The next victim claimed by the dungeon was our mage, the strongest among us. A young ovine girl, her skin soft and pale, her wool as white as snow framing her face like a halo, and eyes so radiant that even the eldest archmages had once trembled before her. Her powers were so immense that they stirred envy in everyone who crossed her path. Yet a single misstep was enough to seal her fate.
As she walked through the shadows of the corridor, she failed to notice the cursed sigil carved into the floor. A sinister glow, and the trap awakened. From the stone erupted hordes of slimes, quivering, gelatinous things eager to devour both flesh and magic. Tentacles lashed around her in an instant: wrists, ankles, thighs, waist—all bound by chains of slime that hissed against her garments, corroding them away. Her mage’s robes, once elegant and pure, dissolved into tatters, leaving her soft body and pristine wool exposed to the lewd embrace of those creatures.
One small slime, round and almost playful, with wide eyes and a smiling mouth, leapt joyfully onto her head. In a heartbeat her face was swallowed, smothered beneath the gelatinous mass. Her lips were pried open, her mouth filled with viscous slime that pushed inside, invading her throat, suffocating every breath. But it did more than torment her—it fed on her magic, draining it like lifeblood. And as it drank from her, the sigil on the ground flared brighter.
Every drop of power stolen from her body birthed new slimes. First dozens, then hundreds… and at last, thousands. The creatures multiplied without end, flooding the dungeon in an unstoppable tide. Some hurled themselves at her companions, who fought desperately to cut their way through. Swords slashed, spells ignited—but each fallen foe was instantly replaced by two more. Their struggle was futile, a battle against infinity itself.
Meanwhile, other slimes fastened themselves to her trembling body. Slick tentacles caressed her breasts, gripped her thighs, coiled around her waist, penetrating her as though they were ravenous lovers. Every touch was venom: pain and pleasure intertwined, forced ecstasy that wracked her with trembling cries. Her body writhed, drenched in slime, violated as her magic was drained deeper and deeper.
And then came the moment of betrayal. Her companions, exhausted and overwhelmed by the endless flood, realized the truth—they could not save her. They screamed her name, but their voices were drowned beneath the wet, gurgling tide. Slowly, with despair etched into their faces, they retreated… abandoning her.
She saw them. Through the translucent slime smothering her face, she glimpsed the silhouettes of her friends turning, running, leaving her behind. She tried to move, to break free, to reach for them. But the gelatinous chains tightened, while new tendrils forced deeper into her body and mouth, consuming her wholly.
Her eyes filled with tears. Her mind, already clouded by the perverse pleasure forced upon her, grasped the truth: she had been forsaken. No one would save her. This was the end.
And so she remained, alone in the dark, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of slimes birthed from her own stolen power. The last image burned into our memory is of her naked body, invaded and violated, writhing between ecstasy and despair, as her muffled cries drowned within the slime.
The dungeon had claimed its mage—not only her body and her power, but also her soul, swallowed forever by the obscene gurgling of that insatiable tide