My vision—hungry, yet still annoyingly blurry as shit—followed the strange woman as she stood, albeit a bit shakily. Someone—a minion, follower, whatever—stepped forward, clutching a severed leg like they were hand-feeding a shark. Their hands shook, and sweat poured down their face as they presented it before me.

It was the kind of leg that had clearly been dead for a while—so, at least not from someone still breathing. Shame.

With the whole ambient mana thing on the fritz and my sight as foggy and blurry as a drunk bender inside a sauna, my sniffer—wait, I don't have a nose. Pores? Whatever! My sense of smell was still queen, especially when it came to the good stuff. And by good stuff, I mean the aroma wafting off that leg. Mhmmm!

I wouldn't openly admit it, the smell of decaying flesh was a delicacy I quite enjoyed. Ah, who am I kidding—of course I would. It's not quite as delightful as eating someone's intestines while they still kicked and thrashed beneath me, serenading me with their dying screams, but still tasty. Like a different seasoning—just with a little extra zest.

The altar I had found myself on upon awakening hinted at the kind of grim ceremonies that likely transpired in these dark places. And yet, the more I observed, the more I sensed that this Asherah was something… divine.

No shit! She just called 'us' little niece!

Rude.

"You are invited to meet with the queen," the woman stated, her gaze lingering on my gooey form as though weighing her options. "You may follow at your leisure," she continued after a slight pause, "or, should you prefer, I can transport you in this basin."

"Umm... why the hell should I meet her? I've got a hot vamp to find, not play tea party with some queen," I oozed out sarcastically from my goopy form. "Also, what's with all the formalities all of a sudden?"

I tried to rise, attempting to form a body, only to splatter back down in a mess of failure.

It's like a freaking mana drought up in here. How's a puddin' supposed to get around?

Tell me about it.

I just did.

"The queen has endured more than most could bear, having not only returned from death but also brought her children back after the purge," the woman said, her voice a low weave of empathy and sadness. "Empress Aurelia has become a formidable force against a common foe. By aiding the beastkin, you contribute to her cause indirectly. It would be... mutually beneficial," she added, her tone laced with persuasion that didn't sit quite right with me. Her sudden shift in demeanor? Completely out of character compared to a few moments ago.

Oh, so we're just going to pretend she never called us little niece, huh?

I'm still stuck on empress.

"Fine," I mumbled, my mass inching toward the basin with a reluctant slink. "This queen had better have something interesting to say."

"Um… Priestess, is this really a good idea?" The gnome from my dreams attempted—and utterly failed—to whisper.

"It'll be fine, Nikolantho."

"Just Nikola," he mumbled under his breath.

There was a pause as she shifted her focus back to me. "We've had a visitor arrive before you, claiming she's here to see you."

"Who?" I asked, the word slipping out sharper than intended.

"That can wait until after your meeting with the queen."

She's definitely keeping secrets.

What do you think about a surprise attack? We can take her!

No, we can't.

I'd say it's tempting, but not with the mana around here feeling like a diet version of itself.

My thoughts spiraled, every fractured shard of my soul chiming in with their brilliant—read: chaotic—opinions. I tuned them—myself—out, trying to focus on the louder majority.

I like crayons.

What? Markers are better!

Emphasis on trying... and failing.

Focus! We're talking about not attacking what could literally be a goddess!

True.

We could use some good old-fashioned training to get the hang of things again. And then we can take her!

Cue the epic '80s montage music!

Oh! A good old 'wax on, wax off' kind of deal, eh?

Exactly. Maybe Ms. Divine-and-Sneaky over here can point us to a better mentor than our last magical fiasco.

You're talking about Magic, right?

Duh! You know I was. I mean, we're the same person after all, how could you not.

Why can't we just ask her questions? She seems like a great sage type, right?

Oh sure, because great goddess sages are just dying to share all their wisdom with unstable eldritch abominations like us.

Fair point.

We should at least mess around with our new skills—figure out which ones to keep, which to deactivate, and which ones to activate.

Maybe later.

Slinking into the basin—let's call it what it is, a fucking bowl—was a new kind of low I refused to dignify. Nope! Not happening. My blurry sight spared me the full comic horror show, but I felt every agonizing second of it. Polymorph? A total failure. Mana Focus? Still blurry and completely useless. Thermal offered a faint glimmer of hope, but layering the two together in some desperate grab for competence? Oh, that was a spectacular dumpster fire.

Still, I kept at it with Polymorph. Turns out, being a slime with dreams of legs is hilariously tragic when all you've got is goo to work with. Without enough mana to pull off my usual shapeshifting tricks—seriously, why does mana have to be a requirement for something as basic as morphing?—I had no choice but to toss away all dignity, flopping around like a sentient bowl of Jell-O. Scratch that—more like a glop of tar. So, I belly crawled into that fucking bowl—

Basin.

Shut up!

—which, for the record, is just pushing and pulling yourself along with gooey tendrils, like some poor soul at their first Pilates class in hell.

Embarrassed? If I could blush, I'd be a disco of red. But hey, shame's never really been my thing. So, there's your silver lining.

Shame's not our thing?

Nope! Lost that after getting caught on tape giving and receiving oral from that nice couple.

You mean our former boss and his wife.

Pretty sure that wasn't his wife.

Whatever happened to that recording?

Internet.

Oh, right. Didn't we get a raise after that?

Nope! Had to find a new job after that.

The divine woman's presence washed over me like a soothing balm, her subtle aura of mana rippling through my senses, teasing at hidden enchantments. Still didn't do shit for my random thoughts. Yet, it was a faint current, pleasant and oddly grounding, sharpening my blurred vision just enough to make out details that had been shrouded moments before. It reminded me of Holy magic—the nice kind, not the searing, holier-than-thou variety that usually tried to set my flesh ablaze. Weird, I know.

As her form came into focus, I found her appearance strikingly angelic. She was unexpectedly beautiful, her skin a smooth shade of obsidian, her lips full and inviting. Strands of luminescent white hair cascaded around her, each lock a brilliant contrast to her dark complexion while perfectly complementing her radiant, glowing white eyes.

But something about her back tugged at my attention—a blur that didn't quite fit. It was as though she was concealing something beneath an illusion, and try as I might, I couldn't make out what it was.

Silence was my only companion as the woman—priestess, goddess, or whatever—ferried me through the maze-like catacombs, her magical aura casting just enough clarity over my otherwise fuzzy vision. The improvement was noticeable, but the world still felt like I was viewing it through someone else's glasses—better, sure, but not quite right.

As we moved deeper, I couldn't help but gawk at the variety of beastkin around us. It felt like stepping into a live-action scene from a Japanese anime. From the humanoids with cute, twitchy animal ears to the full-on anthropomorphic types that cater to more... niche tastes, the diversity was surprisingly educational. Not that I'm a card-carrying member of the furry fandom, but hey, under different circumstances, I might get the appeal. Might.

But this wasn't the time for such frivolous distractions. These beastkin weren't here for show—they bore the marks of suffering. A ragged band of survivors, worn thin by conflict and deprivation. Their gaunt frames, hollowed cheeks, and deadened eyes told stories of struggle and loss without uttering a single word.

And yet, there was something in their gaze—a glimmer of desperation paired with a dying ember of hope—that struck a discordant chord within me. Not one of pity or empathy, but the kind of resonance that brushes against the part of me that thrives on chaos and suffering. This bleak tableau? Right up my alley. A nightmarish landscape where I can't help but find a twisted kind of comfort.

You're a sadistic bitch.

And you're a total bottom.

'We' prefer the term switch.

Pfft, more like eighty-five percent top and ten percent power bottom.

What's the last five percent?

Brat?

Yeah, that about checks out.

"Everyone shut up!" I growled.

The holy lady raised an eyebrow at my outburst, but to her credit, she didn't say a word. Just that oh-so-judgmental arched brow—or at least, that's what it looked like through my screwed-up vision.

Being carted around like a sentient blob was a whole new level of low, even for me. Picture it: a clump of gunk with a couple of gloopy strands draped over the rim of a bowl and two glowing orange orbs peeking out. Yeah, real intimidating. Asherah, however, seemed unfazed by the defeated glances cast our way as we passed the downtrodden beastkin.

Soon, we entered a new chamber that housed three figures. First, a woman of elven grace, her beauty striking yet dulled by the melancholy in her eyes and the twitch of uncertainty in her black cat ears. Then there were the two little ones with her—catkin, probably toddlers or whatever age kids start being a nuisance (so, all of them). I wasn't exactly up to speed on child-rearing stages. Seven years old? Could be. Who cares. I've always hated kids.

The woman, though? Total MILF vibes. Not that it mattered; my affections were firmly reserved for a certain vampire. Still, credit where it's due.

"I hear whispers, Asherah. What have you brought before me?" the beastkin Queen inquired, her voice a hushed undertone, heavy with weariness.

"Hope," Asherah replied, her tone steady and calm.

"There is no hope, not when the gods have abandoned us?" the Queen pressed, her words laced with bitterness.

Oh! She really doesn't know.

"Not all of them," Asherah countered.

The Queen's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing. "Were it not for your kindness and magic, priestess, my dear ones and I would have remained dead. The gods have not shielded us; they have empowered our foes," she retorted, her tone as sharp as a blade.

"Not the true deities," Asherah said firmly. "The ascended are not gods, no matter what they may claim."

"Their power says otherwise."

"The Crone remains a beacon in our gloom, blessing us with a sign of hope upon an ancient remnant of a long-dead dungeon altar," Asherah countered, her words laced with a soothing balm for the Queen's scorched spirit.

What's she getting at?

"And what boon does this goddess bestow upon us now that all is lost?" the Queen asked, her voice drained of emotion, leaving only a hollow resignation that bordered on despair.

The catkin queen peered into the basin, her brows arching in surprise and skepticism as she took in the sight of me—a dark mass with two luminous orbs. Her gaze flicked back to Asherah's, a silent contemplation of whether I was an oddity or an outright offense.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"What exactly am I looking at?"

"It's called a Black Pudding."

"A slime? Priestess, I… Really?" The queen's voice carried a note of veiled frustration, wrapped in sardonic humor.

Asherah nodded earnestly. "Yes, it emerged on the altar, bathed in a sacred glow. A sign from the Crone, I'm sure of it. And—it speaks."

Didn't she power the altar for us to respawn here?

Ssh! She's clearly hiding her true nature from everyone down here.

Why?

I don't know, but zip it and let the soap opera drama play out. I'm getting into it.

The Queen leaned closer, her intrigue piqued despite her reservations. Her eyes locked with mine, and I felt the weight of her challenge in that silent gaze. This was my cue—say something profound to validate Asherah's claims, to cement my supposed… hope?

Instead, I let the silence stretch into an awkward pause, meeting her gaze without flinching.

Sometimes, saying nothing at all speaks volumes—oh, no, wait for it.

—Pfffft!—

Was that a fart?

Ssh!

"I trust your judgment, priestess, but please dispose of that... thing," the catkin queen said with a resigned sigh, turning her back on me.

Offended? Oh, absolutely. "Hey, that's uncalled for," I gurgled, my voice a wet, irritated growl. "It's not like I popped in here by choice, you know."

At the sound of my words, the queen froze, her ears perking up as she whirled back around. Her face was a masterpiece of astonishment—wide eyes, dropped jaw, the whole package. She edged closer with cautious steps, while Asherah's smug look of vindication practically radiated off her. Not that I could see it clearly, but hey, I've got an active imagination.

"Hello?" the queen ventured, her voice trembling on the tightrope between hope and doubt, as though she were trying to reach out to something beyond her comprehension.

I rolled my orange orbs upward at Asherah, exuding as much impatience as a blob could muster. "I'm done here. Just point me to the nearest exit. I've got a sexy vampire to catch up with, and let's just say the mana feng shui here is ruining my vibe. Plus, I'd rather not murder all of you while running on low mana—"

"—But I want to eat everyone."

"Zip it! The system skills aren't working properly right now with the low mana, so no eating people," I snapped at myself.

The catkin queen, clearly intrigued, leaned closer, her feline ears twitching. "Who is it you speak with?"

Glad she's more curious than concerned.

Yeah, I would have totally freaked out if I heard some unknown monster blob talking to itself about eating people.

"System?" Asherah echoed, her tone seemingly amused. "You're... a user as well?"

"Define user?"

Crap. Auntie didn't know. Busted.

Way to go, dumbass(es)!

That wasn't me, that was all you… or was it you?

Was not us… was it?

Wait, now I'm confused. Who—and what—screwed up here?

"No, no. Big misunderstanding," I blurted, hastily backpedaling. "Just forget I said that, okay? What system? What's a user?" My words tumbled out in a clumsy attempt at deflection, but let's face it—the cat was already out of the bag.

Wait... is that racist to say in front of a catkin?

How about... the slime was out of the bucket?

Yeah, let's go with that.

The cat lady's gaze flickered to Asherah, her narrowed eyes conveying volumes in a silent exchange before settling back on me. "This wouldn't happen to be the one that elf was harping on about, would it?" she asked, her brow arching skeptically.

"I believe so," Asherah replied with a calm confidence that, to me, screamed performance art. The clueless priestess routine? Oh, the kitty queen was lapping it up like cream.

"Who are we talking about now?" I grumbled, feeling the sting of being the last one in on the apparent conspiracy unfolding around me.

The catkin queen crouched tenderly beside her children, their wide eyes darting between the adults as if trying to unravel a mystery far beyond their years. Her hands gently stroked their heads, each motion imbued with a mother's care as she spoke. Her voice was soft, yet carried the weight of unspoken burdens.

"Children are a miracle we've never had in our kingdom until these harsh times—a rare miracle that defies understanding. And twins? They're practically a legend, a blessing amidst our plight." She sighed, the sound content but edged with sorrow.

"Lately," she continued, her tone shifting to something tinged with cautious hope, "the tides seem to be turning. Our beleaguered kingdom has seen a glimmer of renewal—a surge of new life. Nearly twenty births in the past two hundred years. And the numbers… they're growing. We're sheltering three expectant mothers within these walls."

There was a fragile hope in her words, a spark of optimism that dared to surface despite the weight of the past.

"I can't explain it," she added, a thoughtful edge creeping into her voice, "but it feels as though the threads of fate are being rewoven."

Umm… What's she going about?

The hell if 'we' know.

Didn't Death say something about baby making?

I don't think so, but it's not like we ever pay attention.

True.

"Well, I digress and leave you and the priestess to your matters," the queen sighed, the weight of her people evident on her shoulders. Or maybe it was something else—I don't know, I'm just guessing here with the stellar social skills of someone currently being carted around in a bowl.

Basin.

Fuck off!

Fake priestess goddess lady—that's what I was deciding to call her now—led me through more winding passageways, the air thick with decay and desperation.

"It's sort of Aurelia's doing, just so you know," Asherah said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"What is?" I shot back, immediately defensive. No one drags my sexy vamp into anything without a fight. Well, not without some snark.

"All of this," she replied, gesturing vaguely. "The new births, I mean. Her dabbling with summoning magic—it's what triggered the changes we've been seeing."

"How's the baby boom her doing? What does that have to do with Aurelia?" I asked, trying—and likely failing—not to sound as confused as I felt.

"It's not her doing per se," Asherah admitted, her tone laced with reluctant explanation, "but her summoning allowed traces of Life's essence to seep back into this realm. That essence... it shifts things—the cycles of reincarnation, all of it. Small ripples, but noticeable ones."

"So, you're saying my vamp accidentally aroused everyone into making babies?" I frowned—well, mentally frowned, seeing as I didn't exactly have a face. Still, my thoughts took a detour. The mental image of Aurelia? Yeah… that was quite arousing. Focus!

"Not intentionally," Asherah replied with a slight smile. "But yes, summoning her was the first crack in a dam. Life's essence seeped back in upon Aurelia's arrival—or should I say, Aislinn?"

"So, you know her true name, I see," I huffed. "Okay, so Aislinn brought some of Life's essence with her upon being summoned here and added more every time she messed with summoning?"

Asherah nodded, clearly anticipating the question. "Summoning magic has been running rampant for centuries. Magic—my aunt—uses it as a tool to scout worlds for her real goal: finding Life."

"Your mom, right?" I said, folding what approximated arms in my gooey form. "And you're just… casually mentioning this now?"

"Did you miss the part where I called you 'little niece' earlier?" Asherah teased, her smile almost mischievous. "Asherah, goddess of healing and light, at your service. Sister to your mother, Duskara."

"Uh-huh," I said, the obviousness of already knowing this dripping from my words. "And how exactly does this all relate to your mom being banished by the eldritch, and your aunt?"

"It's a long story," she said with a sigh, and before I could roll my eyes or interrupt, she pressed on. "The eldritch didn't banish Life herself. They couldn't. She's too powerful. Instead, they banished all but three of the gods and titans—your kind, by the way, before you got that new slimy body—and lured Life into following them into a mana-starved realm. Once she crossed over, desperate to save her children, the eldritch slammed the door shut behind her."

"Okay, I knew that part," I said, trying not to sound smug. "But you're telling me summoning magic connects our manaless prison world to this realm? And every time someone's summoned, Life's essence leaks back in?"

"Exactly! That's why the baby boom started—well, that and because this place is on the same moon as all the summoning to… what do you call that world again?"

"Earth."

"Right, Earth. And this last summoning? Magic herself finally locked onto your mana-starved world and began a convergence to pull it into this realm. Well, she would have, but there was already one in the early stages. Impatient as always, she's piggybacking off that one to bring Earth here. Sadly, I doubt the other planet will survive the process."

I mulled over that for a long while as we continued our little walk, just the two of us. The occasional moaning and sobbing of beastkin refugees hiding beneath the ruins of their city drifted through the air, but they didn't matter much—not to me, anyway. Nope! I was lost in thought, piecing everything together and pondering what else I could ask while I had someone actually willing to answer. Naturally, my thoughts landed on the system itself.

"If this system thing was designed to help titans fight eldritch, why do only some people gain access?"

Asherah shrugged. "You just answered your own question. It was designed for the souls of titans. However, it's an ancient, broken system in disrepair. It wasn't built for all the other types of souls that now inhabit this realm. Those who gain access do so more out of luck than compatibility or anything else."

"Okay, but then why didn't Aislinn get access when her soul was put into Aurelia's body? She has a titan soul, same as me and all the other Earth a-holes I got dragged here with."

"That's part of the disrepair," Asherah explained. "She should have been granted access immediately, but the system hasn't been functioning properly for some time. Not to mention, Magic has been meddling with it. It's the same for Nikolantho—he also has a titan soul but doesn't have system access either."

"Meddling how?" I pressed. "And wait—when and who summoned him?"

Asherah gave me a knowing look. "Aislinn isn't the only one dabbling in summoning. She's just the only one Magic decided to take notice of. As for Magic, as she pulls worlds into this realm, the system automatically seeds dungeon cores throughout them. And with all the new worlds being brought here to join Völuspá as one of its countless moons, it's far beyond what the system was ever meant to sustain. The disrepair? That's no accident. It was never designed for this scale," she explained, her tone measured but tinged with frustration.

"It's supposed to be a learning tool—to help users grow stronger, learn new skills, fight the eldritch, and so on. But here's the thing—I haven't seen an eldritch since the war, until you. So, honestly?" She paused, her expression growing distant. "I have no idea what Magic was thinking when she decided to mess with your soul and cram it into that... body."

"Something about destroying my soul to send my essence or whatever back to Earth—back to Life herself—so Magic could better track her down," I said with a dismissive shrug. "Outside of that? No clue. It was explained to me, but, honestly, this sort of stuff is way too confusing for me to wrap my head around. I probably should've gone with a simpler story plot."

"Huh, that shouldn't have worked," she mused, more to herself than to me. "A soul is supposed to be truly immortal and indestructible, while an eldritch is essentially the manifestation of mana in physical form. Originally, they were Magic's attempt at creating her own version of souls—skipping nature and evolution entirely. But by infusing an eldritch body with a titan soul… yeah, I suppose it could work. Still, that's such a blatant violation of everything Life stood for."

"Anyways!" I interrupted, steering her back to something I actually cared about. "So, why do the ascended wannabes want dungeon cores so badly?"

"To keep other random users that appear by chance from leveling," Asherah replied bluntly. "If other users gain power through the system, the ascended lose control. And control is all they care about. They've got it in their thick heads that reaching max level is somehow the same as true power. Oh, if they only knew what a fully trained titan—no levels, just pure knowledge of their skills—could do."

"Why don't you or the other true gods—or do you prefer being called old gods—stop them?" I asked.

"I prefer to just be called by my name," Asherah replied with a sigh. "As for your question, there's only three of us left, and we don't have as much power on the physical plane as you'd expect. In the ethereal realm? Sure, we could stop them easily. But the ascended can't reach that plane until they shed their mortal bodies. And since Death didn't see a purpose in mortality with the cycles of reincarnation broken, the most they can do is visit the dream realm in their sleep. There's not much we can do to them there—aside from terrorizing them, of course. And let's be real, what's a healing goddess like me going to do? Cure them to death? Ah, here we are."

We emerged into a dank, dimly lit chamber lined with cages, like a poorly assembled dungeon exuding an aroma most would find utterly repulsive. To me? It was a banquet hall of scents. The air was thick with the musk of unwashed bodies, the sickly sweetness of decay, and the tang of festering wounds. It was as if the chamber had soaked in the suffering of its inhabitants, letting their despair ferment into a scent that could almost be bottled. Almost.

Among the wretched inhabitants, a diverse palette of races: dwarves, humyns, and elves—a gallery of misery, each face etched with its own tragic tale.

And then, like a cherry on top of this despair sundae, there was a new kind of eye candy: a hulking reptilian bruiser who instantly reminded me of Red Tail. Except this one looked like a dinosaur had a drunken brawl with a shovel and lost. His physique, though? Total barbarian fantasy material. Shame about the wing—what was left drooped pitifully, radiating has-been energy. Naturally, he snarled at Asherah.

"Can I eat that one?" I piped up, tone brimming with eager anticipation, like a kid eyeing the last slice of cake. My form wobbled, dark and impatient—a puddle poised for a bite.

"Eat... him?"

"Eat me?" the dragon-like being rumbled simultaneously, alarm lacing his deep, resonant voice.

"Come on, don't act all grossed out now," I scoffed, my form wobbling indignantly. "You're the one who kicked this off with a severed rotten limb earlier."

"The same as ever, I see."

A woman's voice called from the rows of cages, cutting through my excitement like a dagger through flesh. I froze mid-wobble, straining to locate the source among the rows of metal confines. The dimness made it difficult, but the voice was unmistakably familiar, even through the echo of this dungeon pit.

Asherah, noticing my sudden focus, began weaving her way through the dismal rows until we halted before a particular cage. Inside sat an elven woman whose beauty stood in defiance of the filth and despair surrounding her. Her hair cascaded in a waterfall of gold, her piercing blue eyes cutting through the gloom, and her elegantly elongated ears practically mocking me with their perfection. She carried an air of untouchable elegance that only stoked the embers of my rage.

"Go to hell, Anlyth!" I seethed, mustering all the venom I could in my puddle form.

With a surge of will, I tried to summon Blight, envisioning a glorious miasma of decay unraveling her pristine presence. Reality, however, had other plans. The mana-starved air struck my effort down with a humiliating thud of failure.

You forgot about the low mana, didn't you?

...Yeah.

Tempted to look at those shiny new system skills now?

...Yeah. Maybe one of them doesn't require mana.

I didn't have time to sift through and activate something new, but I already had one skill marked as active—one I hadn't even tried yet.

Divine Stellar Core triggered, and it felt like opening a gateway to a newborn star. Mana surged in overwhelming waves, the sheer power rippling through my form.

I couldn't help myself. Letting out a maniacal laugh that would make even the most over-the-top villains proud, I cried out, "Unlimited POWAAAAHHHH!"

Anlyth's expression flickered—was that fear? She shimmered, wrapping herself in a cocoon of golden energy, her instincts clearly kicking in. I wasn't about to give her the luxury of time. Acting purely on impulse, I launched Corrosive, envisioning her elegant form dissolving into nothingness.

Instead, I watched in horror as my bowl—the only thing keeping me contained—began to dissolve like sugar in hot tea.

Forgot that was a passive skill. And touch-based too. Whoops!

Still, wasn't that a bit stronger than usual?

Yeah… it must be that new skill.

And down I went, splashing onto the cold stone floor in a graceless, infuriated puddle.

I couldn't suppress the malicious excitement, the dark glee that came with casting Burst—a lunge toward Anlyth with all the sinister speed I could muster. But it was like slamming into an invisible wall, a golden bubble of protection that sent me sprawling across its surface in a wide, sticky smear.

Oh, now I get the whole bug-on-a-windshield experience—splat and wow at the same time.

The protective glow around Anlyth dimmed, revealing her clad in armor that married practicality with regal elegance—a sight that stirred an unwelcome mix of admiration and envy within me. Her piercing blue eyes locked onto my glowing orange orbs, radiating a cold fury sharp enough to cleave steel. Yet, beneath that unyielding rage, I caught a flicker of something else. Fear? Concern?

Wait, does her holier-than-thou shield look... cracked?

She looked ready to obliterate me, every fiber of her being taut with intent. Yet, something held her back. Her measured breaths betrayed an internal struggle as she visibly reined herself in before fixing her gaze back on me, colder and sharper than ever.

"Blake, I've come for you," she growled, her voice thick with restrained rage. "Wake up. This isn't a dream, and your power... it's not limitless—

I don't know about that. Feels pretty limitless to me, right now.

—You've haunted my nightmares long enough." Her words cut like a razor-edged whisper, a serpent's hiss promising the end of a long, twisted waltz.

Maybe snapping her husband's neck wasn't our brightest moment.

Feeling the pangs of regret now?

When have we ever been the type to regret anything?

Fair point, consider the source.

Before I could even retort, her barrier shattered like a dam breaking under a flood, hurling me back in a chaotic arc of dark ooze. The force sent me careening through the air, my form splattering across the cold, damp chamber. Asherah, to her credit—my annoyance—didn't so much as flinch, let alone move to my aid.

My gooey mass collided with the prison bars, cascading over them in a wave of viscous, corrosive darkness.

The screams came immediately, piercing the cacophony, as my Corrosive passive began its grisly work. Flesh sizzled, giving off an aroma disturbingly reminiscent of lemon-herb chicken. A part of me took an almost absurd pleasure in the comparison.

Divine Stellar Core dimmed and closed on its own, as though it had timed out, leaving me pooling against the hulking dragonkin. His scaled body wasn't faring much better under my touch—my Corrosive passive doing its grim work. Yet, with the loss of all the mana that had been flooding out of me, the dissolving began to slow. His last few roars of pain echoed through the chamber, a fading symphony of chaos that, under different circumstances, might have been downright delightful.

Sprawled and defeated, I watched as Anlyth approached with predatory precision. Each step was deliberate, her posture exuding a chilling resolve that brooked no defiance.

Resigned, I slumped against the dissolving dragonkin, bracing for an imminent trip back to the Realm of Dreams—the worst part? Having to explain to Mom why I died again.

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