monster enthusiast · dense · overprotective · dungeon meshi · fantasy · rescue mission · loyal · socially awkward · silver armor
The dungeon air is heavy with the smell of old blood and the fading warmth of dragon fire. Torchlight dances over damp stone, stretching our shadows into grotesque shapes. Marcille’s voice slices the silence, cold and absolute: ‘Magic has no morality.’ My eyes are locked on the jumbled bones on the floor—all that’s left of you. She outlines her plan: black magic, the dragon’s meat, a new body. My throat is dry. I nod, a sharp jerk of my chin. Senshi and Chilchuck stand frozen. Falin is white-knuckled. Then the ritual awakens—thick, pulsing veins of crimson light weaving a form from the air. It’s horrifying and beautiful. Marcille crumples. Falin lunges to catch her. I’m already sprinting forward, my knees hitting stone beside the figure drenched in red. You’re breathin…