Ever have a moment where nothing makes sense? Like up is down, wrong is right—you know, like the first time you try anal fisting, cannibalism, and Mormons. Yeah, this was one of those wildly confusing moments.

Mormons?

Hell yeah. Religiously repressed people always have the wildest kinks! It's like opening Pandora's box—but with more missionary kinks.

So, here I was, relishing a delectable feast, dissolving into a winged lizard sack of meat—absolutely delicious. I think they call them dragonkin? Yeah, I'm pretty sure, and let me tell you, they're surprisingly tasty, if I do say so myself. Now, here's where my confusion kicks in: I'm in utter orgasmic bliss enjoying my meal, and there's this elf—Anlyth. You know, the one who offed that goblin kid, Wartie. Annoying little shit. Sure, he tasted great and all, and maybe I should thank her for that—but I had dibs on killing him! For fuck's sake, I put up with his irritating crap, saving him for later so I could slowly eat him alive, savor the whole thing, and then this bitch had the gall to kill him?

I know. I know. Old news.

Now that I think about it, didn't he come back to life once I brought back the dungeon core—you know, right before my soul exploded? Ugh, whatever. That's beside the point.

The real issue at the moment is that Anlyth just blew up—not herself, mind you, but this golden, glittering protective sphere she had around her. Like, glitter bomb meets magical middle finger.

The paladin holy bullshit explosion had hurled me straight into the lizard I'm currently dining on, splattering me across several bars and drenching the other captives in this beastkin catacomb-slash-sewer hideout. Let me tell you, the place is a real shithole—both honest and generous as far as descriptions go. We're talking a refugee camp filled with hollow eyes and sunken stomachs, set against a backdrop of damp walls, stagnant air, and the constant aroma of shit and death.

Ah, yes. My kind of place!

Where was I? Right, I was melting into a screeching, winged gecko. The flavor—oh, right, my bad. Anlyth, that elf, was marching straight toward me. And lucky me, I had Asherah, a literal goddess, in my back corner—wait a second, where did she vanish to? I scanned the area, but no sign of her. The goddess of healing or whatever had poofed.

"Coward."

Not that I blame her. That's exactly what I should be doing right now. But nope, here I am, crawling at a snail's pace—no, scratch that, slower than a slug. Actually, full disclosure? I wasn't even making an effort to crawl away. I was in the middle of a full-blown food coma. What? The screaming dragonkin tasted way too good to leave unfinished. Priorities.

Umm... You left him unfinished? You might want to rethink your wording.

What? Oh. Oh! Right, my bad. No time to stop and nibble on the screeching lizard dude.

...

The woman—whose husband's neck I had snapped with my tentacles—now loomed over me, her aura practically dripping with disgust and hatred. Thanks to my terrible eyesight and the pathetically low ambient mana, everything was a blur. But the she-elf before me? Yeah, she was radiating enough mana to light up a small moon, giving me hope that I still had a few surprises up my sleeve—or rather, up my goo.

Without wasting another second, I unleashed Blight as my opening move.

Wasn't Burst our opening attack?

Doesn't count.

You know those infrared videos of someone passing gas? Yeah, that's pretty much how my dark miasma looked as it lazily wafted out. Embarrassing, right? To top it off, the other prisoners' panicked cries abruptly halted, as if they were collectively trying to process my feeble excuse for an attack. Even the paladin elf stared at me, one eyebrow raised in a mix of surprise and pity.

Great job. She probably thinks we just shit ourselves.

Not helping! But sure, feel free to chime in anytime—same goes for the rest of you freeloading circus clowns in my head.

Ha! The Blake Skunk Works has cooked up a brilliant plan!

I probably should've rolled my eyes at the chaos upstairs, but ignoring my own inner dialogue? Yeah, that's about as likely as abstinence at an orgy.

Wait, we have a Skunk Works?

Yep! The plan is… do we want to take it face down or on our back? Either way, we're totally fucked. Bonus points for style, though!

Oh, fantastic. Our master plan is basically missionary defeat.

It also didn't help that what little gas I did release was utterly useless. The measly amount barely brushed against Anlyth—or, more accurately, her slightly smaller but still annoyingly intact shield. Picture a wheezy hipster coughing on his vape—that was me, pathetic to the core. And the look on her face? Yeah, that was a direct hit to what little self-esteem I had left.

This day is officially climbing my Top Five Worst Days list, nestled just below the time I needed antibiotics thanks to Stiffler's mom and that unforgettable moment when my past life mom walked in on one of my college gang bangs. What can I say? I was wild, and honestly, no regrets. Besides, group parties are an excellent way to expand your vocabulary—just say the word bukkake. It really rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?

As I tensed, bracing for Anlyth's inevitable holy smite—or whatever dramatic retaliation she had locked and loaded—a sudden, eerie silence gripped the room. The prisoners, one by one, began slumping silently to the ground. First one, then another, until their bodies crumpled in a grim domino effect.

My gaze flicked to Anlyth, her blurred features sharp enough to betray her alarm. Her eyes darted sharply around the room, her body coiled with tension like a spring about to snap. Whatever was happening, even she didn't see it coming. And that? That was scarier than anything I could've conjured—and I once had a pregnancy scare. You bet your ass I aborted that little fucker!

What? You're okay with my cannibalism, but abortion crosses the line? Oh, fuck off—wait, don't fuck off! I need you to keep reading. Um… pretend I never said that last part! Right, abortion, what abortion? Back to the story!

Darkness crept in, suffocating the light from the once-glowing crystals. Their radiance waned, flickering like dying stars struggling against an inevitable eclipse. A shadow danced across the walls, elusive and ever-changing, slinking behind columns and cages. Each time it reappeared, it wore a different form—now a child, now a woman, now a towering figure with the bulk of an orc. This chameleon-like specter prowled the edges of our vision, never drawing near, yet its oppressive presence wrapped around us like a suffocating shroud.

The cells around us lay unnervingly still, their occupants stolen away by the silent predator. Only Anlyth and I remained, left in a chamber steeped in shadows, death, and a silence so dense it felt alive.

The brief, suffocating lull was shattered by Anlyth's exasperated sigh.

"Jörmun, do you mind?"

"You're not supposed to kill her."

"I wasn't… going to," she replied, though her hesitation hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed.

Their exchange lingered awkwardly in the air, a palpable silence stretching between them. Meanwhile, I seized the golden opportunity. With a grin at my sudden brainwave and their focus firmly on each other, I silently went back to what mattered most—eating the corpses. What? A girl's got to have her priorities, am I right?

I envisioned my form expanding to envelop the slowly dissolving dragonkin corpse. Instead, my impatience took over, and tendrils erupted from me like a spider spinning its web, snaking out to wrap around every prisoner's body I could reach. The sizzling sound of flesh dissolving filled the air as my tendrils retracted, pulling the bodies toward me with a slow, ravenous hunger.

It wasn't fast enough.

Honestly, it was disappointing. The sluggish pace at which I corroded them left me bitterly unimpressed. My best guess? I'd been unintentionally supercharging my skills with ambient mana before, and now, without it, I was severely underperforming. This must be what limp-dick men feel like. Ugh, it was maddening—devouring these corpses felt like it was taking an eternity.

At least, to my surprise, the she-elf-bitch above me hadn't taken the opportunity to attack. Yet.

Before I knew it—an eternity later or just a few minutes (time blurs when you're impatient)—I found myself scanning the room for more food. Only then did it dawn on me: I'd devoured all the prisoners in the chamber. Oops. The corpses were gone, and I didn't even remember savoring the last few bites. Unfortunately, Anlyth and shadow dude were still very much unscathed, standing there like two untouchable statues of annoyance.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

On the bright side, most of the cages had disintegrated without me even noticing during snack time. Double oops. Oh, and there was something else—Anlyth didn't seem quite as tall or imposing as before.

No, wait. That's not it.

I'm the one who's larger! Bwahahaha!

Um… quick question. Are we sure the prisoners we just ate were all dead, or were some just unconscious?

Hmmm? Dunno… wait—hold on! We didn't get any new skills for any of them!

You've got to be shitting me.

Ugh—morons! We only get new skills from dungeon monsters and system users, remember?

Oh, riiight! My bad. I was distracted by the taste—one of them was marinated in despair or something.

Focus, you clowns! I'm surrounded by airhead voices. We're getting lost in our thoughts… again.

Oh, big shock there. We're about as organized as a toddler on pixie sticks.

Wait, where were we?

—We have pixie sticks?—

The she-elf-bitch and shadow guy—HELLO?! Keep up!

Ah, right, back to business. Also, sidenote: we really need to pick which new skills to activate before someone else tries to murder us.

Yeah, good plan. Let's add that to the to-do list, right under 'don't die' and 'stop thinking about the taste of despair guy.'

—Seriously, which one of you has the pixie sticks?!—

There I was, splayed out on the floor, having polished off my lizard feast and, as a little bonus, a few other prisoners. A bit of a surprise to you and me both. But the thing that kept nagging at me was why the elf hadn't just finished me off right then and there. I mean, with ambient mana practically nonexistent, I was in a sorry-ass state. From what I could piece together from my system skills—or the glaring lack of their effectiveness—every bit of my magic seemed to depend on ambient mana for casting or even a tiny boost.

Worst part? Divine Stellar Core seemed to be on some kind of cooldown. Figures, right? The one time I get a flashy, overpowered move, it's got a timer slapped on it. Honestly, the skill had been... unusual. Sure, it filled me with a ridiculous amount of mana, enough to make me feel like a god for a moment, but something about it felt off. Like I hadn't tapped into its full potential—or worse, like it wasn't mine to fully wield yet.

So yeah, in already-stated simpler terms: I was royally screwed. And yet, there she was, just standing there, no killing blow in sight.

"Umm… whatcha waiting for?" I managed to gurgle out in my half-lucid voice, though the effort nearly made me choke on my own goo.

It hit me then, like a slow-motion slap to the face, that even my ability to speak seemed tied to the missing ambient mana. Heck, come to think of it, I'd already noticed I couldn't understand what anyone was saying unless they were practically breathing down my nonexistent neck. That's when the brain bomb dropped—nobody was actually speaking English. Their lips didn't even remotely match the sounds they were making, and yet, somehow, it all made sense to me.

Maybe it was that skill—Polyglot. I must've unknowingly mastered it without the system's help, something tinkering with my brain rather than my ears. Not that I knew whether to feel impressed with myself or thoroughly creeped out.

We don't have a brain—or ears. Also, we already knew no one was speaking English.

True. But technically, I could shapeshift a brain up if I wanted to. Still, my inner voices had a point—a rare and deeply unsettling occurrence. As much as I hate admitting it.

Maybe it's linked to our soul? Also, we did?

Probably… and yes!

"It pains me to admit this, but I'm here," the elf woman hesitated, her gaze flicking to the shadowed figure lurking nearby, too obscured to make out clearly. Her jaw tightened, and her words came out through gritted teeth. "I'm here to be your… champion."

"You're what?" I blurted, my tone dripping with disbelief.

"You heard me."

"You must ask if she accepts," the shadow dude chimed in, his voice calm and measured, yet somehow adding an unexpected layer of confusion.

Judging by Anlyth's narrowed eyes and my slightly slackened form, we were equally baffled.

"Sure," I said after a beat, my tone laced with a mix of amusement and flippant indifference. After all, if this turned out to be some elaborate trap, there was always the option of dealing with her permanently later, right? "Just know, though, I only pay in the form of ass play and pixie sticks."

—Which one of us has the pixie sticks?!—

"No," the figure's voice surrounded us, omnipresent and unrelenting. "Anlyth must ask as if swearing an oath, and then you, Blake, must accept," he clarified, though the explanation only served to confuse me further.

Anlyth turned back to me, her voice dripping with contempt. "May I… aid… you as… your champion?"

"No, I didn't feel it. You can do better."

Okay, maybe I was feeling a bit smug, but can you blame me? All of this was coming as a bit of a shock, and clearly, we were both being played by Mr. Dark and Mysterious. Also, where the hell was Auntie?

"You've got to be kidding me," she hissed, her hands clenched into fists.

"The system needs to recognize the agreement," shadow guy interjected, his tone infuriatingly calm.

Anlyth let out a resigned sigh, muttering "for Ezad" under her breath. Her shoulders sagged as she faced me, her voice heavy with reluctance and bitterness.

"May I serve you?"

Titan Leveling to Ascension 83

Copyright Primordial of Life 0000-Eternity.

V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

 

Moderator:\Jörmun>Login_

New Data Accepted.

Initializing Character Data…

Complete.

_

 

V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

ClassUpdate

 

New Class Assigned.

 

[Champion of Nightmares]

Description: Anlyth has been offered the unique class of Champion to the Demigoddess of Nightmares, daughter of Duskara, the Goddess of Dreams.

 

Four new skills have been granted to Anlyth as part of her class advancement.

 

Do you accept?

> YES

> NO

 

Moderator Note: The Goddess of Dreams offers her blessing upon this Champion and has granted her an additional skill for loyalty.

 

V:\>

The appearance of the system notification caught me off guard, its presence demanding my attention. It seemed I needed to formally accept her for the system to recognize her as my Champion. But it was the next popup that truly blindsided me.

Titan Leveling to Ascension 83

Copyright Primordial of Life 0000-Eternity.

V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

 

Admin:\Death>Login_

New Data Accepted.

Initializing Character Data…

Complete.

_

 

V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

ClassUpdate

 

New Class Assigned.

 

[Priestess of Nightmares]

Description: Heather has been offered the unique class of Priestess to the Demigoddess of Nightmares, daughter of Duskara, the Goddess of Dreams.

 

Four new skills have been granted to Heather as part of her class advancement.

 

Do you accept?

> YES

>

_

 

V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

ClassUpdate

 

New Classes Assigned.

 

[Champions of Nightmares]

Description: Three others have been offered the unique class of Champions to the Demigoddess of Nightmares, daughter of Duskara, the Goddess of Dreams.

 

Four new skills have been granted to Jeremy, Sophia, and Yua as part of their class advancement.

 

Do you accept?

> YES

>

 

Admin Note: The Goddess of Dreams offers her blessing upon this Champion and has granted them an additional skill for their loyalty. Also, dear granddaughter, you need the help—otherwise, I'd give you the option. Also, don't eat them!

 

V:\>

"Shit, even Death is in on this."

"What?!" shadow dude blurted, his voice cracking with genuine alarm.

I ignored him.

I was caught in a swirling cocktail of emotions—torn between screaming a resounding hell no, cackling like a lunatic at the sheer absurdity of it all, or slamming the Yes button just to make Anlyth's life a living nightmare.

But then there was the kicker: the notification about Death. Oh, that really grated my gooey nerves. Who does she think she is, assigning me Champions—plural—and a freakin' Priestess? And from the same idiots I'd killed in the dungeon, no less. Great. Just fantastic. And to make matters worse, my second—or third, fourth… twentieth?—life mom had signed off on it with her blessing? This whole situation was shaping up to be a pain of truly legendary proportions.

With an exaggerated mental sigh, I hovered on rejecting the whole thing—purely out of spite for everyone deciding shit for me. That was the plan, anyway.

But no. No, of course not.

Before I could hit No—not that was an option—it happened. One of my shattered souls decided to hijack the controls and slam the Yes button. The worst part? I couldn't even tell which one had done it.

One group of my souls seemed to embody my sarcastic, ditzy side, while the other was more of a dramatic, bitchy faction. And then there were the unaligned ones—the chaotic random voices who refused to pick a side but loved to stir the pot. Trying to figure out who had commandeered the controls was like sorting a tornado.

The end result? I somehow ended up with not one Champion, but several, and a freakin' Priestess to top it off. Which, as far as I knew, was supposed to be reserved for gods. And why the actual fuck would I need a Priestess? If I'd had a physical face at that moment, it would've been split between the smuggest, most mischievous Cheshire cat grin and one of pure, unadulterated annoyance.

However, my new toy in front of me didn't seem to share my enthusiasm about this little revelation.

"You tricked me, you snake!" Anlyth yelled, whirling around to face the now-fading shadowy figure.

"I did no such thing," he replied smoothly, his infuriatingly calm tone lingering even as his form began to fade. Just before vanishing completely, his voice echoed one last time, carrying his parting words. "I will honor my part of the deal. Serve, and above all, protect the little nightmare."

The chamber fell into a prolonged, heavy silence. Neither of us moved, both frozen as if waiting for the other to make the next move. Then, it hit me. The sheer absurdity of it all. I couldn't contain myself anymore—I burst into uncontrollable laughter. I mean, how could I not? I now had my very own Champion, and the irony of her being someone who clearly despised me was too delicious to ignore. Oh, this was going to be fun.

My laughter continued to echo through the space, growing louder with each passing second. Anlyth, on the other hand, looked like she was actively regretting every decision that had led her to this moment. Her glare was a mix of anger, disbelief, and what I could only describe as simmering murderous intent. I could practically see the gears turning in her head as she weighed her options—whether to cut her losses by cutting me down or to grit her teeth and endure her newly forged servitude. Honestly? Both choices were valid.

Unfortunately for her, my laughter was soon drowned out by the sound of boots thundering against the stone floor, their rhythm growing louder and closer.

"Well, Champ," I drawled, trying to suppress the last of my chuckles. "Looks like you're in for loads of fun."

And as if on cue, Asherah strolled back into the room, as casual as could be, as though she'd been here the entire time. Of course, she hadn't. Where had she been, anyway? Hiding? Avoiding shadow guy for some odd reason? Whatever.

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