Deep within the bowels of the dungeon past the endless hallways of screaming skeletons, beneath the waterfalls of lava-flavored doom, behind the rotating door of infinite darkness sat Baelgor the Dreaded.
Alone.
Again.
On his grotesque throne of stitched skulls and still-moaning spines, the mighty dungeon boss leaned back and sighed dramatically, claw resting against his chin.
Not a sigh of rage.
Not one of boredom.
No.
This was a yearning sigh.
His glowing red eyes were not fixed on an invading horde or a trapped adventurer begging for rcy.
They were lost in thought... in mory.
Specifically... that afternoon
The day he witnessed The Ritual.
Two hunters. Naked. Glistening. Locked in so sort of chaotic, sweaty combat. There had been groans. Slaps. A strange bouncing rhythm. And then an explosive ending full of grunts and complints.
"More... yes... right there..."
At first, Baelgor had thought they were dying.
But no.
They were... enjoying it?
He had seen magic arts that make a tail beco monster, sothing he had never experienced before despite his years as a world dominator.
Since that fateful day, Baelgor had not been the sa.
He squird on his throne, scowling.
"Could it be... that there is pleasure beyond battle?"
His clawed fingers curled tightly.
"For millennia, my people, The ancient race of the universe, have known only war. Our culture revolves around glorious combat! Blood-soaked duels! Ripping arms off in mutual respect! But now..."
He stood dramatically, cape flaring behind him despite the complete lack of wind.
"Now I’ve seen the truth! There is another way! A... ’missionary’ way! One that involves less stabbing and more... rhythmic bouncing!"
He began pacing, deep in thought, like a scholar discovering a forbidden truth.
"But how... how do I participate in this horizontal trial of pleasure?"
He froze.
Eyes wide.
"Of course... I must beco human!"
The idea struck him like a bolt of lightning. A very horny bolt.
"Yes! That’s it! I will infiltrate the human world! I shall walk among them! No longer shall I thirst for only blood—but for the human magic ritual of pleasure!"
He paused, then muttered with a bit of sha:
"...and maybe cuddles. I am tired of this cold throne."
But there was a problem.
One teensy little hiccup.
He was still a three-ter-tall demon overlord with horns, wings, and a tail that could bench press a minotaur.
Not exactly sexy by human standards. (Unless you were into that sort of thing. He thought,has he knew his tail was monster enough to give the sa pleasure .)
So he sat back down and rubbed his temples with a claw.
"I need a body swap. A vessel. A at suit. Preferably one with good hair and a decent jawline..."
That was when fatebever so generous delivered a perfect, idiot-shaped answer.
A group of hunters entered the dungeon.
A weak group.
An absurdly weak group.
Like... embarrassingly bad.
"Wha... are those.... what kind of swords emit such low mana ?" Baelgor blinked, peering through his scrying orb. "Is that one using a knife?!"
He nearly choked on his own demonic saliva.
"HAHAHA! WHAT IS THIS?! A kindergarten field trip?!"
But then he paused.
His eyes narrowed.
"No... this is destiny. These aren’t warriors. They are... recyclables."
He clasped his claws together, a wide grin spreading across his monstrous face.
"I don’t even need to lift a finger... just a bit of aura release..."
With a simple flex of his taphysical presence, Baelgor released a gentle pulse of power.
Pfft.
The entire party of hunters collapsed imdiately like bags of potatoes in a hurricane.
One even farted on the way down.
"...Pathetic," Baelgor muttered. "But also... perfect."
With giddy excitent, he skipped—yes, skipped—to the ritual chamber, dragging the unconscious hunters like sacks of magical at.
He began the dark ritual with childlike joy, humming to himself.
"A circle here... so blood over there... place that one like a starfish... annnnd... middle boy goes in the center!"
He looked down at Erin—the loudest, whiniest, most obnoxious D-rank in the group.
Baelgor grinned.
"This one has the confidence of an idiot... yes, a perfect vessel for exploring the sensual mysteries of mankind!"
He floated above the circle, chanting ancient demon verses that roughly translated to:
"Body swap ti, funky groove,
Leave my shell and bust a move!"
With a massive flash of light and a woosh of soul-transfer magic...
Baelgor was no more.
Well physically.
Because now he was Erin.
Naked.
Hairy.
Confused.
And very excited.
Baelgor-Erin stood up, wobbling slightly.
He looked at his smooth, fragile fingers. Poked his now-fleshy chest. Slapped his own butt.
"...Wobbly. Squishy. Flammable..."
Then he grinned.
"...I love it."
He turned to a nearby reflective shield, admiring his human face.
"Hello, ladies," he purred, then imdiately coughed.
....
The wind whistled down the narrow alley, chasing the footsteps of a boy barely tall enough to reach the rusted doorknob of his ho. His face was swollen one eye shut with a bruise like a grape, his lower lip trembling, bloodied. His knees scraped. His fists clenched.
He didn’t cry. Not until he reached the door.
The door creaked open, and a soft gasp escaped from within.
"Devin...?"
A warm pair of arms wrapped around the boy before he could even fall.
His mother. Her touch, gentle as feathers. Her eyes, fierce as fire.
He looked up at her through tears that betrayed the pain he tried so hard to swallow. "They... they hit again, mama..."
But she didn’t flinch. She didn’t panic.
She knelt down, her hands cupping his battered cheeks.
And with a voice like the calm after a storm, she said the words that burned into his soul forever.
"No matter how hard they hit you... always get up. Never give up. You hear ?"
---
Present Day – Sowhere Deep in the Dungeon
His eyes opened.
Wide.
Panicked.
Breath sharp and ragged like shattered glass in his lungs.
Devin. He was still alive.
He blinked slowly, confused, dazed, as if awakening from a nightmare only to find himself in a waking one.
The boss’s aura... it should’ve crushed him. Killed him. Turned his bones to pudding.
But he was alive.
"Why...?" he murmured, the words barely escaping his dry lips.
He could still feel it. That monstrous pressure that had slamd into him and his party like a tidal wave of death. The mory of it paralyzed him except for one vivid image he could not shake.
Daelen.
His wide eyes, staring in disbelief as he collapsed under that invisible weight.
Devin’s hands trembled.
"I... I didn’t want this..." he whispered, tears escaping freely now.
He should have died.
They all should have died.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t.
Was it luck?
A curse?
Or sothing worse?
Still laying on the cold dungeon floor, he tried to move. His fingers twitched. His body ached like he’d been run over by a war mammoth. But the warmth of life however fragile still pulsed in his chest.
And then... a shadow approached.
Heavy footsteps echoed against the dungeon stone.
He blinked away the tears, struggling to focus.
A figure stepped into view tall, upright, but... oddly casual. Not threatening. No killing intent. No demonic presence.
Erin?
Devin’s brows furrowed. But... hadn’t Erin collapsed? Like the rest?
Now he was smiling. Standing tall. Confident. His hair was ssy, his pants were on backward, and he was staring down at Devin with an expression both amused and curious.
Then he extended a hand.
With a voice just slightly too formal, he said:
"Hello, human."
Devin blinked.
"...what?"
The voice... it wasn’t Erin’s voice.
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