Kinky Temptation

Lyssandra’s gaze intensified while she read the next fragment, the handwriting slightly shakier here:

-

Date 1.

I stand once more before the entrance to the Vale of Silence. The air here carries a strange weight, a stillness so profound I think this is hell. It’s been years, but the pull is stronger than ever. This place holds secrets I must uncover.

But not alone this time. Rita is with me. My dearest friend, my companion since we were children. Her brilliance with trap is unparalleled, her courage infectious.

And the stalwart Izaak and Addie guard our flanks. Good men, seasoned adventurers I’ve friended with before. Although two of them see only potential plunder, but Rita… she shares my curiosity, my hunger for understanding.

We’ve set camp just inside the main cavern. Izaak grumbles about the stale air, but Addie, ever pragmatic, checks the walls for structural weakness. Rita’s already sketching a rough map. Tomorrow, we press deeper. I can feel it, the dungeon awaits.

-

Lyssandra flipped the fragile page carefully. The next entry:

-

Day 2:

Made significant progress today. Found a series of collapsed tunnels leading downward. Izaak’s strength proved invaluable clearing the rubble.

Rita rigged some ingenious pressure plate traps. We encountered a swarm of pale, sightless insects unlike anything in the bestiaries. Addie managed to contain them with fire oil. But later he complained of a headache, probably got stung by some of them.

The atmosphere down here is oppressive. Faint, sweetish odor clings to everything. Rita noticed strange, glowing green spores on a cavern wall. Took a sample, though Izaak called her a fool. We rest now.

Addie seems restless.

-

Miriel gasped softly when the next page was revealed.

-

Day 4:

It’s getting harder. The deeper we go, the more this dungeon seems to resist us. Not actively, but through insidious means.

The oppressive sweetness is constant now. Rita mentioned Izaak being uncharacteristically short with her yesterday. Today, he grabbed her wrist roughly when she questioned a path decision. His eyes looked glassy and when I intervened, he muttered an apology, blaming the stale air.

Rita seemed shaken.

Later, she confessed something privately… whispered Izaak had been pressuring her, making very inappropriate advances since our second day. She begged me not to confront him, saying it would fracture the team when we needed unity most.

I wanted to break him then and there, but Rita… she always thinks of others first. Damn him. We press on tomorrow. For Rita’s sake. For the truth.

-

The handwriting on the next page was visibly distressed:

-

Day 5:

A nightmare!

Addie gone mad. He woke us last night ranting about ’whispers’ in his skull. Tried to stab Izaak with his sword.

Izaak, thankfully, subdued him. We had to restrain Addie. His eyes were wild, pupils dilated, foaming at the mouth. Keeps babbling something about ’the seeds’ taking root.

Izaak insists he can manage him, but Rita is terrified. We left Addie bound and guarded, pushed further today despite everything. We found what looks like a main chamber. Giant pillars carved with unidentified script. Rita is enthralled. Izaak seems distracted… watching her too closely.

This place is dangerous.

-

The final entry was smeared in places, the ink blurred, perhaps by tears or sweat:

-

Day 7:

Disaster.

Izaak is dead.

Addie escaped his bonds during the night. We heard fighting. When we found them…

Izaak had Addie’s dagger in his neck. But not before… Addie… Izaak killed him as he attacked, but… the damage was done.

Rita…

Rita…

My Rita... she broke down. It was all too much. The constant fear, the madness, the violence. And the…

violation… she confessed to me, sobbing. Izaak had… forced her, several nights ago. She kept quiet, for the mission, for us.

It destroyed her.

I tried to comfort, to tell her we would survive, find the surface but the words sounded hollow in my own ears.

The oppressive sweetness is so thick it tastes like copper.

We camped one last time near those cursed pillars. Rita barely spoke all day. She refused to eat and said the dungeon had won, that it had claimed its preys, that we were the next victims.

I fell into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of those whispering walls and the green glow…

…When I woke, Rita was gone. I found her hanging from one of the pillars. Her face…

So peaceful.

So… defeated.

No note, nothing. Only a small vial of poison from her trap kit, empty.

She took the escape she saw. I sit here, writing this, my last light flickering. The dungeon has its secrets. I will find them. For Rita. Before I join her. But the air… the air tastes like death. And something else. The dungeon is… feeding.

The Journal of Rael, Diver of Dungeons.

-

The last few lines faded away into unreadable smudges. The journal ended there. Lyssandra gently closed the fragile book, thoughtful frown on her face beneath the mask. ”A Diver of Dungeons,” she murmured. ”Poor bastard.”

Miriel’s eyes were wide with horror. ”He was… his team… they were all destroyed from within,” she whispered. ”By paranoia, lust, and despair.” She shuddered, pulling her thin suit tighter around herself.

Lyssandra tucked the ancient journal securely into her System inventory. The worn leather seemed to vanish, absorbed into the invisible storage space. She turned away from the crumbling plinth.

”Come on,” she commanded, her voice echoing slightly in the close space. ”We have to go deeper.”

Miriel hesitated only a moment, the chilling tale of Rael and his doomed expedition fresh in her mind before hurrying after. The surrounding grew oppressive now, that faint, sickly sweetness lingering, making her skin crawl.

They pushed on. The passageways narrowed further, forcing them to sidle sideways at points, Lyssandra leading confidently, Miriel struggling not to snag her new outfit on the jagged rocks. Dust clogged their throats, and the silence weighed heavily.

After squeezing through yet another impossibly tight crevice, crawling on her hands and knees in places, Miriel could stand it no longer. The claustrophobic tunnels and the lingering horror of the journal were wearing on her nerves.

”Wait!” she called out, voice echoing harshly in the confined space.

Lyssandra paused but didn’t turn around, her shoulders blocking the narrow corridor ahead.

”What is your objective?” Miriel demanded, scrambling closer until she was almost pressed against Lyssandra’s back. ”You can’t possibly be just stumbling blindly right!” Her voice held a desperate edge, betraying her growing fear. ”What are we even doing here?!”

Lyssandra remained utterly still for a long moment, the only sound Miriel’s own ragged breathing. Finally, she turned her head slightly, just enough to glance over her shoulder, though the mask obscured expression behind it. Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet, devoid of its usual mocking tone.

”Blindly?” she repeated. A low chuckle escaped her. ”Of course I was blind, little mouse. As blind as a bat in a cave.”

”Then why…” Miriel started, but her voice faltered. ”Why risk it?”

Lyssandra cut her off with sudden, startling force. ”Because I have to,” she snapped, whipping fully around to face Miriel, her proximity in the cramped tunnel suddenly overwhelming. Her blue eyes blazed through the eyeholes of the mask. ”I have to understand. This dungeon, your Church, that creature I saw… me. I’m new to all this, Saintess. I’m learning. I have no grand plan, no ancient wisdom. I’m stumbling around, just like you!”

She jabbed a finger towards Miriel’s chest. ”I thought this ruin might hold answers or knowledge. Something useful to make sense of this absurd power I wield. A dead dungeon’s corpse might reveal what kills it. So I don’t end up like this place.” Her gaze swept the narrow tunnel pointedly.

Miriel stared, stunned. It was perhaps the most honest, vulnerable statement she’d ever heard from this woman. The admission that the powerful, terrifying dungeon owner was operating without a clear purpose, driven by curiosity and a desperate need to understand, shook her.

”So,” Lyssandra finished, her voice dropping to a low growl, ”If you want to follow me, then follow. And keep quiet. If you can’t handle that, turn back now. I don’t have time for your saintly hand-wringing. Now choose.”

With that, she spun back around and continued forcing her way down the passage, leaving Miriel blinking in the dusty air. The Saintess stared after the retreating figure. Shiver running down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Swallowing hard against a wave of nausea and fear, Miriel took a deep breath, steeling herself.

’I came this far…’ she thought. ’Caelus guide me.’ Then hurried to catch up with the enigmatic woman leading her deeper into the heart of the dead place.