The air inside the dungeon was cold and heavy, the scent of mildew and decay clinging to every breath. Emma and Maverick trudged through the dimly lit passageway, their footsteps echoing faintly. Shadows danced on the walls, cast by the faint luminescence of moss clinging to the ancient stones.

As they moved deeper, they passed through a chamber littered with bodies—remnants of those who had ventured into the dungeon and failed to survive its horrors. The lifeless forms lay in twisted poses, their faces frozen in expressions of terror or despair. Some still clutched weapons, their fingers locked in a final, futile grip.

Emma paused, her gaze lingering on the scene. A pang of sadness gripped her. "If only they hadn’t been dragged into this," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The thought of her mother, Vivian, surfaced unbidden. She pushed it away, unwilling to entertain the possibility of losing her as well.

Kneeling beside one of the corpses, Emma retrieved an empty bag that hung loosely from the figure's belt. She shook off the dust and stashed it for collecting the Bomb Stones she had been crafting.

As they pressed on, she kept an eye out for flat stones, pocketing them whenever she found a suitable piece. At each resting place they discovered, Maverick would silently wait while she worked. Emma carved the intricate alchemical patterns into the stones with careful precision, leaving the final "S" symbol incomplete to ensure they wouldn’t detonate inside the bag.

Maverick remained stoic, leaning against walls or scouting ahead while she worked. There was an unspoken rhythm to their partnership now—a tentative, uneasy trust forged in survival.

As they traveled deeper into the dungeon’s labyrinthine passages, Emma’s thoughts drifted. Questions churned in her mind.

How did Erilania, the goddess of fate, come to be sealed here?

Was it during the Deformation Period, when the otherworldly beings fought against them? Or was it something else—perhaps betrayal by one of the other gods? Even for a deity who fought in the cosmic war, sealing her shouldn’t have been easy.

The weight of the mystery gnawed at Emma as she scanned the dungeon for clues.

The passage ahead grew narrower, the walls pressing closer together. The rough-hewn stone bore strange carvings, faintly illuminated by the pale glow of the moss. Emma’s steps faltered as she recognized the symbols.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

They were similar to the ones she had encountered earlier.

Her heart quickened. If these carvings held answers about Erilania or the dungeon’s secrets, she had to risk it.

"Give me a moment," she said, stepping toward the wall.

Maverick halted, his expression unreadable. He said nothing, simply watching as Emma approached the ancient etchings.

The carvings depicted a chaotic scene: humanoid figures locked in battle with a monstrous beast. The creature resembled a cat, but grotesquely exaggerated—its gaping mouth filled with jagged teeth, and writhing tentacles sprouting where its tail should have been. A single word was inscribed above the beast, flowing out from its mouth like a grotesque proclamation.

Emma squinted at the strange script, its angular lines both alien and mesmerizing. She called over her shoulder, "Maverick, can you take a look at this? Do you recognize it?"

He hesitated for a moment, then approached. His eyes scanned the text, and he spoke in a low, measured tone. "It says… I’m hungry."

Emma’s stomach twisted. The words echoed in her mind. Her voice was barely audible. "I’m hungry?"

Her thoughts raced. The only being she had encountered that uttered those words was…

"No," she whispered, dread pooling in her chest. "Don’t tell me that thing is an otherworldly being the deities once fought."

Before she could process the revelation, the air grew heavier, oppressive. A primal sense of danger prickled her skin.

Maverick stiffened, his body coiled like a spring. His sharp gaze met hers, and for the first time, his expression shifted—his calm mask replaced by urgency.

"Run," he said.

Emma didn’t need to be told twice.

The oppressive atmosphere thickened as Emma sprinted down the corridor, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Behind her, a sound echoed through the darkness—a deep, guttural wail that rose into a sickening, childlike laugh.

"I’m hungry. I’m hungry."

The voice boomed through the dungeon, reverberating like a physical force.

Emma’s legs burned as she pushed herself to run faster, but Maverick was already several steps ahead, his movements fluid and precise.

They skidded to a halt at the end of the passageway. A massive gate loomed before them, its surface carved with intricate patterns and symbols.

Emma’s chest heaved as she stared at the gate. "No. Not now," she muttered, panic clawing at her.

The carvings on the gate caught her eye—a depiction of a warrior slicing his palm, a single drop of blood falling onto the door’s surface.

Her mind raced. Cutting. Warriors. Blood…

"That’s it!" she exclaimed, turning to Maverick. "Cut your palm and smear it on the gate!"

Maverick didn’t question her. Without hesitation, he unsheathed his dagger and dragged it across his palm. Blood welled up, and he pressed his hand to the cold stone of the gate.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the carvings began to glow, faint lines of light spreading like veins across the surface.

The gate groaned as it creaked open, revealing a dimly lit chamber beyond.

Emma barely had time to process their escape before a scream tore through the dungeon, louder and more frenzied than before.

"I’M HUNGRY!"