The 21st floor of the dungeon greeted them with an eerie silence. The dim light from the stone walls cast long shadows, flickering ominously as they stepped forward. The air was thick with anticipation, as if the dungeon itself was waiting for their next move.
Michael walked ahead, the coilgun resting lightly on his shoulder, its dark, gleaming surface absorbing the faint light. His wings—the once purely symbolic gray appendages—felt heavier on his back than usual, a reminder of the newfound power simmering beneath his skin. He could sense their potential, like an untapped reservoir of strength waiting to be unleashed. But for now, they remained folded, ready but dormant.
Behind him, Valencia followed, her crimson eyes never leaving him. She moved with the grace of a predator, each step silent, calculated, and possessive. Since they had revived her, her vampiric nature had taken on a more dangerous edge. Her magic had grown exponentially, her spells now requiring minimal effort while packing devastating force. But it wasn't just her power that had changed. It was the way she watched him—like he was her only reason for being.
The floor wasn't barren, though. The moment they entered the wide chamber, the ground rumbled, and a swarm of undead monstrosities began pouring from the walls. Their rotten forms, bound together by magic and hatred, snarled as they lunged toward the pair.
Michael wasted no time. With a single swift motion, he raised the coilgun and fired. The dark mana-infused disk shot forward with lethal speed, piercing through several of the undead with ease. The coilgun hummed in his hands, absorbing a sliver of his energy each time he fired, but now it had become an extension of him—both weapon and partner.
But then, something unexpected happened. One of the larger creatures—a towering figure draped in tattered armor—charged at him, too fast for him to reload. Michael's eyes widened as he realized the strike would hit before he could react.
And then his wings moved.
On instinct, they unfurled, spreading wide and wrapping around him in a protective cocoon. The creature's massive sword came down, but instead of slicing through him, it collided with the gray feathers of his wings, sending sparks flying. Michael felt the impact vibrate through him, but there was no pain. The wings had absorbed the blow.
He pushed them outward with force, sending the creature staggering back. As the wings extended fully, he felt lighter—more fluid, like the weight of the world had lifted from his shoulders. Without thinking, Michael leapt into the air, and for the first time, he flew.
The sensation was exhilarating. He soared above the battlefield, watching as the remaining undead turned their heads upward, reaching for him. His wings carried him effortlessly, and for a brief moment, he felt untouchable.
Below him, Valencia watched, her eyes glowing with admiration and something deeper—something darker. She smiled, a hint of obsession curling at the edges of her lips. "So beautiful," she whispered to herself, though her words carried a dangerous edge.
Michael dove back down, firing off another volley of disks from the coilgun. Each shot was precise, each kill swift. But as he moved through the air, something strange began to happen. The coilgun's metal disks, usually a gleaming silver, were now darkening. The metal looked as though it had been tainted by the same mana that powered the weapon, growing darker and more ominous with each shot.
As he fired at another towering undead, he noticed the effect. The dark tendrils that wrapped around the projectile upon firing were now stronger, longer, and when the disk embedded itself in the creature's chest, the tendrils latched on like chains. They began to glow faintly, absorbing something from the monster. Energy—life force, perhaps—pulsed through the tendrils and back into the coilgun, feeding the weapon's insatiable hunger.
"Michael, behind you!" Valencia's voice cut through the noise of battle, and he turned just in time to see a hulking figure bearing down on him. The creature's massive fist was already in mid-swing, and it was too close to dodge.
His wings reacted before he did, wrapping around him again in a defensive shield. The fist collided with the feathers, but instead of breaking through, it was deflected, sending the creature off balance. Michael used the moment to his advantage, soaring up and firing a final shot that sent the monster crashing to the ground.
With the last of the undead vanquished, the chamber grew quiet once more. Michael landed softly beside Valencia, his wings folding back against his spine. His heart was still racing from the thrill of flight, the rush of power that came with it. But something nagged at him—the way the coilgun was changing, the way it was feeding off the monsters they killed.
Valencia stepped closer to him, her gaze intense. She reached out, touching his arm lightly, possessively. "You were incredible," she said, her voice low. "I've never seen anything like that."
Michael glanced down at the coilgun. "It's not just me. This thing… it's changing."
Her fingers tightened around his arm. "So are you," she whispered. There was something unsettling about the way she said it, but her eyes glowed with affection—mixed with a deep, possessive need. "I won't let anyone take you from me."
Michael didn't know how to respond to that, but before he could say anything, two chests materialized in the center of the room, just as they always did after a boss fight. One of them glowed with a faint light, crystalline in nature, while the other was far more mundane in appearance.
They both approached the chests, Michael still uneasy about the changes in the coilgun and the growing darkness it seemed to carry with it.
Valencia's gaze lingered on the crystalline chest. "Another divine crystal?" she guessed.
Michael nodded and knelt in front of it, opening the chest to reveal exactly that. A single divine crystal, shimmering with ethereal light. He picked it up, feeling the weight of it in his hand. "Five now."
"We're getting closer," Valencia said, her voice a mix of excitement and something more dangerous.
Michael tucked the crystal away and turned to the second chest. He opened it, finding only a small, rusted trinket inside—a compass, its needle stuck at an odd angle. He frowned and tossed it into his inventory without a second thought.
Valencia watched him closely, her eyes never leaving his face. "What now?" she asked softly, stepping even closer.
Michael glanced toward the staircase leading to the 22nd floor. "We keep going," he said, though his mind lingered on the changes in both himself and the weapon. His wings had saved him today, but they, too, were part of this evolution.
As they approached the stairway, Valencia stepped in front of him, placing a hand on his chest. Her touch was cool, but there was fire in her eyes.
"Michael," she whispered, her voice low and dangerous. "Before we go any further…"
Her fingers curled around his collar, pulling him closer until their lips were mere inches apart. There was no hesitation in her gaze, only possession. Whatever this dungeon was doing to them, it was intensifying every part of her, heightening her obsession.
Michael's breath hitched as she drew him even closer, her lips brushing his ear.
"We're alone here, you know," she whispered, her voice sultry, possessive. "And you're mine."
Her hand slid to the back of his neck, pulling him into her. They stood there for a moment, locked in a tension so thick it could've broken the very walls of the dungeon.
And then, they gave in.
The darkness around them became nothing but a backdrop to their shared intensity. The dungeon, for that brief moment, no longer mattered.
When they finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, they stared at each other in the dim light. Valencia's lips curled into a wicked smile.
"Now," she whispered, her voice sweet but dangerous, "we can go further."
Michael smirked and nodded. Together, they descended, knowing that whatever awaited them below, they would face it—stronger, closer, and more dangerous than ever.