The female voice has not spoken at all in the last few minutes. So instead of chatting, I have been roaming the cave, trying not to stomp on the gold and just walking in the narrow corridors. I'm keeping to the right, like in labyrinths, but it doesn't seem to have much effect so far.

I do wonder how much money there is here. Like, are those gold coins... pure gold? If so, this is... insane? How much money is in an ounce of gold? Is this like several billion worths of gold?

As I'm walking, I end up in a clearing suspiciously similar to the one with the red sword. The Gay Thunder, or whatever the name was.

However, there's nothing gay – in the happy sense – about what I'm looking at here.

There's a levitating altar made of black stone and twenty-three black, flying candles slowly swirling around it. Each candle is different—as if they were made of other materials. There's one made of what looks like human bone, another made of a blackened, rotten heart, and yet another made of what seems to be black, petrified wood.

A sickening, pervading smell of rancid blood and death hangs in the air, and it’s all coming from the altar. It's as if the very air was poisoned by the presence of this thing. More so, I feel like the altar is some kind of a magnet, drawing in all the blood and death in its vicinity.

As I approach it, I feel my skin tickle. And not the good kind of over-the-clothes tickling or feather-done by a freaky girlfriend or displayed on some male gay Onlyfans. Nope.

This kind of tickling feels like a swarm of arachnids planting their sharp limbs onto your skin, slowly climbing up your body to eat your brain. But, of course, that’s the kind of tickle we’re talking about here.

The black-stone altar is levitating mid-air, just like the sword. Two steps lead up to it, and on either side of the altar are two weird statues with their arms up, also made of black stone. They look like they're supposed to be holding the altar up, but their arms are outstretched as if screaming in pain, cursing at the thing. They look like males of some weird humanoid species, with thick legs, a furry coat covering most of their bodies, and two bunny ears on top of their heads.

The altar’s surface is heavily stained with what looks like dried blood. There's a small bowl on top of it, filled with black liquid bubbling and hissing. When I look just a tad closer, I see teeth and bits of bones floating in it.

Disgusting. I feel like puking, but I try focusing on some other detail of this horrid thing.

On the altar’s side, there are some carved figures. They are either very slender or extremely muscular, and they all have large... ears? Huh, they are the same creatures the statues represent. And their bodies are twisted into different positions, as if they were in the middle of... something? A dance, maybe?

As I get closer, taken by a morbid curiosity, I feel a deep darkness—something filthy and absolutely repulsive. Innocent blood was shed by the ton on this altar. I can now also see some etched runes—instinctively, I feel like studying them and tracing back to whoever has stained their souls with such unspeakable deeds.

I can feel the presence of an ancient evil that has been forgotten, removed from time and space.

The more I look at the altar, the more I feel like it is alive—and not in a good way. I feel like it is a cancerous growth, something that should not be here.

Suddenly, all the candles flicker to life, and I'm pulled into a vision of horrors.

The exact furry figures I just saw on the altar’s side and sculpted are chained to the black altar, their blood slowly drained out of their bodies. Meanwhile, the runes etched on the altar and on all the walls of a Gothic-looking cave burn brighter than the sun—a sun that is giving off an eerie, powerful red light.

And then I see more furry people, clearly innocent, being led to their doom by cloaked figures with large, black eyes—almost like insectile. They're being sacrificed for something obscure... no, not just obscure. Something impure. And their screams echo in the chamber as they're being slaughtered.

I see rivers of blood flowing from the altar and across the room. I see shattered souls trying to claw their way out of the darkness. I see blackened hearts, still beating and twitching on the ground. I see desecrated bodies piled up in heaps.

I see all this, and I feel sick to my stomach. I want to vomit, but I can't. I feel like I'm frozen in place, unable to move.

But all these emotions are just my first reaction.

Then, anger and hatred boil up inside me, and I feel the urge to kill someone. I want to find the people responsible for this and make them suffer. First, I want to make them bleed, and then, I want to tear them apart.

And somehow, I know I just need to study the altar to do it. I could trace the runes back to those disgusting creatures—I could hunt them. While caught in this vision, I desire nothing more than to make them feel the pain that they have inflicted upon the furry figures with bunny ears.

For a moment, I can feel my eyes turning red and the power inside me growing. I can feel myself changing, and I know I'm no longer the same person. Instead, I’m looking at a cloaked version of me, draped in darkness, wielding power beyond the worldliness of a simple sword; eldritch magic is at my fingertips…

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it ends.

The vision fades, and I'm back in the clearing. I'm shaking and feel like I'm going to be sick. I take a few deep breaths to try and calm myself down, but it doesn't work.

It feels like I glimpsed into Hell itself. And I'm the only possible redemption for it; the need for justice becomes stronger and stronger as I take a firm step toward the altar.

I think about the furry people sacrificed on that altar, and I know that I must immerse myself in its dark deeds to become the slayer of devils...

But then, I take a deep breath.

“Nope. Thank-you-very-much. I’m good,” I say, moving a few steps back. "To hell with this. I'm a baker. I serve cakes, not genocide."

“This place is weird.” I exhale and keep walking, waiting for the Dragon Lady to say something; anything, really.

“Are you not tempted to uncover the dark secrets of the current era, little Vanedeni?” The deep feminine voice speaks again.

“Again, not a Vanedeni.”

“You do not lie—again.”

I heard only curiosity in the deep feminine voice, no irritation.

“And no, anyway,” I tell the ethereal voice, “no dark secrets for me, thank you. Is there any way I can get back? Or can I get some simple food? Some bread and... do you know what cold cuts are? Salted meats cut very thinly?”

As if to bother me, the voice does not reply, leaving me hungry and wandering.

Damn, I could really use some capocollo—or, as the layman knows it, some gabagool.

Then, I see a book on a lectern, and without thinking twice, I walk up to it, curious. It doesn't look as heroic as the sword nor nearly as scary as the unholy altar. The cover is made of black leather with no specific markings. But as I hunch closer, a thin sheen of light envelopes my figure, and words start to appear on the book. One could say that it doesn’t look magical, but the word ‘magical’ is literally written on the cover.

“Magical Theory - The Omnium Compendium by Magister Mulligan.”

“Hum, Omnium Compendium? The synthesis of everything? Isn’t that arrogant?” I think to myself. Still, I can’t help but be curious. Unlike the scarlet sword—what was it called again? Meh, already forgot. Anyway, unlike the sword and the altar, this book doesn’t make my skin crawl.

If anything, it feels like... like it’s ignoring me.

But what about the light that’s around me now?

I take a step back, and the light dims. Then, I take one forward, and the light brightens. Since my brain is probably around 5 years old in terms of maturity, I do a quick dance to see how this works.

“What the hell?”

But the umpteenth time that I step forward, the light actually disappears.

Your assessment has been completed. Consult the Omnium Compendium to see the result.

The book just opened in front of me and told me this in black ink. Then, it shut down altogether, sealing itself once again.

What is even happening?

I look at the book, waiting for a vision of grandeur or the lure of power. Instead, since this seems to be solely about magic, I get a bit of an itch in the back of my head.

Magic?

Come on, it’s everyone’s dream to get the letter from Hogwarts!

Gimme an owl and a broom, and I’ll finally live some of my childhood dreams.

And for a moment, I almost forget about my most essential rule because this book is not just like Miss Universe; it’s like a Miss Universe paired with a massive caboose. So while I successfully ignored the rest of the riches around me, something pulls me to the book, and an insane idea starts brewing in my mind. It’s the idea that I could touch that tome without consequences.

I try to reach for the book, but my hand goes through it. It’s like the book is not really there. I frown and try to think. This is definitely not Earth; that’s certain. I’m not sure where I am, but I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere shifty.

Then, it hits me.

“Could it be a dream? Nah. Too lucky for this thing to be just a dream.”

“But again,” I say to myself, “this is really weird.”

I take another look at the book and try to grab it again. But my hand still just goes through it.

“Weirder and weirder.”

While the two other thingies had wanted me so bad that I ran away, this one seems to ignore me enough to make me interested. I keep jabbing my hand through the book, hoping to somehow open it again. It’s like girls, apparently. The less one cares for you, the more you get interested.

“What’s happening between us is no secret, book,” I say melodramatically, “you hate me so much that I’m starting to like you. Goddamn, this much dislike makes you irresistible.”

“The book you are trying to pry open is a mysterious legacy,” this time, the feminine voice sounds extremely close to me. As I turn, my jaw falls to the ground, and my eyes pop out the wipers to ensure I see right.

A statuesque woman, something in the ballpark of eight feet, looks down at me. Standing at 6’5, this is the first time I see a woman taller than me in my entire life.

But the most preposterous thing is the outfit she’s wearing. If one can even call it an outfit! She’s basically half-naked, with only a jewel-clad bikini and a black veil covering her voluptuous body.

“I want to converse about the matters of your travels, Human,” the breathtaking figure says, “I hope you are not scared of me. It has been a while since I have embraced this form. I even transmogrified my skin to make it more familiar to your eyes.”

“I mean, Lady Dragon,” I smile widely, “we can converse all you want.” I give her my trademarked wink-with-tongue-click and rub my hands together.

“I'm Eudokia, Human. Your kind must have long forgotten my name... Some company would be welcome,” she adds. “You are so naive and cute. I almost want to eat you.”

“I mean,” I rub my hands together, “can’t really stand in the way of that, can I?”

“I suppose not," she smiles toothily.

“The last Human child – a Vanedeni – that visited me became my apprentice and, briefly, a more intimate relief. So be respectful, Human, and I’ll give you a chance to worship me.”

I slap my hands together in the typical prayer pose and raise them over my head.

Thank you, God. Thank you. You really couldn’t have done any better than this. Who cares about Miss Universe, am I right?

As the woman is about to step toward me and, hopefully, make me worship her – whatever that means – I hear the flutter of pages.

“Huh?”

As I turn, the book’s spine body slams my face.

“What the—“

At this point, do I really have to say what happened next? Like, is it even necessary? But, come on, we all know it.

As Lady Luck usually wills it, a dimensional rift – or simply a tear in the space-time continuum of reality—you could say – opens below my feet and the book. And it does what a massive crack in the fabric of the universe would do: it swallows us both.

For a second, we travel through the very cloth of reality, threading time and space altogether. I might die torn apart into billions and billions of atoms while my real essence turns to nothing more than universal mush. I just wish I could have met Selena Gomez before dying and—

I land on my ass and with the book on my knees.

I look at the cuckolding book, remembering the lewd Lady Dragon who wanted to do stuff to me, and I exclaim, exasperated.

“What’s the matter with you?!”