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 mercy.
They were lost in thought… in memory.
Specifically… that afternoon
The day he witnessed The Ritual.
Two hunters. Naked. Glistening. Locked in some sort of chaotic, sweaty combat. There had been groans. Slaps. A strange bouncing rhythm. And then an explosive ending full of grunts and compliments.
"More… yes… right there…"
At first, Baelgor had thought they were dying.
But no.
They were… enjoying it?
