The Demon Queen's Royal Consort-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!"

I followed his command without hesitation, Dália still in my arms. Her body still radiated that golden energy, the healing aura holding on through sheer willpower. She trembled, eyes half-closed, trying to recover as fast as she could.

Seraphine advanced beside Dórian, her spear spinning in sharp arcs of wind, slicing snakes in midair before they could even move. She was precise, efficient, relentless.

Dórian, like a walking wall, struck with shield and sword, crushing the creatures as if they were made of dark sludge. Fangs tried to pierce him, but met only the heavy plates of his armor. He was the beacon cutting through the black sea ahead of us.

But Aeloria...

Aeloria was fighting for seconds of life.

A film of ice coated his body like a second skin, thin, pulsing, condensed like a bluish crystal. He spun his arms, conjuring icy spikes, shards that exploded in slicing whirlwinds — but sweat was already dripping from his forehead. He was falling behind.

"Aeloria!" I yelled, but he didn't answer.

A snake appeared from nowhere — not from a tunnel, not from a hole. It appeared inches from his throat. He threw himself to the side, eyes wide. Ice cracked where it grazed him.

They make no sound.

No ripple of prana.

They just... appear.

Almost like they're materializing right beside us.

"Portals," I whispered, the truth slicing through my mind like a blade. "Spatial magic..."

The pattern was clear — too late.

The moment we reached a flat area inside the mountain, a large chamber free of side entrances, the mountain trembled.

The black ground split in grotesque lines, and from the cracks poured a putrid stench — like rotten flesh left in the dark for centuries. Violet lightning began to glow from the cavern ceiling, and portals opened in the walls, dozens of them, like shadowy eyes blinking into the physical world.

A colossal presence filled the space.

The snakes stopped.

As if receiving a command.

As if the real predator had finally awakened.

From the ceiling, sliding through the cracks, a serpentine shadow revealed itself — massive, as wide as a tower, as long as the mountain itself. Its skin was dark as pitch, but laced with violet fragments that shimmered in warped patterns. Black veins pulsed along its back, and eyes like voids stared at the group with ancient indifference.

The guardian.

Each of its movements distorted space. Every second, it was in a different place — part of its body here, another part meters away. It used the portals embedded in the walls as shortcuts, as if the mountain were its web and we, lost insects.

My eyes widened.

The ring on my finger — the one that had bound itself to me — glowed.

Its aura was identical to the creature's.

It was made from her. Or... her offspring.

"Defensive formation!" I shouted, laying Dália on the ground and preparing for battle.

"She manipulates space... don't think in terms of distance. Think in terms of reaction!"

Aeloria took a deep breath and steadied himself. He raised his hands, and a shell of glassy ice covered Dália — an impenetrable, resilient dome.

"Sorry for this, but we can't afford to protect you anymore!"

Dórian slammed his shield into the ground, as if anchoring his soul.

Seraphine spun her spear, eyes locked on the massive serpent, unblinking.

In the heart of the mountain.

In the heart of the nightmare.

Before the Guardian.

The Colossal Serpent did not attack.

It merely looked at us.

Or pretended to look.

Because, in the next moment, the gates of hell opened.

Everything around us — ground, walls, air — glowed in sickly, flickering shades of purple. It was like being inside a living heart, pulsing, infected with corrupted prana.

And then came the sound.

Nothing.

No hissing, no roar.

Just the noise of millions of bodies slithering in sync.

And the absurd sight of hundreds of thousands of snakes hurling themselves at us like a living wave.

We were in the eye of the storm.

And the storm wanted us dead.

The first snakes vanished into thin air, then reappeared inches from Aeloria's face.

Aeloria raised both arms, eyes wide, and began casting large-scale magic. Thousands of ice needles materialized above our heads, raining down like shooting stars upon the swarm of serpents.

The crack of ice echoed like gunfire.

Frozen spears burst from the ground, the walls, even the ceiling, impaling dozens of creatures each second. A storm of white and blue enveloped our left flank, sealing the portals with an intense cold that made my skin burn.

To the right, Dórian became a whirlwind of destruction.

He spun with his shield extended and sword arced wide, strike after strike cleaving serpents in half before their fangs could even emerge from the portals. Each impact rumbled like muffled thunder, and his battle cry drove even fear away.

Seraphine, always in control, danced with death.

She was precise. Surgical. Every motion of her spear decapitated or skewered a serpent with minimal force and maximum efficiency. But her eyes weren't on the creatures... they were focused upward. Watching the colossal serpent, which vanished and reappeared from one tunnel to another like a camera flash.

A blink. A ghostly flicker.

She was studying.

Waiting.

Calculating.

And I...

I was the storm.

My arms were wrapped in whips of pure lightning, snapping around my body. Serpents emerging just inches from me were vaporized before they could even bite. Bolts crackled like an exterminating electric field, and I moved at the center of the group.

"They're fixed portals!" I shouted, feeling the rhythm. "The smaller ones come out of them—the big one's jumping between them!"

"Then let's bring them down!" Aeloria answered, already raising icy spikes toward a fissure in the ceiling.

"It won't work!" Seraphine growled, parrying two more creatures. "They regenerate! The entire mountain is her nest—everything is saturated with her power!"

My heart raced.

She was right. The pattern of the portals was organic, pulsing. As if the mountain itself were alive, connected to the serpent.

And the worst part?

The sensation of being watched. Of being tested. And that something was hiding behind the suicidal swarm of thousands of smaller serpents.

We were right.

The serpent's offensive wasn't random.

It wasn't irrational.

It wasn't feral.

It was a tactical plan—organized, methodical, precise.

And we were the targets.

Dórian was the first to suffer.

During a powerful spin with his shield, he let his guard down for a single instant. A swift serpent, nearly invisible, darted beneath his defense and sank its fangs into his left hand.

"Tsk!" he growled, shaking his arm.

Black veins spread like cracks through his skin, climbing up to his elbow.

But his prana—dense, robust, violent—reacted like a living wall.

The venom was neutralized with surprising ease. Dórian furrowed his brow in disbelief, but ignored it given the chaos of the moment.

And then...

Hell opened.

At the peak of the mountain, cloaked in purple gloom, the Guardian emerged between two distant tunnels.

Its head—obscenely large—rose from the shadows with eyes that glowed with silent hatred.

Then it opened its mouth.

From the void between its fangs, a black orb began to form.

As if drawing in the surrounding light, it condensed, spinning slowly, until it started to pulse with a ghostly violet glow.

We knew this attack. It was the same destructive blast used by the black serpent in the centipede's mouth.

"SCATTER!" Aeloria shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos.

It was instinct.

We jumped. Rolled. Threw ourselves in every possible direction.

Then came the beam.

A purple ray of pure energy was fired from the orb with absurd speed and violence, tearing through the mountain's interior, vaporizing the air in its path.

Aeloria dodged.

Seraphine evaded.

And Dórian... should have escaped.

But surprisingly, just as Dórian avoided the beam, the purple ray curved mid-flight.

As if it had a will of its own.

As if Dórian were the only true target—guided, hunted.

The attack struck him directly in the chest, right on the armor.

The impact was brutal. The sound, deafening.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM"

He was hurled like a ragdoll, smashing against the stone wall, breaking rocks like glass. A rain of debris exploded outward. One of the cavern's natural pillars collapsed.

Blood burst from his mouth.

The smaller serpents seized the moment of collapse.

Dozens rushed toward him through the dust.

"NO!" I screamed, detonating a storm of lightning in his direction.

Bolts rained down like divine judgment, frying the serpents mid-leap. The scent of burned flesh and ozone filled the air.

But one got through.

One. Hissing. Subtle. Deadly.

It bit Dórian on the shoulder—just as he was trying to rise.

No time to retaliate. No time to breathe.

Another black orb formed between the Guardian's fangs.

Another beam burst from above.

Dórian dove to the side in a desperate reflex. But the ray chased him.

It curved again.

This time, it struck his shield with such force it cracked the crocodile-scale plating.

He was launched to the opposite side, tumbling over blackened ground and pulsing eggs.

Blood dripped from his face. A deep gash split from his forehead to his jaw.

For an eternal second, no one moved.

The sound of Dórian groaning.

The scent of blood and smoke.

And the image of the colossal serpent preparing its next shot.

We stared in stunned silence.

The creature knew exactly what it was doing.

"What the hell is this shit!" I cursed in disbelief. "A homing attack? Seriously?"

And in that moment—it wanted Dórian dead.