There is no Epic Loot here, Only Puns.

Wyin knew pain like an old friend that had stabbed her in the back.

She knew how pain could humble the grandest kings, motivate the most crippled beggar, and drive good people to do terrible things to make it stop. Wyin knew how pain could seep into memories. How a once precious safe place or person could so easily be twisted into a nightmare.

But suffering also served a purpose. Wyin liked that about pain.

It was not a simple thing. It was a barbed rope that let someone pull themselves out of the darkest tar pits of despair. To use deep internal damage to claw oneself out of hell itself? Wyin respected that.

She still respected it as red lightning crawled across her bark; blackening the once glossy wood and trying to find weak links in Wyin’s body, the magic radiated power, but it also screamed with a peculiar kind of pain.

A deeply buried kind of suffering that was soaked with rage and fear as it rushed out of the girl before Wyin like tears of a frustrated child.

It was almost like Wyin looking back at herself when Delta first made her.

Filled with pain... unable to direct it.

Her teammates threw themselves aside out of her range as Estal’s barriers failed to contain the storm and the magic was quickly building out of the mage’s control. The lightning spoke of anger and anguish while the barriers she tried to use spoke of isolation and fear.

What an interesting pain.

Wyin sent a vine to grab Estal’s arm, the lightning magic surging around the mage burning the tendril badly, the once healthy green giving away to destructive black but Wyin pushed on through the damage.

Estal may have interesting pain.

But Wyin was torture itself to challengers.

Feeding pain into pain only made it stronger.

The vine, as it crumbled to ash in places, curled around Estal’s arm as the meadow around them filled with the acrid smell of burning plant and skin. In a single instant, Wyin yanked Estal off her feet and slammed her hard into Wyin’s body, as sleek as a mahogany table... as unyielding as a castle gate.

The storm of magic arched up, trying to burn Wyin like she was some common oak or elm.

“Go to hell!” Estal screamed, not really seeing Wyin anymore, but some phantom that she locked deep inside her heart.

“I’ve been. It’s quite lovely this time of the year,” Wyin sniffed with a wince as one bolt got dangerously close to her eyes. She had no desire to be blind for the next hour. Just as she was about to smother Estal in a cocoon of vines to put her out of the fight for now, Wyin blanched in surprise as Silver slammed into her back, holding the axe she had disarmed the warrior of previously. The weapon buried itself into her wood with annoying ease.

That was... a Dungeon-Made axe, Wyin could feel it as it wriggled into her body with more power than it should have had. It was a perfectly balanced axe, the exact perfect make of wood, metal, and grip. She arched her neck, trying to pull it out as it shined in the light.

That was when the enchantment inside seemed to turn on by some command phrase shouted by Hazhur. The axe began to vibrate, the barely visible metal head glowing with a strange symbol of two interlocked spheres.

With more power than before, Silver began to push the axe into her protective bark like she was made of butter and that axe had been kissed by the sun personally.

She threw Estal away in pain as she whipped her vines about.

“I’m all for burying the hatchet, but have some self control!” she warned as Silver began to get badly winded from the sheer blows he was taking.

That axe... concerned Wyin badly. The enchantment inside was making a joke of her defenses and yet there was something else about it, a sort of mischievous design to it all. She tossed Silver away and the axe went inert, shining with runes that Wyin knew in passing.

This axe was made by someone either quite insane or quite bored.

Maybe both.

If she was reading what visible runes there were on the weapon then it was called the ‘The Unhelpful’ something. ‘Axe’ was likely the missing word, but the runes described an enchantment that would turn the axe into a powerful weapon... as long as it was inside a target.

As in... it was just a normal axe when it was swung, but gained immense power at the last second as it chipped away at her. If Silver hadn’t used it then it would be useless as Hazhur wouldn’t actually get past her bark to get the tool inside her.

The crude man... these filthy people.

Her inner rings were for Sir Fran’s gaze only... if anyones. Unable to yank the axe just now, she turned back to thrashing these people so she could get them out of the dungeon to allow Wyin to clean up somewhat. The barrier mage alone had set her beautiful meadow on fire.

“Now, let’s end-” she began, looking down at Estal who was no longer shooting a chaotic storm of magic as if she lost control. The little newt looked up at her with a smirk that made Wyin want to headbutt her on principle.

“Did you like my daddy issues act? The trick is to actually have the trauma,” Estal said casually as the previous uncontrolled magic arced in the air from her hands, curving with barely controlled effort. It was still a far cry from the wild casting she was doing from before.

“More lightning, it didn’t work the first time, it won’t now,” Wyin warned coldly and the lightning abruptly homed in on her as if attracted to something.

Something like the axe... that was digging into her more tender innards.

“Oh, you little pieces of-” was all she got before her world flashed white and the scent of burning wood filled the air.

---

“This is it,” Mila said to Pic as they waited on Haldi, the third member of the elders of Durence. They stared into the distance as something made its way over the slightly overgrown road towards the village. Oddly, both villagers and the two Royal Knights stared at the approaching convoy with a slight distaste.

Mila looked back to see Madam Ghu slamming her inn door shut with a snarl and down the street, Isanella was guided inside her house, hyperventilating, by her husband and concerned son, Deo.

The horseless carriage moved over the ground, hovering over the rocks and weeds, with a magical under device that was having serious trouble producing enough speed until it got nearer to the village. The carriage was a long box thing with a white frame that, despite traveling through the woods and countryside, was spotless.

The thing had cleaning runes, hover runes, propulsion runes, and who knows what else on display. Mila openly curled her lip as it greedly drank in the precious Dungeon mana in the air, churning about until the mana lost its vibrant orange color (visible to those that could use their eyes to see such a thing) and was exhausted out of the back of the carriage in a tainted grayish mana that simply floated off without any texture to it.

As it turned to stop outside the village proper, a symbol was displayed on the side as the back opened like the maw of a beast, allowing what looked to be some group of scouts, soldiers, and people in robes to exit.

The symbol on the carriage and on the people leaving were of two hands grasping each other’s wrist over a glowing orb, tendrils of light flowing from the orb like a blessing that bound the two hands together in unity.

Mortal hands working together with the blessing of a dungeon.

Fairplay’s symbol.

Their motto was stamped underneath and Mila couldn’t stomach it anymore, looking away as she tried not to spit in their direction.

‘With mutual respect, we all play fair’

“And if there is no respect, in suffering they make it fair,” Pic rolled his tongue as he glared at the people coming closer.

“Greetings, we are Fairplay and we’re working under Director Ripdoy,” a greeter came, looking like one of the more ‘casual’ people exiting the strange carriage. He smiled like he was trying to sell them something.

Before the man could wind up his speech, a young boy fell out of the carriage, letting out a cry as boxes of tents, supplies, and maps landed around him like a sad fluttering rain of paper.

The man’s smile went tight.

“Please excuse the lad, Gentle... this is his first expedition,” he said smoothly with his slicked back hair and barely grown beard. His white clothes bothered Mila immensely. He was starch white in his uniform with the occasional stripes of silver to give it some edge, but he felt sterile to Mila...

His mana had experienced much, but it was like the man and all the others from Fairplay had done something over time to scrub themselves of any defining mana signature.

“How would you like to discuss perhaps signing up for Fairplay’s protection program over tea, madam? I assure you that the Dungeon can be safely managed and while you may enjoy the benefits at its lower levels, it can grow to be quite unwieldy to those not used to the nature of such things,” the man went on and Mila felt like each word he spoke was coating her in slime. The boy from earlier moved closer and Mila felt... a flash of actual something about him. His mana was shiny and keen, as if trying to take everything in at once. The man looked down at him with barely concealed annoyance.

“Gentle, Director Ripdoy would feel better if you perhaps stayed in the mobile transport,” he suggested to the boy and Gentle winced, swallowing hard.

“I...I’m part of the scout program, like anyone else, Senior Marlar. My father... the Director should be expected to treat me like anyone else,” he protested and the man exhaled once, his nostrils flaring.

“I’m sure simply traveling with us this far is more than the Director could have... expected from you,” Marlar said with a saccharine tone and Mila cleared her throat.

“I’ll talk to him over tea, not you” she grunted, jutting her chin to Gentle, and the man stared at her, his practiced expressions failing him as his jaw dropped open.

“Madam-” he began and Mila leaned in and grabbed his tie that was barely visible under his protective white jacket and yanked him close so he could smell the burning whiskey on her breath. He wrinkled his nose, but Mila saw him look surprised when he failed to break her grasp.

“My name is not ‘Madam’. It’s Mila Darknessbane,” she whispered to his close face and the man’s face went so pale he made his white uniform look cheerful in comparison.

“She’s... dead. No one heard from her... you... in years,” he protested as Gentle’s eyes went wide at the scene.

Mila looked at him and for a second, the monster inside showed in her eyes. The killer that hunted the king of hell itself and bedded him when he proved actually unkillable. The woman who threatened the king of the land. The huntress whose eyes glowed like a wolf’s.

Mila’s eyes flashed luminous and amber, slitted with a single blip of her intent. The man did a neat trick and turned his uniform mostly from white and silver to white, silver, and a splash of dark gray from sudden dampness.

He looked behind her to Pic, as if trying to convey how dangerous Mila was.

Pic looked at him, smiling and Marlar dropped to the ground, shaking.

Mila knew he was wearing his Deepdweller dentures. A neat set of teeth that had a dozen needle-like teeth along with the oddity of turning his gums black.

Pic said they made peanuts taste like shrimp, but Mila was sure he just liked using them to whistle with pitch-perfect control... with annoyingly perfect control.

It distracted Mila during their card games and she’d never be able to focus on winning which is exactly why Pic did it!

She blinked, shaking her head as she was getting lost in thought. Old age was a drag...

“Right, waste of air and boy. Waste of air, go away and don’t talk to me ever again. Boy? Come with me. Pic, get Haldi and the other boy he’s got, Alpha. Meet up at the pub. I’m going to need a drink,” she instructed and the other elder hummed.

“I’ll bring Grim. He’s more social these days,” Pic whistled and Mila’s eye twitched at the noise.

Nearby, a pair of big eyes stared at her, a big hopeful smile on his face.

Mila stared as Gentle followed behind her, shell-shocked at the events rapidly flying out of his control.

“...Fine. Get your mother’s permission and you can join us, Deo,” she sighed. The boy ran off, excited to have more friends. She couldn’t fault the boy... Durence didn’t have more kids after a certain period. Deo had grown up with the same children his entire life that in the last few months, so many people had come to the town that it must feel like Deo’s world was opening up like never before.

At this point, she should bring Ruli just so she had someone to share the pain of having so many children about.

Plus, Ruli’s tab at the pub was a lot smaller than Mila’s...

---

Estal staggered slightly to her feet as the room was filled with smoke and ash, making her team cough as Estal tried not to simply pass out from sheer exhaustion. Her body ached horribly, every muscle cramping then releasing only to bunch back up again.

The lightning had not spared Estal entirely and her father’s warning of overusing the family magic rang in her ears.

‘Your mother couldn’t handle an inferior version of it... you’d do well to be extra cautious as you have both mine and hers in one and mine... is potent.’

He was so damn... smug. Estal also wished she stopped reminding herself of the fact her mother and father were second cousins. It was bad enough when the girls in her school found out...

Not as bad as finding a smoldering pile of ash that used to be her mother in the back garden one day.

Not much ever topped that experience.

“Stop it... breathe. Wall it off... close it off... don’t recall,” she whispered to herself, feeling barriers form all over her body. This magic didn’t exhaust her... it felt cooling to her smoking skin.

She jumped as Karn appeared, gently holding his hands out.

“Hey... hey. We’re here,” he said in the smoke and smog that obscured everything. Estal could have swooned and fell to her knees in what could have been main character energy, her the beautiful heroine who blew apart the very unpleasant tree... but she was too tired so she just smiled as Hazur and Silver joined them too.

Everyone looked like hell.

Hazhur had a massive bruise on his face that was already swelling. Karn was limping badly and one of his thumbs was bent the wrong way... Silver without his cloak just looked like a badly beaten pulp of silver and skin, all blurred together by Wyin’s sheer relentless blows.

It made Estal wonder how she looked? Other than cooked and smug?

“That was insane, but we won!” Karn announced and Estal couldn’t help but giggle in sheer delight. Hazhur clapped Silver on his back, also grinning.

However, through the smoke and ash, a familiar voice made them all turn slowly, as one group, to stare at where Wyin should have been laying, defeated.

“I have a lot of curse words I could say right now,” Wyin’s voice said, smoothly as if nothing was wrong, “but I am a classy woman, so I’ll settle for a simple...” the smoke cleared to show Wyin moving her branch arms away from her face, waves of green falling off her and more branches simply snapping off.

Her torso had one lone angry red crack in it, traveling from her base all the way up across her face. In her roots was Hazhur’s axe, the thing blackened, but not ruined. Wyin easily threw it up into the air and caught it over and over.

“Ow.” she concluded, her face devoid of emotion.

“How... how are you alive?” Estal stuttered and Wyin batted her one remaining eye innocently as the other burned red with the heat of the attack.

“Spite, my sweet things. Delicious sweet spite. Like pain, you can use it to do some truly amazing things if you have enough of it,” she purred, her voice a little hoarse from the damage.

“Do we have any options left?” Karn asked seriously and they all shared a look.

“I can throw myself at her remaining eye with my fingers. Claw it out?” Estal said, standing up straight despite everything inside her wanting to just lay down... and...

‘Pathetic.’

Rip this mouthy tree’s remaining hair out one by one. She should thank her father for the amazing motivation he granted Estal through the years. Estal would have to actually want to see the man first, but that was semantics.

“Tell me, axe-man,” Wyin suddenly spoke, twirling the axe with a smirk that made the group become instantly warily. Hazhur seemed to narrow his eyes with suspicion.

“If I were to let you all pass, but in return, you had to leave this axe behind? Would you do it? It’s only gained surface damage... it will serve you for many years to come...” Wyin trailed off as the head of the axe glinted slightly in the light.

Estal felt hope rising her chest and Karn shot Hazhur a curious look.

Silver simply watched as his more human-aspects sculpted themselves back into shape. Hazhur seemed to consider it for a moment.

“No. But it’s not about the axe,” he said and Estal’s jaw dropped open.

“We lost... it’s not going to get easier and I won’t risk my team because of my pride,” Hazhur said softly and Estal’s anger drained away. Hazhur was always so stupid and... noble….

He had the best traits of their family.

“Very well... you all lose,” Wyin announced simply and the magic over the doors snapped with a pop, unsealing them.

Estal felt like that was the most damage Wyin had done to her the entire fight so far. The gut-wrenching feeling that she failed... that she lost seared into her like a branding iron.

There was an awkward pause as Wyin handed Hazhur his axe back as if being prodded by some invisible angel on her shoulder.

“Before you all go, I must relay that you’re all invited to attend a ‘you cleared nearly two floors’ party in your honor on the next floor. There is free food and a resting spot... Delta is quite pleased with you all, but-” Wyin’s relaxed form looked suddenly dangerous once more.

“The door at the end of the hall is sealed. Attempts to open it will ensure you are escorted out by the Guards,” she warned with a smile.

“We can go on?” Karn blinked.

“As losers, yes,” Wyin said sagely.

“Do you have to rub it in?” Estal scowled. Wyin eyed her with her lone eye.

“With salt and sand,” she said with sickening sweetness.

Estal hated her.

So much.

But she also respected Wyin a little. Estal liked her confidence and lack of concern about others feelings. It was admirable... if Wyin wasn’t such a massive-

“Smile and wave goodbye to the murder tree,” Hazhur muttered, shoving her on before Estal could say exactly what was on her mind to Wyin.

Estal used her hand to send a message, but she didn’t wave.

Wyin’s delighted laugh was the last thing she heard as they climbed the sudden stone steps down into darkness. All the while, Silver was muttering to himself.

“Onwards, but not with victory. Right, wrong? Invited... but not progressing,” he said and Estal hoped this ‘feast’ was something or she was going to scream.

This Dungeon was simply the... weirdest thing she had ever encountered.

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