I left the room an hour later. The air in the corridor felt cold and sharp compared to the stifling heat of the bedroom. Behind me, Sarah lay curled in the tangled sheets, her body still twitching from the aftershocks of a climax she would never truly recover from. Marcus was a silent, shivering heap on the floor, his eyes fixed on the ceiling in a thousand-yard stare. He was alive, but the man who had entered this dungeon was dead.
I returned to my throne, the violet light of the Dungeon Core pulsing in a slow, triumphant rhythm. I felt a surge of power—not just from the DP I had earned, but from the absolute control I had exerted over two lives. But I knew this was just the beginning.
"I need more," I whispered, my fingers tracing the silver serpents on the Wife-Stealing Rod. "Sarah was a snack. Marcus was a diversion. I need a feast."
I accessed the system menu and spent 300 DP on a [Unique Summon: Shadow Merchant].
The floor in front of my throne didn't open; it bled. A pool of obsidian ink spread across the stone, rising and twisting until it took the shape of a tall, unnervingly thin man. He was dressed in a suit of shifting shadows, his face a pale, sharp mask with eyes like burning embers.
"Master Julian," Silas purred, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the floor. "The scent of conquest in this place is... intoxicating. You have done well to break the warrior and his prize. But I assume you did not call me here to offer compliments."
"You assume correctly, Silas," I said, leaning back into the cold stone of my throne. "I'm bored with common adventurers. I want to strike at the heart of this kingdom. I want a soul that carries the weight of their heavens."
Silas's grin was a jagged line of needle-teeth. "Then you seek the high-tier fruit, Master. You seek Elara, the High Priestess of the Cathedral of Light. She is the moral anchor of this realm. They say her purity is a divine shield, and her husband, the Grand Commander Kaelen, is the strongest sword the Church has ever wielded."
"Purity is just a lack of opportunity, Silas," I replied, the Rod pulsing in response to the name. "And a strong sword is useless if the hand that holds it is shaking."
"Indeed," Silas whispered, his form flickering like a guttering candle. "The Commander is currently away at the border. The Priestess is alone, praying in her cold, silent gardens. She is vulnerable, Master. She is a jewel waiting for a thief with the right tools."
"Go then," I commanded. "Infiltrate the Capital. Learn her routine. Find the cracks in her faith. I want to know exactly what it will take to lure her into my halls. I don't just want her body, Silas. I want to watch the Light go out in her eyes when she realizes she loves the dark more."
"As you command, Master," Silas said, his body dissolving back into the pool of ink. "By the time I return, the High Priestess will be dreaming of you, and she won't even know why she's waking up in a sweat."
I sat in the silence that followed, a dark smile playing on my lips. The trap was set. The game was no longer about survival; it was about the total desecration of everything this world held sacred.