[Observation room]
Evelyn stood frozen in disbelief. Her usually sharp voice was silent. Even Silver—the silver-haired woman known for her utter lack of emotion—had her lips parted slightly, staring through the viewing crystal.
Emma's transformed figure pulsed with a demonic power that looked… holy.
It made no sense. Light magic was supposed to be pure, and she saw her use it. Her magic affinity is the type that people call righteous. Yet what they were witnessing wasn't any of those; there was something darker. A shadow contaminating the glow but never fully consuming it. Like the dungeon itself, respected her power—and stepped aside.
On the dungeon's 6 floor, Emma walked calmly ahead of Caelen. She was adjusting to the form, repeating the same spells she used before, but now analyzing their changed effects.
The ogres spotted them and charged. Thick, brutal things. Too slow.
Emma raised her hand slightly. Thin, spear-like needles of light formed midair—white, at first glance. But Caelen noticed something strange. Black edged along the contours, crawling around the spears like ink bleeding through snow. They didn't change shape or purpose. They were still light. But it was like something had infected the magic midcast.
The needles launched with a violent hum.
Each one pierced through an ogre, not just stabbing but tearing. Flesh split. Bones cracked. The monsters hit the ground in staggered slams.
Emma blinked. "That… the original spell had no power like that."
Caelen watched the remains. "You didn't even check their location. They went for the kill spots on their own."
She turned to him with a soft smile. "You noticing my aim now? I'm flattered."
The way she said it made him pause. Her voice wasn't even trying to flirt—yet it did. It always did. She still sounded like temptation crafted into a person.
And Caelen was becoming too aware of it.
The next stretch of the dungeon introduced trolls. Bulkier. Harder to kill. More violent. Emma didn't hesitate.
She held out her hand. Chains burst from the ground like vines of white-hot wire—but that strange black shimmer outlined them again. It wrapped around the trolls before they could roar. And this time… she held more than one.
She was improving. Fast.
The trolls thrashed, snarling in pain, but Caelen's eyes narrowed. Their bodies were twitching—over-tensing. It wasn't rage.
It was something else—lust.
He moved quickly, sword in hand, and didn't hesitate. One strike per head. The chains never faltered.
Emma hadn't said anything, but she clearly understood. She watched his clean movements, expression unreadable—until she stepped behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and laid her head on his shoulder.
"Thanks, honey," she whispered, pressing her lips lightly against the side of his neck.
Caelen froze, blade still dripping.
"You—Emma," he muttered, grabbing her wrists and sliding her arms off, "You do that again, and I swear I'll forget we're in a dungeon."
She giggled, stepping back with a half-lidded smile. "Alright. Just testing."
She knew exactly what she was doing. She just wasn't ready to admit why.
The fights blurred together after that. Room after room, monster after monster, torn and crushed. Emma had adjusted to her power frighteningly fast. If the ogres and trolls were warm-up targets, the dungeon boss wasn't ready for what came next.
The floor nine guardian was a towering brute—four arms, each holding a distinct weapon. A broadsword, a scythe, a hammer, and a whip. It was a collection of war in one body.
It charged without warning. Caelen dodged the boss and slid under the scythe, letting Emma move in next.
But she didn't use a weapon.
She raised one hand—and a streak of pure white light burned across the boss's chest.
The creature growled, but its feet had already frozen to the floor. She stepped forward, summoning more chains, this time spiraling out of her arms like ribbon. They struck its limbs, snapping it off balance.
Caelen moved fast again, using the opening to drive his blade into its leg, then twist around its back and stab upward into the spine.
The boss roared, lifting the hammer—and Emma's chains coiled tighter. Its arms popped out of socket one by one, the joints giving up. The hammer fell first. Then the whip. Then it dropped to its knees.
Emma stepped in front of it, calm and quiet. She looked at the creature like it was an inconvenience, not a threat. And in that moment, it probably wasn't.
She flicked her fingers upward—and a jagged white spike, outlined faintly in black, erupted from the ground and ran through its chest.
The floor nine boss collapsed without a sound.
Observation room,
Evelyn let out a long breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Silver still hadn't spoken.
"That's… not light magic," Evelyn finally muttered.
Silver didn't answer. She was still staring.
The holy power they were trained to recognize didn't do that.
Not with black threading through the white.
Not with that kind of control.
In the dungeon, Caelen sheathed his sword, glancing over at Emma as her demonic form shimmered in the dim light of the next staircase.
She didn't say anything. Just smiled faintly, breathing steady, eyes glowing softly red.
He wasn't sure what she was becoming—but he could feel it.
Something stronger. Something real.
And maybe something terrifying.
But he wasn't afraid.
"Ready for the next floor?" he asked.
She stretched slightly, flexing her wings. "Born ready."
Floor ten awaited as they went to it, which did not take too long.
They stepped onto the tenth floor—and everything changed.
No cave walls. No mist. No monsters waiting in the shadows.
Instead, pillars.
Dozens of them, standing in symmetry, holding up a massive cream-white ceiling with carved lines that danced in the torchlight. The air didn't feel heavy like the other floors, it just felt clean, but cold. Too cold for comfort.
"...This isn't a normal dungeon floor," Caelen muttered.
Emma said nothing at first, her crimson eyes scanning the space.
The pillars stretched toward a staircase that didn't feel like it belonged underground at all. It wasn't stone. It wasn't metal. It looked carved by human hands. Sculpted. Polished. As if someone designed this to feel royal.
"Why does it feel like we're walking into a castle?" Caelen asked, hand brushing along one of the cold, smooth walls.
Emma glanced around slowly, her face unreadable. "It's too clean. Too organized."
"Exactly. This isn't a dungeon. This is something else." He exhaled. "What's Evelyn doing?"
"She wouldn't send us to a higher floor," Emma said.
Caelen frowned. "You sure about that?"
She looked at him. "Yeah."
"I hope you're right. Because if this is some floor-50 trial run, we're screwed. I might survive. You might survive. Lucy... probably too."
He hesitated at that thought.
"But me? Alone? I don't think she expects me to come back."
Emma said nothing to that, though she looked at him a little longer than usual.
They kept walking up the stairs, the hall getting narrower as they rose. Emma rubbed her bare arms slightly, wings flicking in irritation.
"It's cold," she said casually.
Caelen looked over at her, eyebrows raised. "Sorry, I don't really carry jackets into dungeons."
His shirt was still ripped from the last fight—ripped open down the side, blood long dried into it. There was nothing warm left except his own skin.
"I wasn't complaining," she replied with a shrug. "Just notifying."
Caelen chuckled softly. "Noted."
The cold wasn't normal. It wasn't biting—but it wasn't physical either. It crept under your skin like silence before something important.
And when they reached the top of the final stair, that feeling locked into place.
There, in front of them, stood a gate. No, a door—but massive. Five times their height. Seamless. It looked like it was carved out of a mountain and painted to glow faintly from within.
And in front of that door… stood someone.
Someone familiar.
Caelen's eyes focused. His breath caught.
"...Lucy?"
Emma's eyes locked in as well. Her wings flexed once. "That's her."
The girl ahead didn't move at first. Her back was turned, with short blue hair. She stood upright, regal—like she was standing guard. Or waiting.
But the second she sensed their presence, she turned, eyes narrowing instantly.
"Caelen?" Her voice held confusion… but also something sharper. "Why is he here?" Her eyes darted past him. Landed on Emma.
And stayed there.
Lucy said slowly. "She looks familiar... no... no, she feels familiar too."
Emma tilted her head. She's a demon.
"So that's why I'm like this," Lucy said, eyes narrowing. "She lied. The silver-haired one. She said Caelen would not be dragged into this. And is she the real reason I'm like this?"
Her tone was venom now, not confusion.
A notification shimmered in front of Caelen's eyes:
Servant Conflict DetectedLucille has developed hostile intent toward a fellow servant.As their bonded master, intervention is required.Suggested action: prevent battle or assert control.
The air pressure shifted instantly. It wasn't wind, but it felt like the temperature dropped again. The chill dug deeper now, sharp as needles.
Emma's eyes flashed red. "She's planning to fight."
Caelen moved before she did—stepping forward, hand raised toward Lucy, and placing himself between both girls even though they were far away from each other to even hear each other.
"I know," he said quietly.
Emma stood behind him, her arms at her side, but not passive. She wasn't afraid. But she wasn't eager either.
Lucy's expression was caught halfway between rage and pain. The veins of red light across her arms shimmered faintly, again.
His eyes darted to Emma.
He thought he understand everything about her. He did know she wasn't the cause of Lucy's suffering. If anything, they were all just victims and he was the one that dragged them into this.
"I won't let you two hurt each other."
His hand stayed out.
Neither girl moved.
Right now, Caelen had to protect both of them.
Even from each other.
[If you guys and perhaps ladies are enjoying the story, plz drop a comment, cause i would like to hear your input and thoughts.]