Red mana coalesced around Riven, swirling in dense, pulsing waves as he drew on his inner power. A demon’s mana was unlike that of any lesser creature—it was thicker, stronger, charged with a potency that dwarfed the weak essence of the creatures that populated his dungeon. While humans and goblins and even skeletons had their own faint traces of mana, a demon’s mana was something else entirely. It was more than just magic; it was a force of dominion, meant to bend others to his will.
And if these miserable goblins thought they could challenge him, they were about to learn exactly what that meant.
Riven watched as his aura began to ripple outward, dark red energy radiating from his body in waves that bent the very air around him. The goblins closest to him felt it first—a few immediately collapsed to their knees, clutching their heads as if the sheer pressure of his mana was pushing them down.
They were only creatures of mana themselves, after all—mere manifestations, conjured by the dungeon to act as minions. They weren’t real in the same way he was; they were disposable, replaceable. And if he needed to incinerate a few of them to remind the rest of their place? So be it. He could always summon more.
A cold smirk twisted onto his face as he stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the goblin leader who had dared to insult him. The defiance in the creature’s eyes had dimmed, replaced by a flicker of fear as Riven approached, his dark silhouette illuminated by the crackling firelight. The leader squealed, his bravado shriveling as Riven’s shadow fell over him.
“Kneel,” Riven said, his voice flat and commanding.
The goblin leader’s knees buckled instantly, and he dropped to the ground, bowing low before Riven, his bony hands trembling as they pressed against the dirt. Riven felt a surge of satisfaction. This, he thought, is how it should be.
He bent down slightly, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. “Now… listen very carefully—”
But before he could finish, something hit him from behind—hard. Riven stumbled forward, the force of the blow catching him completely off guard. For a split second, his mind scrambled to make sense of it.
‘Did one of them actually just… push me?’
He barely had time to process the insult before he felt his foot catch on something—another goblin’s foot, strategically placed to trip him. His eyes widened.
‘They planned this?!’
In the next instant, he was sent tumbling forward, the goblins scattering as he fell headlong into the firepit. Flames roared up around him, the heat searing through his robes and clawing at his skin in a blinding wave of pain.
“OH GOD, THAT BURNS!” Riven shrieked, his voice echoing through the chamber as he flailed in the fire, desperately trying to scramble out.
The goblins burst into chaotic laughter, their cackling filling the room as Riven rolled out of the flames and onto the ground, thrashing wildly to put out the fire.
He slapped at his smoldering robes, his hands moving frantically as he rolled on the cold stone floor, wincing every time he hit a patch of burned skin. The goblins watched him with undisguised glee, snickering and pointing, their eyes alight with a sick, mocking satisfaction.
As Riven flailed on the ground, trying desperately to smother the flames licking at his robes, he felt something small and sharp latch onto his arm. He twisted to shake it off, but before he knew it, another goblin had pounced on his back, grabbing his shoulder and pressing him down. He tried to summon his mana, to channel that dense, powerful energy that set him apart from these miserable creatures, but every time he started to focus, another goblin stomped on him, jolting his concentration.
“Get off me, you filthy—!” he snarled, his voice muffled by the floor as more goblins piled onto him.
They were relentless. Every time he tried to pull his mana to the surface, another goblin’s grimy foot would slam into his side, knocking the breath from his lungs. He tried to focus on which ones were kicking him, tried to keep track so he could remember each and every one of their faces for later… punishment. But each face that leered down at him looked exactly the same: beady-eyed, sneering, twisted with glee.
‘God! They all look the same!’ Riven thought, seething as yet another goblin jabbed him in the ribs with a bony knee.
‘How am I supposed to punish them individually if they’re all so—'
He was interrupted by a particularly vicious stomp to his back that forced him to gasp.
Just when he thought they might lose interest, he felt his arms being yanked roughly behind him, his wrists pulled together with a sharp, unyielding pressure. He twisted his head, catching a glimpse of coarse rope wound around his wrists—rope that looked suspiciously like the kind his skeleton guards carried for securing broken bones and weapons.
“Are the skeletons in on this!?” he shouted, writhing against his bindings. But the skeletons, as always, were nowhere to be seen—likely still patrolling the hallways in their usual, mindless obedience.
‘At least they know their place’, he thought bitterly, straining against the ropes.
The goblins finished tying his wrists and ankles, then stood back, surveying their work with pleased expressions. Riven snarled at them, his face flushed with rage and humiliation as he lay bound on the cold stone floor.
“You miserable little pests!” he spat. “Do you know who I am? When I get out of this, I’m going to—”
The goblins ignored him, forming a loose circle around him. Riven craned his neck to see that the crowd consisted entirely of low-level goblins, ranging from level 1 to level 2—nothing special, but in numbers, they were proving annoyingly effective. His mana was useless if he couldn’t focus, and with his arms and legs trussed up like this, summoning any real strength was nearly impossible.
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From within the circle, the goblin leader—the one who’d been rallying them around the fire, the one who had first dared to insult him—stepped forward, grinning with that same twisted expression of defiance.
“YOU! I’M GOING TO—”
Before he could finish his threat, the goblin leader bent down and slapped him across the face. Hard. The crack of it echoed through the chamber, and Riven’s head snapped to the side, the sting blooming across his cheek in a hot wave of pain.
“Ouch!” he yelped, shock momentarily overshadowing his anger.
He could hardly believe it. A goblin—a goblin—had just slapped him. He, the dungeon master, the apprentice of Sorvax the Terrible, had been struck by one of his own creations. He turned back to glare at the leader, his eyes blazing.
“You—how dare you—!”
But the goblin leader just sneered down at him, unimpressed, and then… walked away.
One by one, the other goblins turned and followed, each casting him a last, mocking look as they slunk back into the shadows, leaving him bound and helpless in the middle of the chamber. Riven’s mouth dropped open as he realized what was happening. They were leaving. They were leaving him there—trussed up on the ground like some helpless prisoner, utterly humiliated.
“Wait! You can’t just… You don’t just leave me here!” he shouted, his voice echoing pathetically off the stone walls as the last goblin vanished from sight.
Silence fell, broken only by the flickering crackle of the firepit beside him, its warmth a mocking reminder of his earlier indignity.
He wriggled against the ropes, but they were tight, biting into his wrists and ankles with a tenacity that seemed designed to hold even a demon in place. Every squirm just made them dig in further, until his skin felt raw. The humiliation burned deeper than any flame; he could practically feel Sorvax’s ghostly laughter echoing in his mind.
‘How did this happen?’ he thought, utterly baffled and furious. ‘I am the dungeon master! They should be bowing to me, not… staging some goblin coup!’
He struggled for several more minutes, gritting his teeth and yanking against the ropes with every ounce of strength he could muster, but it was no use. He was stuck. And worse, he was alone.
“Oh, you miserable little cretins,” he growled, his voice a low, furious hiss. “When I get out of this, I am going to make each and every one of you regret the day you dared to cross me.”
But there was no one around to hear him.
It was like that for a while—bound on the cold stone floor, abandoned by his own creations, Riven’s fury simmering under the surface as minutes stretched into what felt like hours. Every now and then, he’d struggle against the ropes, twisting and yanking, but it was no use. The bindings held firm, digging into his wrists and ankles until his skin was raw and sore.
He gritted his teeth, glaring up at the ceiling. ‘Oh, when I get out of this…’ he thought bitterly.
His imagination wandered through all the horrible punishments he’d inflict on those treacherous goblins. He’d turn them into dust, grind that dust into the floor, and then re-summon them just so he could do it all over again. He’d—
But his vengeful thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. He craned his neck to see two goblins shuffling into view, both of them looking rather displeased.
“Oh, what now?” he muttered under his breath, bracing himself.
Without a word, the goblins grabbed him like he was nothing more than a sack of potatoes, hoisting him up and dragging him across the floor. The rough stone scraped against his robes and his skin, and he winced at each jolt, the goblins’ bony hands digging into his arms as they dragged him unceremoniously through the dungeon. He could feel every bump and twist as they wound down various corridors, taking a path he knew all too well.
‘Uh-oh.’
The realization hit him with a sinking dread. He knew exactly where they were taking him.
‘Of course’, he thought, feeling a grim sort of resignation settle in. ‘How does a coup work if they can’t access the one room that controls the whole dungeon?’
If these goblins wanted any hope of taking over, they needed access to the Dungeon Management Room. But that door only opened for the dungeon master. Which meant, of course, that they needed him to open it.
“Listen,” he said, trying to twist around to look at them. “There’s absolutely no need for this, alright? I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement. A little rebellion, sure, who doesn’t have a bad day every now and then—”
One of the goblins gave him a swift, irritated kick in the ribs, and he yelped, the breath forced out of him. They didn’t even pause as they continued dragging him along.
As they neared the portal room, the faint blue glow grew stronger, casting eerie light on the stone walls. Riven’s heart sank as they rounded the final corner, and he saw what awaited him.
A large, glowing portal hummed in the center of the room, its shimmering surface casting strange, shifting shadows. And surrounding it was a crowd of goblins, each of them with a determined, almost grim look on their faces. They parted slightly as he was dragged in, making way as his captors hauled him forward and dumped him on the floor in front of the portal.
He groaned, wincing at the impact, and looked up to see that the entire mob was watching him with thinly veiled hostility.
He knew the rules of the dungeon. Monsters from lower floors weren’t permitted to enter his floor or the management chamber unless he—the dungeon master—granted them permission. It was a restriction put in place to protect the dungeon core and the valuable mana reserves it housed. Without his explicit consent, they couldn’t step foot into the portal… but here they were, all of them staring at him expectantly, as if daring him to open the way.
Riven swallowed, forcing a smile. ‘Alright, maybe I can still talk my way out of this.’
“Hey… guys!” he said, mustering his best diplomatic tone. “Let’s talk about this, shall we? There’s really no need for all this… drama. Just, uh, swear your allegiance to me again, and I’ll forget it all even happened!”
He let out a nervous chuckle, watching the goblins’ expressions for any sign of softening. “Well, okay, maybe I can’t forget exactly, but—wait! How about this: no consequences for those who pledge loyalty right now!”
The goblins glared at him, their expressions unimpressed.
“Alright, alright,” he stammered, feeling a bead of sweat slide down his temple. “How about… no death? For those who re-pledge? Just a little punishment, maybe a minor inconvenience…?”
The silence that followed was colder than the stone beneath him. He could see it in their grimaces—their disdain, their complete lack of belief in his “generous” offer.
‘I’m not being very convincing, am I…?’ he thought, feeling his confidence waver.
Before he could try another tactic, he felt himself being yanked to his feet, then unceremoniously thrown down onto his knees in front of the portal. The goblins formed a tight circle around him, and out of the crowd stepped the same leader from before, the one who had rallied the others around the fire. The leader stood before him with a look of cold determination, jabbing a finger at the portal as if it were the key to some long-awaited victory.
“GREH!” the goblin barked, gesturing insistently at the portal.
Riven raised an eyebrow.
‘Should I… pretend I don’t know what he’s asking?’ he wondered. Maybe if he played dumb, he could stall for time, think of a way out of this—
But the goblin leader seemed to read his hesitation, his eyes narrowing with clear suspicion. Without warning, the goblin slapped him hard across the face, the impact stinging more than the last one.
‘What is with this thing and slapping?!’ Riven seethed, his cheek burning from the blow.
He gritted his teeth, clenching his fists in the ropes. “Never!” he spat, his voice dripping with defiance. “I’ll never open the portal for you filthy little pests!”
The goblin leader let out a growl, his beady eyes narrowing. Then, with a quick nod, he gestured to two of the goblins in the crowd. They stepped forward, each grabbing one of Riven’s shoulders, forcing him to face the portal directly. He struggled against their grip, but the ropes held fast, leaving him at their mercy.