Chapter 15
Respect Me!
Covered in kiwifruit-scented gunk, Gabrielle dragged her dead feet through the dungeon’s exit portal. That must’ve been a new world record for a tier seven slime dungeon. She hummed an exhausted tune and hosed herself down with soapy water, then dried off with SoSo’s enchanted towel. The magical fabric sucked up water like a vacuum cleaner.
"Thank you," Gabrielle chirped.
"The least I can do for my queen."
"Ya got that right!" The cheeriness was half-faked.
All was going well, Gabrielle repeated to herself in her brilliant mind. No one was missing anyone’s presence, especially not her. However, if Rowan didn’t have a good explanation for being locked a stalemate for so long, he was gonna get a good long walloping to the skull. Even she had limits to her patience when their dark continent was at stake.
But perhaps he wasn’t even needed anymore. By some super lucky change, the dungeon had dropped amazing loot!
First off, she now had a functional defensive tower that didn’t need a babysitter like the Demonic Trebuchets. She rolled the blueprint gem between her fingers, calling the nearest Worker Doll to come at once. Only one needed to be taught for the rest to also receive the knowledge—a handy convenience.
The Doll began slothfully making its way over.
Her cheek inflated in annoyance. “SoSo. Play that flute song again.”
“Your wish is my command, your dark highness.”
Hehehe.
She fiddled with the player, and a different but similar song played. It was just as soothing.
Next up, an ultimate scroll for one of the Nihils: Annihilate. Gabrielle entered the command for a six-sided dice into the chatbox even though she already had a favorite among the three. The cube landed on a number indicating Oron. Oh well, luck couldn’t always be on her side.
She flicked Seth a private message.
Gabby LeMort: Heya! I’ve got a present! Annihilate scroll.
No reply came for ten seconds. For twenty. Thirty. A minute, then two. Naughty bat boy! Gabrielle hauled his mental leash, forcing him to come at once. He was going to be a good subject in her dark continent one way or another.
All was going well—with or without a certain cute boy. Row-row, that dummy. The Order would be so mad if he messes everything up.
* * *
It can’t be her, Rowan realized.
His wand-hand lifted as he was about to dash backward with a Rime Blink.
Too late. She spoke in the dark language. One word. The corridor flashed in dark-purple, and—
Nothing.
Blank.
White. Purple. Purple. Purple.
Purple?
A jaw sagged. Something foreign and slippery wormed into a skull, wiping muddied thoughts clean.
Gabrielle’s beauty impaled Rowan. He blinked twice, his breath stolen from his lungs. It was her. His beautiful Gabrielle. His fucktoy. Just being separated from her for less than two hours had made him so, so soft.
She frowned. "Rowan?"
What a lovely voice, but a frown? He displeased her.
He swallowed, transfixed by those Draconian eyes swirling with vibrant blackish-blue magic. Continued shock gripped him by the legs and rippled up into his stomach. Turbulent questions raged behind his taut forehead, didn’t find a route to his gaping mouth, and splintered into stray unintelligible thoughts along the way. Something about Gabrielle’s flat expression in this damp, grungy corridor welled a hollow into his mind, pulled him down with a cold, sinking feeling.
“Hey, yeah. I’m just taking a breather,” he managed to say, doing best to stay composed. “How did you get here? I thought the portal was sealed from the other side.”
Her giant alien-like eyes narrowed so uncharacteristically. Her figure glowed with angry flaring mana, her lips grim.
He held back a swallow. Had his feeble display disappointed her that much? That couldn’t be. His character had been far, far weaker just yesterday, and he was merely taking a moment to think things through, re-strategize and reevaluate the situation. It was the smartest thing to do. Maybe it was her time of the month and she was having a mood swing. The downsides of having a girlfriend had escaped Rowan.
In that same tone far from her usual cheeriness she said, “Relax. A mind-altering curse hit you.”
His left foot stepped back in a knee-jerk reaction. He blurted, “I haven’t—”
“You have. Relax.” Gabrielle vanished, then reappeared in front of him in a twist of liquid darkness. It wasn’t her regular Puff. An intense, uncharacteristic sickly-sweet scent assaulted his nose, made him flinch, though that gorgeous face was exactly hers. In the altar’s dim amber light spilling through the doorway, she was prettier than anything, than anyone else. She whispered, “Don’t worry. I already killed the fiend. Here.” She waved her jet-black wand glowing with a gray-black haze.
A melody in the dark language lapped at his eardrums, then dizziness overcame him. Stomach acids splashed up his throat.
Gabrielle steadied him by the arm. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she sang. “The curse is too high level for my cure. It recoiled on you.”
“Damn,” he wheezed.
With jelly legs, he coughed through the nausea debuff, breathed through the daze, leaning on her taut frame for support, breathing her sweetness. In through the nose, out through the mouth. A long minute passed before the mind-altering curse thinned out to a bearable intensity, mellow enough for Rowan to stand on his own… and think without losing a string of thought halfway through. He hacked a final cough. Queasiness settled in his stomach.
The corridor cleared of fuzz. His eyes hopped to the four corners of the interface one by one, searching for that damned status bar. Stashed at the bottom-left above the chatbox, two new icons counted down. A purple-black silhouette pulsated with a red border—true to her word—next to a standard nausea debuff from her failed cure. He fixed an Examine on the purple one.
Mental Disarray (T6, Ultimate, 29 minutes remaining)
Fucking hell!
Gabrielle caught the look on his face, pitying. “It’s a shame you were hit. I thought you were stronger. And faster.”
And now she was teasing him. “We’re duo-ing a dark dungeon. Shit happens.”
“Hmph.” Her lips twisted, and she jabbed the side of his arm with her index finger. “Then does that mean you’re going to complete it?”
Rowan paused. True, they’d already come all this way, but that single room of elementals had almost overwhelmed them in this tight space. It was a risk, but he couldn’t let her down. He couldn’t be so feeble when they still had a continent to take over let alone a tier six Dungeon.
Sucking in a long breath, Rowan nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.” He slapped her ass, grabbing a handful for a second. “You lead, my beautiful fucktoy.”
“Excuse me?” she gasped, looking at him incredulously.
“Yeah, you keep leading.” He shrugged. “Did I say something wrong? You’re still tankier than I am.”
She blinked. She coughed. “Why not one of your minions like before?”
Oh. That was actually a better choice. That damned curse was already kicking in. “The debuff is muddling my thoughts. One second.” He began re-summoning Gargoyles and Pigeons, conjuring bone marshmallows with swift twirls of his wand. His abilities hadn’t been affected, thankfully. “Got another Mana Draught?” he asked.
She answered after a moment, “That was the last one.”
He sighed. So unlucky.
More precious minutes were wasted while Rowan waited for his mana to regenerate thrice over, and an itch in the corner of his skull was hinting that something was very, very wrong here, as if he were overlooking something right next to his head. Something obvious.
But what?
His nose wrinkled. No, it was just the Mental Disarray debuff. Just bullshit.
Soon enough, the raid party of bones and ice and mana was remade, and their d
elve resumed, Gabrielle at his side, loyal as ever, as sexy as a girl could possibly be. Baser urges had to suppressed else they were at the risk of wasting more time with a dungeon-fuck. Too bad—for her.
The fountain turned out to be nothing, void of magic now that no elementals were circling it, the markings in the dark language no longer lit. Rowan didn’t recognize the words except for four symbols, and the structure refused an Examine; it was probably just some kind of a beacon to keep the elementals in this room, nothing else.
"What do you think this is?" he remembered to ask Gabrielle, who was idling by.
"I don’t know."
"Have you seen anything similar before?"
"No."
Rowan sniffed, shook his head, and jerked his chin toward the only exit at the far end. "Then let’s go." He tugged on his minions’ leashes with an advance order, then mumbled to Gabrielle, "Remember to check for traps with your Detection Ward." He slapped her behind, harder.
She flinched and shot him an almost half-annoyed look but continued onward nevertheless. What had gotten into her? That mood-swing sure did a number on her usual cuteness. He could put up with it as long as she behaved, as per their deal.
Rowan stepped on a loose tile. It depressed—and a click sounded from the sides. He moved without thought. Rime Blink. Five meters back.
Needles flew left and right into the space he had stood.
Itchy irritation spread across his skin. He glared at Gabrielle. "I said check for traps."
"I did. Didn’t spot that one." She smiled.
"Tch." Rowan blew hot air and walked directly behind a Gargoyle, then three steps later, a tile glowed purple under his boot. He blinked back, barely avoiding a miniature corrupting explosion. "What’s happening?" he said more to himself than her.
Gabrielle laughed a weird rhythm. "Maybe it only activates on adventurers." A plausible explanation.
"Then maybe you should walk ahead to clear them."
Her laughter sharply cut off. "I’m the support. You’re more expendable."
Though she was right, he couldn’t help but growl out, "Like hell I am. You’d still be a regular player without my dark mar—" Looking away, he breathed dusty stale air. He couldn’t start raging at her over nothing. The mind curse was taking a toll.
Then she said, "Regular player? This isn’t a game. Are you feeling alright?"
A shiver wracked Rowan’s spine, adrenaline pumping through his blood, waves of goosebumps riding up and down his arms. She was absolutely serious, not joking in the slightest. Just in what in Draesear’s void was happening?! He swallowed as a thought ran through his mind. Was she killed and replaced by a mimic? It could be possible.
Another cold lump slithered down his throat. He said in a measured voice, "Just the mind curse. Wasn’t thinking straight."
"Okay, Rowan." She laughed that weird rhythm far from her usual giggle.
And in fact, he hadn’t ever heard her laugh in such a weird way, and she hadn’t been repulsed by his advances once. She’d always been up for something lewd ever since she’d agreed to be his fucktoy. Her sex drive was higher than his. There was only one explanation.
This was not his Gabrielle.
But if that was a monster, why wouldn’t it have killed him already? It had plenty of chances.
There was only one way to find out for sure.
With a large stride, Rowan entered her personal space and embraced her with an arm around the shoulder. She immediately tensed. He whispered in her ear, "Don’t you know how much your laugh tempts me? That’s very naughty of you, my little fucktoy." With his other hand, he ran his palm up her robe shirt, up her soft belly, and seized a breast, kneading it. She certainly felt like Gabrielle, smelled like her.
Her lips pinched, eyes squinted, as his fondling grew more sensual, and when he was about to slip his hand into her skirt, she disappeared in a twist of dark-purple.
"Rowan," she said strongly.
That all but confirmed his suspicions. It wasn’t her. And whatever it was wasn’t a fan of fighting back with force—or having sex. Though he was tempted to just blast the thing, a mild incline told him this was a verbal challenge. Something was to be gained through talk.
"Yeah? What’s wrong?"
She sighed. "About this fucktoy thing. Though I’ve put up with it in the past, and maybe even pretended to enjoy it, I think I’ve had enough."
"Oh, you have?"
A hand on her hip. "I’m not a sex object, Rowan. I’m a person, a person who deserves some respect."
It took extreme willpower to not growl or bare teeth or tackle her, for that sounded like something one of those shithead light players would say. Regurgitated tripe the unwashed masses spewed on a daily basis, as Gabrielle’s Uncle Vincent and their secret society would probably say. Ironically, Rowan lost all respect for whatever the thing was. He didn’t believe anyone truly deserves respect.
He lifted a brow, broke the silence with a grumble. "But we had a deal. You’re my fucktoy in exchange for the boss ascension and the equal rulership of the continent. And a party attendance."
"Can we renegotiate?"
Rowan gave orders to the minions to prepare a sudden collapse if needed. "I won’t accept anything less."
Her tongue clicked. She blew a raspy breath. "How about let’s finish this dungeon and discuss it later?"
"How about you strip for me. Do a sexy dance."
"Rowan."
"Call me Master Row. Now strip." He couldn’t help himself. Intuition told him enraging it was the right move.
The thing’s eyes narrowed, a stare-down. No problem. Rowan had time…
Actually, time was running short. Gabrielle’s town was at stake, and he was wasting even more priceless seconds with a lame mimic, shit-talking a stupid girl. If traps riddled the rest of the dungeon, then a retreat was necessary. No other choice unveiled before him.
He was about to send in the Gargoyles as she said sweetly yet coldly, "I’m sorry I can’t keep being what you want, and I’m sorry can’t keep saying what you want to hear. This isn’t going to last."
The words almost stung, a soft pang at his chest. Almost. He knew it wasn’t the real Gabrielle, but the thing was a perfect replica of her body and voice. How uncanny this was to interact with something so, so much like her yet not at the same time. Disturbing. This test from the gods was a low-blow, a fucking farce.
"Wrong answer. I can’t accept that." He smirked, couldn’t help but keep rebutting, because why was the thing so adamant on this point? Like it had an agenda, almost as if it were guarding information.
She went for a different approach. "I’m sure there’s a woman out there who would love to be your sex object. I’m not her."
That’s not all he wanted from Gabrielle, not nearly close. He wanted much, much more than a quick fuck. He could get that from any NPC girl or elf. The statement confirmed the thing’s mind-reading ability was extremely limited—likely to a shallow image of his deepest desire.
It kept going on, smiling again, "So let’s just finish the dungeon. If you find enough treasure, I’m sure there’s a woman—"
Rowan’s wand was out in a heartbeat. A Tainted Ice Blast cut off that woeful plea.
Inches away from taking the blast to the breasts, the thing disappeared with a twist of oily darkness, reappeared across the room.
The Gargoyles took flight and chased. Pigeons lobbed icy bolts, and successive ice blasts crashed against the fountain-altar, Rowan motioning his wand with quick swipes.
"Rowan!" it shouted, angry now. "Stop!"
His face contorted with a grimace. "Your cover is blown! The real Gabby would never say those things! Fight me, whatever you are!" It might even be the dungeon’s boss.
A Gargoyle closed the gap, slashed with razor claws.
It blinked. To the right.
Rowan blasted it, missed by less than a yard, but caught it on the leg. Ebony blood squirted.
She shrieked, “Please! St
op! We can finish this dungeon together!”
Oh, those screams were delicious. He kept on feeding her tainted ice—good for her health! “You should’ve thought twice before impersonating my Gabby! She’s not like regular girls! She’s special unlike you!”
Another blink from the thing, toward the fountain-altar, and another Gargoyle rushed it, followed by yet another blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Nothing else. All it could do was run? Very bizarre.
Devil's Waltz Page 17
