The destruction of the dungeon's reputation began with a sledgehammer.

"Harder!" Reed shouted, pointing at the ornate stone pedestal that held the guestbook.

Grika swung the hammer with manic glee.

CRACK.

The polished marble shattered into jagged, uninviting chunks. The guestbook—bound in velvet—tumbled into a puddle of dirty water.

"Excellent," Reed said, checking a clipboard he'd grabbed from Maira. "That looks much more menacing. Less 'Welcome Home,' more 'Get Out.' Now, the lighting."

"It is too warm," Maira critiqued, gliding past with a stack of confiscated velvet cushions. "Amber light implies comfort. We require gloom."

She reached up and twisted the valve on a mana lamp. The light flickered, dying down to a sickly, pale yellow that cast long, unsettling shadows.

"Perfect," Reed said. "We want ominous. We want dreary. We want C-Tier."

The Core Chamber was a hive of frantic, destructive activity. Operation Ugly was in full swing.

The goal was simple: Turn The Teasing Tomb—a rising star known for high-risk, high-reward, and strangely comfortable amenities—into a generic, failing goblin hole. If Kaelen saw a resort, she'd see intelligence. If she saw a dump, she'd see a victim.

Reed walked over to the Pizza Forge. This was the hardest part.

The oven was the heart of the dungeon. It smelled of yeast, garlic, and happiness. It was a beacon of civilization in the dark.

"Kill it," Reed ordered, his heart breaking slightly.

Grika whimpered, hugging the warm stone dome. "But Boss… the sourdough starter… it's finally mature! It's bubbling!"

"The Inquisitor will execute us for Gluttony if she smells basil, Grika. Shut it down."

Grika sniffled, pulling a heavy iron lever. The magical fire inside the oven died with a sad hiss.

"Hide it," Reed commanded.

Grika and Maira grabbed a massive, hinged false wall made of painted canvas and paper mache rock, originally built for a theatrical trap that never got used, and swung it shut.

With a heavy thud, the magnificent obsidian oven vanished, replaced by a lumpy, generic cave wall that looked like it had been carved by a blind ogre.

"Vent the smell," Reed said, waving his hand at the lingering scent of oregano.

Maira pulled a cord. A gust of wind swept through the room, sucking the pizza aroma up the chimney shaft. Then, she reached into her apron and pulled out a spray bottle filled with a murky green liquid.

She spritzed the air. Fsst. Fsst.

Reed sniffed. He gagged.

"What is that?"

"Distilled goblin sweat and damp moss," Maira said professionally. "I call it 'Eau de Despair.'"

"It's awful," Reed said, wiping his watering eyes. "She'll love it."

The Hot Springs (Floor 2)

Down on Floor 2, the tragedy continued.

Luma was floating in the center of the main thermal pool. Usually, this water was crystal clear, heated by mana, and infused with healing salts. It was her pride and joy.

Now, Reed stood on the edge with a bucket of garden soil.

"I'm sorry, Luma," Reed said.

"Please no," Luma bubbled, forming a sad face on her slime surface. "I just filtered myself! I'm sparkling!"

"You're a dungeon slime, Luma. You're supposed to be gross. Acidic. Dangerous. If the Inquisitor sees a spa, she'll think we're running a brothel."

"I am dangerous!" Luma insisted, forming a little water-fist. "I can dissolve a man's bones in four seconds! I don't see why I have to be dirty to do it!"

"Because Inquisitors judge books by their covers. And your cover right now is 'Sparkling Mineral Water.' We need 'Stagnant Swamp.'"

Reed dumped the dirt.

The brown cloud bloomed in the pristine water. Luma shrieked, a sound like a draining bathtub, and dissolved, churning the dirt until the entire pool looked like a murky, uninviting pond.

"Good," Reed nodded, ignoring the pang of guilt. "Now, scatter some bones around the edge. Make it look like things died in there."

Luma surfaced, now a murky brown color. She spat a plastic skeleton femur onto the tiles with a wet thwack.

"I hate this plan," she gurgled.

The Dressing Room

Back on Floor 1, Seraphine was having a meltdown.

The Lamia Knight stood in front of a cracked mirror. She was wearing her Magma Dreadnought armor, the heavy, blackened steel plate that she used for serious combat. It was polished to a mirror sheen.

"Take it off," Reed said.

Seraphine turned, her tail lashing so hard it cracked the floor.

"My Lord, the Undead are coming. I need the plate! I need the protection!"

"You can wear the breastplate under the disguise," Reed compromised. "But on top? You need to look feral. Like a wild monster that just crawled out of a hole and found a sharp stick."

He held up a rusted, moth-eaten chainmail poncho they had looted from a skeleton three weeks ago. It smelled of old iron and rot.

"Put this on."

Seraphine looked at the rusty rag like it was infectious. "It… it has no structural integrity. It smells of failure."

"Fashion is pain, Seraphine. Put it on. And smear this on your face."

He handed her a pot of war paint. Not cool, tribal war paint. Just grey muck.

Seraphine let out a hiss of pure indignity, but she obeyed. She draped the rusty chainmail over her gleaming armor, hiding the high-quality steel. She daubed the muck on her cheeks, dulling her radiant scales.

"I look like a beggar," she spat, inspecting herself in the cracked mirror. "A common swamp-snake."

"You look like a survivor," Reed corrected. "And keep the Magma Lance hidden in your inventory. Use the rusty pike until the fighting starts."

"If I must fight with trash," Seraphine growled, grabbing a bent iron spear, "I will be very angry. And I will take it out on the skeletons."

"That's the spirit."

The Ceiling

High in the rafters, the final and most difficult negotiation was taking place.

Riva was clinging to a stalactite, clutching her Flash-Harness to her chest like a baby. The rhinestone-encrusted straps glittered in the gloom.

"No," Riva said.

"Riva," Reed called up, craning his neck. "We talked about this."

"It's mine!" Riva screeched. "It sparkles! It makes me fast! It makes me Shiny Bird!"

"The metal lady hates sparkles," Reed explained patiently. "If she sees it, she'll think you stole it from a Paladin. She'll arrest you."

Riva hissed. "Bird peck metal lady."

"We can peck her later. Right now, we need 'Sad Bird.'"

Reed reached into his pocket and pulled out the bribe. A pepperoni stick. The good kind. Spicy, cured meat.

Riva's golden eyes zoomed in on the meat. Her pupils dilated.

"Trade?" Reed offered.

Riva agonized. She looked at the harness. She looked at the pepperoni.

Slowly, painfully, she unbuckled the harness. It slid off her shoulders, the silver buckles clinking softly. She let it drop.

Reed caught it.

"I'll keep it safe," he promised, shoving the sparkly gear into a sack. "I promise."

He tossed the pepperoni. Riva caught it mid-air, swallowing it whole in one gulp.

"Now," Reed said. "The mud."

Riva groaned. She flew down and landed in the puddle of fake sludge Maira had created near the entrance. She rolled in it, coating her beautiful white feathers in grey gunk.

She stood up, shaking herself off. She looked like a wet rat with wings.

"Sad Bird," Riva croaked miserably.

"Perfect," Reed said. "You look starving."

The Final Touches

By midnight, the dungeon was unrecognizable.

The walls were scuffed. The air was damp. The lighting was flickering and weak. The monsters looked like they hadn't eaten a good meal in months.

Reed stood in the entrance hall, looking at his handiwork.

He was wearing a burlap tunic over his combat gear, and he'd rubbed dirt into his hair to look manic and stressed. He held a chipped iron sword.

"Okay," Reed addressed the room.

His family, a muddy harpy, a rusty snake, a brown slime, and a grease-covered goblin, looked back at him. They looked miserable.

"We look terrible," Reed said proudly. "We look like we have no money, no mana, and no hope, no harem."

"I feel like trash," Seraphine muttered, picking at her rusted chainmail.

"Good," Reed said. "Hold onto that feeling. Because when Kaelen walks through that door, we need her to pity us just enough to not kill us immediately."

He checked the time.

[TIME UNTIL DAWN] 06 Hours.

Enemy Status: Siegebreakers approaching outer perimeter.

"Go to stations," Reed ordered. "Get some rest. If you hear crunching noises, don't panic. It's just the skeletons testing the perimeter."

"What about me?" Elara asked.

Reed turned. The Banshee was floating by the wall. She was the only one who hadn't changed. You couldn't disguise a ghost.

"You," Reed said, "are a Class 5 Heresy. If Kaelen sees you, the deal is off. You need to vanish."

"I can enter the walls," Elara said. "I will go deep. Into the stone."

"Stay close to the Core," Reed said softly. "If the fighting gets bad… I might need the Anchor again."

Elara's eyes widened slightly. She nodded, then faded backward, sinking into the solid rock until she was gone.

Reed took a deep breath. The stage was set. The costumes were on.

Now, they just had to wait for the audience. And hope the theater didn't burn down before the curtain rose.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.