Chapter 120 - Dungeon - XXVIII
You know what no one tells you about being in the middle of a magical bombardment inside a living mountain, surrounded by pulsating eggs, invisible snakes, and a wingless dragon that spits homing lasers?
That there's no time to think.
No time to be afraid.
No time to shit your pants with dignity.
Every thought is replaced by reflex. Every attempt to reason is cut off by a purple explosion streaking across your vision. Every two seconds, a new snake appears out of nowhere, and for some cursed reason, they always show up right behind my neck, as if they studied advanced military tactics. While I carry Dália in my arms — still glowing like a sick sun — all I can do is dodge, cast, and scream insults I didn't even know I knew. Not because it helps. But because screaming keeps me from going insane.
The mountain vibrates, screams, bleeds beneath us. Seraphine kills like she's dancing. Dórian has turned into a lightning-guided punching bag. Aeloria is in full "nuclear winter" mode. And me... I'm starting to suspect the universe has some personal grudge against me. Because between one snake bursting with electricity and another trying to kiss my face with venomous fangs, the only constant here is surviving one more second — and hoping the next death is just a little less humiliating.
Everything became chaos.
Lightning crackled in every direction, lighting up the suffocating darkness as if tearing through the mountain's guts. With each electric blast, dozens, hundreds, thousands of black snakes were vaporized. They poured from the side holes, from cracks, from tunnels, from everywhere at once — like a living, hungry, silent tsunami.
We ran.
We ran like hell was collapsing behind us, because it was.
"OPENING!" Dórian shouted from the front, his voice steady as steel even amidst the living avalanche surrounding us. "A LARGER SPACE, QUICK!"