The void around them was silent. The dark sun still hung in the colorless sky, but it felt dimmer now. Diminished. Like something had been taken from it.

Wobbly appeared on the gold core.

It was now noticeably larger than it had been this morning, almost spherical, its gelatinous body stretched tight, and it sat on the core like a very small, very possessive hen. It tried to eat it. The core was larger than Wobbly’s entire body. It’s membrane stretched over the gold surface, strained, and then snapped back with a wet plop.

Wobbly wobbled frustratedly. A sound escaped it, a small, indignant burble.

Florence, without looking up: "Don’t even think about it."

Wobbly blinked. Retreated. Sat on the core with the specific dignity of something that had been deeply wronged.

Then it noticed the corrupted heart.

Wobbly wobbled toward it. Extended a pseudopod. Touched the crystallized shadow. The contact produced a faint sizzle, and Wobbly recoiled with a wet, disgusted sound, a blorp that conveyed more revulsion than any word could have. It shook itself, gelatin rippling in waves of unmistakable distaste.

It wobbled back to the gold core. Sat down. Made a small huffing noise.

"Smart," Dominic muttered.

Theresa, from somewhere to his left, spoke without opening her eyes. "Did we get the core?"

"We got two things, actually. One’s gold, I think, is the core. The other one’s something else. Wobbly doesn’t like the second one."

"Good." A pause. "I’m going to lie here for a while."

Nobody argued.

Dominic was still on his hands and knees. He hadn’t sat down. His ribs were sending urgent messages to his brain about the inadvisability of remaining in this position, but lying down seemed like admitting something, and he wasn’t ready to admit anything yet.

Florence lifted her head with visible effort. The movement cost her—a flicker of pain crossed her face before the flat mask reasserted itself. She looked at him. At his position. In the specific way he was holding himself, his weight shifted to his good side, the arm with the numb hand hanging uselessly.

"Are you still upright cuz it’d hurt more to lie down?" she asked.

"No," he said.

"Yes, you are."

He held her gaze for exactly a moment. Then collapsed onto his back. The colorless sky, if you could call it that, the void stretching up forever—spun above him. His ribs howled. His shoulder throbbed. The stone was cold against his spine.

"Okay," he said. "Yes."

"Mm." Florence lowered her head again.

A long silence. The three of them were breathing in the dark.

Then Theresa, quietly: "I can’t feel my fingers."

"That’s normal," Florence said. "They’re still there. I checked."

"You checked my fingers?"

"What can I say? I like your fingers."

"Thank you?..."

"You’re welcome."

Another silence. Then Dominic: "Wobbly tried to eat the corrupted heart."

"I noticed," Florence said.

"Wobbly normally would anything. Whatever’s in that heart, it didn’t want it."

Florence was quiet for a moment. "Food for thought, let’s have Theresa figure it out."

"Yeah ," Dominic said. "Good idea."

Florence was the first to move. Not because she had fully recovered, she was far from it, but because she had the discipline to ignore her body’s protests. She grasped the halberd, using it as a makeshift crutch, and with a quiet, almost inaudible grunt, forced herself to her feet. She limped toward the angel’s dissolution point, each step deliberate and cautious.

The gold core within the angel pulsed steadily, emitting a faint, rhythmic glow. Sitting beside it was the corrupted heart, still radiating a sickly, uneven warmth. The scent of ozone wafted from it, mingling with the acrid tang of the dampness of lingering despair.

Across the scuffed, blood-stained floor, the fragments of the angel’s shattered form lay scattered, dissolving more slowly than the body itself. They shimmered faintly, remnants of divine power broken apart.

Florence began sorting the fragments with meticulous care. Her voice was businesslike, devoid of emotion, as if she were cataloging supplies in a barracks, each item assigned a purpose and priority.

"Six wing membrane shards. Translucent. Violet veining. Still humming with residual dark element. High-grade spell-forging material."

Theresa stirred. She didn’t sit up; she wasn’t there yet, but her eyes opened. "I want two of those, for research."

Florence set two shards aside without comment. "I’ll keep two for personal interest. The last two go to sell."

She moved on.

"One angel tooth. Roughly hand-sized. Edge is still sharp enough to split a hair. Dark element crystallized along the root." She held it up, turning it in the dim light. "We’re keeping this."

"Agreed," Dominic said from the floor.

"Two tear duct stones." She picked them up. Black as polished obsidian. Smooth and cold. Each one weeping a thin dark fluid that dripped continuously without ever seeming to diminish. "Theresa. These feel like your department."

Theresa extended her hand gently without sitting up fully, her fingers slightly trembling. Florence carefully placed one of the smooth, black stones into her palm, its surface cool and slightly damp. Theresa held it close to her face, her eyes narrowing as she studied the intricate, weeping surface with the focused intensity of someone who had just discovered a compelling new project, perceiving subtle patterns and faint hues that hinted at a deeper story.

"Both," she said. "I’m keeping both."

Florence handed her the second one and moved on.

"The annihilation focus." She crouched, painfully, her ribs clearly protesting, and picked up a fragment of the hole-face itself. It was perfectly circular. Perfectly black. Cold enough that frost formed on it despite the ambient temperature of the space. "This froze through my glove. We’re keeping it. Obviously."

"Obviously," Dominic agreed from the floor.

Florence turned to the phase one bodies. The two SS+ cores went into the sell pile. Clean market value. Straightforward sale. Two pieces of dark element armor plating joined them. Two dark iron weapon fragments from the hammer polls she set aside.

"Unusual density. Dark element-infused material. Weapon crafting potential. We keep these."

Then she found the artifacts.

Three items scattered near the angel’s dissolution point. Not things the angel had dropped. Things that had come from people who entered this dungeon over the decades. The dungeon’s gift for their hard work.

The first was a grimoire. Sealed with something that wasn’t wax and wasn’t magic exactly, a pressure that pushed against Florence’s fingers when she tried to open it. Unknown script on the cover. Pages that hummed faintly. Theresa sat up fully when she saw it. Extended both hands. Florence passed it to her without a word. Theresa took it, held it against her chest, and did not put it in the communal bag. Dominic decided not to comment.

The second was a spatial ring, significantly larger internal capacity than standard. Whoever had owned this was either very wealthy or very prepared. "We keep it," Dominic said from the floor. "More storage is never bad."

The third was a weapon fragment. It hummed with an affinity none of them could immediately identify. Something that made the air around it feel thicker. "Pending identification," Florence said, and set it in the keep pile.

Dominic finally managed to rise to his feet after three attempts. Each movement sent sharp stabs through his ribs, and his right arm still felt sluggish and unresponsive. Despite the pain, he kept his balance and straightened up.

"The cores for Floors one through nine," he said, looking at Wobbly.

Wobbly blinked. Made a small, satisfied burble.

"All of them?"

Another burble. This one had the unmistakable tone of pride.

Florence looked between them. "Wait. It ate every core from the first nine floors?"

"It gets hungry."

"It gets round. That’s what it gets."

Wobbly wobbled once, slow and content, utterly unbothered by the assessment.

"Just give me the bag," Dominic said, looking at Wobbly.

Wobbly emitted a wet, guttural sound, not the usual burble but something deeper and more guttural. Suddenly, the sound intensified, and Wobbly’s body heaved noticeably.

Without warning, the spatial bag slid out smoothly and clattered onto the cold, uneven stone floor nearby. It was completely dry, its fabric unmarred.

Dominic fixed his gaze on the bag for a moment, observing its untouched surface. He hesitated to ask about it, deciding it was better left unexplored for now.

"Potions first," he said.

He crouched down painfully, pressing his hand against his aching side, and reached into his bag to retrieve three intermediate healing potions, their glass bottles cool and slightly sticky from use. He uncorked two of them and quickly drank each in two swift, controlled swallows.

The warmth of the potion spread through his chest almost immediately, dulling the sharp sensation of pain. His ribs still ached, but the pain had lessened, and the sharp edge of the ache was now dulled. The grinding in his shoulder eased from a screaming complaint to a dull throb, providing only a faint reminder of his injuries.

He tossed two of the potions to Florence. She caught them left-handed without looking, her fingers swift and sure despite her exhaustion. She uncorked them, drank it in a single fluid motion, and exhaled softly through her nose, a slight sign of relief crossing her face.

"That’s better," she said.

He carried two more vials to Theresa. She was still flat on her back in the dim cave, eyes closed, the coat of Astrielle’s Promise spread beneath her like a dark, shimmering blanket. He knelt beside her, concern etched on his face. Though she didn’t open her eyes, her hand reached out instinctively for the vial.

She took it and drank slowly, in small, deliberate sips, as if each swallow required conscious effort. When she finished, she leaned her head back against the cold, rough stone wall, her breathing shallow and uneven.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Stay down for a bit," he said. "We’ll pack up."

He returned to the spatial bag and started loading.

The sell items went in first. SS+ cores. The gold core, the armor plating. The two wing shards they’d agreed to part with.

Then the keep items. The angel tooth. The annihilation focus. The dark iron fragments. The oversized spatial ring. The weapon fragment. The two wing shards for Theresa and the two for Florence.

Florence had finished her potion and was flexing her arm. The gash on her forearm was already closing, intermediate potions worked fast on surface wounds. The deeper damage would take longer. But she was moving easier now. She limped over and lifted up with both hands the corrupted heart. Her expression was unreadable.

"This should get appraised in a locked room," she said.

"I know," Dominic said.

She dropped it into the bag.

Wobbly watched the gold core disappear. A wet, sad sound escaped it, a bloop of genuine mourning. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

"No, I can’t give it to you." Dominic said.

Wobbly argued. It was a complex sound, full of nuance and grievance.

"It’s bigger than you."

Another argument. This one shorter but more passionate.

"I’ll give you one wing shard. Later. When we’re home."

Wobbly settled. The silence thickened, resembling the tense stillness after a hard-fought negotiation has reached its end.

At the far end of the abyss, the floor eleven portal shimmered softly, its surface rippling like liquid glass. Tall and radiant, it beckoned with the promise of the next challenge, an invitation toventure deeper. They ignored it, their focus fixed on the present. Today was floor ten.

"We need to leave," Theresa said.

She had managed to sit up, then stand. The potion had put some color back in her face, but her hands still trembled. Astrielle’s Promise hung heavy on her shoulders, the gold trim still dark.

Dominic pulled the return scroll from his vest. Standard Adventurer’s Guild issue. Enchanted parchment tied to the dungeon’s entry registry. He tore it.

The space folded around them. The dark sun winked out. For a disorienting moment, they were nowhere.

Then they surfaced.