The light faded, and a figure materialized in its place.

  Viktor gazed at the visage that had once been a man’s face, at the sickly, grayish skin, slick with a sheen of slime that glistened under the faint glow of the dungeon’s magical light, at the mass of tendrils writhing beneath the jawline, and finally, at the eyes, the two pools of pure black. They were open, but not really seeing anything.

  This was a side effect of the teleportation process the Dungeon Core employed. To put it simply, the body arrived before the mind. As a result, for a brief window, the person was frozen in stasis. Present, but unresponsive, unable to react to anything.

  To the one being teleported, though, the experience felt instantaneous. Being there one moment, then here the next. No time passed. No delay. After all, the mind basically stopped working while in transit. But to an outside observer, the effect was obvious. The teleported body appeared in a flash of light, then just stood there utterly motionless, waiting for the mind to catch up.

  And that meant teleportation was extremely risky. For a few precious seconds, the body was completely vulnerable. It could be touched, moved, or even attacked. Since the mind was still absent, the body couldn’t defend itself. Which was why he never took chances when choosing his teleportation destinations.

  The once-man figure began to stir, a tangled mass of tentacles twisting and coiling beneath the drenched robe like restless snakes. As the two featureless orbs, empty and unreflective, settled on him, the figure bent forward in a formal bow.

  “Master.”

  “Good to see you again, Orloth.”

  “I’m told that you have a task for me,” the Acolyte of the Deep said, standing upright once more.

  “I do,” Viktor replied. “Follow me.”

  He motioned ahead, and Orloth followed. His soaked robe dragged behind him, leaving a trail of water in his wake. The waterlogged fabric clung to his frame, pattering droplets against the stone floor with each step.

  “I hope staying on land for a while isn’t too uncomfortable for you,” Viktor said, glancing sideways at his subordinate, observing the way he moved. “After all, your kind spends most of your time underwater and rarely comes ashore.”

  “Not at all, Master,” Orloth replied, his eyes drifting across the corridor. “We’re on the second floor, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, but this section is completely isolated from the rest of the dungeon. To get in, you need teleportation, or Khenemhotep’s wall-passing trick.”

  “Right, Lord Khenemhotep. The new Guardian, I suppose.”

  “He is,” Viktor said. “He’s just captured a prisoner. An important one. I’m planning to ask her a few questions, but as you can see, I could hardly intimidate anyone with this appearance. I need someone who looks more... threatening.”

  Also, even though he knew Yvonne was not going to leave the dungeon alive, he still preferred she never see his face.

  “So that’s where I come in,” Orloth said. “I’m honored to be considered for the task. But I imagine Lord Sebekton or Lord Khenemhotep might be more suitable?”

  Viktor shrugged. “If we let Khenemhotep do the talking, the interrogation will take twice as long as it should. And Sebekton is... well, let’s just say he’s not too fond of harsh persuasion. The prisoner may be uncooperative, so we might need to break some bones to get what we want, but that sort of thing doesn’t sit right with him.” He glanced at Orloth. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not, Master. I’ll do what needs to be done.”

  “Good,” Viktor said, stopping before a heavy, iron-reinforced door, guarded by two gnolls, who both lowered their heads in a respectful bow as they approached. “The prisoner’s inside. Celeste will tell you what needs to be asked.”

  “Understood, Master,” Orloth said. With a slow push, he opened the door and stepped into the room.

  Viktor leaned against a wall, closing his eyes. Within seconds, the vision of a dark chamber appeared in his mind. It was lit by a single torch, its flame trembling like a dying thing, casting unsteady light that barely illuminated the figure seated in the center. There was only one chair, and Yvonne sat there, hands bound tightly behind her back.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Four gnolls stood silently in the shadows, each planted in a corner of the room. Their eyes glowed, predatory and hungry, never leaving their target. They were here to guard the prisoner, ready to spring should she attempt to pull any tricks, but it looked like they didn’t see a captive—they saw prey. Well, Viktor didn’t really care how she would be disposed of after she had outlived her usefulness, so maybe he would just let his beasts have a feast once it was over.

  The gnolls’ next meal lifted her head at the sound of Orloth’s arrival. She was pale and trembling, tears streaking her dirt-smudged cheeks, her blonde hair wild and tangled, falling in uneven strands across her shoulders. Her cloak was gone, leaving her in a shirt that was a bit too tight for her body. His minions had searched her thoroughly before bringing her here, confiscating every single item she had in her possession. The Reliquary was not among them, however. Perhaps she had left it behind in the town.

  Yvonne’s swollen eyes went wide, her red-rimmed gaze fixed on the figure towering over her. She gasped, face flashing with disbelief and rising dread.

  Good.

  That was the whole point of bringing the Acolyte here. To let her taste fear.

  “Are... are you the Sovereign?” she asked, her voice cracking under the weight of her terror.

  “No,” Orloth said, his voice cold as the depths of the sea. “I am but one of his many servants, and I was sent here to ask you some questions.” He leaned closer so that she could get a better look at the inhuman features on his face. “I recommend you answer truthfully. For your own sake.”

  “I... I’ll tell everything you want. Just... just let me go after you’re done.”

  “That depends entirely on your answers.” The Acolyte’s obsidian eyes bore into the captive before him. “Let’s start with something simple. Who are you, and who are your friends? What are you doing here in this dungeon?”

  The woman’s breath hitched, her eyes darting away for a moment as if she was searching for the right words. Then, she spoke, “My name is Yvonne. I’m just a simple adventurer. I heard about the new dungeon and I came looking for fortune. I met the others in town, and we formed a party.” Her voice faltered. “I swear, we didn’t know this was your lord’s territory. We never meant to trespass. If we had known, we’d never have dared set foot here.”

  Viktor frowned. He didn’t have time for this nonsense. How could she still be lying? After witnessing her friends’ gruesome death, after being dragged before the Acolyte of the Deep, after everything, how was she still clinging to such obvious lies? He was about to send Celeste an order to break a finger or two, before stopping himself.

  No, he had delegated this task to Orloth. There was no need to intervene. Not yet.

  “Yvonne, you’re lying to me. That’s unwise. My master does not tolerate deceit,” the Acolyte said, his tendrils under his jaw curling tighter. “Let’s try again. Who are you, and why are you here?”

  The woman’s breath quickened, her hands trembling against the ropes. She glanced around the room and swallowed hard as she saw the glowing eyes in the dark, fixed on her like predators waiting to pounce.

  “You... you’re going to let them eat me, aren’t you?” she stammered. “E-even if I talk, I’ll still die anyway... right? If that’s how it is, then let’s just be done with it already...” Her voice shattered, and she collapsed into uncontrollable sobs.

  Viktor chuckled. This woman was smarter than he expected. Well, she was a spy, after all. She knew how the game was played. She knew what happened to spies when they got caught.

  Now what, Orloth? What are you going to do?

  The Acolyte reached into the folds of his soaked robe, and his slimy fingers emerged with a small, writhing, grotesque creature. Its body was segmented and translucent, glistening with a sickly sheen, covered in tiny, spindly legs that twitched and clawed at the air. Its head, if that could even be called a head, was a blunt, featureless nub, save for a single, needle-like snout that extended and retracted rhythmically.

  “What... what the hell is that?” Yvonne gasped, her whole body jerking backward as Orloth hovered the creature close to her face.

  The Acolyte didn’t answer. Instead, he placed it on her cheek, and its legs immediately dug into her skin. Then, the creature began to crawl—toward her ear—leaving a trail of cold, wet slime in its wake.

  “Stop! Get it off! Get it off me!” Yvonne howled, thrashing like a drowning animal, her bindings creaking under the strain. Her head snapped side to side in a desperate attempt to dislodge the grotesque bug, but it was in vain. The creature had reached its destination, its snout probing hungrily at the opening. Yvonne sobbed, her words dissolving into shrieks as the worm vanished into her ear canal. “No—no, please—I’ll talk. I’ll tell you everything. Just don’t—”

  “I’m afraid it’s a bit too late for that.”

  Her scream collapsed into a guttural, animalistic cry. Her body bucked once, then twice, before going stiff as wood, veins pulsing in her neck, sweat and tears pouring down her contorted face. Her eyes were wild, rolling in their sockets, as if her brain had fractured under the horror that was assaulting it from within.

  Then, silence.

  Yvonne hung limp, drained of strength. She heaved in deep, shuddering breaths. Slowly, her head turned toward Orloth.

  “What...” she croaked. “What did you do to me?”

  “Just gave my pet a new home,” the Acolyte said, showing her a smile, or at least, the closest thing to a smile such a featureless face could manage. “Don’t worry. It won’t do anything to you, as long as I don’t tell it to. You won’t feel it. You might even forget it’s there. Until I remind you.” He leaned closer. “Want a demonstration?”

  “No, please... don’t.”

  Orloth straightened. “So, you talk?”

  “Yes...” Yvonne murmured, defeated. “Just ask your damn questions.”

  “Good.”

  Viktor allowed himself a chuckle. Clearly, he had picked the right man for the job.