The silence in the Dungeon Lobby wasn't peaceful. It was expensive.
Director Vane and his entourage of fun-vampires had been gone for an hour, but the scar they left behind was pulsing in the corner of the room.
Thrum… Hisss. Thrum… Hisss.
Reed sat on a conjured stone throne, staring at the Revenue Spike. It was a hideous piece of magical engineering: a three-foot iron rod driven directly into the floor, pulsing with a greedy, rhythmic red light. Every time it flashed, Reed felt a physical tug in his chest, like someone was siphoning gas out of his soul with a garden hose.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
[Mana Tax Siphon: ACTIVE.]
[Rate: 40% of Gross Generation.]
[Current Reserve: 45 / 150.]
[Note: You are currently being audited in real-time.]
"It is disgusting," Seraphine hissed.
The Lamia General was coiled around the base of Reed's throne, her tail acting as a cushioned footrest. She was glaring at the spike with enough hate to melt steel.
