Love and Obsession
Yo, I'm the dungeon master of Starving Goblin's Ravine.
My old dungeon was total garbage for real. The goblins just stole loot like Lupin and got breached every time, tanking my score—it was a total liability.
But I bought this new one from Belial Enterprise and it's a whole new world lololol
C-rank adventurer party? Melted them flat. No idea if any survived, but they're probably huddled up whining right now? So fucking satisfying lololol Finally get to stretch out and sleep easy.
The reaction was explosive. Sure, there were skeptics calling it viral marketing, but wasn't that the ultimate praise?
The fact that people were losing their shit proved just how absurd my dungeon was.
Not bad.
But he couldn't just bask in it. This dungeon had put his name on the company map—suspension lifted, existence noted. Attention meant expectations. And expectations meant pressure for even better results next time.
Obviously.
Plus the usual scrutiny. Like right now.
"Hey, heard you pulled one off, Aiden."
He turned at the sharp, mocking voice. A fellow newbie stood there, arms crossed, looking down at him.
Zartus. Same hire year, but polar opposite. A proud pair of black horns sprouted from his head. Blood-red eyes and sharp fangs screamed pure demon blood.
Belial Enterprise's standard elite.
And Aiden? No horns, wings, or tail. Black hair, black eyes. Fragile human looks. In this company, he was a defect.
Zartus scanned him up and down with a sneer.
"Suspension lifted, huh?"
Rumors spread fast.
"Lucky? Or—"
Zartus paused.
"—some mongrel trick?"
Mongrel. His favorite slur.
Aiden leaned back calmly, meeting his gaze. Getting mad played into his hands. No need to bite at every bait.
But he wouldn't take it lying down.
"Results are results, Zartus."
Zartus's brow twitched faintly.
"Pureblood way or mongrel way. Company cares about outcomes."
He got the subtext: Your fancy pureblood dungeon got cleared last quarter, didn't it?
The smirk vanished.
"Wonder how long those 'results' last. Hope it's no flash in the pan."
"Thanks for the concern. Looking forward to your next quarter."
Aiden brushed it off, eyes back to his desk. We're done.
Zartus glared, snorted, and left.
The chill air lifted. Aiden sighed softly.
Not easy.
This was his reality.
Stay sharp.
Adventurers kept raiding outside. Inside, colleagues itched to devour him. No time to gloat on one win.
Time for the next dungeon?
What kind? Red Mask succeeded—Adventurer Gallery still ablaze, safe for now.
Fuck, D-rank rewards can't be THAT good to throw away a C-rank elite party's lives
This ain't, it's luck or bullshit rng right?
'Red Shield' guild sent elite party yesterday
Tested every option: 'Pretty' 'Ugly' 'Don't know' 'Run' etc—all wiped
Not even brute force works wtf. Sole survivor said "That bitch didn't want the right answer. She just wanted to kill" lmaoooo
"Hm."
As expected. Adventurers still tackling this urban legend dungeon like a regular monster clear. Brute force, magic, exploits to break patterns.
But the Red Mask wasn't that kind of thing.
This approach still works...!
Satisfied, he closed the gallery tab. Until they grasped "urban legend" and shifted paradigms, he had steps to spare.
Right then.
"Aiden."
Liliane, the team leader.
"A word."
Summoned.
* * *
Succubus Liliane's office wafted sweet perfume—chillingly so. Impeccably tidy, perfectionist as always. She gazed out the window.
"Aiden."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Your little stunt drew eyes from someone very annoying."
"Annoying, ma'am?"
"Yes. Though it's a compliment."
She turned slowly.
"Seems Her Majesty loved your dungeon. Enough to contact a mere team leader like me personally."
She nodded at the ornate letter on her desk, sealed in red wax. Bat and rose emblem clear.
"This commission names you, Aiden. Client is the Night Queen, pinnacle of all succubi—Lilith Her Majesty. A VVIP even I dare not name lightly."
His mind blanked.
Lilith Her Majesty? Of course he knew. Queen of all dream demons.
But why? She had dedicated teams. Why a half-human rookie fresh off suspension?
Mix-up?
Reading him, Liliane glided close. Her whisper chilled his ear, body heat absent.
"Her Majesty tires of classic seduction and illusions. Too... archaic, perhaps?"
Her gaze pierced.
"But your dungeon showed her. Pure, primal fear is true beauty."
What?
Primal fear as beauty? Monster aesthetics baffled him. Like a master perfumer suddenly loving sewer stench.
"Now, read this letter and craft the dungeon."
Liliane smiled, handing over the ornate missive.
"Oh, and since Her Majesty named you, higher-ups are watching."
Watching. Meaning failure meant disaster.
"You get it. Company tossed in 10,000 points special bonus."
"...!"
Normal dungeon cost 1,000 points. This was ten dungeons' worth. Meager for the Succubus Queen, though.
Can't refuse.
Company interested but low expectations— she likely had dungeons galore; one more wouldn't shift much. Fair pay.
"...Understood."
He took the letter, voice steady with effort.
* * *
The letter's contents were simple.
I adore tales of love.
But sweet kisses, eternal vows... so trite, so dull, no?
Thus, I crave true love's essence.
Obsession so deep from love, it claims the beloved entirely as one's own.
Obsession turning love to terror.
That radiant madness as concept—craft me a dungeon.
— Lilith
"......"
He stared, rereading thrice. Same words.
Love story? Obsession? Radiant madness?
His mind dismantled her elegant terms, reassembling in Earth tongue.
That's just... a stalker?
Beyond: kidnapping, confinement, gaslighting—crime buffet. Called "true love's essence."
Top succubus logic: incomprehensible.
He clawed his hair, sinking into his chair.
Obsession in love... how to dungeon-ify?
Chasing monster? Stale.
Queen wanted more.
Enchanting curse? Succubi specialty—deemed "archaic."
She wanted his way. Primal fear and obsession theme.
Eyes closed, he murmured.
"Obsession, obsession, obsession......"
Obsession's core? Wanting, chasing? No, that's hunting.
Stalker horror differs. Not hidden pounce.
Opposite: reveal presence. Relentlessly. Wherever, whatever—you're watched. Etched in mind.
Safe spaces unsafe. Daily life eroded.
That clicked—brain sparked.
Yes... start distant.
Tiny signals. Hallucination-level faint.
Then closer, closer.
Escape dungeon, flee to town, hide in bed—never ends... closer...
A chill crawled his spine. Long-forgotten fear revived.
That's it!
One urban legend surfaced. Love-adjacent, but pure obsession.