image [https://i.imgur.com/xcQhW8Y.jpg]

My run-in with the dungeon’s denizens—monsters, or whatever you might call them—was brief. They seemed eager to push me and my surly lizard escort out of their disaster zone of a city deep within the dungeon’s bowels. Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but revel in my luck.

Not only had I secured a guide through the labyrinth of caverns toward freedom, effectively putting a dampener on the vampires’ plan—not that I have anything against them, especially since Aurelia is one. But I loathe being bound by others’ expectations. I refuse to dance to anyone’s tune.

Whoever’s reading my story—thoughts, or shall we say, mad ramblings—right now, what I’m trying to convey is that I’m much happier trekking down a path of self-destruction than being guided by others... minus my current guide, of course. I’m speaking metaphorically... You know what? It doesn’t matter.

Just know, I do my own thing, and nobody has a say in it!

“Is that so?”

“I’m ignoring you, strange woman’s voice in my head that’s definitely not my own,” I huffed dramatically.

Redtail paused his steps ahead of me to glance back, uttering an annoyed, “What?!”

“Not you, lizard-chicken-dinner. I was chatting up my inner crazy,” I flashed a grin that probably didn’t do me any favors.

At least, I hope it’s my own inner crazy.

No, I don’t—

—Yes, I do!

“Ugh, I’m losing my mind,” I facepalmed, still not wiping away my lovely—okay, creepy—smile, which still wasn’t doing me any favors. Yet.

Hey, it’s not my fault I look like a hideous monster with no teeth—though, these wiggly tendrils might just make a decent stand-in. The lizard just shook his head in annoyance, stomping ahead of me, clearly unappreciative of the magnificence of my smart mouth—his loss, obviously. Anyway! Where was I going with all of this before I started hearing voices?

I also saw a chance to challenge the dungeon bosses and perhaps absorb a few skills along the way—if any of the bosses were still around. With no dungeon core, there were no respawning bosses. I was dealing with the leftovers, unless that Slutty—Sluttian? Slaethian?—raiding party had slain them all on their way out, or the candidates I’m competing against hadn’t gotten to them first.

But let’s not overlook the icing on the cake: I had a lizard snack I was saving for later!

Could things get any better?

A faint sound of scurrying crab legs echoed behind me, abruptly wiping the sadistic grin off my face that had blossomed at the thought of my upcoming feast. I had always preached that you know you’ve hit the big time in any gig—whether you’re a rock star, a movie icon, or even a half-baked author—the minute you snag your first stalker. But damn, I now realize how much having your own personal creep can utterly suck! I whipped around, scanning the shadows, but that sneaky, treacherous box of dicks was nowhere to be seen.

“Fucking mimic,” I hissed under my breath, with enough venom to rival the toxicity of Flint, Michigan. It was so quiet, I might as well have kept it to myself—honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure if I had said it out loud or just thought it.

With an annoyed huff, I stormed off after my later meal, determined to steer clear of that damn mimic. Maybe, just maybe, I’d get lucky and snag a skill from a dungeon boss that actually makes a dent or crack—because, fuck knows, none of my current skills do squat. Sure, they’re impressive, stacking up for epic status effects: poisoning, acidic burning, and health-draining slash stealing. A solid backhand from me, and most enemies are toast—not to mention my miasma cloud brewing all sorts of diseases. But alas, my personal stalker seems immune to all of it. Yay for me...

Hmm... I haven’t tried my Silk Webbing skill yet.

What’s that going to do?

Stick it to a wall... maybe?

Oh, yeah, that’ll solve all my problems.

Well, if anything, I might be able to snare that bastard mimic chest with my sticky web fluid long enough to make a hasty retreat—aka, run away like a little bitch!

“Ugh, Blake, stop talking to yourself,” I grumbled.

Redtail froze, glancing back with a worried expression before asking the obvious, “Is that normal... talking to yourself like that?”

“Hmm? Oh, umm… My mother always said it’s only concerning if you answer back,” I smiled at him, which, for the third time, did not do me any favors.

“I-I see,” he replied, tilting his head to the side with narrow eyes before asking, “and do you… answer yourself back?”

“Nooo?” I smiled sheepishly, and for the fourth time, you can guess what happened.

My meal, which I’m really, really struggling to save for later, shook his head in what I can only assume was lizard exasperation before facing forward and leading the way once again. Our little distractions had become the norm. Every so often, I heard those creepy skittering sounds following us, prompting me to mutter a string of obscenities while debating my next move. Then I’d argue with myself about how stupid I was being, which always led to lizard-chicken-dinner pausing to give me that concerned stare. Not that it helped—reading lizard facial expressions is like trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphics. Impossible. Like, seriously, impossible!

“So, lizard, when will we come across our first boss?” I asked after what felt like four hours of walking.

“Lizard?” he puffed in indignation. “I’m a Drakar, not some common reptile. Though many arrogantly call me a drake, I usually don’t waste my breath correcting their ignorance,” he snapped. “As for your question, we have only just departed and haven’t even made it out of the dungeon city’s cavern yet,” he hissed, clearly irritated.

“Ugh, this is going to take forever,” I whined, my shoulders slumping. “I need something to fight and kill!”

Hmm—when have I ever wanted something like that?

“I think this body is fucking with my mind—Oh, really? No shit, Sherlock!” I didn’t bother hiding my inner thoughts as I cackled to myself, the sound echoing off the dungeon walls.

“We’ve only been walking for thirty minutes,” the scaled dick grumbled, his voice dripping with exasperation as he suddenly quickened his pace.

I knew his heavier strides wouldn’t last for long; he’d take a few determined steps then slow right down—been the same song and dance for the last four hours. Yeah, I heard what he said about it only thirty minutes, but let’s be real, I trust my sense of time way more than I trust his... Okay, who am I kidding? That’s a total lie.

Given my utterly impeccable sense of time—note the sarcasm—I spent the next six hours amusing myself with Polymorph while tailing the lizard. And yes, I’m still calling him that until the delightful moment I finally get to eat him. I entertained myself by morphing my hand into all sorts of absurdities: three fingers, a claw, tentacles, a perfectly smooth hand, and even a disturbingly gooey one. Oh! And let’s not forget the classic oversized foam finger—you know, the ones you see at sports games. Yep, I went there, because, let’s face it, I’m obviously number one. I must confess, each transformation became shockingly easier, almost as if I were magically absorbing some deep, subconscious insight into how it all works. Fancy that!

Fortunately, fate decided to throw me a bone as we stumbled upon a few decaying corpses of fallen dungeon monsters during our grand tour. So, yeah, I chowed down! While feasting, the system didn’t bother to bless me with any new skills, not even a pathetic little popup.

However, it did manage to generously pad my bra. After munching on a few delightful snacks, I shot up to a whopping five foot nine inches, or for those who adore precision, a striking one hundred and sixty-two centimeters—exactly how my metric-obsessed, dearly departed dad from a past life would’ve insisted I report it. Yes, he was a die-hard metric fan, but let’s be real, I juggle between that and imperial, and usually mess up the conversions. Thank god for Google! What, you gonna judge me for the American school system’s spectacular failures?

Anyway, he’d probably be over the moon about my sudden growth spurt. What? I was vertically challenged in my past life. I often joke about being short and curvy, but truth be told, I was short and skinny, like board-flat skinny, but hey, let’s keep spinning that tale and see who catches on.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

That all being said, I couldn’t help but relish the disgusted contortion on the lizard’s face—maw—or whatever expression he was trying to pull off when I chowed down on those corpses. They sort of looked like buffalo, only mini pony-sized, and with colorful fluorescent feathers. But oh my, their intestines were beyond delectable! Seriously, they were to die for! I think I just found my favorite cut of meat.

I took my sweet time savoring those morsels, slurping them up slowly, just to rub it in at my disgusted spectator. The lizard was absolutely not entertained by my little feast. His loss. Either way, it provided me with a delicious sense of satisfaction to keep him on his scaly toes.

The lizard let out a low growl, clearly growing impatient. “What are you waiting for?” he snapped. “We need to keep moving if we hope to reach the exit by the end of tomorrow. Hurry up, you damn shit-eating slime!”

A piece of intestine dropped from my mouth as my head snapped toward the lizard. Ever so slowly, I stood, momentarily forgetting about the savory morsels I had been munching on. I casually approached the meal that had the audacity to call me a shit-eating slime, swaying my hips like a predator stalking its prey. As I neared, I leaned in close and, much to my amusement, discovered he did, in fact, smell just like chicken.

My voice dripped with mock curiosity and a hint of menace. “If you weren’t here, how would I go about locating the last remaining dungeon bosses and the exit?”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Listen, dimwit, I’m not about to give a cannibalistic shit-eating slime the only leverage I have,” he retorted with a smug grin. “I’m well aware the Warchief wants me gone, seeing as I’m his closest competition to become the next Warchief, especially after this disaster with the dungeon core. Even if you kill me and somehow manage to retrieve the core, I’ll simply respawn. No—Warchief Hensley sent me along with you as your guide, a backup plan, just in case you fail.”

“Hmm... fascinating,” I replied, feigning interest.

Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him!

I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him!

The lizard raised his head, his glare void of shame or fear. “Now, be a good little slime and follow along—hrrrk!”

His sentence was abruptly cut off as my clenched, gooey fist collided with his mouth! The satisfying symphony of muffled screams and gurgled whimpering filled the air as my arm contorted into a writhing tentacle, slithering deep down his throat. Meanwhile, my other arm reverted to its true form, exploding into a web of inky black goo that ensnared him, trapping him like a helpless fly in my diabolical spiderweb. I should have probably tried Silk Webbing, but this was more of a spur-of-the-moment thing. Oh, the pure ecstasy of watching him squirm and struggle in my grasp! It was a moment of sheer bliss.

“Ah, splendid,” I said with exaggerated gratitude. “I guess that means I won’t be needing your brilliant guidance anymore. I’ll just find my own way.”

I laughed as the lizard put up a feeble struggle, which only fueled my twisted delight. The more he resisted, the more my deranged pleasure grew.

“Oh, fuck yes! Go deeper, Blake, deeper,” I moaned to myself in a perverse display of self-indulgence.

I couldn’t discern whether it was my own tremors of delight or the last remnants of life convulsions coursing through his body. Regardless, the sensation was exhilarating. My tentacle arm continued its invasive journey, plunging deeper and deeper into his throat, piercing his stomach, and snaking through his delectable intestines.

As with all good things, my enjoyment had to come to an end. I pouted as the frigid air caressed the tip of my tentacle, now poking out the other end. It was then and only then that I activated Corrosive. And with that, it happened—the unmistakable shudder as the lizard let loose a blood-curdling, muffled scream while my acidic tentacle went to work, burning him from the inside out. The sound continued until he stopped moving, signifying his ultimate surrender—or maybe just the absence of nerves.

In any case, as he stopped screaming, I started. A maniacal scream of ecstasy erupted from my toothless mouth, echoing off the stone walls as my prey surrendered entirely to my devouring embrace.

I stood there panting with euphoria, my eyes closed as I savored the moment. Maybe, just maybe, I absorbed more than I intended from the succubus... Nah!

“Did you hear anything I just said?” came a growling voice, catching me by surprise.

Cracking my eyes open slowly, I found myself still standing before the lizard, the annoying prick glaring at me. For a moment, I just stared, blinking in confusion.

“Um, what?” I finally managed, blinking a few more times.

Shit, did I just… daydream all of that?

I… I think I did.

“Well, that was a sight to see. Quite the imagination you’ve got,” the woman’s voice in my head chimed in, dripping with unsolicited commentary. By this point, I had grown used to ignoring her. It was just another sign I was losing my mind.

“I said,” the lizard hissed, pointing at something behind him, “there’s a potential dungeon boss behind those doors over there. So if you’re done with your disgusting meal, we can be on our way.”

I leaned to the side to peek at where he was pointing, and sure enough, two massive iron-looking doors stood imposingly against the side of a stone structure carved into the cavern wall. It was breathtaking, reminiscent of Petra in Jordan, but with a dark, gothic twist that sent shivers down my slimy spine. The intricate carvings and sheer scale of the architecture were mesmerizing. In any case, it was rather neat—definitely a top tourist destination if I had any say in the matter.

“The dungeon boss is in there?” I asked, knowing it was a pointless question. I was just stalling for time as my mind tried desperately to catch back up to reality and decide whether or not I wanted to act on my fantasies. In the end, I decided against it... for now. After all, retrieving the dungeon core was more important than indulging in a single meal.

“A dungeon boss, yes—or rather, there should be, seeing as the doors are closed. If the boss was defeated, they’d be wide open.”

“Wouldn’t it be the opposite?” I questioned, arching an eyebrow.

The lizard shook his head in exasperation and started walking toward the massive iron doors. I glanced back at the intestine I had dropped on the ground, picked it up, and ran to catch up to my future meals-on-tail.

“So, lizard, what kind of boss is inside?”

I continued to speak between bites of my delicious snack—though I use the word bites very loosely. It was more like sticking a piece of not-sausage in my mouth and letting Corrosive dissolve it. Yep, that’s right, I’m using selective targeting of my passive attacks in a generalized region of my body, much like I am with Mana Focus. It’s strange, but using these skills is getting so easy to do, I’m barely putting in any thought to activate them.

“The name is Redtail, Drake Redtail,” he grumbled, not doing a very good job at hiding his anger.

“Didn’t you say you were a dickwad, not a drake?” I asked, feigning confusion.

“A Drakar, yes,” he took a deep breath as if to center himself. “Drake is just my name, Drake Redtail.”

“Huh, doesn’t that get confusing?”

“No, most of those within Ockpool I’ve known for over a thousand years,” Redtail casually mentioned, causing me to stumble at what he had just dropped.

I froze, my mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief. Lizard—or Redtail, I probably should use his name—stopped and turned to look at me, confusion evident on his scaly face. Still-dissolving chunks of, well, let’s call it what it was, intestines, dropped from my slack-jawed mouth as I gaped at him.

“A thousand years? Holy shit! How long does your kind live?!”

He blinked at me this time, clearly confused. “What do you mean? As long as we don’t die in battle, everyone within the Moons of Völuspá is immortal. How do you not know this?”

“Everyone is immortal?” I whispered, still in shock, before glancing up at him. “Wait, does that mean I’m immortal?”

“Y-Yes,” he answered, seeming bewildered by my sudden interest in what he probably assumes is basic knowledge.

“—Wait, what do you mean by don’t die in battle part? I thought you could respawn from death!”

“By attuning our souls to a dungeon core, we can respawn if slain in battle,” Redtail stated, his tone laced with irritation. “However, those outside of dungeons call us monsters for doing so and see us as heretics deserving of destruction.”

“Yeah, I don’t care about that last part—so nobody dies from old age, huh,” I pondered aloud before something dawned on me. “Wait, so why was that werewolf chief so old?”

“Warchief Hensley’s homeworld was brought to the Moons of Völuspá when he was of an elderly age, and he’s stopped aging ever since. And he’s a warg, not a werewolf,” he added, chuckling at that last part as if it were some inside joke I didn’t get.

My mind should have been on the fact everyone stopped aging when their entire freaking worlds were brought here, but the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “What’s the difference, between a werewolf and a warg?”

“A werewolf can change shapes; often, the wolf form is what they change into from a number of other races. A warg is just a warg—no changing or shapeshifting is involved.”

“Huh, okay, but back to this immortality thing and no aging,” I paused to collect my thoughts. “Does that mean children stay, you know, children forever?”

“They stay young, yes, but not as children. I’d say they’re more akin to young adults, though they often retain child-like mindsets,” Redtail explained, his frown deepening as he spoke. “However, it’s exceedingly rare for a child to be born within this realm; some blame it on the magic. In any case, each birth is considered a miracle. In the last thousand years, we’ve only had four children born within Ockpool, and that’s considered a high number. In fact, our most recent child, Wartie, was born just five decades ago.”

“Huh, so that explains why he’s, you know… a little slow.”

Ugh, am I actually feeling bad for calling him a retard now?

...Nope!

“No, no. That’s just a typical goblin trait,” Redtail sighed, pausing before the massive iron doors of the boss chamber—or should I say the gothic structure. His gaze hardened as he turned squarely toward me. “Now, I’ve indulged your questions. Will you answer one of mine?”

“Sure?” I replied, my voice oozing mock enthusiasm.

He’d actually been surprisingly helpful with my questions—color me shocked. I’m still planning to eat him later, but having him not act like a complete jerk was a delightful improvement. So, I guess I was more than willing to entertain a question or two.

Redtail took a long breath and finally posed his question, “Are you a Herald?”

“…A what now?” I blinked at him, my confusion mounting.

“A Forerunning? Vanguard? Harbinger? Sentinel? Pioneer?” Redtail’s arms began flailing slightly as he listed the possibilities, growing more animated with each term. “A Precursor? You know, a summoned soul that arrives before one’s homeworld joins the Moons of Völuspá?”

“That’s a thing?” I asked, my eyebrows shooting up in genuine surprise.

“Argh, yes!” he exclaimed, his frustration palpable as he threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Hmm... Well, I can tell you that my world is not a part of these moons, at least as far as I know, and that my soul was summoned to this reality a few days or weeks ago.” I shrugged slightly, trying to seem nonchalant.

Probably just a few hours, but let’s not dwell on my poor timekeeping.

What? I lose track of time easily, especially when messing around with the system.

“So, it’s true,” he whispered, his voice tinged with awe and foreboding. “Another convergence is upon us.”

I was about to ask him what that meant when the iron doors began to creak open, unleashing a long, eerie metal-on-metal screeeech.