The throbbing in Dum's arm was a perverse rhythm, a counterpoint to the lingering phantom sensation of Veris' lips and tongue. He opened his eyes to the sight of her, her white hair a disheveled halo around her intent face, her lips glistening. The wound, a dark, festering blotch minutes ago, was now a mottled grey, the edges less ragged, less menacing. He felt a surge of revulsion mixed with a grudging acknowledgment of her… efficacy.

  "Get off me, you… You leech!" he spat, shoving her away. He scrambled to his feet, a wave of dizziness washing over him, and tried to create distance, but she was surprisingly strong, her hands finding purchase on his chest, pushing him back down with an almost playful force.

  "Hey! No need for that kind of language," Veris protested, her eyes flashing with a hurt that seemed genuine, however misplaced. "Do you think I enjoy this?"

  "Yes," Dum retorted, his voice thick with disgust. "Did anyone tell you to do this? Did I ask you to?"

  "Well… No," she admitted, a blush creeping up her neck, "but I was… Extracting the curse. It's not exactly a pleasant task, you know." She gestured towards his arm, her eyes pleading for understanding. "Look, it's working, isn't it?"

  He did look. The putrid blackness had receded, replaced by a sickly grey that, while still unsettling, was a vast improvement. Even the stench, the cloying, deathly aroma that had clung to him like a shroud, had diminished. He remembered the failed attempts, the desperate, futile ministrations of Abi's unconventional healers. The Necromancers, their skeletal fingers probing the wound, had only managed to make it writhe with a faint, ghoulish luminescence. The Rainbow Mage, with his swirling, chaotic magic, had merely painted the curse in shifting, nauseating hues.

  Reluctantly, Dum conceded the point. He was pragmatic, and survival, however distasteful the means, was paramount. "Fine," he growled, "but under one condition. This stays between us. Absolutely no one else can know. Especially not Talia." The thought of her knowing, of her seeing him like this, sent a wave of mortification through him. "I'd rather die than have her find out."

  Veris’s expression softened, then twisted into a playful smirk. "Fine, fine. I was just trying to help, stuck in this room while everyone else is out there, you know? But I won't tell your 'precious Talia,'" she mimicked, punctuating the sentence with exaggerated kissing noises. "Now, are we going to get this over with, or what?"

  Dum sighed, the weight of his predicament settling heavily on his shoulders. "Just… Do it." He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the renewed onslaught.

  The sounds began again: the wet, slurping noises, the soft, rhythmic licking of her tongue against his skin. He clenched his jaw, trying to block out the sensations, the feel of her mouth on his wound. "Do you really have to lick it?" he groaned, his face burning. "How is that even…?"

  "It helps to draw it out," Veris mumbled, her voice muffled against his skin. "My saliva… It has… Special properties."

  He wanted to argue, to demand a better explanation, but the undeniable truth was that his arm was healing. The grey patch was shrinking, the skin beneath starting to regain a semblance of its natural color. "Holy… Never mind," he muttered, pushing her head back down. "Just… Keep going."

  The rhythm continued, the slurping and licking now almost hypnotic. He could feel a strange warmth spreading through his arm, a revitalizing energy that chased away the lingering weakness. He felt almost… Good.

  Then, the world shifted. A swirling vortex of green light materialized in the center of the room as Abi appeared, her face a mask of bewildered exhaustion. Trailing behind her, tethered by a thin, glowing chain, was a small, green-skinned creature with wide, frightened eyes – a Goblin.

  Abi’s gaze swept over the scene, taking in Dum and Veris. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, a complex mix of confusion and resignation flashing across her features. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then finally managed to stammer, "This is the Demon King. Watch him, but… Don't kill him. Er… Bye." And with another swirl of light, she was gone.

  The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions. Dum, his newfound strength surging, grabbed the Goblin by the scruff of its neck, lifting it off the floor. "Can you remove this curse?" he demanded, his voice rough. Then, a surge of frustrated anger took over, and he began to slam the Goblin against the floor, repeatedly. He then carried the ex-king over to Veris and sat down, holding him by the throat.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asked Veris, his brow furrowed in a scowl. “Master has already seen you, so it doesn’t even matter now. Everyone will know by tomorrow,” he pouted, his annoyance palpable.

  Veris, oblivious to the Goblin’s terror, or perhaps simply indifferent, resumed her task, her lips and tongue working with renewed vigor. The goblin, trapped between Dum’s wrath and Veris’s… Ministrations, let out a series of high-pitched squeaks, its eyes rolling in panic.

  Dum’s mind raced. He considered the drastic measure of severing his arm, the thought of Veris' mouth on him making him shudder. Only the fact that the healing was so close to completion prevented him from doing so. He longed for Talia’s touch, for her cool, skilled hands, for her presence to chase away the lingering unease. The Goblin, trapped between the two of them, shuddered and whimpered, a small, green testament to the absurdity of the situation.

  Tweedledum and Veris

  Dungeon Stories Volume 4

  It's a good job I'm ready to help in my new kick-ass, King-killing body.

  Marie's face is a mask of strained effort, her body trembling as she wrestles with the monstrous gate. Each shuddering lurch of the portal frame sends a wave of nausea through me, a sickening reminder of the horrors pouring through. Light and the others, their faces grim and sweat-streaked, are a whirlwind of desperate motion, their attacks a flickering candle against the encroaching darkness. I can feel their exhaustion, a heavy weight that threatens to drag them under.

  But I'm not going to let that happen. Not now. Not when I'm finally equipped to make a real difference. My new body, a vessel of raw power, thrums with anticipation. I feel the strength within me, a swirling vortex of annihilation, eager to be unleashed.

  With a surge of adrenaline, I leap into the fray, the ground a blur beneath my feet. I channel the void, compressing it into a concentrated beam of pure destructive energy. Without hesitation, I unleash it directly into the heart of the portal. The effect is instantaneous and devastating. A wave of absolute nothingness washes through the demon realm, erasing everything in its path.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  The larger demons, those hulking monstrosities that had been pushing the gate open, simply cease to exist, their forms dissolving into shimmering motes of darkness. The smaller demons, caught in the wake of the beam, are vaporized, leaving only wisps of acrid smoke.

  Marie, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and relief, seizes the opportunity. With renewed vigor, she throws her mana against the gate, the frame groaning and shrinking under her determined assault. The flow of demons slows to a trickle, but they still pour through, a relentless tide of grotesque forms.

  My Assassins, their movements fluid and precise, close ranks to form a living barrier around the portal. They move with a silent efficiency, their blades flashing in the dim light as they cut down any demon that dares to breach their defenses. They rotate seamlessly, allowing each other brief moments of respite, a well-oiled machine of death.

  I feel the void within me building, a growing pressure that demands release. I begin to condense it, focusing my energy into another devastating beam. But just as I'm about to unleash it, a sound cuts through the chaos – a clear, resonant trumpet call.

  My instincts scream at me to eliminate the remaining demons, to maximize my gains. I can't afford distractions. With a surge of power, I teleport to the front line, directly in the path of the remaining demons. The void beam, still unnamed but undeniably potent, erupts from my hand, a searing line of pure annihilation. The demons before me are obliterated, leaving a gaping hole in their ranks. The air shimmers with residual energy, a testament to the sheer destructive force I wield.

  "Void Annihilator?" I mutter to myself, testing the name. "Nah, too… Pedestrian." I need something with more punch.

  The trumpet call echoes again, pulling me back to the present. I teleport back, checking my overview. A platoon of elves, clad in gleaming armor, is rapidly approaching. They're too close for comfort. I hadn't even noticed them. My focus was elsewhere, but that’s no excuse.

  I feel a surge of irritation. I don't have time for this. I'm in the middle of a demonic invasion, and the last thing I need is a confrontation with a bunch of pointy-eared busybodies. Everyone knows humans and elves are about as compatible as oil and water. They'll see me, start some kind of racial slurs, and then I'll have to kill them. It's the law of the land, practically.

  Besides, I’m still itching to summon my own elven forces. I'm so close, just one more absorbed elf and I'll have that ability.

  I teleport directly in front of the approaching elves, my voice sharp and demanding. "What do you want? We're busy fighting demons." I hold the nascent void beam in my hand, a glowing sphere of raw power. Their eyes widen as they take in my form, and they instinctively back away.

  There are about two hundred of them, all dressed in identical, ornate uniforms. They look like a royal guard, a procession of pristine warriors. I really don't want to deal with this right now. My bluntness isn't helping, but I don’t have time for pleasantries.

  The elf at the front, clearly their leader, steps forward. He raises his hand and… Salutes me.

  What did he learn that?

  The crisp snap of a salute, usually a mundane gesture, reverberates through the war-torn air. It’s not the salute itself that jolts me, not even amidst this chaotic clash against demonic hordes. What snags my attention, what sends a ripple of surprise through my weary mind, is the type of salute. A closed fist pressed firmly against his chest – a dungeon salute.

  My salute. Our salute. A gesture born in the depths of our shared struggle, usually a silent acknowledgement between my family, my dungeon denizens. To see it mirrored by an elf, a creature of the forest, feels surreal, almost like a phantom echo. It's a stark reminder that the lines between us are blurring, that alliances are shifting in this desperate fight for survival.

  "We know what you are," the elf states, his voice calm, yet laced with an undercurrent of urgency. "And we also know what is happening. I have brought Space Mages to help seal the breach between planes."

  My heart leaps. Space Mages. Finally. My aching muscles, my frayed nerves, find a momentary reprieve. Marie, bless her soul, must be teetering on the edge of collapse. The sheer strain of manipulating spatial magic on this scale… It’s a miracle she hasn’t already succumbed to exhaustion. I immediately resolve to secure these elven mages, to ensure they remain a vital part of our defense.

  With the combined power of the elven Space Mages and the unwavering ferocity of my Assassins, we manage to push back the encroaching demonic tide. The air crackles with residual magic, the stench of brimstone and decay hangs heavy. Finally, with a collective surge of energy, the portal – the gaping wound ripped into our reality by that treacherous Demon King's Mage, Danil – shudders and collapses, sealing shut with a resounding thrum.

  The aftermath is a tableau of utter exhaustion. My family, my warriors, my monsters – we crumble where we stand. Every muscle screams in protest, every nerve ending pulses with the aftershocks of battle. Never before have we faced such a relentless onslaught. The sheer, overwhelming number of demons, a writhing, endless tide of grotesque forms, is a horror I won't soon forget. Even now, with the portal sealed, I can see them, a vast, undulating sea of darkness stretching across the desolate landscape beyond. A grim reminder of the threat that still looms.

  Some of my family, the more monstrous among them, have retreated to the sanctuary of the dungeon. But those who fought on the front lines, those who held the line against the demonic onslaught, lie scattered across the forest floor, their bodies limp, their breaths shallow.

  The Ringmaster, his moon-shaped head resting on the damp earth, stares up at the illusionary stars that still flicker in the twilight. Then, as if on cue, Light’s grand skill, a beacon of hope in the encroaching darkness, reaches its culmination. The illusionary night gives way to the warm, golden rays of the sun, bathing us in its life-giving light.

  The battle is won. The city is safe. Not a single demon has breached our defenses. Yet, the victory feels hollow, tainted by the lingering ache of loss.

  “Are you going to bring the triplets back or what?” Me’s voice, sharp and direct, cuts through the silence. He makes it sound so simple, so effortless. And, as always, I am struck by a wave of self-reproach. How could I have forgotten?

  With a snap of my fingers, I teleport to the clearing where their souls linger, three wisps of vibrant color – red, yellow, and purple – floating helplessly amidst the trees. Their artificial dungeon souls, lacking the inherent spark of mortality, are adrift, unable to enter the cycle of reincarnation. Tears well up in my eyes as I gather them close, their fragile forms vibrating with residual energy.

  I cradle them gently, pouring my own energy into their ethereal forms, soothing their frayed essence, coaxing them back to vibrancy. Once their souls are whole again, I conjure three Oblivion Dragons, each a perfect replica of their former selves. I carefully, painstakingly, insert each soul into its corresponding vessel.

  Amber stirs first, her eyes fluttering open. “I’m starving. Master, is it dinner time yet?” Her voice, sweet and innocent, is a balm to my wounded spirit. I can’t help but embrace her, a surge of relief washing over me.

  “Absolutely,” I murmur, pulling out a stash of sweets from my personal storage. I hand them to Amber just as Blondie awakens, her brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Abi? Did I die? I’m sure I remember dying.” Blondie’s analytical mind is already piecing together the events, her gaze searching mine for answers. I pull her into a hug, reassuring her that she’s safe.

  “Don’t worry about it. The King’s dead… sort of, and you three did amazing. I’m super proud of you.” Their barrier may have shattered, but their courage, their unwavering loyalty, shines brighter than any shield.

  “Bear? Bear!?” Violet’s eyes snap open, her voice filled with panic. Her first thought is for her beloved cub, whose soul had been tethered to theirs. I summon a new Bear Cub, its form perfectly crafted, its soul imbued with unwavering loyalty. This isn’t some mindless beast spawned for adventurers; this is a companion, a protector.

  I kneel beside Violet, offering her the cub. Her face lights up, her tears replaced by a radiant smile. She snatches the cub from my arms, her embrace fierce and possessive. Even as she cuddles the cub, I pull her into a hug, a gesture she tolerates with a reluctant grumble.

  These girls, my triplets, are a constant source of wonder. Amber, with her insatiable appetite and childlike innocence; Blondie, with her insatiable curiosity and desire to understand everything; Violet, with her fierce loyalty and unwavering devotion to her cub. They are a chaotic, vibrant force, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

  Exhausted, I collapse beside them, my body aching, my mind still reeling from the battle. I gaze up at the sun, its warmth a soothing balm on my weary soul. But even as I savor the moment of peace, a nagging thought intrudes. The elves. The delegation waiting in the forest.

  A sigh escapes my lips. There’s no rest for the wicked, it seems.