Kinky Temptation

Lyssandra’s tirade faltered mid-word as a clear, concerned voice cut sharply through the fog of anger in her mind.

’Master, what are you doing?! Stop it! This is not you!’ Luna’s voice rang out urgently.

Lyssandra froze, venom draining from her face as if a switch had been flipped. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head, trying to clear cobwebs. Strange dizziness washed over and the rage had consumed her moments ago suddenly feeling alien and wrong.

”Wha… What the hell is happening?” she muttered before clutching her temples, anger dissolving into bewildered shock. ”I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do that… to her…” She stared down at Miriel’s cowering form, her eyes widening with a dawning, horrified realization.

She took a shuddering breath, forcing her thoughts into focus. ”Something… something is affecting me. And probably her too,”.

’I have been noticing that,’ Luna’s voice echoed in Lyssandra’s mind. ’Ever since we walked into this place, you and the Saintess have been behaving very strangely. We must discover what it is and deal with it. You are not invincible when separated from your own dungeon. You can use my ability to buff your defenses against this influence. You are stronger when connected to me.’

Understanding sparked in Lyssandra’s eyes. ’Yes. Do it.’

Immediately, Luna initiated the [Symbiotic Merge]. A warm, tingling sensation flowed through Lyssandra’s core, originating from the slime bonded to her.

Her senses sharpened instantly. Suffocating oppression lifted, sickly-sweet scent became discernible but not overwhelming, her mind cleared. It felt like shedding a heavy, stifling cloak she hadn’t realized she was wearing. The unnatural fog of aggression evaporated.

She let out a shaky breath, her posture straightening. ”Thank you, Luna.”

Turning her attention back to the Saintess, Lyssandra crouched down beside the trembling girl. Miriel flinched violently when a shadow fell over her, curling tighter into a ball, sobs wracking her body. She didn’t look up, instead burying her face in her knees with a soft whimper. Fingers dug into forearms, leaving pale crescents in the skin.

Lyssandra reached out a cautious hand, hesitating a moment before gently resting it on Miriel’s trembling shoulder. She spoke softly, voice devoid of its earlier harshness, replaced by genuine concern. ”Saintess… Miriel? Can you hear me?”

The girl jerked under the touch, small, choking sound escaping her. But she remained unresponsive, her body shaking with residual fear.

”You have to wake up. Something is very wrong with this place. It’s affecting us… our minds.”

Miriel flinched at the touch, her shoulders hunching further.

”Please,” Lyssandra urged, her voice growing more insistent. ”I need you to look at me.” She reached out with both hands now, carefully cupping Miriel’s tear-streaked face. ”Come on, little mouse. Open those eyes for me.”

With surprising gentleness, Lyssandra lifted Miriel’s face until their gazes were mere inches apart. She leaned in, her face close enough that Miriel could feel the heat of her breath.

”Look at me,” Lyssandra commanded softly. ”It’s just me. The same pain-in-the-ass who carries you around. Remember? The one who makes you blush?” A hint of her usual teasing tone returned. ”The one who calls you ’little mouse’ and drives you crazy?”

She stroked a tear away from Miriel’s cheek with her thumb, the touch feather-light. ”That’s all me, alright? The words I said… that wasn’t me. That was… that was this place, whispering poison. Trying to tear us apart.”

Lyssandra’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ”It’s sneaky. Trying to make us weak. But you’re not. You’re stronger than that. Stronger than this trap.”

Her thumbs traced the curves of Miriel’s jawline, the gesture surprisingly intimate. ”Open your eyes, little mouse. Look at me and see the truth. See me. And then… maybe… slap me for being such an asshole? I think I deserve that.”

Lyssandra waited, her blue eyes holding Miriel’s gaze, projecting nothing but calm sincerity. Slowly, very slowly, the Saintess’s eyelashes fluttered.

Her clenched eyes, swollen and red opened. She blinked, focusing blearily on the face so close to hers. The fear was still there, deep inside, but there was also dawning confusion and recognition.

”…Lyss…andra?” she whispered hoarsely, voice raw from crying.

Relief washed over Lyssandra’s face. ”There you are,” she murmured. ”Welcome back. Sorry for the rude awakening.” Her thumbs continued their gentle stroking along Miriel’s cheeks.

A shudder ran through Miriel, but frantic trembling subsided slightly. She stared up at the woman, her breathing still shaky. The fog of terror was steadily lifting from her mind, replaced by exhaustion and lingering hurt.

Then, with a suddenness that caught Lyssandra by surprise, she threw her arms around Lyssandra’s neck and buried her face against the woman’s shoulder. Her voice came as a muffled whisper, still thick with emotion.

”Don’t… don’t leave me…”

Lyssandra sighed softly, one hand stroking gently down the silver hair cascading over her back. ’Even though she was my captive… maybe with this invisible force working against us, we won’t be quite like that anymore. If life gives you a lemon…’ She didn’t finish the thought. Instead, she murmured, ”It’s alright. I won’t leave you.”

She held the Saintess for a long moment, her touch surprisingly soothing, her presence solid and reassuring in the oppressive darkness. Slowly, Miriel’s trembling subsided.

”Come on,” Lyssandra said finally. ”Shall we go?”

Miriel nodded but not lifting her head yet. Her face was buried between Lyssandra’s generous breasts, muffling her response. Lyssandra felt warm breath and soft brush of hair against her skin.

Lyssandra helped Miriel to her feet. She reached into her System inventory and pulled out a small vial of glowing green liquid.

”Here,” she said, holding it out. ”For your hand.”

Miriel looked at the vial then shook her head. ”It’s… it’s okay,” she said. ”I can do this.”

She raised her bruised hand. Soft, greenish light emanated from it, bathing the injured area. Purple and blue discoloration began to fade, the swelling visibly reducing.

Once her hand was healed, Miriel raised both, murmuring softly. Wave of soft, white light pulsed outward, washing over both of them. Sense of profound cleansing followed and Lyssandra felt the last cobwebs of the dungeon’s mental assault dissipate completely.

Miriel lowered her hands, weary smile touching her lips. ”I should have done this sooner,” she admitted. ”I… wasn’t thinking clearly.”

”It’s alright,” Lyssandra replied. ”Who would have thought something could screw with our minds like that?”

She pointed ahead, eyes narrowing at the structure before them. ”Anyway, shall we?”

Ahead, blocking the tunnel, stood an imposing pair of stone doors. They were easily ten meters tall and wide, carved from a single, seamless slab of obsidian-black stone. Intricate, swirling patterns were etched deep into the surface, seeming to absorb dim light rather than reflect it.

There was no visible handle or keyhole. Just an immense, ancient barrier radiating palpable sense of foreboding power.

”Looks like we found the boss room,” Lyssandra observed dryly. ”Hope whatever’s inside likes visitors.”

Lyssandra approached the imposing doors. She placed her hands against the cold stone, her enhanced strength flaring to life. Muscles bunched as she pushed, a grunt escaping her lips.

Ancient mechanisms resisted, protesting with deep groans and grinding sounds that echoed ominously through the chamber.

Stone scraped against stone with a shriek which set Miriel’s teeth on edge. But slowly, inexorably, the giant slabs began to move, pivoting inward on unseen hinges, revealing vast chamber beyond.

As the doors swung open with a final, thunderous boom, a wave of stale, ancient air washed over them, even colder and more oppressive than the tunnels before.

The space was immense, cavernous hall carved from the same material as the doors. Columns, thick as ancient trees, stretched towards a high, vaulted ceiling lost in shadow.

In the center, bathed in a single shaft of dim light filtering from a collapsed section of ceiling high above, stood a simple stone pedestal. It was unadorned, covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs.

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