendering to the darkness of sleep.
THE VOID
Sleep did not bring me peace. Only a warning.
As I drifted through the endless void, weightless and untethered, a voice slithered through the silence like a cold whisper against my skin.
"Hey, Mike."
Azazel. The god of chaos.
"You enjoying your new life so far?" His voice was neutral, but something lurked beneath it—something cold and sharp, like a blade pressed against my throat.
Before I could respond, the darkness around me shifted. It coiled, tightening like unseen chains. My breath caught in my throat. I tried to move, to speak, but nothing obeyed me. My body—my soul—was locked in place.
"Because from what I've seen, you've been doing a whole lot of partying and not a lot of being a dungeon," Azazel continued, his voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere. "Yeah, you've built up your little hole in the ground. You've got your mobs, your magic, all thanks to me and Gypsum. But I gotta say, I'm not seeing anything that makes you special. What are you, exactly? A demon witch doctor running a crystal dungeon? You look like something spat out of a random character generator."
The pressure around me grew. My vision flickered—was it even possible to black out in a place like this? My mind screamed for air that wasn't there.
"At least make it interesting, Mike." Azazel's tone turned from amused to disappointed, almost bored. "You're making me look bad. It's only been a few days since you got dumped into this world, and you're already dragging your feet. The gods are watching, and they've noticed, you know? You're not acting very dungeon-like. And if they decide you're weaker than the average starter dungeon?"
The void shook.
"They will erase you."
A spike of pure terror drove into my chest. I tried again to move, to fight, to scream. Nothing. Nothing.
"I said, are you listening to me?" Azazel's voice cracked like a whip.
I was. I couldn't not listen. Every word felt like it was being burned into my soul.
For what felt like eternity, he continued his rant—mocking, pushing, stripping away any confidence I might have had. Every argument I tried to form in my head was swallowed by the crushing weight of the void. He didn't want excuses. He wanted results.
Then, finally, he sighed. The pressure relented just enough for me to process his next words.
"Look, Mike, I'm giving you a week. Get to bronze tier. You're already 60% of the way there, so pick up the pace. If you do it, I'll gift you a mob you can turn into a resident—your choice. Fail me, fail this quest, and I promise you'll regret it."
With that final warning, Azazel ripped himself away from me. The void collapsed inward, dragging my awareness with it, twisting, crushing—
And then, suddenly—
I woke up.
Cold sweat slicked my skin, though my body hadn't moved an inch. My breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, my chest tight with lingering dread.
I was still in Nike's arms. The warmth of his body was the only thing grounding me, keeping me from spiraling back into that nothingness.
Outside, the first hints of morning light crept through the cracks of the dungeon. But even as the world around me returned to normal, I couldn't shake the feeling that a countdown had just begun.