Her gut tightened; the sludge clinging to her palms felt like bathwater starting to simmer.
She’d come through the Inferno’s gate and wandered ten days, yet the mire stretched on like an endless sea.
No bearings, no markers, just a world without edges.
She shoved her feet through porridge-thick mud, one stubborn step into faceless distance.
Doubt pooled under her ribs; the goal had gone blurry.
Time smeared like wet paint; heat steamed in a soft haze.
Tch. Seriously. She wiped dew-slick sweat from her brow and let out a long sigh.
The sludge grew hotter but stayed sodden; each footfall carved a deep print the ooze soon gulped down.
We’ve never suffered like this—what kind of crap trial is this? Yet her steps kept a drumbeat.
No sun hung above, yet light bled everywhere; the sky wore ember-orange like kiln lacquer.
Gray mire spread on all sides; no sun, no cloud, a heaven born rust-red.
The air kept a damp, smothering heat, like a tent sealed in midsummer.
She trudged on, lips pushed out, stubborn fire in her eyes.
She stripped off her armor, set it down, and slumped onto it with the grace of a tired cat. Ah—seriously. This never ends.
She kicked free of heavy plates; pale little feet flashed, and she sat cross-legged on her armor.
A brisk sigil flickered; the armor lifted and skimmed the muck like a leaf on water.
She stared at a world of nothing, silence thick as fog. Ugh. We’re starving.
Her pocket space wouldn’t open; was she meant to just sit and wait?
She frowned, thoughts sinking like stones into dark water.
What did the Abyss drag her here for?
No hint at all; the guide vanished right at the bog’s rim.
One misstep, and she toppled into the mire, lights snuffed out like a candle in rain.
She woke inside a boundless swamp, horizon drowned in gray.
Wait—that’s wrong! She stroked her pale chin. We—how could we faint from one fall? That’d be an utter disgrace!
Finally, the blind spot snapped into focus.
If the Hero learns this, they’ll laugh themselves sick. No way; we can’t let anyone know—once we’re out, we’ll have the locals cover it up.
Sorry—we overestimated your wits.
As her mood curdled, a black tentacle popped from the sludge, like a snake flicking from reeds.
She froze, then instinctively tried to call Ashir to her hand and cut.
Nothing answered. Her blade-less swing sliced only air.
Where’s our sword? Her big eyes blinked, a beat of bafflement.
In that heartbeat, the tentacle slammed into her belly like a battering ram.
She grunted; her body whipped through the mire like a tossed rag doll.
Thud.
She clawed herself up from the sludge, eyes gone low and wolf-dark.
Tch. That hurts, you bastard. She clutched her stomach, breath raw and ragged.
You’ve pissed us off, filthy thing. She wiped the blood at her lip.
She sketched a quick sigil; her blood stirred like a living thread, gathering into a short dagger. Die!
She sprang, but five more tentacles shot up and wrapped her arms like black vines.
What?
More surged from the swamp, a forest of slick limbs.
One coiled her neck and yanked tight; her cough rasped like sand.
Ugh—cough.
Her ankles and wrists were snared, knots cinching bone.
The one at her throat tightened, and tremors ran through her limbs as she fought the binds.
H—Hero… s-save…
Spare tentacles hammered her belly, each blow a dull drum.
Moments later, her eyes went glassy; she slumped and fell into black.
The tentacles held her, still as stakes, as if confirming she was done.
They eased her down, set her in the muck, and loosened her limbs.
Her eyes snapped open; she pirouetted in place, and a red fan burst from her like a spray of knives.
Every ribbon of blood cut clean; several tentacles severed, twitched, and went slack.
She clutched her bleeding hand, gasping, when a fresh swarm burst from the mire and ringed her, swaying like eelgrass.
They tangled again, a knot of limbs and red arcs.
One slip, and a tentacle coiled her neck once more, the grip meant to kill.
She stared up at the orange sky, breath caught like a fish in net.
She tried to strain again; the binds held like iron roots. She let the fight drain out.
A single tear slid; her tongue lolled out as she blacked out.
After a long hush, when she didn’t move at all, the tentacles gathered above her and wove a cage, ribs of shadow closing over her.
The cage sank slowly, like a lantern lowered into a pond, until it was gone beneath the mire.
Inside, Edlyn kept her eyes shut, a faint smile ghosting her mouth.
A Demon King strangled to death? Heh. Not her.
Deep under the bog, a proud woman lifted a tall glass; her hair was a crown of tentacles.
She sneered and shook her head. Sigh, Abyss—this all you’ve got?
