After the introductions were wrapped up, ones which I barely pay attention to when there's a more pressing matter regarding a certain person, we moves further inside the building.

  What little light there are seems to be swallow up, making it near impossible to see the person in front of me outside of some shadowy sillhte.

  "Ugh, it smells," A voice says somewhere at the front. "Did something died?"

  "Maybe it's you," Another voice chimes in.

  The farther we walk, the more the asura flowing within the environment becomes heavier. It presses against my body, making it slightly harder to move. It gotten to the point where even I, as an Essevian, starts to feel nauseas. the tentacles are split down the middle over this. Some pulsating with happiness and excitement at the abundance of asura, others just let out several pulses of annoyances and pain.

  Squinting, I occasionally wraps my arm around my face as an abundance of asura continues to prickle at me. Even as my eyes are watering so much that it becomes painful, I continues to scan every nook and cranny carefully.

  …Hmmm…there's no potential exits or entrances here, either. Should I be worried?

  Following behind several of the hunters, I walk alongside Mary silently. Neither of us daring to speak first.

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I internally scream inside.

  Aghhhh! This is just great! What's the point of me trying to protect her if she's just going to throw her life into the nearest pit at the drop of a hat?!!!

  "Beatrice," Mary begins, breaking the weird atmosphere between us. "….Why are you here?"

  Staring down at the woman with a frown, I slowly blink my eyes.

  That is what I should be asking you, you bloody-

  "Well, I suppose it's for the same reason you did," I say instead, not wanting all eyes on us.

  At my answer, Mary lets out one of the longer sighs I’ve heard from her.

  "Why are you so stubborn sometimes?" she mutters, loud enough for me to hear. "I told you I can take care of things."

  "Right," I reply flatly. "I guess ‘taking care of things’ means jumping into a dungeon while you’re sick and should be resting. Good to know."

  "You’re doing the same thing!"

  Crossing my arms, Mary and I glare at each other, not breaking eye contact even as we walk through several turns.

  Through the bond, I can feel several tentacles pulse with annoyance, and what suspiciously feels like their version of saying we’re being childish.

  Oh, shut up, you good-for-nothing parasites. I'm trying to make a point here!

  After several minutes of intense glaring, Mary is the first to break with a sigh.

  "Oh god, what am I doing?" she says. "No—what are we doing? Acting like a bunch of kids."

  Lowering my arms, I tilt my head slightly to one side and sigh.

  "I guess we’re both at fault here," I admit, rubbing my temple as I face forward. "Though you are more at fault than I am—but yeah, we’ve both wronged each other."

  Mary shoots me a look as our group makes another turn to the right.

  "You really need to work on your apologies," The woman only says.

  I watch as the woman let out another long sigh before holding a hand toward me.

  "Alright, how about a truce?" Mary asks. "While I'm still mad about this whole thing, let's just save it for after we get out of this dungeon safe and sound."

  Nodding, I take her hand in mine.

  "Agreed," I say. "I doubt anything would get resolved in here anyway."

  That, and I’d rather have Mary close than both of us keeping our distance over some argument. She should be in my line of sight if anything happens.

  With that, Mary lets go of my hand and tries to draw me into a conversation about tea and such. Despite the lightcoreed talk, there's still an underlying tension between us—something neither of us dares to bring up.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "Another Essevian," someone mutters from behind me. "Why does that man keep hiring more of them? There are plenty of non-undead porters out there. It’s not like they’re better at this than we are."

  "I dunno," another voice replies. "We’re paid to carry stuff. Why should I care what some wacko boss hires for his weird kink obsession?"

  "Ah, yes, that makes me feel so much better. Getting eaten by an Essevian because the recruiter has a tentacle kink. What a life."

  Mary swivels her head around, glaring at something behind us. I notice the subtle tremors of barely contained rage in her shoulders as she turns.

  "Alright, who said that?" she asks, her voice eerily calm. "Would anyone mind speaking up? I didn’t quite hear you the first time."

  No one answers. Instead, the only thing that greets her is the low murmur of stray conversations. It was as if she wasn't even there.

  As Mary is about to open her mouth, I place a hand on her shoulder.

  "Stop it," I say, turning Mary back around. "It's not worth it."

  Mary gives me a look, halfway turning around to face me.

  "But…"

  I simply shake my head. At this, the woman lets out a defeated sigh and turns around again.

  "You can't just let others step over you," Mary remarks. "Don’t you have any pride at all?"

  I briefly gaze at her before looking off to the side.

  "It’s simply survival," I say with a shrug. "Besides, what use is there in making a fuss over nothing?"

  Several turns and some wading through darkness later, we finally arrive at our destination. The people in front of me come to a sudden stop, almost causing me to slam into them.

  Taking a small step back, I get on my tiptoes to see over the person in front of me.

  Far ahead is the portal entrance to the dungeon, its interior filled with swirling purple mist—thick with asura.

  The entrance is lined with metal plates in an arch shape. Symbols are engraved deep into their surfaces, with colorful asura giving them a slight glow. Through the bond, several tentacles pulse with hunger and happiness at the sight.

  Letting my eyes wander, I see nothing else except the swirling portal within the almost rotting, hollow room.

  …No visible escape routes here, either.

  "Ugh, I should have brought a flashlight or something," Mary grumbles beside me. "I can’t see anything in this darkness."

  Briefly taking my eyes off the path, I glance down at Mary. The woman barely reaches the waist of the man in front of her—his butt just inches from her face.

  Despite this, she's scrunching her eyes like that’ll somehow improve her vision. I simply stand there with a straight face as I watch her.

  Honestly, I’m surprised you were able to see anything at all outside of that butt crack.

  "Attention, everyone," John's voice emanates from the front. "From this point on, I’ll be handing over command to Mark. Please make sure to follow his instructions."

  Turning my attention away from Mary, I look ahead just in time to see John walking toward the side of the building.

  He stops beside the slimy wall, where a lever made of wood and metal is embedded.

  "Good luck," John says with a bow. "May luck smile upon you."

  When the last person in the group has fully passed through, John closes his hand around the lever and pulls it down.

  The swirling purple portal leading into the dungeon quickly closes. The mist forming its entrance shrinks in on itself until it completely dissipates into nothing.

  The smile John had been wearing fades into a neutral expression. With a hum, he pulls out a clipboard with several papers clipped to it.

  Twirling the pen in his hand, John pops the cap off and begins scribbling notes across the pages.

  'Clik!' 'Clak!' 'Clik!' 'Clak!'

  At the noise, the man pauses his pen and glances up. From the hallway leading to the portal, John sees a figure slowly emerging from the lingering mist.

  Clenching his fingers tightly around the pen, John sharply inhales as the figure approaches. From what little he can make out, the person appears masculine, with a top hat resting on his head.

  "How many was it?" the figure asks, his voice hoarse—like it’s been dragged through a grinder.

  John stares at him for a moment, eyeing the shadow warily, as if expecting the other to lunge at him at any second.

  "Quite a lot of them this time. You can verify the information on this," John says, handing over the clipboard.

  The shadowy figure takes it with barely a glance. As he does, a single tentacle slips from his back, visible for only a moment.

  "Good," the figure rasps. The sound of something clawing or scratching echoes softly behind him. "This many Essevians should be enough to last until next month."

  The man freezes as a full-body shudder runs down his spine.

  'Crack!'

  A tentacle claws its way out of the figure’s back, coated in fluids that drip onto the floor. John quickly steps back, both hands held out in front of him as white asura gathers, forming a shield.

  “Damn it,” the shadowy figure shouts, grabbing the newly emerged tentacle and shoving it back inside. “Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it.”

  John slowly backs away, both hands still raised as white asura continues to swirl around him, ready at a moment’s notice.

  “Look, buddy,” John says, “I’m sure you’ve got everything figured out now, so why don’t you wire the money and we’ll both be on our way?”

  Adjusting himself, the figure suddenly swivels his head toward John.

  “Are you sure there’s no higher-ranking Essevian here?” the figure growls, nearly coughing.

  “Why would some powerful Essevian who can do more than wave their stupid tentacles around be desperate for a dungeon like this?” John huffs. “Pretty sure there are ones that offer better loot or contract pay.”

  At the figure’s look, John sharply inhales before shaking his head.

  “No, there are no high-ranking Essevians,” John says. “At least, not ones that would give you too much trouble for someone of your caliber.”

  At the figure’s hesitation, John quickly adds, “Just as insurance, some of the people I hired have other orders—to help subdue you if necessary.”

  Somewhat reassured, the figure slowly nods.

  “I see,” he says, turning the clipboard around to show John.

  One of the figure’s fingers points to a picture of an Essevian in the corner of the page. “What about her?”

  The illustration shows an Essevian who appears to be a young adult with long black hair. Half of her face is nothing but bone. Several black tentacles cover most of the picture; two of them are grabbing the girl, as if she’s halfway through tearing them off.

  “That’s just a regular low-ranking Essevian?” John asks, quirking an eyebrow.

  A long silence follows as John watches another tentacle pop out of the figure, who remains oddly nonchalant.

  “I thought I saw her somewhere,” the figure says at last. “Something about her just…”

  He trails off, then shakes his head.

  “Never mind,” he says, turning away from John. “Prepare for my departure. I need to get ready.”