There is no Epic Loot here, Only Puns.

Mist.

Refreshing cool mist that enveloped them, cooling their skin and almost rejuvenating the team after what honestly felt like days on the second floor.

Hazhur inhaled and it even tasted cool on his tongue. He held his axe at the ready, missing the horns a little as it would stop a blade from cutting into his face...

His skull itched and Hazhur chose to ignore it for now. They were in the boss room and there was honestly no telling how ‘harmless’ or kind the boss would be to them. Was it a puzzle boss? Some sort of spiritual journey gimmick?

The room, as far as he could tell, was a large grove of sorts with small streams stretching out, giving a rise to more mist. The lush grass could have hidden snakes or worse, but here, they just rustled in some unfelt breeze as the ceiling of the room was hidden by the rising moisture, making it hard to guess how big the room actually was.

A shadow ran in front of them, a laughing woman, before it quickly faded.

“Group,” Hazhur warned, moving in a rough pattern that would let Estal barrier them from any angle, The shadow reappeared, laughing again.

“Who wanders into my garden of pleasure?” came a purr that sent every hair on Hazhur’s body on its end. It was a voice that promised a pain so exquisite that it would border on addiction to any one with a weak will.

“Three tasty morsels and a toxic snack. Can you see me?” the woman asked, sounding like she was whispering in Hazhur’s ears. They all turned as one to look behind them and Karn looked curious.

“What do we do here?” he asked, holding his knife carefully.

“Win, obviously,” Estal said clearly.

This made the shadowy figure, who kept moving in before reappearing far off, burst out in near hysterical laughter.

“I’ve seen children, literal children escorted by one young woman, have a better chance at winning than you four. The trees have told me their opinion, the wind on the leaves whispers to me your efforts, and the unseen roots inform me of your strengths. You may all die here today if things go wrong... I certainly won’t try my best to keep you alive,” the voice warned as the mist began to thin a little around the edges.

Hazhur tensed, almost unable to form words due to the thick feeling in the air, like they were all mice before a lion.

“You’re just the mean girl of the Dungeon. You may be strong or weirdly good at something, but you’re still just a girl who bullies others to feel better about herself,” Estal surprised them all by taking a stand.

“I’ve met your kind before and under whatever pretty face you have? Is a sad angry person,” Estal snapped, raising her staff.

The amusing chuckling abruptly stopped.

“Well now. That hurt my feelings a little,” the voice said as the room began to shake.

“So, I’m going to make you all feel pain in return now. A few weeks ago... maybe less, I might have just turned the inside of your ribcage into a flower pot so when something beautiful actually grows out your mouth, it’ll have plenty of manure to be healthy,” the mist thinned and a large shape in the middle of the room became clearer.

“I’m a more mature woman now, so I’ll just break your legs,” the very large tree-woman announced gleefully. She paused as if listening to something no one else could hear.

“...Fine!, mildly fracture them,” the tree amended. She stretched her branches out, her amber eyes flashing as her undeniable beauty glistened in the leftover mist. If Hazhur had one final word to say before he was crushed under this woman’s mass?

It was ‘goddess’.

“I am Wyin, the last obstacle between you and the floor beyond. Your weapons will break upon my bark, your tears will water my roots, and your screams will be a melody in my branches. Come! Bend and break for me!” Wyin called, her entire form writhing in motion, spreading snaking vines into the air.

Estal flung her hands up, barely getting a barrier up in time to prevent a river of vines from washing across their forms. Instantly, Estal fell to one knee, the barrier gaining spider-web cracks across the dome-like structure.

“Get ready to move,” Estal stressed through her teeth. Karn got down low, Hazhur hefted his axe, and Silver... Silver stood there menacingly, the back of his cloak shifting.

The barrier cracked a little more, pieces of magic turning to particles as it rained down.

“Now!” Hazhur said, yanking his cousin with him as they effectively had to split into two teams.

“This is going to be a pain. Hazhur, go chop that bitchy tree... Momma wants some sassy wooden clogs,” Estal hissed.

“Can you get me close?” Hazhur asked as dozens of vines swooped down at them. Estal scoffed and countless tiny circles appeared in the air, deflecting the vines before blinking out of existence where they were rapidly replaced by new ones.

“Big barriers are annoying... tiny temporary ones? Give me a challenge, Hazhur,” Estal insisted as they took off.

“As you wish,” Wyin sang and from under the ground, she hurled a buried boulder at them. Hazhur flexed his arms and a red glow raced up his arms, making his weapon blaze on the edge before he cleaved the rock into two pieces that landed on either side of Estal and himself.

“...You used a class skill,” Estal said, clearly shocked.

“It was just a cleave, let’s go,” Hazhur said, flushing as he hadn’t actually used his class skills since that Dungeon all those years ago... his body just reacted.

Something inside him had been dislodged in the hotspring and it was making his heart do weird things.

---

Karn cut another vine, the poison leaching out his dagger making them wither on contact. The more he cut, the more of them seemed to emerge. It was like a weed-hydra!

“Sil, buddy. Gonna help?” he called as he flipped back out of a grab by a thick branch. Silver simply walked forward, snapping the vines that tried to hold on to him. There had been a noticeable shift in his form and Karn really didn’t want to see under the cloak now.

People like Silver had two modes. The human part and the monster part... and they weren’t always in balance.

“She is... perfect. I almost don’t want to fight her,” Silver admitted.

“Feel free to lay down and I’ll step on you when I figure out feet,” Wyin called over as she sent a large branch to attack Estal and Hazhur.

As a root emerged, dark and pointed, Silver intercepted it, being pushed a few times before he did something that made himself far too heavy for the root to shift alone. Two more joined the effort and Silver grunted as he was slowly inched back.

“Cut... human!” Silver growled and Karn snapped out of his stupor to hack the roots. He didn’t need Hazhur’s axe to do damage when his dagger had a burning poison constantly emerging from it.

“Neat trick! How did you do it?” Karn asked casually as he stabbed.

“Less human... more silver,” the cloaked figure rumbled.

“That mana... corrupted and fouled, but undeniable. Tell me, you bundle of mercury in human form, what floor did your better half reside on?” Wyin asked as if she wasn’t fending off the four of them at the same time like it was nothing.

“High,” was Silver’s reply. Karn wondered if that made a difference to people like Silver, if the monster they bonded with was from a higher floor... or even a boss?

“A little hint... Delta’s single floor is worth five... no, ten times of your normal Dungeon. I am not a mere ‘Second floor’ boss. I am akin to a boss you’d find on the 20th floor if I went all out,” Wyin said haughtily and Karn felt his heart freeze for a second at the knowledge.

Silver braced himself and yanked, hauling the entire tree forward to the surprise of Wyin.

“Still a while off then,” Silver said confidently and Wyin snarled, now having a tug of war with Silver as she held a branch in front of her face to prevent Hazhur from getting close.

“Let’s pick up the tempo, sweet things. I’m aching to see how well you can all dance,” Wyin announced as she sent her wandering roots deep and the rivers around the room drained, sucked up by the tree who suddenly grew thick flowers and lush greenery all over her body.

Silver was flung back and Karn could only help him up before he was lifted off the ground and moved about like a ragdoll, his dagger at an awkward angle and unable to pierce the branch holding him.

Estal was blocking as hard as she could to aid him, but at the last second, she was sent literally spinning and dancing to the side as roots spiked up to the ground under her feet.

“Sing for me! The aria of pain!” Wyin cried and Karn winced as Hazhur was hit hard in the stomach by a gnarled root, making him fly back into the wall of the room where he landed in a slight heap, only then to be forced to roll almost non-stop to the side as whipping vines tore up the ground he had been moments before.

“Dance for me! The tango of tears!” she added to her rising voice.

Karn was slammed hard into the ground with a whip-like motion.

“Tonight, you shall taste despair so sweet it shall be the nectar of fantasies for years to come! Tonight, you dance with Wyin!” the tree laughed with a sweet laugh.

Karn hurt... but damn if he didn’t want to get up and keep going.

The tree had a point about this pain and pleasure thing.

---

In the Royal Capital, Lorsa slowly whittled away at a stick, forming a near replica of a rapier she had once seen on the battlefield.

The homeless Dungeon-Core masquerading as the Royal Knight Captain looked up as the entrance to Yal’s Dungeon crept open. She has sent Brilda to rest, despite being a Contract of Yal that had gotten a second-job as a Royal Knight, she still had to take care of basic needs eventually.

Lorsa knew that Brilda was as tough as they came, having left Fairplay, once being one of their famous Maidens...

But Lorsa still fussed when the woman pulled three shifts in a row.

Out of the door, only two figures emerged. Mas and Princess Serma. Mas’ clothes were torn and his sword looked broken. Serma’s dress was filthy and she held her arm awkwardly.

They looked... hollow, perhaps for different reasons.

Yal had gotten softer.

Lorsa was really surprised the old grump would even let them leave alive.

“Princess, young Mas,” she greeted and Serma’s eyes watered as she held something in her hands. It was an old tarnished crown that had gems of power embedded in it.

Ah.

“You found her then,” Lorsa asked quietly.

“I brought her back...I kept her safe,” Mas mumbled, looking at his broken sword before he started crying.

“...I must speak with father,” Serma said, no longer hesitating when speaking and her words had a twinge of... authority to it that even Lorsa had to notice.

“The other two?” Lorsa asked and Mas inhaled once.

“They decided to stay. The Dungeon had what they wanted,” he said, as if this was still confusing him.

Lorsa hid an annoyed look.

She had told Yal to stop adopting strays to stave off his boredom.

“Shall I escort Mas to the medical wing?” Lorsa offered kindly.

“No, he is my personal knight from now on. Where I go, he goes,” Serma said with a tinge of fear that she might take Mas away from her.

Lorsa paused.

Personal guards authority could even supersede the Royal Knights when it came to their charges. Serma was going to be making waves with this choice.

Lorsa approved.

The castle’s occupants stopped in their various day-to-day tasks to stare at the bloodied Princess that stalked forward with purpose. Her previous shyness or even politeness had been discarded for an unstoppable will.

At her side, her broken knight with his broken sword followed in her footsteps until they reached not the throne room, but a more personal office of sorts to the side.

It was actually hard to stamp new laws and sign death sentences from atop a throne, but Lorsa had seen more foolish kings and queens attempt just that.

King Lendious’s pen dropped when Serma stepped into his office and even the other two Royal Knights standing guard against assassins seemed shocked.

It took a lot to surprise Royal Knights; they, Lorsa included, had seen a lot of strange things. The younger of the two, Mendah, even gulped.

“Serma,” the King said, his usual practiced regal poise lost in a slight stutter of surprise.

“My king,” Serma said softly, deliberately impersonal. Lorsa internally pushed this little family spat-to-be up by one in her internal drama sense. Serma dropped the battered crown on the ground where it rattled in a slow spin.

Yal was always tickled by the fact he made the rulers of the kingdom wear a tatty old crown instead of the splendid things he ‘could’ have designed. It was a little funny, especially when Lorsa heard how backwards the royal family had gone to make it seem like a good thing.

How the crown was a symbol of the royal family never needing to go after treasure because the kingdom was their actual jewel.

How a tarnished crown saw a lot of work and effort... while a pristine one was untouched.

How the crown was a reminder of where they had come from and how far they had developed since.

“You’ve returned, alive. It does my heart well to see you here,” Lendious said, standing and Serma did what countless assassins failed to do before her.

“Mother sends her regards.”

Lendious sat down so heavy, looking like he might have a stroke.

Serma paused as if thinking about it.

“Not regards, but the things she said I should report back to you are crude for the others in the room. Mostly about your abilities as a husband, as a lover, as the replacement to your older brother that died before he could ascend to the throne, and how you lied to everyone about her death and the fact she ran away from your paranoid angry drunken moods,” Serma said, her voice dropping in warmth with each word until she was leveling a dagger made of ice at the king’s throat.

“I am still your father and your king,” Lendious snapped, trying to gather himself up.

“Not since I left that Dungeon. Officially, I am your successor and thanks to your great-grandfather, no Royal Knight, servant, or knight may raise a hand to me under your orders without Yal revealing you as the killer, so you’re now my awkward rival as I will be coming for the throne. I have time, support, and tradition as my allies, while you have fear as your only companion. As for father?” Serma echoed with a derisive laugh.

“Your daughter died in that Dungeon. The monster that killed her? The truth. I shall see you at dinner, King Lendious. I’ll bring my own food,” Serma said simply and turned, walking away from the man that had run her life up to this moment.

“You kinda suck,” Mas announced bluntly and left with Serma.

Lorsa was drinking this up, cackling internally with an imaginary bottle of wine in her hands.

“This...I...” the king blustered and Lorsa put on her best sympathetic face as she turned to him, ready to show him the solution to his problems, just like always.

“As the successor, she technically still has to show a display of strength outside the capital and solve a growing tension, my liege,” she bowed slightly. He stared at her.

“Send her to Durence. Truly, the monsters there will break her along with their Dungeon? Then you can use her death as a means to lay down extreme law and punishment on the town,” Lorsa suggested and the king’s eyes lit up.

“Not... death. But if she returns cowed, I will be pleased,” he announced, reaching for his pen.

Lorsa would enjoy watching this man bleed.

Now, she had to hurry, she was likely missing Serma and Mas having a heart-felt conversation and weeping about the kingdom. That was prime potential romance stuff!

“Write faster...” Lorsa muttered as the king made orders to send the princess off to Durence.

And... their guide to Durence was almost here.

The King of monsters would be extremely helpful in ensuring the two reached Durence. It had basically eaten every bandit and monster between Durence and the Capital as it was...

Mentally, Lorsa pushed chaotic pieces as close as they could get, watching as they did the rest on their own.

The best kind of plans worked by simply putting elements together, rather than absolutely controlling those elements.

Durence was the cooking pot.

The Dungeon was the heat...

And now, Lorsa was supplying the ingredients.

---

Estal wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, noticing she had a burst lip as her hand came away red.

“Blood brings out the color of your eyes, dear.” Wyin the bitch sang as she went in again, ready to make them bend.

“Shutting up makes you a lot more tolerable,” Estal cursed back.

The battle was reaching its climax and she had a horrible feeling. For every inch they pushed Wyin, she reclaimed a foot back, every attack they landed, she nicked them a dozen times in response, and every barb Estal tossed out, Wyin took it, only to hurl it back with more deadly accuracy.

The sudden issue in their team composition was suddenly very clear.

Their team did not have an explosive force nor an elementalist to control the battlefield.

Estal could make barriers, but on their own, they didn’t cause trouble...

Something had to change and she knew she had to do it now. Estal scowled as she dispersed her various barriers to focus.

The moment she reached for the ‘other’ magic within herself, she felt sick. It has always been a ‘possibility’ for her to use this magic, but Estal had never allowed it to bloom simply because it was her father’s magic and she would have sooner chewed nails than use it.

But... Hazhur had used his class skill to save her, Silver was allowing his form to change... Karn was-

Well, actually, Karn was being Karn which wasn’t anything special, but she included him in the internal reasoning to bolster her willpower.

But it was almost not enough... Estal almost fled from the magic until at the last second, that ‘warmth’ filled her once more. The popcorn in her stomach unleashed a truly staggered sense of ‘peace’ and Estal grasped her family magic, passed down from one to another like their eyes or hair color.

A seed that fell off some rotted tree.

As a vine reached for her, her skin crackled with a warning surge of red lightning.

“I hate this smell,” Estal sneered at her hands as the energy danced across it and cooked the air around her, blackending a nearby bunch of vines as the near uncontrollable energy crackled. Estal winced and formed barriers to contain the magic, to keep the others out... to be alone with this pressure.

“Do I make the old line about ‘flowers’ and hidden ‘thorns’?” Wyin called as she threw Hazhur across the room into Silver, sending them crashing to the ground and Hazhur’s axe flying out of sight.

“Don’t be gauche,” Estal sneered, her hair lifting up in a snarling storm of the energy escaping anyway it could.

“Quite. What’s your name? Estal Stormycloud? Estal Shockygirl?” Wyin asked and Estal held her chin up.

“Pending,” she replied and threw a lightning bolt into Wyin’s face, using the ambient magic to feed herself, to channel magic that was normally difficult outside in thinner magical environments.

There was a break in the fighting as Wyin reached up and ran a branch along her thin glowing burn mark, looking unbothered.

“You’ll need to go hotter than that,” Wyin warned.

Estal tried not to swallow hard, feeling her father’s fingers on her shoulder where he used to squeeze so hard she would have bruises for weeks afterwards.

‘Harder girl! Are you trying to surprise someone or kill them!’

“Get off my back!” Estal screamed, throwing a storm into the room that broke through her barriers loudly.

The chaotic meadow now became a storm of violence.

A symbol of things to come.