CONTENT WARNING:
The following chapter includes depictions of rape, blood, and violence. These themes may be deeply unsettling for readers who have personal experiences with such trauma.
Please prioritize your emotional well-being. If you feel uncomfortable with such topics, I encourage you to skip this chapter. Your safety and peace of mind matter far more than keeping up with every detail of the story.
The content within is purely fictional and created for storytelling purposes. It does not, in any way, represent the author’s personal beliefs, values, or real-life perspectives.
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Mythril Cave | Dusk | Fridocea's Forest
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Freya didn’t remember how she started running, all she knew was that her heart had turned into a drum and her legs were barely keeping up with it.
Tree branches whipped against her arms as she sprinted, and her breath cracked with every panicked gasp.
“Please, please let them be alive. Please…”
The desperate words tumbled out of her.
The closer she got to the mythril cave, the thicker the air felt.
It's just like something terrible was waiting for her inside, and she was right.
The moment she stepped into the cave’s mouth, her entire body froze.
The ground was painted in green.
Slick and shiny goblin blood was smeared across stones like someone had dragged bodies across them. Severed arms hung from jagged rocks, fingers curled like they’d died clawing for help. An actual goblin spine was snapped in half near her foot.
Freya gagged.
She stumbled backward, her one hand was over her mouth as a sob ripped out of her throat.
“W-what h-happened here?”
She stepped too close to something mushy and looked down.
A goblin head.
Eyes wide open.
Mouth frozen mid-scream.
“WHAT THE HELL?!” Freya screamed back.
Then a low and bored exhaled voice echoed inside the cavern.
She snapped around fast. Her knife was already shaking in her hand.
She saw a man leaning against a mythril boulder, drenched in goblin blood. His hair was streaked green. His clothes clung wetly to him. Even his eyelashes glistened with gore.
He slowly lifted his head and stared.
“S-STAY BACK! W-WHO ARE YOU?!” Freya shrieked again.
But before the man could even answer, “OH FOR FU—OF COURSE!” a familiar voice groaned.
Horace jogged in, and stopped dead when he saw the carnage, then wrinkled his entire face like he smelled five-day-old rotting meat.
“Krai, why? ” he started.
“Why do you have to turn every battlefield into a butcher shop? IT'S DISGUSTING! I.HATE.IT!”
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No Longer His Villainess
FantasyShe was the villainess who died loving the wrong prince. Now? She's got one rule: NO MORE ROYALS. In her first life, she was hopelessly obsessed with Duncan Davenford, Crown Prince of Ashtor. She chased him, humiliated herself, and turned into the g...
