The oppressive mist that had filled the dungeon started to thin and dissipate as the army ascended. The temperature began to rise while the humidity that had clung to their skin began to lift. What was once a wet chill became a boiling heat. The murky gloom gradually brightened with each beat of the bats’ wings.

Emerging, they were met with a breathtaking sight. The starlike crystals above refracted the golden light throughout the underground with brilliance rivaling the sun. Darkness was replaced by luminescence.

The light from the crystals created a spectacle of colors that reflected off the succubi’s wings and colored their faces in a spectrum of childlike emotions.

The group hovered for a moment as they took in the tranquil scenery. It was dreadfully beautiful in comparison to the harrowing depths they had just escaped.

Remnants of ancient structures told of a long-forgotten civilization. The ground was a miscellany of wind-worn rocky outcrops and crumbing patches of arid soil with sparse vegetation here and there. It was quiet desolation. The wind carried a scent of dust and decay where one could smell one’s body odor and taste the copper of swiping sand. The heat seemed to sap the very life out of the scorched land.

Streams of crystalline water meandered through the landscape. These waterways provided a hardy lifeline despite the barrenness.

It’s so fucking hot.

I smile as I lean back on my darling. He’s only adding to the scorching hot. I’m being burnt alive.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Well, yeah, sorry. I lost myself for a moment there. Don’t mind it. You can just keep asking if you have any questions, and I know you have them.’

‘Alright… Mister, how is there so much light when we’re underground?’ Lucy asks Hel. Great question, daughter. I’m also curious. We’re so lucky to have Hel, who’s as smart as he’s dumb, honestly.

This was one of the things I was hoping for when berating Lucy. Now that she’s made friends with that bastard, I can glimpse their fruitful conversations. It’s a rather touching notion, don’t you think? The weak feel sympathetic toward the other weak and blame the world for their misfortunes. How weak. In truth, the only thing they can do is fucking listen. Their talk is all too empty. They preach kindness mistaken for humanity even though they have no idea what humanity truly is. It’s like showing up at a Sunday sermon preaching for atheism.

‘We’re currently in the B sector. A-labeled sectors are usually the tunnel entries to the labyrinth, so we’re just below the surface. Well, below us are C sectors, making it a labyrinth of the third level.'

Humanity is not about moral righteousness and upholding ethical standards. People generally see the values such as honesty, altruism, and compassion as cornerstones of what it means to be human. That perspective is too limiting and shallow-minded.

‘Even underground, we can still perceive the passage of day and night with the help of a special tree species.’

Human actions are more frequently driven by curiosity—self-interest and greed. The belief in moral righteousness often serves as a facade where the weak justify their actions through moral reasoning while ignoring or straight up downplaying the selfish motives that they themselves oftentimes are unaware of.

‘Chromols are crystallic plants that can photosynthesize. Their leaves act as a biochemical reservoir that collects non-atmospheric elementals. During the day, crystal degradation provides a subsidiary element for photosynthetic assimilation, especially under flooded conditions.’

Philanthropy is motivated by a desire for social recognition. Political decisions are influenced by personal ambition, whereas companies engage in socially responsible activities to enhance brand reputation. Not only.

‘Well, at first glance, its upper form resembles any tree with sprawling branches clothed in a lush canopy of deep green leaves. But the true marvel begins where the ground meets its roots.’

It’s all about benefits—increasing profits, avoiding regulatory penalties, tax benefits, or establishing a positive public image. No matter the era, country, or even the world, the strong always control the weak. Sometimes, they use swords predominantly, and other times, they opt for words. Oftentimes, both, but with the right balance. It’s too easy to gain the adoration and admiration of the weak—appeal to their ideologies and beliefs—

Is what the strong think. This is also complete and utter bullshit. Similar to how you control the weak by appealing to their beliefs, you control the strong by appealing to their set of longings, too. Whether it’s money, prestige, lofty goals, or health, they are all driven by something. They are no different from the weak. In actuality, all people are weak-minded and weak-spirited. You simply cannot distinguish the weak from the strong. They all have to rely on something to add meaning to their existence.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Except me, of course.

You’re the protagonist, after all. Or are you?

‘Instead of normal roots that you’d imagine a tree to have, Chromol’s roots are transparent crystals of various colors. At night, their looks are reminiscent of winter icicles, gleaming yet colorless.’

‘So the crystals above are the roots?’

‘Precisely. This is the mesmerizing beauty of nature. The Chromols’ crystal roots catch the first hints of light and refract it throughout the sector each morning. It nourishes the hearts of the keepers who dwell underground. That’s right, instead of leaves, chromol produces oxygen via its crystallic roots.’

If there was a story that summarized your life, what would it be like? What would the title be?

Monika’s Guide to Self-destruction? S-tier Masochist Reborn? The Tale of the Magical Girl Tyrant? Brand New Capitalism? Reintroducing Democracy? Cringe. Ha, since there’s presumably no internet, democracy wouldn’t work as well as it did. It can, but it’ll be tough. No excessive diversity or moderate conformity and thus no inclusion. Authoritarianism it is. They’re siblings anyway. But no. Shit lost me a war. I’ve lost the number of times I’ve been backstabbed during the war. By my pawns, no less. Fucking hell. They ganged up and tore me apart. Don’t even get me started.

Reincarnated to be Shit on? Kick-ass Worming Bitches? Legalizing Prostitution? Although with little twists here and there… Hmm…

Corporate Demoness? Sounds about right. Not too lame. Not sham, not shabby. What would the genre be? A tragedy? A comedy? Why not both?

Who cares. It wouldn’t sell anyway. I, for one, wouldn’t bother to read it. Too long. Batshit crazy. Consistently inconsistent. Fuck my life. Fuck you, Monika.

‘But what are the sectors?’

‘That’s a good question.'

Noct takes the lead as he navigates the scorched wasteland. I turn my head and marvel at the sculpture. He scans the horizon we’ll follow. Just where the fuck is this handsome bastard carrying his bride? Wait, the fact that he said a mistress. I know it’s only a playword, but… what if he has a wife? That’s no problem. I just have to kill her. I can be his everything and more. Shit. Don’t lose your mind, Monika. Focus. The wet air makes me wetter.

Wet? Strange. I’m accustomed to desert weather from the first war. Hmm? How to put it? The air is strange. Not desertish.

The atmosphere begins to shift dramatically.

Tat….Tat…Tat

A rain? I look above. The rain is not born from clouds in the cavern but is instead the product of water from the surface seeping through layers of earth and finally emerging in this sector in a strange and beautiful manner.

‘Is this the rain? It tingles. How captivating…’

‘It indeed is. The air is filled with both the elements of Water and Earth. Lots of runes of the said type form regularly on the ground. But there is a reason sector B6 is called a deserted wasteland.’

TatTatTatTatTat

Rainwater trickles down through cracks, crevices, and porous rock formations. The downpour navigates its labyrinthine path and soaks the area. The drops fall with a weight and volume that sets them apart from typical surface rain.

BPTUP.BPTUP.BPTUP.BPTUP

They splash with a chock-full resonance as they strike the ground, some even creating tiny craters in the dust and sand. The water then leaps upward only to fall again in smaller droplets, spreading outward in ripples.

‘A deserted wasteland? Is this because the rain hits too hard?’

‘No…’

‘Right, it’s still quite strange that there’s almost no greenery.’

No shit, Sherlock. I smile. Is this what I think it is? How lucky.

The tranquility shatters.

I’m not so sure about either tragedy or comedy, but perhaps one thing for sure is that there’s no romance in this story. God be damned.

The ground tremors.

The earth splits open. From the depths emerge colossal worms as they writhe and coil while breaking through the sand dunes.

Yahahah! Good~ Good.

The opportunity of defeating an enemy is provided by the enemy themselves.

They thrust with a disorderly, topsy-turvy chaos in search of the source of the precious water. The worms' maws gape to consume the life-giving droplets in a single gulp.

The ground continues to shake as more worms slither out. Hundreds… Thousands.

‘Sectors differ not only in weather or nature but also their inhabitants. This area is predominantly inhabited by—’

Shut the fuck up. Don’t state the obvious.

I have seen enough.

How do you do this? Hmm. I turn to Noct to see him look at the worms below. Great. I mean bad. How dare you not look at me?

I’m truly saddened. Very. Ahh, I can’t. I don’t love you anymore! You nasty cheater!

While Noct is distracted, I jump off the bat.

I pull the greatsword out of my inventory.

This is a revenge story!

“I’ll avenge myself!”

If you don’t die, that is.