The entrance to Floor 35 opened without its usual ominous creak, revealing a scene unlike any they'd encountered so far. A moonlit clearing stretched out before them, framed by trees that glowed faintly in the soft light, their silvered leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. For a moment, Michael simply stood there, stunned, unable to believe that such tranquility could exist in this labyrinthine dungeon. Beside him, Valencia's breath caught, her expression softened with awe.
"Is… is this really inside the dungeon?" Michael murmured, almost as if he feared the scene would dissolve like an illusion if he spoke too loudly.
"Yes," Valencia replied, her voice breathy, her crimson eyes gleaming with wonder. "But it doesn't feel like it, does it?"
She stepped forward, her movements slow and careful, as though afraid to disturb the peace. The moonlight traced along her features, casting her with an ethereal glow, and Michael felt an unusual warmth spread through him. It was a moment out of place, a reprieve in their endless battle, and he couldn't deny the relief that washed over him.
They walked deeper into the clearing together, their footsteps light against the soft grass that cushioned the forest floor. In the clearing's center, a crystalline spring bubbled gently, radiating an aura of calm and rejuvenation. Valencia knelt by the water's edge, her fingers dipping into the clear liquid, watching it ripple with fascination.
"Michael, come closer," she called softly, her tone almost hypnotic.
He joined her, kneeling down, and as they watched the spring together, he noticed a subtle shift in her demeanor. Valencia's gaze lingered on him longer than usual, her lips parting as though words hovered just beyond reach. When he met her eyes, he saw it—an intensity he'd glimpsed before, but now there was no barrier between them to hold it back.
"It's peaceful here, isn't it?" she murmured, though her gaze was fixed on him, not the spring.
"Yeah," Michael replied, his voice barely above a whisper, feeling the air grow heavier between them. "Almost feels like we're outside again…"
Valencia nodded, her hand moving to rest on his, her touch cool yet electrifying. But there was something in her expression that hinted at the inner struggle she still battled—the bloodlust that had haunted her since her transformation. It wasn't just hunger he saw in her eyes, though. There was a longing that ran deeper, more consuming than he could have imagined.
"Michael," she began, her voice carrying a soft tremor. "You've done so much for me. Brought me back, stayed by my side. I… I don't think I can ever repay you."
"Valencia…" he started, but her grip tightened, silencing him.
"Let me finish," she whispered, her gaze unwavering. "I want you to know… that every time I look at you, it's like I'm both starving and filled. You've given me so much strength. But with every battle, every close call, I find myself needing you… more than I should."
Her hand trailed from his to rest against his chest, fingers splayed over his heartbeat. Michael felt his pulse quicken beneath her touch, an electric thrill that seemed to surge between them.
"You don't owe me anything, Valencia," he replied, his voice soft. "We're in this together."
She gazed at him, crimson eyes narrowing with a possessive glint. "That's just it, Michael. I don't want you to go anywhere. You're everything to me… my purpose, my reason. Without you…" Her fingers clenched around his collar, pulling him closer. "Without you, I'm nothing."
The intensity in her voice made his breath hitch, and before he could respond, she closed the distance between them. Her lips met his, and he could feel the weight of her need, her desperation, in that single touch. Her kiss was fevered, filled with all the emotions she kept buried, and Michael couldn't help but respond, matching her fervor. She pressed closer, her hands sliding to the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as if she never wanted to let go.
Michael's hands found her waist, pulling her against him as their kiss deepened. Her scent, the warmth of her touch, everything about her seemed heightened, overwhelming his senses. Her grip tightened, and he could feel the faint tremor of her need, her hunger mingling with a fierce protectiveness.
"Valencia…" he breathed, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, his own filled with questions and concern.
She met his gaze, her face flushed, her breaths coming fast. "It's you, Michael. It's only ever you," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. "I want your blood, your strength, your very soul if you'll let me. I don't want to share you with anything… or anyone."
There was no mistaking the possessiveness in her tone, the depth of her obsession, and he found himself both thrilled and unnerved by it. Her hand slipped from his neck to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. Her gaze softened, and for a moment, he saw a hint of vulnerability in her eyes.
"Will you stay with me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, as if the words were a secret she'd held for too long. "Not just here. Always."
Michael cupped her face, his thumb brushing along her cheek as he studied her, feeling the weight of her devotion settle over him like a blanket. He felt drawn to her, not just by her beauty but by the intensity of her love, her need. There was no one else who understood him as she did, and he could see the depths of her soul laid bare before him.
"Yes," he replied, his voice steady. "Always."
Her expression melted into one of pure happiness, and she leaned into him, her lips finding his once more. But this time, her touch was slower, more tender, and he felt himself lost in the warmth they shared, letting the world around them fade into silence. They stayed like that, wrapped in each other's embrace, time slipping away, each second a balm to the battles they had endured.
Finally, Valencia pulled back, her gaze still fixed on him with an intensity that made his heart pound. Her fingers lingered on his collar, tracing the line of his throat with a reverence that spoke to the depth of her feelings.
"Let's rest," she murmured, her voice soft yet laced with an undertone of satisfaction. She laid her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as though the mere act of being close to him was enough to ease the lingering hunger that haunted her.
They sat together in silence, letting the peace of the moonlit clearing surround them, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Michael felt a calm settle over him. The battles, the fears, the dangers that lay beyond this floor—they could wait. For now, he had everything he needed right here, in the arms of the one who would never let him go.
As they drifted into a light sleep, Valencia's grip remained firm, her head resting against his chest, a contented smile playing on her lips. She was his, and he was hers. And in the quiet of Floor 35, that was all that mattered.
—
As Michael and Valencia drew closer, lost in each other's embrace, his coilgun—resting against a nearby tree—shifted slightly. Its metallic surface shimmered under the moonlight, and a faint, almost imperceptible hum began to resonate, growing in intensity as their passion deepened.
The coils, usually silent, shivered with a strange energy, casting faint sparks along its length as though stirred by an unseen emotion. For an instant, a single purple eye appeared on the surface of the weapon, galaxies swirling within its depths, staring intently at the two figures wrapped in each other's arms. The eye pulsed, its gaze cold and calculating, a silent accusation, before it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind only the faintest impression of something watchful.
The barrel tilted slightly, aiming toward Michael and Valencia, and a low, irritated pulse rippled through its frame, like the murmur of something observing—and disapproving.
But Michael and Valencia remained oblivious, too absorbed in their world to notice the coilgun's silent discontent. As Valencia's fingers traced along Michael's jaw, pulling him closer, the weapon vibrated again, a single arc of electricity crackling from its tip before fading into the night, its hum simmering down to a resentful silence.