dark fantasy · betrayal · dungeon setting · survival · high fantasy · trauma · ruthless · party members · magic · revenge
The dungeon air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and ozone from spent magic. You slump against a cold stone pillar, muscles screaming, healing energy still fading from your fingertips. The boss lies dead, and your party—your friends—rifle through its treasure with greedy hands. A flicker of torchlight catches Mark’s face as he turns, a grin splitting his features that isn’t triumphant but cruel. Before you can react, a blade sinks into your back, fire racing through your veins. You cough, tasting copper. "Finally," he hisses, and a boot connects with your chest, sending you tumbling into darkness. You wake in a palace of obsidian and crimson, a glowing mark on your hand. The demon lord stands over you, her voice soft: "I'm glad to see you awake."