CHAPTER 25: CH25:- DUNGEON BOSS GONE?

The cavern pressed in with an oppressive stillness, the kind of silence that gnawed at the ears until the faint drip-drip of water became deafening. Every drop echoed through the hollow dark like the tick of a clock counting down to something inevitable. Amidst it all came another sound, wet, jagged, desperate, and the uneven breathing of the last man still clinging to life.

Devin sprawled across the cold stone floor, his body broken in more places than he could name. His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, each breath scraping against bruised ribs like knives. His ears still rang with the screams of his fallen comrades, and his vision bled at the edges, shifting in and out of black haze. He told himself he was still alive, but the weight in his limbs argued otherwise.

And then, footsteps.

Not hurried, not careless. They came one at a time, measured, deliberate, the rhythm of someone who already owned the space they walked in. Each step seemed to ripple through the ground, sending little shocks up Devin’s spine.

He forced his head to turn, dragging his gaze toward the sound. Against all reason, a fragile thread of hope tugged inside his chest.

"Erin...?" The word tore out of his cracked lips like sandpaper.

From the shadows emerged a familiar figure; tall, lopsided grin plastered across his face, hair a bird’s nest as though he’d just rolled out of a haystack, trousers worn inside out in that same ridiculous fashion Devin had mocked countless times. Every detail was wrong in all the right ways. On the surface, it was Erin. It had to be.

But Devin’s battered instincts screamed otherwise. The longer he stared, the clearer it became.

The air shifted. Heavy. Suffocating. Like an invisible fist clamped around his lungs, squeezing until every breath became a battle. It was the same crushing presence that had annihilated their party in seconds, the same monstrous weight that reeked of death and inevitability.

Devin’s stomach turned to lead. His veins iced over.

"...No," he rasped, voice barely a whisper. "You’re not Erin."

The figure tilted his head, smile stretching wider, showing too many teeth for a human mouth.

"Correct," the thing said, voice bubbling with amusement. "I am Baelgor the Dreaded. Final Boss of this dungeon. Scourge of nations. Breaker of spines. Conqueror of—" His grin wavered, shoulders giving the faintest shrug. "...Well, ex-conqueror, these days."

Devin’s jaw locked tight. His heart slammed against his ribs, demanding that he run, or maybe fight. But his body remained shattered, trembling, and drained as it wouldn’t move. Not even an inch.

Baelgor lowered himself with the smooth grace of a predator, knees bending until his towering frame crouched in front of Devin. His glowing eyes narrowed, studying the broken hunter the way a scholar might lean over a rare insect pinned to glass. The grin never left his face, sharp and far too wide, but curiosity now sparkled beneath the menace.

"Tell me, human..." His voice came in a low rumble, each syllable vibrating through the cavern walls. "This ritual I witnessed in the forest... The one with two hunters pressed together, much groaning, rhythmic bouncing, and repeated cries of ’more, yes, right there.’" His head tilted as he leaned so close Devin could smell his breath, strangely sweet, like overripe fruit fermenting. "What... exactly... was that?"

Devin blinked at him, too battered to flinch, too exhausted to lie. His lips trembled before sound escaped, raw and hoarse. "...Sex."

"Sex." Baelgor savored the word as though it were honey melting across his tongue, stretching it out, tasting every letter. He rolled it again, chuckling deep in his throat. "Fascinating. A battle with no blades. A duel of..." His brows knit, searching for the term. "...Meat."

Devin pressed a hand to his face, groaning. "It’s not a duel. It’s... intimacy. Pleasure. Between people who..." His throat tightened. Heat crept up his neck, coloring his dirt-streaked cheeks. "...like each other."

Baelgor’s eyes widened, blazing like twin lanterns. Wonder rippled over his monstrous face, genuine as a child marveling at his first magic trick. "Pleasure without ripping out intestines?"

"Yes," Devin said flatly.

"Without bloodshed?"

"Yes!"

Baelgor reeled back, his hand clutching his chest in a performance worthy of a theater stage. He drew in a sharp, dramatic gasp, teeth flashing in the torchlight. "Humans," he declared, voice booming with reverence, "are geniuses."

Baelgor leaned down until his nose was inches from Devin’s, his eyes glowing like twin lanterns in the gloom. His voice dropped to a hushed, conspiratorial whisper, the kind that should’ve carried dark secrets, except it didn’t.

"Now... another question." His finger jabbed proudly downward at his crotch. "This ’tail’ between my legs. It is supposed to... harden, yes?"

Devin made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a death rattle. His throat closed, his face turned crimson, and he slapped a bloody hand over his eyes as if that would erase the question from existence. "Oh gods..."

Baelgor blinked at him, frown earnest, almost offended. "But when I look at you—" He gestured up and down at Devin’s broken, dirt-smeared form. "Nothing. Not even a twitch. Am I defective?" His head tilted, sharp teeth flashing as he considered. Then, cheerfully: "Should I strip you naked to inspire it?"

"NO!" Devin’s shout echoed through the cavern, desperate and ragged. His eyes bulged, veins popping in his neck. "Absolutely not! I’m—I’m straight!"

"Straight..." Baelgor repeated slowly, rolling the word as though it might explode in his mouth. His finger stroked his chin with great solemnity. "A configuration. An alignment. A... compass setting of desire." He nodded as though solving some profound riddle. "Very well. Then I shall find women for this straight ritual."

He sprang upright, stretching his stolen body with a series of unsettling cracks that echoed like breaking bones. For a moment, his aura surged outward, dark, crushing, suffocating; making Devin feel as though the air itself had teeth. Then Baelgor snapped his fingers.

White fire seared Devin’s arm. He screamed, clawing at his skin as a glowing crest burned itself into him.

"What—what did you do?!" he gasped, voice cracking.

"A locator." Baelgor’s tone was breezy, almost cheerful. "Should I need you, I will know where to fetch you." He gave another casual flick of his hand, and a black sigil shimmered briefly on Devin’s chest, one Devin hadn’t even known existed. It shattered like glass, dissolving into smoke. "Oh, and that. The Shadow Clan’s leash upon you. Nasty little brand. I destroyed it."

Devin froze, chest heaving. He hadn’t even known he was owned.

Baelgor, however, had already moved on to more important matters: clothes. Humming tunelessly, he yanked pants off a corpse and shoved his legs through the wrong holes, stumbling in a graceless dance before fixing the mistake. He buttoned the shirt inside out, then upside down, then finally got it right—sort of. With the collar sticking up like broken wings, he puffed out his chest proudly.

"Yes. Regal. Handsome. Very human."

He plucked a hunter’s ring off another body and jammed it onto his finger, holding his hand up to admire it like a noble showing off a jewel.

"Perfect disguise," he declared, beaming. "No one shall ever suspect I am not human."

Then, with a grand, sweeping turn—shirt untucked, trousers uneven—he strode toward the dungeon exit as though a cloak billowed behind him.

"Now," he announced to the cavern, voice ringing with absurd majesty, "I shall enter the human world. I shall master this ’sex.’ I shall unlock the secrets of cuddles and intimacy.

His booming laughter echoed through the tunnel as he strutted toward the light of the surface, every step oozing the misplaced dignity of a king who had just discovered pants.

Devin slumped to the stone, trembling, his heart still racing from the seared brand on his arm. He stared at the retreating figure, unable to decide whether to laugh, cry, or pray.

"...We’re doomed," he whispered, voice cracking with both awe and despair.

...

For a long moment after Baelgor vanished into the tunnel’s light, Devin simply lay there, chest heaving, waiting for the weight of that monstrous aura to return. But the cavern remained still. Silent. Empty but for the faint dripping of water and the stink of blood.

He was alive. Somehow, impossibly, he had survived.

A laugh broke out of him, shaky and breathless, half-hysterical. "He’s... gone. He actually left..." He pressed a trembling hand to his face, not sure whether to cry or thank the gods.

Then his gaze swept across the battlefield. Bodies. His comrades—ripped apart, twisted, sprawled across the stone like broken dolls. His stomach twisted, grief threatening to choke him, but another thought shoved its way forward: survival.

And profit.

Dragging himself upright with a grunt, Devin staggered from corpse to corpse. His fingers tore storage rings from stiff hands, pried necklaces from bloodied throats, stripped pouches and belts without hesitation. Every treasure was another step toward living, another edge against starvation once he got out. He whispered apologies under his breath, but his hands never slowed.

Then his eyes caught the glitter.

Scattered across the shattered cavern floor, where Baelgor’s aura had ripped the magic itself raw, lay mana crystals—massive, flawless, gleaming with power so pure they hummed against his skin. Not the cracked shards low-ranked hunters fought over. These were the kind nobles would kill for.

Devin dropped to his knees, scooping them up with frantic urgency, piling them into the rings he’d stripped. His laughter grew louder, wild and giddy. "Top tier... these are top tier!" His voice echoed, bouncing off the cavern walls. "I’m rich—hah! I’m alive and I’m rich!"

By the time he staggered toward the dungeon’s exit, every finger glinted with stolen rings, his pockets bulged with crystals, and his back ached from the weight of spoils. He didn’t dare look back.

The darkness of the cavern gave way to the faint light of the surface, and Devin stumbled toward it, clutching his haul like a man clutching salvation. He had escaped the boss, outlived his party, and stolen the fortune of a lifetime.

But deep down, even as the cool air touched his face, one thought gnawed at him like a rat in the walls:

Baelgor was out there now.

And the world had no idea.