The torchlight bent and wavered as Malrik advanced deeper into the tunnels, his feet slapping wetly against the uneven stone. Faint cries echoed behind him, but he paid them no mind. The newborn goblins would either survive to be slaughtered later or die where they were; either way, it no longer concerned him. His crimson-glowing eyes traced the silver threads of the map hanging before him, guiding him without thought.
The tunnels narrowed as he pressed on, the walls pressing closer. Here, the air was thicker, hotter—carrying the faint scent of her natural perfume, sweat, and something sweeter, more cloying. Saelira's scent.
A lazy smirk played across Malrik's lips as he finally reached the hollow carved into the rock—the place she had made her own.
The entrance to Saelira's "room" was marked by gauzy curtains of stitched-together wolf pelts, skinned of the wolf's scattered around the forest. They stirred gently in the stagnant air, whispering like restless ghosts. Beyond them, faint light glowed—a small fire pit, its little flames casting long, dancing shadows across the walls.
Malrik pushed the curtain aside with a flick of his tail, stepping into the cavern.
Inside, the room was lush, by his standards at least: a nest of furs and leafs wrapped in pelts, piled against the far wall, heavy tapestries muffling the sound from the rest of the warren. The warm, musky scent of Saelira was thick here, a cocktail of pheromones almost strong enough to sting the eyes.
Saelira herself lounged atop the mound of furs, one leg draped lazily over the other, her blonde hair cascading in waves down her bare shoulders. She wore nothing save for a collar of cold metal and a thin chain that coiled around her body like a living thing, tracing her curves and disappearing between her thighs. Her blue eyes gleamed as she watched Malrik enter, her legs closed together as she back up against the wall.
"I'm hungry," Malrik said, his voice softer than before. Yet the crimson glint in his eyes remained, a telltale sign of the demon's simmering rage.
And right now, that rage burned bright.
"Did I scare you?" he asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he approached. "Don't be. I'm gentle, you know." His words were light, but Saelira flinched all the same.
"Please..." she whispered, her voice trembling, tears welling in her eyes as he drew closer.
"Please what?" Malrik murmured, stepping right up to her. His hand reached out and rested against her swollen belly, caressing it almost tenderly. "Don't hurt you? Why would I? I unshackled you, didn't I?" His tone was mocking, lilting. "I'm already such a good man."
"Be a good father," he whispered, his smile widening, "better than any other."
"Love you?" he chuckled lowly, his eyes darkening back to their natural, obsidian black. "I already do, Saelira. And I'll keep loving you... until the very end."
He leaned his head down, pressing it against her belly.
A faint kick nudged his cheek, as if the child inside rejected him even now.
Malrik laughed under his breath, rubbing her stomach in slow, circular motions. "They're lively. Just like their father," he said, almost affectionately.
Saelira wept, silent tears staining her cheeks. She hated him. She hated the life forced into her, the freedom torn from her hands.
And Malrik knew it.
He knew every tremor of fear, every drop of hatred.
But none of it mattered. He would play his part. The devoted husband. The doting father.
The last man she would ever know.
"My Saelira-chan," he whispered against her belly, his voice low and final.
"I'll be with you always... until the day you die."
Malrik pressed a lingering kiss against the curve of her belly, his lips warm against the taut skin. He stayed there for a long moment, savoring the life trapped inside her — it might not have been his blood, but it belonged to him all the same.
Then slowly, deliberately, he lifted his head, his black eyes glinting with something darker than affection. His hands slid up, calloused fingers trailing the curve of her side, up to her chest.
Saelira flinched again, her arms trembling uselessly at her sides, too drained, too broken to fight him.
"You've already filled them so much," Malrik murmured, almost reverently, as his hand cupped one of her breasts — swollen and tender from the pregnancy. His thumb brushed across her nipple, coaxing a bead of milk to the surface.
His lips parted, and he leaned in.
Without hesitation, he took her into his mouth, suckling greedily. The taste of her filled him — sweet, warm, utterly hers.
Saelira shuddered, silent tears running down her cheeks as she turned her head away, staring blankly at the dark rock wall. Every touch, every humiliating intimacy only tightened the invisible chains around her soul.
Malrik drank slowly, savoring her until he was satisfied. He released her with a wet, final pop, then rested his forehead against her chest, breathing in her heavy, musky scent.
"Now then," he murmured, a lazy smirk curling his lips, "it's time I check up on Airi too—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
A sudden spike of agony pierced his spine.
Malrik's breath caught in his throat, his smirk vanishing in an instant. His back arched violently as if yanked by unseen hooks. A strangled sound escaped his lips—not quite a scream, but far from silence. His hands clenched the furs beneath him, fingers tearing through skin and hide.
His shoulders bulged unnaturally, muscle tearing, flesh writhing as though something inside him clawed its way out.
Then—crack.
A jagged length of bone erupted from his back with a spray of blackened blood, slick and steaming. A second followed, tearing through flesh like a newborn vulture shoving free of an egg. The pain wasn't just physical—it was spiritual, dragging a howl of fury and ecstasy from his throat.
His obsidian eyes widened, pupils dilating, glowing crimson again—but now laced with a spiraling madness.
Another crack.
His abdomen spasmed violently, his breath hitching as a wet, tearing sound echoed through the chamber. His skin split open like ripened fruit beneath a blade, parting from navel to sternum in a jagged, trembling line. Steam hissed from the gaping wound, curling into the air like ghostly fingers.
From within, cords of raw sinew writhed free, slithering upward to wrap around his spine and ribcage, coiling like a cocoon unraveling in reverse. His organs shifted unnaturally, compressing and warping—liver twisting sideways, intestines pulled taut, heart thudding faster as if in panic.
Then it emerged—a dark, viscous-covered orb, pulsing with slow, sickly light. It bulged outward, tearing free of his gut like a parasite giving birth, dragging mucus-thick tendrils behind it. The orb hovered, slick with blood and shadows, vibrating with heat and vile intent.
Malrik gritted his teeth, eyes blazing, chest heaving—his body spasmed as the future was erased. And the past altered.
──────
Name: Malrik Thorneveil Tenebris
Race: High-Incubus Scion (Demon Lord)
Class: Dungeon Master
Level: 5 ([400] - Locked)
EXP: 368 / 800
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Affiliation: Demon Lords
Title(s):
Spawn of Abyzrakul Tenebris
Son of Thorneveil Abyzrakul Tenebris
Thamor, the Lord of Consorts
──────
HP: 1,656,158,990 / 1,656,158,990 (4,148) {+70}
MP: 9,789,660 / 9,789,660 (4,130) {+40}
Stamina: 20,487,104 / 20,487,104 (6,310) {+65}
Strength: 4,887,400 / 4,887,400 (333) {+6}
Dexterity: 3,146,862 (416) {+7}
Vitality: 3,433,170 (253) {+10}
Intelligence: 1,216,946 (251) {+9}
Charisma: 1,695,131 (495) {+18}
[ESS: Mud I ] (Dark)
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ABILITIES
Spade Tail (Passive):
This specialized tail functions as both a sensory organ and a reproductive appendage. It can shift its shape to resemble a vaginal canal, allowing the user to store sperm within for future use. When used in intimate or persuasive interactions, it enhances Charisma-based effects due to its adaptability and subtle sensitivity.
Incubus's Hunger (Active): Consume bodily fluids to restore HP and MP.
Lust Sense (Passive): Can sense nearby targets' desire or fear; grants advantage in manipulation.
Spell Sight (Passive):
Can see the threads of all magic, enchantments, and spells with crystal clarity.
Mana Transfer (Active):
This allows the user to channel their own mana into others, replenishing or empowering them beyond normal limits.
Demonic Flight (Active | Wing-bound):
This allows the users wings to be granted with high-speed flight when infused with mana. Wind-element enhances agility, fire provides burst dashes, and cold forms gliding wings for stealth glides. Flight drains MP and STA based on altitude and weight carried.
Can be augmented by elemental fusion.
Elemental Command [Minor] (Passive):
Grants baseline control over wind, fire, earth, water, lightning and cold. Can shape, propel, and infuse spells and creations. Increases damage and defensive control when aligned with terrain.
Spell Fusion Theory (Passive | Scaling):
This can combine elements into hybrid attacks or constructs. Examples include:
Steam Lances (Fire + Water)→ Scalding vapor jets that pierce and burn over time.
Molten Shackles (Fire + Earth)→ Chains of lava erupt and bind, dealing DoT(Damage over Time) and immobilizing.
Freezing Gale (Cold + Wind)→ A blizzard burst that slows, silences, and freezes at 3 stacks.
Mirebolt (Water + Earth + Lightning)→ A sludge-coated bolt that stuns, then explodes into electrified mud, lowering movement and conductivity resistance.
Life Pulse (Lightning + Healing + Advanced Buffs)→ Sends a rhythmic wave that heals allies, restores stamina, and grants +15% casting speed for 6 seconds.
[You can always combine elements automatically (Passive).]
[The more powerful your stats or knowledge, the stronger or more complex the fusion results become (Scaling).]
Each fusion increases MP cost and requires mental control to stabilize.
Minor Space Control (Active):
• Slight distortion of space in dungeon environments.
• Allows for creating "folded" hallways, illusion loops, and instant short-range flicker-jumps (max 5m).
• Can slightly compress or expand chambers.
Minor Time Manipulation (Active):
• Freeze non-sentient dungeon entities for seconds.
• Slow intruders' movement within traps by altering perceived time.
• Increases cooldown reduction by 2% passively.
Minor Cursecraft (Active | Dungeon-linked):
• Can imbue rooms or weapons with debuffs: Bleed, Wound Deepening, Fall Damage Multiplier, Pain Sensitivity, and minor Death Mark.
• Enhanced against low-vitality or unblessed targets.
• Wounds inflicted within cursed zones heal 40% slower.
DNA Crafting (Core-linked System):
Feed the Dungeon Core organic or monster DNA samples. Spend HP/MP/STA/STR to manifest unique beast constructs.
• Stats of the creature are influenced by the quality of fed DNA and the quantity of resources sacrificed.
• More successful creations have a small chance to inherit racial traits.
• Failed creations result in malformed, unstable dungeon spawn.
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AUTHORITIES
Malrik Thorneveil Tenebris (Authority):
Grants the user a silver ring that splits into a pair—one bearing the name Malrik Thorneveil Tenebris, the other engraved with the name of a chosen woman. When she wears the ring, the user gains her current level, stacking it onto his own, along with access to her racial traits and learned skills.
Oath of Devotion (Authority):
When the user's wife swears a oath of eternal love and protection, the divine bond forged between them grants a portion of her lifespan, adding it to his own. This extension of life remains as long as their bond endures, and as long as she lives, so too will the user's existence continue.
Lovers I (Authority):
Allows the user to perceive and locate the exact position of his wives, by focusing on the bond between their matching rings, the user can summon a translucent, silver-threaded map overlay showing their precise coordinates, emotional state, and relative surroundings.
The farther the distance, the brighter the guiding thread, ensuring that no barrier, distance, or realm can truly separate them.
Lovers II (Authority):
Allows the user to mark each of his wives onto a translucent silver map, appearing as personalized chess pieces bearing their likeness. By focusing on a piece, the user may view their current surroundings and observe their actions as if standing beside them.
The pieces move in real time across the map, updating their position regardless of distance or terrain. Though he may watch, no emotions or thoughts are transmitted—only what the eye could naturally see.
Even should mountains, oceans, or vast wilderness lie between them, the link remains unbroken.
──────
"My lord!!! " Velmaria yelled, her voice deafened by the burst of wind that was brought by her speed. Her eyes watering as she felt a wave of Déjà vu—and it seemed as she wasn't the only one.
Saelira instantly covered her face, "I don't-" she was about to mutter I don't know, as she prepared to get hit again, yet the strike didn't arrive. Instead a bloody scream filled the chamber, Malrik's mana erupted into endless streams; Piercing the orb, the walls, the floor and farther down the caverns and pathways.
Velmaria rushed to his side, her voice hoarse as she called his name. She didn't know why she moved, only that her body obeyed some primal instinct—worship, terror, duty. But as her hands touched him, the moment shattered.
Her breath caught.
A sharp, cold pull yanked at her soul. Her mana, her very essence, drained from her in a violent torrent. It was not stolen—it was consumed. Drunk greedily by the dark seed pulsing at Malrik's core.
She screamed and stumbled back, falling to her knees, gasping. The air was thick with sulfur and heat now, the torches flickering like insects trapped in a jar of smoke.
Malrik floated half-suspended, his chest still split open, blackened steam pouring from the wound. The orb that had torn free of him was no longer just a parasite—it had begun to change.
Ridges of obsidian formed across its surface, branching like veins or spiderwebs. Faintly, it pulsed with an inner glow—a slow heartbeat of violet and hellish red. A ring of jagged black teeth coalesced around it, spinning slowly, devouring ambient light and mana both.
The chamber trembled.
Above Malrik's shoulders, his flesh tore open again—not with pain this time, but inevitability. From the gory, steaming rents, wings unfolded.
Not elegant, feathered limbs like an angel's. No. These were demonic—vast and grotesque, jointed in unnatural ways, each wing layered in wet, glistening membranes of red-black flesh stretched between claws. Veins glowed faintly through the translucent flesh, pulsing with magic and blood.
One wing struck the cavern ceiling, sending splinters of stone crashing down. The other dragged behind him like a cloak of skin and smoke. Steam hissed from the gaps in his back as the wings settled into place—twisting, twitching, as if learning their own weight.
Malrik's head tilted back, and for a moment, he simply breathed.
The scream had stopped.
The orb—now fully formed—rose into the air. It hovered before him, spinning slowly. From its underside, black chains unraveled and slammed into the ground, burrowing deep into the stone. The walls of the cavern responded, warping, yielding—as if submitting to a new master.
Velmaria could only watch, trembling, as the stone underfoot cracked and shifted, birthing new passageways—spirals, sloping downward into infinite dark. Pillars of rock rose from the earth, twisted into grotesque arches. Runes etched themselves across the walls, glowing with a baleful light.
Saelira cried out in terror, but no one listened. Not even the dungeon. It was listening only to him.
Malrik's eyes—still obsidian—flicked to the orb. A final spark of light danced across it. With a sound like breaking glass and distant thunder, the orb compacted and transformed.
A single gem, rough-edged and unnatural, hovered in the air.
The Dungeon Core.
It thudded once—low and bass-heavy, like a titan's heartbeat—and the entire warren answered.
Roots of mana spread out through the cavern, invisible to the naked eye but blindingly bright to anyone attuned. They sank into every wall, every crevice, every tunnel. Rooms reshaped themselves. Dead ends melted into false halls. Hidden pits yawned open. The air thickened with enchantment—hostile, cruel, intelligent.
Velmaria fell to her knees, eyes wide. His… turning this whole place…
"…into me," Malrik whispered, answering a thought not yet spoken.
His voice had changed—lower, reverberating with power. As though the dungeon spoke through him.
Blood dripped from his chest, staining the furs. His wings flexed once, then folded inward like a shroud. He didn't need to speak again. The Dungeon Core pulsed in time with his breath.
And the cave was no longer a cave.
It had become his body.
His essence.
His kingdom.