I stepped out of the dakta with a spring in my step, feeling a small rush of triumph. I’d managed to interrogate the... zombie. Well, sure, I didn’t have any solid proof in hand, but at least I had a name—or at least a direction—toward identifying one of my enemies. That was something.
Now, the next step was figuring out what that devil had to say. I felt cautiously optimistic... or rather, hopeful. Confident might be a stretch. Still, I was sure—no, I had to be sure—that I could summon it again. I must have some kind of affinity for tracking devils. If not? Well, I’d be more than a little disappointed, to say the least.
As I crossed the yard, I noticed Sir Gamesh hurrying toward me, and I couldn’t help but snort in frustration. Oh, no! Not him! He’s probably going to drag me off for another hour or two with the prince when I have far more pressing matters to deal with. Please, gods, no more sessions with the prince today!
“Lady Lores! Lady Lores!” he called as he approached, then abruptly stopped about ten steps away.
“May I come closer, Lady Lores?” he asked hesitantly.
It took me a moment to understand his hesitation, but then it dawned on me—he was worried my clothes were, once again, just illusions.
I sighed heavily. Really? I was wearing a beautiful blue dress, long and flowing, with a charming neckline, a wide leather belt emphasizing my waist, and a bold slit climbing up to my hip on the right side. And he still thought this was all a trick? Honestly!
"It's fine, Sir Gamesh, you can come closer," I said, rolling my eyes while Ju giggled, clearly amused by the exchange.
His face brightened immediately.
"Lady Lores, I must thank you for your wise foresight!"
I blinked, caught off guard, and raised an eyebrow, silently questioning what he meant. He smiled, eager to explain.
"Your idea to initiate these dungeon runs for the prince was truly inspired! I haven’t seen him this happy and engaged in ages. For the first time in years, I feel like he's truly making progress!"
I sighed, unsure of how to respond. It hadn’t been my idea at all—it was one of Therella’s schemes, cooked up with Sid’s help for her own agenda. Yet somehow, it seemed to be working wonders for the prince. With Sir Gamesh practically showering me in praise, I found myself at a loss. Before I could attempt a protest, he came in with his inevitable request.
"Would you be so kind as to arrange another session for the prince? He’s absolutely brimming with excitement to share his experiences with his betrothed lady!"
I fought the urge to groan. Of course, he is.
"Sir Gamesh, you are a shining example of diplomacy and loyalty—I find myself still learning from you!" Ju said with a beaming smile before turning to me. "I understand you'll call me later when you need me, Lady Lores. In the meantime, I’ll go look for the materials you requested." She gave a small, graceful bow and departed.
I snorted, irritated by her smooth exit, but nodded. There was no escaping now—Sir Gamesh was practically glowing with delight over the prince's progress. How could I refuse him when he looked so genuinely pleased? Resigned, I followed him toward the prince’s apartments while he continued to shower me with praise, his enthusiasm for the prince's newfound passion for dungeoneering practically spilling over.
As we walked, I couldn't help but anticipate the next part. After the session, they’d likely insist I stay for dinner. But I was already planning my excuses. I had far too many pressing matters to handle and couldn’t afford to lose more time indulging in unnecessary socializing.
I stepped into the room, prepared to start the session, but found only Dame Elanea waiting for me. The prince hadn’t arrived yet. Trying to quell my uneasiness, I accepted a coffee while she sipped her tea, the two of us making polite small talk as we waited. Ten, perhaps fifteen minutes passed—though to me, they felt like hours—before he finally arrived.
But once he entered, my impatience evaporated. The prince had a natural charm and an easy manner that made conversations with him thoroughly enjoyable. We chatted for a bit, and he eagerly recounted, in meticulous detail, the dungeon session he had completed with Therella. His enthusiasm, while endearing, struck me as slightly misplaced when I compared it to the grueling and perilous dungeoneering I knew from Cala's time. Still, I wasn’t about to rain on his parade.
It was during this conversation that I learned the whole dungeoneering idea had been framed as though it were my initiative. Apparently, the prince had initially agreed to it out of sheer courtesy, but now, judging by his excitement, he was thoroughly invested.
I debated whether I should protest and clarify that the idea hadn’t been mine, but quickly decided against it. Any attempt to set the record straight would likely come across as false modesty, and besides, no one would really believe me. So, I let it slide.
Before long, Dame Elanea politely requested that I put on the diadem. How they manage to synchronize these things so flawlessly was beyond me, but they certainly succeeded. Moments later, I found myself channeling Dame Fara, speaking on her behalf as the prince enthusiastically recounted every intricate detail of his most recent dungeoneering venture. His passion was evident, and he spared no effort in conveying just how thrilling the experience had been for him.
I drifted in and out of their conversation. When this whole setup had started, it had been intriguing—novel, even—but by the third or fourth time, it had grown tiresome. I couldn’t fully disengage since Dame Fara was using me as her mouthpiece, but I wasn’t actively focusing on what they were discussing anymore. That’s why it caught me completely off guard when their hands—no, my hand—touched his.
It seemed she intended to embrace him, and I froze, unsure of what to do. I hadn’t agreed to this. Should I resist? Could I even resist?
But then, the diadem's influence surged, an invisible force bearing down on me with overwhelming pressure. A foreign presence loomed in my mind, forceful and invasive, shoving my consciousness to the edges of my awareness. I felt like a spectator in my own body as the alien will took control. Against everything I wanted, my arms moved of their own accord. I embraced him—an act that was hers, not mine.
He looked as startled as I felt when my lips brushed his, fleeting but enough to trigger something I hadn’t anticipated—a pull.
I felt it, unmistakable this time. She was draining his life energy.
It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed this sensation during our earlier sessions, but back then, it had been so faint I assumed it was just a side effect of the diadem or something I was misinterpreting. Now, however, it was undeniable, clear and distinct—and chillingly familiar. I had felt this before, within myself.
Desperate and trapped in the corner of my own mind, I tried to resist, to scream out in protest, but it was useless. My body wasn’t mine to command.
His knees buckled, and he leaned heavily against me. Instinctively, I helped steady him and guided him back into his chair, fighting against the diadem’s force that urged me to keep him close. The invasive presence behind the diadem resisted, trying to hold him tighter, but I managed to push just enough to break away—though the drain continued. His life force was still slipping away.
Suddenly, my mana surged, wrapping around me in a protective barrier and pushing fiercely against the invasive connection. A wave of anger and defiance flooded through me, unbidden and unstoppable. I stepped back abruptly, yanking the now-heated diadem from my head.
At the exact moment the connection severed, I felt a jolt of panic from the other end—raw and unguarded. The diadem hit the floor with a sharp hiss, skidding across it as if it had been forged from red-hot iron.
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A wave of shock and nausea rolled over me, my breath catching in my throat as realization struck. What I had felt was unmistakable—a succubus pull. There was no Dame Fara on the other side. It had been a succubus all along.
Or, worse, could Dame Fara be a succubus?
The revelation hit me like a hammer blow. It all made sense now—the prince’s stagnation in his magic, his inability to progress. How could he evolve if, each time he accumulated even a shred of life energy, it was siphoned away by a succubus feeding on him?
Shocked and struggling to steady myself, I blinked through the haze of nausea, trying to make sense of everything. Dame Elanea was closing in on me, her stance aggressive and her hand already moving to her sword. Of course, she was concerned for the prince—he was slumped over, seemingly unconscious in his chair—but her reaction was far more intense than I had anticipated.
I turned quickly to check the prince. He wasn’t moving, his breathing shallow, but he didn’t look dead. As I swung back to face Dame Elanea, I raised my hands in what I hoped was a calming gesture.
“The prince...” I began, my voice trembling. “The prince is fine, but this... this... it’s a devil!”
I barely had time to get the words out before Dame Elanea’s blade flashed.
It was too fast. Far too fast.
The sword pierced my chest with terrifying precision, and the world seemed to tilt. My eyes went wide, disbelief and pain flooding my senses all at once. A searing agony split my chest in two as the blade drove deeper, and I instinctively tried to gasp, to scream—but only a wet, choking sound escaped me.
I staggered back, chest heaving as blood dripped onto the marble floor. My vision wavered, but I forced myself to stay upright.
Blood bubbled up, hot and metallic in my mouth, as Dame Elanea twisted the sword. Fresh waves of agony radiated through me, and my legs gave way, unable to support me anymore.
I crumpled to my knees, gasping and spluttering as crimson droplets splattered the floor beneath me. My mind was reeling, desperately clawing for answers. Why? Why had she attacked me?
Everything blurred, the pain too overwhelming to focus on anything but survival. My thoughts spiraled in chaos as the room began to darken.
Dame Elanea’s sword gleamed menacingly under the searing light she’d cast, and her eyes burned with frustration.
“I knew you’d be a problem!” she growled. “Why couldn’t that fool Gamesh have chosen some simple village girl? Now I have this to deal with.”
With a sharp cry, I dissolved into shadow, desperately trying to slip into the cracks between the light. But no sooner had I vanished than the radiant pulse of her domain forced me back into solid form.
Damn it!
I skidded to the far side of the room, the pain in my chest burning hotter with every breath. With a flick of my hand, I cast
I could feel the magic pressing down on me like the weight of the sun itself. The edges of my skin prickled, and I could almost hear my flesh sizzle.
I was trapped.
Desperation clawed at me as I tripped and fell and her sword pinned me to the floor, searing through my midsection with unrelenting, burning agony. Blood pooled beneath me, and every inch of my body screamed in pain. My attempts to shadowmeld flickered uselessly, her domain snuffing out any semblance of magic I tried to summon.
Elanea loomed over me, her expression one of cruel curiosity as her iron grip clamped around my neck like a vice. I clawed at her hand, my strength waning with every second.
“You really are an interesting little creature,” she mused, tilting her head as though I were a specimen pinned to a board. “Perhaps I should bring you back to my lord. I’m sure he’d enjoy studying you thoroughly.”
Her words sent a wave of terror coursing through me, sharper even than the sword burning in my gut. I thrashed weakly as she materialized a cage on the glowing floor beside me.
The sight of the narrow bars, shimmering with suppressive magic, made my heart race. My breaths came in ragged gasps as panic overtook me.
“No,” I croaked, blood dribbling from my lips. “You… won’t… put me in there!”
Elanea’s smirk widened as she tightened her grip on my neck.
“Oh, you don’t have much of a choice, little shadow,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension.
The heat from her domain scorched my skin as she began dragging me toward the cage. I kicked and clawed at the floor, my fingers slipping on the blood, piss and sweat smeared beneath me.
Every instinct screamed to fight, to do something—anything—to avoid being shoved into that cursed cage. If I was trapped in there, I knew it would be the end.
Somewhere deep inside, a spark of rage ignited, faint but unyielding. I had to find a way out. I had to.
I could still choose another ending.
Closing my eyes, I whispered my name under my breath.
Her grip tightened around my neck instantly.
“No, you don’t,” she hissed.
I felt the strain in her hold – a tug, a struggle – as if something was pulling me away from her. She was fighting to keep me. Could she do it?
Panic gnawed at the edges of my thoughts. I dreaded opening my eyes, afraid I’d still find myself pinned to the cold floor.
But then – that faint, acrid trace of sulfur hit my nose.
I opened my eyes.
The castle room was gone.
In its place stretched the now familiar blackened expanse – jagged and wild, a chaotic maze of twisted ridges and razor-sharp edges, like a sea frozen mid-turmoil. The ground cracked beneath my feet with every subtle shift.
Her hands were still around my neck – but now they trembled.
I twisted easily in her grip, breaking free, and met her gaze. Her eyes were wide, brimming with something I hadn’t seen in them before – fear.
Her stare darted wildly around the blackened landscape.
“What... what is this?” she stammered, stumbling back as if the ground itself threatened to swallow her whole.
I gasped for air, trembling as the heavy weight around my neck was gone. The phantom touch of her grip still lingered.
His voice echoed faintly in my mind.
“I accept your offer. Your debt has been redeemed.”
I hadn’t offered anything, had I?
Raising my head slowly, I saw Deimos illuminating the sky with its shimmering aurora borealis, vast and imposing against the darkness. I thought I saw a face on it.
A scream had pierced the void, but by the time I lowered my gaze, she was gone.
Reality snapped back and I was back in the prince’s chamber, struggling on all fours, palms slick with my own blood as I tried to steady myself. Pain radiated down my spine – a deep gash carved through my back, the exact place her sword had been.
A hideous cage lay abandoned beside me, as if mocking the near miss. The suffocating weight of her domain was already dissipating, the light dimming.
And there, sprawled not far from me, was her body.
Or what was left of it.
A desiccated husk – shriveled, brittle – as though centuries had passed over her in the span of a breath. Her armor barely clung to the withered remains, ashen flesh crumbling away.
I watched, horrified, as the body began to fracture, disintegrating like charred paper. Bits of her flaked away, turning to fine ash, until there was nothing left but a pile of armor and the faintest outline of her presence burned into the stone floor.
I stayed there, frozen, as the last echoes of her existence scattered to the wind.