VoC: B1 — 28. Mine! Mine! MINE!
Added 2025-09-24 22:49:21 +0000 UTCPoV:
1. Sophia (Our Lurking Mimic Girl!)
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- Day 5 -
The ice sang dirges in frequencies only monsters could hear, each note tasting of frozen marrow and promises that wouldn’t be kept. The dungeon itself lulled its residents into a drive for evolution, offering its hollow support.
[Mana: 170/120+50 - Frozen Mana Crystals Saturating.]
[Stealth] running, Sophia slid along the frozen lake to the jagged wall, prompting her furry companion to remain hidden. Mana crystals burning in her belly maintained her cap. The crab poking helplessly at her gums maintained and maximized [Slumbering Titan’s Blood].
[Adhesion] kept her stable while she pulled herself up the icy ridge, listening intently to the quiet voices, projecting farther than they realized thanks to her active [Perception].
Pressing against the surface, her form rippled into crystalline camouflage through [Mimicry], bending light around the edges of her transformed, transparent figure.
Below, the adventuring party was preparing to make camp at the lake’s edge where ancient columns twisted skyward like the dungeon’s own broken fingers, reaching for a sky that had never existed. It almost looked as if the dungeon were wrapping them in its protective grasp.
If only that were true.
Between the mental shroud that made her forgettable and natural camouflage, she was the perfect predator, observing from above. Each crystallized cluster in her stomach leaked energy, maintaining her mana pool.
She’d learned the balance through trial and error—too many crystals and her flesh would begin to glow with telltale phosphorescence, too few and her pool would drain.
The fox meat in her stomach dissolved slowly in acids, keeping the hunger to a low murmur—present but not pressing, like background music in a bar full of conversation. Yet this place was anything but loud.
Quiet. Fed. Patient.
She waited amidst the soft, cracking ice, listening, learning.
“This is completely unsuitable,” a woman’s voice drifted upward, each word clear as pristine water in the frozen air. “We’re exposed on three sides, the ice provides no windbreak from the lake, and the ambient mana here is all wrong. I can taste it… Something has died here recently. Constant death.”
The Witch—Meredith, the Dungeon whispered into Sophia’s consciousness like a lover sharing secrets—stood apart from the group. Since accepting her little fox friend, the subtle voice in the back of her head was growing louder. It didn’t feel fair, to have something sliding her pieces to the puzzle on how to kill those invading her sanctum.
When did I start thinking of this as my sanctum?
The thought struck her as odd, a battle between wolves. One, her old, human self, the other, what the dungeon had created her to be—its ultimate predator.
Meredith was perhaps thirty-four, with premature silver streaking through black hair kept in a bun so severe it looked like punishment. She almost resembled one of her middle school teachers. Yet, this Witch’s fingers traced patterns that left afterimages of white light on the ice, analyzing the environment.
[Target Analysis: White Witch - Level 10]
[Specialization: Restoration and Banishment]
[Threat Level: Moderate]
White Magic. Traps. Prisons. Isolation. Healing. The kind that would make me scream.
“It’s open ground, Meredith,” the Fighter responded, his voice carrying the exhaustion of arguments repeated too often. “Everywhere we’ve stopped, you say there’s death. It’s a Red Dungeon. Better than those tunnels. At least here we can see death coming and prepare.”
[Target Analysis: Fighter - Level 10]
[Specialization: Defensive Warfare]
[Threat Level: High]
Garrath, the dungeon whispered, relaying information it had gathered from their journey through its depths. He was built like someone had decided walls should be mobile. His armor bore scars that told stories—here, where acid had eaten through steel, there where claws had found gaps, everywhere the evidence of education through survival.
“It is for the fact that this is a Red Dungeon that we must be cautious,” Meredith mumbled, studying a grimoire whose pages darkened at the edges, connecting with whatever Feat she’d used before. “It’s been too easy to get here, like jaws opening and beckoning us in, teeth angled inward, waiting for us to try to turn around.”
The man snorted softly, rubbing his stiff neck. “Easy? I just had to tank an Elite Arctic Fox. There have been scores of monsters on every floor. I suppose we’re lucky the last group took out the Sixth Floor Boss before retreating.”
“Normal monsters,” the Witch corrected, glancing around cautiously, “which is not normal for Red Dungeons… This entire floor is wrong. The Arctic Foxes don’t behave like typical Arctic Foxes. They were herding us in this direction. Not trying to steal our items.”
“I agree with Meredith, Garrath. Two weeks,” the elf ranger—Sylvana—added quietly.
Her hands never left her weapons, fingers dancing between bow and blade like she couldn’t decide which death to deal first.
[Target Analysis: Ranger - Level 10]
[Specialization: Dual-Blade Combat]
[Threat Level: High]
“Two weeks for what should have been three days. Every time we try to backtrack, there’s something there to nudge us further in. Not attacking, just…watching, offering a slightly rare monster that keeps us going for sell value.”
The Witch is right, Sophia’s Intelligence of 8 recognized, cutting past the momentary lapses in thought. The dungeon singled them out. Low on potions. Tired. Inner conflict. Extended slightly longer than they should…
Saliva pooled in her mouth, knowing how easy it would be. How effortless.
The Raid Boss is on Floor 7—not 10. They’d never suspect. The dungeon is nudging monsters their way. It doesn’t have total control, but it can coax its creatures, feed them information on easy prey. It’s urging me to feast…
The hunger stirred slightly at the thought of weakening prey, but the fox meat kept it lazy, content to observe rather than act.
Not yet. Still digesting. Still—
Movement drew her fractured attention—the two smaller figures.
…
[Target Analysis: Bard - Level 7]
[Specialization: Support and Enchantment]
…
[Target Analysis: Cleric - Level 7]
[Specialization: Healing and Protection]
…
[Threat Level: Low]
Halflings. Adolescents by their race’s measure—perhaps sixteen, seventeen winters.
That’s…not right. How do I know that?
It bloomed in her mind, a seed her creator nourished, signaling how sweet they’d taste, the flavor of their marrow and blood…
The boy, Thomas, moved with the awkward grace of someone whose body had recently betrayed him by growing. The girl, Lily, clutched a holy symbol like it might protect her from more than monsters.
Young. So young… No! Not food! Don’t tell me how they’d taste!
Something twisted in Sophia’s chest that had nothing to do with her alien anatomy. A memory trying to surface—something about choices, about things that never got the chance to—
No. Watch. Learn. Don’t think about Sophia. You’re not Sophia. Not anymore.
“Alright, everyone. Inventory. Full count,” Garrath commanded, setting down his pack with the slow caution of someone who’d learned that sudden movements invited teeth. “These floors are bigger than normal—no hiding reserves. We need to know exactly what we have. Sylvana…”
Her lips tightened into a line as she scanned the shadows. “I keep one half-bar of chocolate hidden, and suddenly I’m a hoarder for life.”
Lily giggled quietly, and the little Cleric lifted her hand, whispering, “Divine Emperor, please grant us Your protection. [Minor Monster Ward: Sanctuary].”
A bubble of light pulsed out, making Sophia’s eyes sting to look at it—it was a monster agitant, it seemed, causing slight discomfort in proximity.
“I’ve got everyone,” Thomas smiled, clearing his throat before making a few musical notes on a lute he carried; for some reason, it didn’t travel as far as it should, not bouncing off walls or echoing further through the halls. “So long as this tune plays in your hearts, you will feel invigorated—[Minor Song of Recovery: Stamina].
With defensive and rejuvenative preparations made, they spread their supplies on a tarp that Garrath pulled off his back; the sound crackled like breaking bones:
Three healing potions—one already cloudy from being frozen, which diluted its properties, apparently.
Two mana potions, one showing a crack from a fall—the product of buying a cheaper version, it seemed—leaking energy that made the air taste purple.
Food for five days. Maybe six if they counted the leather strips that used to be jerky.
Meredith’s spell components, which she said were meant for emergencies.
From their murmurs, Sophia pieced together that Meredith had dragged them here for swamp reagents. Unlucky for her—she was one floor away, and she’d never reach it.
“We should go back,” Thomas said, the 17-year-old’s voice cracking on the admission. “Partial payment is better than no payment. I feel bad. This is the second attempt for Meredith.”
The party glanced toward the Witch with frowns.
“Yes, well, partial payment doesn’t cover what you’ve spent getting me here,” Meredith replied without looking up. “The Guild takes sixty percent on partial contracts to cover advances and logistics. If you fail to deliver my quota, I absorb the loss.”
“Right,” Garrath groaned, rubbing at his temple. “Unless we find something worthwhile—real treasure or rare materials—we’ll each walk away with coin enough to starve slowly rather than quickly.”
“Indeed.” Meredith’s finger traced a margin note as she scanned her book. “There are rare reagents in winter-biome lakes, or high-density mana crystals that would cover the balance. The first five strata were odd—too tame for a Red Dungeon. But if we die—”
“Then the dungeon gets everything and our families get polite notification letters,” Sylvana cut in, her voice flat. “Not that mine would care. Welcome to the economics of adventure: death or debt, take your pick. My parents warned me that leaving the colony was foolish, and they’ll feel vindicated when they hear I’ve died for scraps.”
“No, you mustn’t think like that,” Lily protested, clutching her holy symbol tighter. The metal glowed faintly—faith with nowhere else to go. “I’m sure your parents are just worried. We will survive. The God-Emperor protects the righteous.”
Sylvana leaned over and flicked the halfling’s nose; Lily squeaked. The Ranger’s grin was brittle. “How many times do I have to tell you, Lily? I worship Titania, not your stiff warrior god. But thanks for the prayer.” Her voice softened, a memory tucked behind the sarcasm. “It’s been forty years since I saw them, and I already died once. I’m still in debt. Resurrection costs are heavy…”
“That, they are.” Garrath’s groan loosened into a gentle half-smile as he nodded at the teen. “Also, the God-Emperor might protect the righteous, but it’s the living who pay the bills. The righteous just get comfort on the way out.”
The casual blasphemy made the girl flinch, but she didn’t argue. Her holy symbol dimmed as she stared at her feet.
Guilt leaked off her in waves. Sophia tasted it—thin, metallic, like blood thinned by water.
She thinks she’s the reason they haven’t reached a lower floor…and maybe she’s right. Her and Thomas’ combat skills are minimal compared to the other three. Workable on floors one to five, but six is a whole new beast, much less this frozen world on the seventh.
Garrath began the patient work of creating fire from what little timber they’d managed to bring from Floor 6, cursing about not bringing a Fire Wizard. They had heat stones, but those were for travel, building off their body heat, or lying next to fires.
It sounded useful. Sophia wanted one.
Yet the sound of flint on steel—sharp, repetitive, a heartbeat trying to remember its rhythm—mixed with the Bard’s humming and hooked something from the depths of her past:
Music in a bar. Bass, so loud it replaced your pulse. Hell’s Kitchen, two years ago. A dive where her roommate’s boyfriend’s band played; she’d been eighteen, very single, pretending the X’s on her hands were ironic, nursing a Coke that tasted like disappointment. Then Damon walked in.
On the fourth strike, a flame caught—pathetic but precious in Floor 7’s hostile embrace.
“Are we…in trouble, because of me?” Lily whispered suddenly, staring at the too-perfect surface and frozen surroundings. “I know you took us because we were the only supports open for it, but my [Smite] isn’t the strongest. I haven’t been too helpful in fights…”
“What? No!” Thomas protested, ceasing his tune and looking as if she’d attacked him; well, she sort of did by lumping him into her feelings. “No, you’re amazing, Lily.”
What? That’s not defensive, that’s—oh… It’s like that.
The boy straightened, cheeks red but voice firm. “If it wasn’t for your barriers and healing, we’d have been out of supplies and forced back long ago. Healers get flak, but potions don’t last forever. You’ve kept us alive. Right, guys?”
“No, Thomas,” Lily murmured, cheeks hot as she twisted her fingers and refused to meet his gaze. “I’m not that special. If I’d taken [Mace and Shield Proficiency] at Level 5 instead of [Minor Cleanse: Poison], I could’ve helped on the frontline.”
“That’s not your fault,” he shot back, face bunching with stubbornness. “You chose that because you wanted to support more people. And we’re halflings, Lily—we don’t have the body mass to be tanks. You’ve used it well. You still volunteer at the temple to cure people. Be confident, because…I believe in you.”
“I…I suppose. O-Oh, t-thanks, Thomas,” she squeaked.
The adults traded a glance—half-weary, half-amused—young love, unspoken.
Garrath cleared his throat, reaching for his pack. “Right then. Thomas, we should get this fire properly done before—”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Meredith interrupted, not even looking up from her grimoire. “Sit back down, Garrath. At least let them work through this.”
“We need heat. The stones are losing charge—”
“The stones will last another hour,” Sylvana said, her voice carrying the particular tone of someone enjoying someone else’s discomfort. “Let them have their moment.”
“Their moment?” Garrath looked between the two women as if they’d suggested walking naked into the lake. “We’re in a Red Dungeon. We don’t have time for—”
“For what? For being human? Well, halflings for them,” Meredith finally looked up, one eyebrow raised as the two teens’ faces went more and more crimson. “When exactly would you prefer they figure this out? During combat? Or should we wait until one of them is bleeding out and it’s too late?”
The Fighter’s jaw worked like he was chewing something bitter. Across the fire, Thomas and Lily were very deliberately not looking at anyone, the tips of the halfling boy’s ears practically glowing.
“This is ridiculous,” Garrath muttered, but he set his pack down with exaggerated care. “When the cold kills us all—”
“Five minutes won’t kill anyone if we do our jobs correctly,” Sylvana interrupted. Then, louder, clearly directed at Thomas, “Though some things might kill you if you don’t say them.”
Sophia went still, every instinct locking her body into silence. Even her lungs froze.
Prey. Flushed. Distracted. Blind to the jaws waiting above.
Is…Is this really happening? Here?! I could kill them right now!
Her panic snagged on the fox—crouched, alert, eyes bright, awaiting her command, ready to send thin ice shards into the young couple’s chests.
No! No! They have treasure. They bring treasure, bud!
The fox cocked his ears, puzzled; she eased the little tongue-signal she’d taught him, the one that meant “stay.”
“Sure, let ‘em talk, but everything about this floor bothers me,” Garrath redirected, finally coaxing flame to life. “But we need real water, not snowmelt. The minerals—”
“Muscle cramping, yes,” Thomas finished, rubbing his calf. Then quieter, stealing a glance at Lily, “Some things you learn by walking together.”
Really? That’s the best you can do, Bard? Sophia screamed inside. Aria told me they’re supposed to be smooth talkers. What a flop! Why am I getting so into this? Damon… He knew how to open a conversation.
Her mind hazed, reflections in the ice resurfacing old memories.
“This is Damon,” her friend Jenna had said, pulling him over by the sleeve. “He works part-time at that vintage bookstore on 9th—well, he does, like, six jobs, but that’s the one I know him from,” she giggled. “Damon, this is Sophia. She writes poetry and pretends she doesn’t.”
Sophia had wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
Damon only smiled, hands still dusted from what she’d later learn was his part-time construction job. “I don’t read much poetry,” he admitted, voice low, steady, nothing forced. “But I like words. They stick.”
His eyes met hers, and for a second, it felt like he’d read every scribble in her notebook without opening it. “What’s the last line you wrote? Sometimes a single line says more than a whole night.”
Yup, that was a shot through the heart. Damon…
The memory stung sharper than the holy ward’s light.
He’d broken the ice like it was nothing.
She hadn’t realized until now how much of her was still frozen inside. It that just needed a little heat to crack through.
The pop of fire and wood snapped her drool-inducing daydream. Meredith’s voice cut across memory, present, and the fragile dance the halflings had been maintaining.
“…You should tell her, Thomas.”
Yes! Tell her! Sophia screamed inside, split tongue curling against her teeth. Don’t wait until you’re dead to regret everything!
“T-Tell who what?” his small voice cracked, like ice under weight.
“Oh, for the love of—” The Witch spun, robes flaring. “You’ve been making moon-eyes at our Cleric since we descended, and she’s been doing the same whenever your back’s turned. We’re down to three potions and your flame’s prayer, and you’re both too terrified to use plain words?”
Exactly, tell him, girl!
Lily’s face flushed red enough to warm the frozen air. “Meredith, we’re not—I don’t—”
“Listen to me, children,” Meredith said, the word dropping like a verdict. “We’re at the edge. We leave as soon as we regain our strength, praying I’m wrong about this dungeon herding us into its worst zones. If you have words to say, say them now. Dungeons rarely give second chances—especially red ones.”
Second chances…
Sophia had to forcefully restrain the liquid gold tears, threatening to leave her many eyes.
The adults evacuated with practiced synchronization. The halflings stared at each other across the fire, and Sophia saw herself at eighteen, terrified of wanting something that might want her back. Afraid she’d mess it all up. She didn’t have the best track record.
“I—” Thomas started.
“You don’t—” Lily said simultaneously.
They stopped. Laughed nervously.
“I wrote you a song,” Thomas whispered, words tumbling out, desperate and necessary. “A-About you, if my tongue will quit tying knots in itself.”
Lilly giggled. “My stomach feels the same—I’m not saying I’m hungry!”
“No, I get that,” he chuckled, the girl’s cheeks practically on fire as she fidgeted. “But, I should warn you, the strings keep snapping from the cold, and the notes echo wrong here, and it sounds horrible instead of how it sounds in my head when I imagine playing it for you…”
That’s it. That’s the way! Sophia’s scream ripped through her skull, equal parts hunger and memory. Fumbling, awkward, desperate—just…like me. Why did Damon settle for a girl…like me?
“Oh? Can…you read it to me?”
Thomas swallowed hard, fingers twitching on the cracked lute. “R-Read it? I mean…sure, I—I could.” His face went redder than the firelight. “It’s not finished, though. Just scraps.”
“With your voice, scraps can still be pretty,” Lily whispered, her hands tightening on her holy symbol like it might steady her pulse.
That nearly blew steam out of his ears.
Thomas hesitantly pulled out his lute, his hands shaking. Two strings were broken, replaced with spider silk that caught the flames like promises. He strummed experimentally, wincing. But then he sang:
“In caverns deep where shadows fall,
Where frost and fear would claim us all,
I found a light that burns so bright—
Your smile that holds back endless night.”
Simple words, clumsy rhymes; his voice cracked on the high notes. It was pure, earnest, warmed by something shy and hopeful—and it stabbed Sophia with a memory she hadn’t meant to open.
Your eyes are coffee, cooling in the morning, too dark to see through, too warm to abandon—no, stop! Don’t… Don’t open the door again. I can’t. I just…can’t.
“Keep going,” Lily mumbled, learning closer, enthralled, “please.”
“I—uh, that’s, umm, all I have. Sorry.”
“It’s beautiful…” She twisted a lock of hair, cheeks glowing in the firelight. “Maybe, umm. Maybe we can finish it…together?”
Sophia pressed against her ice perch, the rest of the world forgotten, as she waited with bated breath. Begging him not to lock up.
Thomas’ hands clenched around the battered lute, his voice as small as his frame—yet steady as he finally dared look up into her wide brown eyes. “I’d like that.”
Fireworks. Angels singing.
Sophia exhaled, a relief she had no right to feel flooding her monstrous chest.
Way to go, little guy. You’re in…
But the breath frosted halfway out of her.
…Frost? I’ve adapted. That shouldn’t happen.
Her many eyes swiveled, scanning the frozen shoreline. Too quiet. Too still.
Is it getting colder?
The whisper of activity slid into her skull—the dungeon.
And the veterans were feeling it too. Garrath’s knuckles whitened on his sword hilt. Meredith’s grimoire snapped shut with a clap like breaking ice. Sylvana’s bowstring thrummed taut without a word.
Yet inside the Cleric’s protective shell, the halflings were utterly oblivious. Lily’s smile glowed as brightly as the holy symbol at her throat.
“We can finish it on the way back. So…why’d you write that about me?”
She pressed harder than she realized. Thomas fumbled, chuckling nervously, fog rising with each breath as the fire dimmed lower.
“Well, I’m not exactly…useful,” he admitted, words tumbling over each other. “Not like Garrath or Sylvana. My songs just make other people better, and my vocal attacks don’t even work on everything. But when I see you healing—making pain go away—it’s like watching the sun rise in a place where the sun’s only a story.” His throat tightened. “Is that…weird?”
“What? No!” Lily shook her head quickly, eyes wide. “You’re super useful. Don’t say that…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Your songs make me feel brave. Like…it’s not that scary if we can still sing.”
Her fingers curled tighter around her holy symbol, but her gaze never left him. “When you sing in battle, I’m not afraid anymore. Even when I can feel death breathing on us, your voice makes me believe we’ll survive.”
They shuffled closer, learning with every hesitant inch that it was allowed—to want, to hope. Small fingers laced together, tentative but unshakable.
Sophia’s pseudopod pressed into the ice until it cracked. Liquid gold welled in her many eyes, memory striking like a knife—brown paper bag, warm hands passing her lunch across a coffee table, Damon’s smile.
The tears froze before they could fall.
A gust knifed across the frozen lake, whistling low and wrong.
The dungeon was calling. Annoyed she hadn’t acted yet.
In the distance, white swallowed the horizon.
A blizzard.
And with it, Sylvana’s warning cracked the tender silence like ice under pressure.
“We’ve got incoming!”
Meredith’s hands blazed with white fire that made Sophia’s flesh ache even from this distance. “Not natural cold—biome event or monster trigger. But at this scale…” She yanked out a pinch of emberlite meant for sale, its glow trembling in the wind. “Last of it. [Ritual Fire]. Fortify with everything we have!”
The flames hissed like they hated the snow, flaring back against the avalanche curtain racing toward them.
Sophia’s many eyes swept the scene. The dungeon pressed harder, whispering of something below.
Sylvana blurred into semi-transparency, bowstring taut. “Movement in the tunnels—multiple. All three exits. It’s a pincer! That shouldn’t happen until—”
“This is a Red Dungeon… Wolves?” Garrath asked, hand finding his sword.
“Worse, for us, foxes. Their magic—” Sylvana stopped, her Ranger instincts screaming as Sophia’s [Perception] notified her of the activity.
The Ranger’s instincts spiked.
“Below the lake! Meredith, move!”
The ice detonated.
A claw twice Meredith’s size burst upward, flinging shards like shrapnel. She dove, robes tearing as the appendage scythed past. The thing pulled itself free—a nightmare of refracted shell and jagged mandibles, rainbow light scattering across the storm. Beautiful, if mercy had never been invented.
Its tiny eyes locked on the dark-haired woman.
Meredith gasped, voice breaking into a scream: “[Bind: Oak Root]!”
Roots surged up from something around the Witch’s wrist, coiling the limb—it snapped instantly, too weak. The claw plummeted.
“Elite! [Fire Arrow]!” Sylvana’s shot struck true, burning one eye but failing to pierce.
The claw kept coming.
“Meredith!”
“Garrath’s body flared orange, Feat igniting as he slammed into the claw shoulder-first, stalling the strike for seconds. “[Battle Charge]!” he roared, blade wrenching up. “[Heavy Strke]!”
“[Disorienting String]!” Thomas struck a chord that made the crab’s limb stutter. Garrath seized Meredith, hurling her back toward the camp as her fabric tore from the stress.
The man twisted his broadsword to defend against the monster’s sideward slam. “This is an—ambush monster! Agh. Why did it initiate before we stumbled into its trap? [Taunt]!”
“Does it matter?” Sylvana shouted, “We’ve got foxes at our backs.”
“I can keep them disoriented for thirty seconds, but I can’t focus on the crab!” Thomas returned. “Lily—”
“Holy Emperor, hear my prayer: [Minor Heal],” the girl stated, rushing to Meredith’s side as she landed hard near her light ward—she’d sustained quite a few cuts and bruises from Garrath’s quick action, but she was alive. “Your arm—[Lesser Smite]!”
“It’s just out of its socket,” the woman growled, arm popping back into place as she coughed and tried to regain her breath. The foxes closed in, tails raised, but a physical blast of white light sent the nearest one tumbling back; the others were ready to send a hailstorm at the party. “Thanks. They’re going to—what?”
A volley was about to fall—when shards of ice knifed from the dark.
Sophia’s fox-buddy.
Its ice shards peppered the foxes’ flank, scattering them in confusion. Whimpers followed as more volleys drove them back, carving an opening.
The battlefield erupted. Garrath was drowning under the Ice Crab Elite’s relentless assault. Sylvana split fire between the foxes and its shell. Thomas’s strings bent toward disruption, Lily frantically keeping Meredith upright.
But none of it mattered.
Sophia knew none of it mattered.
It’s coming.
Flashbacks tore through her—her brutal retreat from the Toxic Sovereign, the way Champions moved, the way the dungeon itself bent around them.
And then the wind screamed.
Snow swarmed like locusts, blotting sight in seconds.
Only Sophia could still see. [Perception] painted the battlefield in detail: the others would never survive.
It’s coming to take them.
The thought detonated in Sophia’s consciousness. Not hunger—the fox meat was still dissolving, still keeping that voice quiet. This was different.
Possession.
Anger.
Rage.
My treasures. My territory.
[Shapechange: Activated]
Mine. Mine. Mine!
The transformation was agony compressed into seconds—mass exploding outward as she abandoned her ice perch. Nine thousand pounds of protective fury plummeted like divine judgment, every ounce focused on the crab’s exposed joint.
[Slumbering Titan Blood: Active.]
[Titanic Growth: Maxed - 100% size increase.]
[Stealth: Deactivated upon impact.]
[Haymaker.]
The sound when she hit wasn’t just bone breaking—it was the dungeon itself screaming. The Elite’s crystalline shell didn’t crack; it shattered, rainbow fragments exploding across the frozen lake like scattered star fragments.
CRACK!
Her fox responded instantly. Wind howled as the blizzard carved itself into a perfect eye, snow spiraling away from the shore in a controlled vortex. The little creature’s frame blazed blue-white, mana pouring out to hold back the supernatural storm with its tail raised high.
Silence.
Perfect, lucid silence as everyone—human and monster alike—stared.
Her true form, revealed in the sudden clarity. Metallic wood that breathed. Dozens of yellow eyes, tracking independently across her surface.
Sophia maw unhinged, revealing rings of telescoping teeth that rotated like some nightmare carousel. From within the darkness, her pseudopod lurched out like three spears; her toxin-laced barbs plunged into the exposed, soft tissue to rip into the brain matter of the foolish creature who tried to take her treasures.
Sylvana collapsed to her butt, elven eyes wide as she mumbled what [Identify] showed her:
[Name: Sophia]
[Level 4]
[Race: Titan Mimic: Dreadnought]
[Class: Barbarian Juggernaut]
[Classification: Raid-Type]
[Threat Assessment: EXTREME]
Her words hit everyone like a hammer.
Raid-Type—a monster that belonged at the end of Floor 10.
The foxes broke first, scrambling over each other in their desperation to flee. Even the dungeon’s own creatures knew terror when they saw the apex their home had birthed, and at her peak performance.
“What in the Nine Hells—” Garrath’s voice died as tactical calculations raced behind his eyes. “Mimics don’t—raid bosses aren’t supposed to—”
“It’s not supposed to be here,” Meredith whispered, her grimoire falling from nerveless fingers. “The Champion should be ice-themed. No, this is…the Dungeon Boss.”
“[Intimidating Presence],” Sylvana breathed, her Ranger instincts cataloging Sophia’s impossible anatomy and many arrays of Feats. “She has so many Feats. I can’t—it’s smarter than the foxes—8 Intelligence. That wasn’t luck—that was calculated.”
Myriad of eyes seeing everything, she launched ice spikes from her storage toward a group of foxes that were creeping up on the halflings. They’re mine! They’re all mine!
The notifications from her kills vanished as the crab tried one last desperate swipe with its remaining claw, twitching from her barbs swirling around its innards, brain juice leaking out.
[Bite.]
Sophia caught it in her jaws mid-strike, her grip crushing chitin like eggshells. The Elite—Level 7, a creature that had ruled this lake—died with a whimper as her teeth next found its nerve cluster.
[You have slain Ice Crab Elite - Level 7]
[Experience Gained: 1,944]
…
[Level 5 Achieved]
[3 Feat Points Gained; 7 Available]
[3 Stat Points Gained; 3 Available]
…
[Barbarian Class Feature Unlocked: Berserker Rage]
The surge hit her like lightning striking upward, and she immediately sank those precious points into where it mattered—Intelligence jumping from 8 to 11 in a cascade of synaptic fire.
The fog that had clouded her mind since her transformation evaporated entirely.
[0 Stat Points Remaining]
[Base Intelligence Increased to 11. Average]
Time dilated.
[4 Feat Points Available]
[Perception Increased to Rare (Blue) Grade]
Everything became crystal clear:
Thomas, clutching his lute, strings vibrating with residual magic. Lily’s golden dome flickered as her concentration wavered. Garrath’s sword raised defensively, calculating whether to fight or flee. Meredith’s hands were already glowing white, preparing defensive wards. Sylvana forced herself up, her bow half-drawn, torn between targeting her or scanning for other threats in the parted blizzard.
Sophia focused on her fox buddy, trembling with exhaustion, mana already nearly depleted in trying to counter the Sovereign’s blizzard, as ice crept at the edges of its clear zone.
And beyond the swirling snow—
Danger.
The warning exploded through her enhanced awareness like breaking glass. Something vast moved in the cold veil’s heart.
The ice spear materialized from nothing—not thrown but willed into existence by potent magical forces. Perfect crystalline death aimed at her center mass.
Sophia twisted.
The spear passed close enough to carve frost into her flesh, its supernatural cold making her ichor freeze before it could bleed.
But she’d seen two trajectories.
Known two targets.
It wasn’t aiming at me…
The wet sound came first—soft, like rain on leaves. Then the impact, metal and bone parting like paper. A gasp that turned to pink mist in the frozen air.
“Lily!”
Thomas’s scream shattered the time dilation. Sophia’s eyes dilated, seeing the girl—brave little Lily who’d just learned what love tasted like—pinned to the cavern wall like a butterfly in a collector’s case.
The ice spear had taken her just below the heart. The entry wound was surgical in its precision, but the exit had exploded her back in a spray that was already crystallizing. Worse—far worse—the supernatural ice was spreading through her blood vessels like an infection, turning flesh to sculpture from the inside out.
Cursed Ice.
Her eyes were still aware. Still conscious. Watching her own body become part of the dungeon’s frozen gallery.
“Thomas,” she mumbled, voice trembling as the cold took her, “run…”
“No!” Thomas lunged forward, reaching for her hand.
“Don’t touch her!” Garrath caught the boy in a bear hug, dragging him back. “The ice will spread to you! You’ll die with her!”
“I don’t care! We can save her! Resurrection! We just need—”
“She’s becoming part of the wall,” Meredith said with surgical cruelty. “That ice is cursed. It won’t melt from anything we can put against it; it won’t break. She’s not dead, Thomas. She’s becoming part of the dungeon. And we can’t stop it.”
Sophia felt every word, saw every twitch on the child-like girl’s face, pleading for them to leave her—to survive.
You can’t save her… But I can.
[Berserker Rage: Activated]
[Effect: +50% Damage when raging, immunity to fear/control effects. Decreased Intelligence by 1]
[Duration: Emotional state]
Red. Everything went red.
Through the blizzard, something laughed—not a sound they could hear, but temperature, cold so pure it had its own voice. It came from the dungeon itself.
The Snow Sovereign—a leopard as large as she—materialized from the storm. White that transcended color, fur that moved like living snow, and eyes like frozen stars, burning with intelligence that had evolved past cruelty into art.
It looked at Sophia with recognition.
Apex recognizes apex.
This may be its territory. But the whole dungeon was hers.
Mine!
“Raid Boss versus Champion? What is happening?” Sylvana breathed.
“We need to leave,” the Fighter shouted. “Now!”
“But Lily—” Thomas began, but Garrath’s grip tightened.
“She will live,” Meredith said, wrenching the halfling’s necklace free before ice could claim it. “I’m sorry.” She said tersely before slamming a seed into the frozen ground. “[Rapid Growth: Root Wall]!”
Roots exploded up, sealing a tunnel. Meredith moved with purpose, then cast another spell —a dulling touch that toppled the manic halfling to the ground. Garrath scooped him up, and they ran, fast and tactical, a retreat that was not surrender but survival.
Sophia’s fox crept forward, pressing against her vast flank, trembling as its clear zone collapsed. The blizzard began to reclaim the shore.
Without looking away from the Champion, Sophia nudged her fox with a quick curl of tongue, urging it to move toward the fleeing humans, to hide.
It whined, eyes flipping between her and the Sovereign.
Please. Hide.
The fox chose loyalty. It bounded after the party, slipping through the root wall just as it sealed.
Alone now—just her and the Champion and the treasure—Sophia planted herself, defiant. She opened her jaws, [Pocket Dimension] sucking in the crab’s remains to feed her snarling belly as the leopard prowled left and right.
It wasn’t as confident in facing her as the next floor’s Champion had been—perhaps the level had something to do with that.
Lily’s frozen gaze rested on them both; the dungeon watched, waiting to see who would rule this frozen hell.
Why do I feel like… I failed again.
I failed you…like I failed Damon.
One of her many eyes fixed on the tiny sixteen-year-old, something maternal welling up within her, vision still red with anger burning.
No! I haven’t failed yet…
Maybe I am a monster.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t save you.
I can save you.
No.
I will save you!
Saliva and toxin dripping, she opened her maw wide.
“Grrragh!”
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[ Next POV: Damon]
[ Theme: Sophia’s gone full mama mimic on this cat! Damon would be proud, but he’s dealing with the boss Cassy and the male sun elf he met earlier. How will this go? ]
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