Prince talk

Mirelith's golden eye glows faintly as it sweeps over the group, lingering briefly on each face. His expression is calm, yet there's an undeniable weight in his gaze, as though peeling back their very essence. "You're trembling," he remarks, his voice lilting with amusement, as if their fear is a source of mild entertainment. "Good. Fear is healthy."

Suddenly, his focus shifts, his head tilting slightly as his gaze pierces through the ceiling above. The golden hue of his eye fades into a brilliant crystal blue, fractals of energy dancing within it like shards of a frozen lake cracking under pressure. The air itself seems to ripple with its radiance. "Now why are you over there?" he mutters, his voice dropping in pitch. "Even if he isn't qualified, you are bending the rules, Leena."

BOOOM!

The dungeon roars in protest, the violent tremor tearing through every floor. Cracks spiderweb across the walls as the stone groans under the immense pressure. Sections of the dungeon pulse erratically, the distorted floors flickering between solid states and writhing shadows, fusing together in twisted, grotesque bursts of light before defusing with a sickening lurch. The very air feels as though it's being pulled apart, every breath heavy with the sensation of unraveling reality.

Large chunks of stone collapse from above, shattering into jagged fragments that scatter like broken glass. The core of the dungeon, pulsing with a sinister, reddish-black light, cracks further, sending out shockwaves that ripple through the labyrinth. The contorted terrain bends and shifts, merging in surreal, kaleidoscopic patterns, only to snap back into place as though stitched together by some invisible thread.

"Enough," Leena's voice cuts through the chaos, barely a whisper, yet carrying a gravity that halts the trembling ground. She rises slowly, her pale form illuminated by the faint light of the core. Extending her arm, the black lines etched into her skin writhe like living tattoos, their movement subtle yet unsettling. Her veins bulge unnaturally as if her very blood is rejecting her. "I don't understand why you're doing this," she murmurs, her crimson eye locking with Mirelith's cold gaze. "You, of all people, should be happy."

The dungeon begins to stabilize, the tremors subsiding into an eerie stillness. Leena's body stiffens, her veins bursting in several places, spewing dark rivulets of blood that seep into the ground. Yet, she doesn't flinch, her voice steady despite her pain. "You've always been a mystery," she whispers under her breath, more to herself than him. "Regardless of your interference... everything is already set." Her fingers twitch, and a faint, bitter smile ghosts across her lips. 'Mother, it's time,' she thinks, her resolve unwavering.

"Just leave him be," Ilka yawns, her voice cutting through the still air as she floats lazily around Mirelith, her impish grin widening. "Listen, my disciple's already made the plan. All you need to do is follow it." She lands lightly on Mirelith's hair, crossing her legs as if perching on a throne. "His growth is soooo much better than mine was in my prime," she brags, her smirk radiating pride. "Seriously, I'd kill to have been this good back then."

Mirelith's expression softens into something between a smile and a grimace, his thoughts reaching Ilka telepathically. 'I don't know whether to be impressed or terrified. You clearly value him above even the hero you gave your future for. It's fair to assume you respect him greatly... but why should I risk this opportunity and follow a plan that could lead to prolonged suffering?'

Ilka snorts, rolling her eyes theatrically before leaning forward. "Oh, please!" she says, her tone dripping with mockery. "There's no way the fairy prince I know would just follow orders till the bitter end. Nope, no, no, no~" She stretches her arms wide, her smirk softening into something almost nostalgic as she looks around. "Ah, this place... it's really bringing back memories. Do you remember when we first met?"

'How could I forget?' Mirelith's thoughts echo back, a wry edge to them. 'It was the most humiliating experience of my life. Beaten by a nine-year-old child, deep in the labyrinth... truly an unpleasant day.' He sighs deeply, his lips curling into a faint, bittersweet smile. 'But we had some good times, didn't we? Traveling together.' He lifts his arm slightly, his fingers brushing against the empty air as if recalling the weight of old friendships. 'I trusted you with my life during those voyages, and like the fool I am, I suppose I shall trust you once again.'

As the energy around Mirelith shifts, the air grows dense with malevolence. A deep rumble vibrates through the ground as the hideous small creatures rise once more, their grotesque forms spilling out of the earth like maggots from a corpse. Their sharp, gurgling screeches pierce the air, heralding their arrival. Mirelith, unflinching, simply closes his crystalline eye and sighs.

"This is the man V and I came across," Ryua whispers, her voice barely audible as she leans closer to Bein. Her expression is serious, her gaze locked onto Mirelith. "He's dangerous. He also has some sort of connection to V. After V told him something, his entire demeanor shifted. He treated him differently... with respect."

Bein narrows his eyes, his grip tightening on his weapon. "That complicates things," he mutters under his breath, his thoughts racing as he studies the glowing figure ahead.

"Oh, I get it," Baya interrupts, nodding enthusiastically to herself. "He must be the leader of those hideous monsters. If you look close enough, you can totally see the resemblance," she declares loudly, crossing her arms as if her observation is undeniable fact.

"You—!" Itto twitches, his hand darting to cover her mouth as his other yanks her by the hair. "Don't say anything else," he hisses, his voice a sharp whisper. "You might agro that thing." He glances nervously at Mirelith, whose golden eye now flickers faintly in their direction. "I don't know what it is, but I can feel it. We can't beat him. Not with the restrictions. It's impossible."

"What!?" Baya's eyes narrow in disbelief, the spark of challenge igniting in her chest. "No way! I can blow him to bits." She grins wickedly, punching her fists together. "Just leave him to me."

Before she can take a step forward, Mirelith turns his gaze on her with a serene smile. His presence, though calm, sends a ripple of unease through the group.

"Hmm, he's not wrong," Mirelith hums, his voice soothing yet disconcerting. With a single motion, green leaves sprout from the ground, twisting and weaving into a large, elegant throne. He sinks into it casually. "Let's do this," he says, snapping his fingers.

The air stills.

[All restrictions have been removed.]

[Black Lotus Sigil debuff has been forcefully removed.]

The notifications hit everyone at once, their meaning sending shockwaves through the group.

'He actually removed the debuffs!?' Cora's eyes widen in disbelief. Her instincts scream at her that something is wrong. 'Why? Is it part of the dungeon rules? No.' Her gaze locks onto Mirelith, whose figure radiates an overwhelming aura now that her detection abilities are restored. 'With everything at full capacity, I can tell... that man is no ordinary creature. He's a monster.'

"Leave if you're scared~" Ilúvëthar giggles coldly as he strides forward, his face catching the dim, eerie light. "Dungeons aren't for the weak. Nothing will go the—"

"Everyone, stop the act!" Cora cuts her off sharply, her voice snapping through the silence like a whip. "He is going against the plan! All of you are permitted to go all out! Just make sure that stupid fucking elf prince doesn't get away!" She raises her sword high, the edge glinting ominously in the dim light. Her rallying cry inspires a chorus of battle-ready roars.

"YEAH! YOU'RE GOING DOWN!" the bald man bellows, his grin widening as he hefts his weapon.

"Well, since everyone is so excited," Mirelith begins, the edges of his lips curling upward, "let's start the g—"

"Excuse me for a moment," Ilúvëthar interrupts, stepping forward with a theatrical grace that oozes self-importance. His hair gleams under the faint light, every movement deliberate as if he's performing for an audience only he cares about. He doesn't bow—of course not—but lowers his head just enough to feign respect. "I greet you, lost prince of the Dúranthil Forest." His tone is cool, calculated, and insincere. "As the rightful elf prince, I have a request."

Mirelith tilts his head slightly, his crystalline blue eye narrowing as he regards the elf. His golden eye remains half-lidded, betraying no emotion. "Indeed, you are. So, prince," he drawls, "what do you wish to say?"

Ilúvëthar steps closer, his boots clicking sharply against the stone floor as though he's announcing his presence with every step. "Under the agreement made over three thousand years ago," he begins, his voice filled with self-righteousness, "you are bound by your failure. As you did not fulfill your duty to safeguard the forest, you are obligated to heed my request."

He smirks, a sneer curling on his lips as he glances at the others briefly, his eyes filled with disdain. "And don't worry," he adds, his voice dripping with mockery. "This matter is far beyond the comprehension of... lesser beings."

The group bristles, but Ilúvëthar's attention is already back on Mirelith. "My request is simple," he continues, his tone growing colder. "I don't care what you do with these expendable adventurers." He spits the word as if it's an insult, his eyes flicking dismissively toward Cora and the others. "They're irrelevant. What I want is the flower. Hand it over, and we can avoid unnecessary theatrics."

The air grows tense, Mirelith's gaze fixed on the elf prince as an eerie silence descends. Finally, the fairy prince leans forward, resting his chin on one hand as he studies Ilúvëthar. "Hmm..." he murmurs, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "You are... interesting."

The elf prince's smirk grows wider, his confidence swelling as he takes Mirelith's words as validation. "Naturally," he says, as though this were obvious. "So, let's dispense with the games. I have more important matters to attend to—"

"Unfortunately," Mirelith interrupts, his voice cutting through Ilúvëthar's monologue like a blade, "even if I wanted to, I can't."

Ilúvëthar's smirk falters for a split second before he recovers, his jaw tightening. "What do you mean, can't?" His voice sharpens, tinged with disbelief and annoyance. "You're the fairy prince. You are bound by—"

"Choose your next words carefully," Mirelith says softly, his tone calm yet carrying a weight that silences the elf prince instantly. Mirelith stands, his wings glowing faintly as he gestures with one hand. The ground trembles as two grotesque figures rise from the earth, their twisted forms jerking unnaturally as they emerge. Their presence fills the air with an oppressive aura, and the group instinctively recoils.

Ilúvëthar steps back, his composure slipping just slightly as his gaze flicks between the creatures. 'These are the same abominations I saw with that man,' he thinks, masking his unease with a scoff.

"Choose one," Mirelith says, his smirk returning. "You can attempt to defeat one, or try to outrun one. If you succeed, the flower is yours."