The elevator ride down from the Arena was a long, rattling descent into the roots of the mountain.

Reed leaned his forehead against the cold iron grate of the cage, closing his eyes. The vibration of the chains rattled his teeth, sending fresh spikes of agony through his battered torso. His body felt like it had been run through a grain thresher and then reassembled by a toddler with a glue gun.

His ribs throbbed with a dull, aching pulse where Seraphine had squeezed him just a little too hard during her "epiphany." His left shoulder clicked audibly every time the elevator shuddered past a rock seam. His mana reserves were scraping the bottom of the barrel, leaving him with that hollow, shaky feeling that came from burning too much magic on an empty stomach.

"I am going to put a suggestion box in the lobby," Reed muttered to the empty shaft. "Suggestion number one: Stop trying to hug the Dungeon Master to death."

He shifted his weight, wincing as his hip popped.

He loved his monsters. He really did. They were his family, his army, and his greatest investment. But sometimes, being the "Main Character" to a harem of magical catastrophes was physically hazardous. Seraphine had nearly crushed him with love. Grika had nearly blown him up with enthusiasm. He was terrified to find out how Luma or Terra planned to accidentally maim him today.

Ding.

The iron gates groaned open, retracting with the heavy sound of industrial gears.

Reed stepped out, bracing himself for the usual dungeon smells. He expected the sulfur of the magma vents, instead, he was hit by a wall of warm, perfumed humidity.

It didn't smell like a cave. It smelled of crushed lavender, sea salt, wet stone, and the sharp, clean scent of eucalyptus. It was the smell of expensive relaxation. It was the smell of money.

Floor 2 had been completely transformed.

The "Sunken Lake" from the previous expansion was gone. In its place was a sprawling, subterranean grotto that looked like something out of a mermaid's most decadent fever dream. The jagged, rough-hewn walls had been smoothed by Void magic into flowing, organic curves of white marble that gleamed in the low light.

Reed walked onto the pool deck, his boots clicking softly on the heated tiles.

The lighting here was a masterpiece of mood engineering. There were no harsh torches. Instead, bioluminescent moss had been cultivated in the high vaulted ceiling, creating a constellation of soft teal stars that reflected off the water below.

Waterfalls cascaded from the darkness above, but they didn't crash. They fell in soft, controlled sheets, feeding into a series of tiered infinity pools carved directly into the stone floor. The water wasn't dark and murky; it glowed with a soft, inner light, illuminating the steam that curled in the air like lazy spirits.

Reed paused by the nearest pool. He crouched down, dipping his hand into the water.

It was perfect. Not scalding, not tepid. It was the exact temperature of a warm embrace.

"Heaven," Reed groaned, standing up and swaying slightly. "If I die here, don't resurrect me. Just let me sink to the bottom and become a decorative reef. Put a plaque on me that says 'He Tried'."

He shuffled across the heated tile floor toward the center of the grotto.

The design was Maira's work, obviously. The geometric perfection of the tiles, the symmetry of the waterfalls, the efficient drainage systems hidden in the decorative grout, it all screamed "Demon Maid." But the scale? The sheer, geological weight of the stone work? That was all Terra.

Reed reached the central Massage Pavilion.

It was an island of black obsidian raised slightly above the water level, connected to the main deck by a small, arched stone bridge. In the center of the platform sat a massive slab of polished basalt, warmed from beneath by the diverted magma veins of the mountain. It looked less like a massage table and more like a sacrificial altar for a very comfortable ritual.

Reed walked across the bridge. The steam here was thicker, wrapping around his legs.

"Hello?" Reed called out, his voice dampened by the humidity. "Is the spa open? I have a walk-in client. He's broken."

BOOM.

The water in the nearest magma-heated pool exploded upwards.

A massive shape rose from the depths like a leviathan breaching the surface.

Terra stood up.

The Magma Golem was massive, towering over seven feet tall. Her stone skin glowed with a deep, internal cherry-red heat that made the water around her waist hiss and bubble violently. Steam poured off her rocky shoulders in thick white clouds.

She wasn't wearing a uniform. Fabric would simply incinerate on contact with her skin. Instead, she had a massive white towel, woven from fire-proof salamander wool, draped respectfully over one shoulder like a toga.

And there, pinned directly into the granite of her chest with a heavy iron rivet, was a small, comically delicate brass name tag.

[TERRA – THERAPIST]

She waded toward the platform, pushing a wave of water ahead of her. Her footsteps sounded like boulders rolling downhill inside a canyon. THUD. SPLASH. THUD.

She climbed onto the obsidian platform, water streaming off her rocky form and turning to steam before it hit the ground.

"BOSS IS BROKEN," Terra stated. It wasn't a question. Her voice sounded like two tectonic plates grinding together.

"I am not broken, Terra," Reed winced, climbing onto the warm basalt slab. He lay face down, resting his chin on his folded arms. "Just... compressed. Seraphine doesn't know her own strength. Or rather, she knows it… but she doesn't care."

"SNAKE LADY IS SQUISHY," Terra rumbled, walking over to the table. The ground shook with every step. "SHE WRAPS. I FIX. I CRUSH BACK."

Reed shot a hand up in panic. "No! No crushing! Absolutely zero crushing. We need the opposite of crushing. We need decompression."

Terra paused. She looked at her hands. They were made of granite, fingers thick as sausages and hard as diamonds. She flexed them, the stone grinding audibly. Then she looked at Reed. He was made of soft meat, breakable calcium, and anxiety.

"I TRY," she said dubiously, her glowing yellow eyes narrowing in concentration under her rocky brow. "BUT YOU ARE VERY SOFT, BOSS. LIKE PUDDING. IF I PUSH... PUDDING GOES SPLAT."

"Don't push then," Reed instructed, his voice muffled by the towel he had buried his face in. "Just... exist. Heat the stones, Terra. Be a living heating pad. Can you do that?"

Terra considered this. She tilted her head, a shower of hot water cascading from her stone hair.

"I AM THE HOT ROCK," she agreed. It was a statement of existential fact.

She leaned over him. Reed felt the radiant heat before she even touched him. It was like opening the door to a blast furnace. The air around her shimmered.

"Okay," Reed whispered. "Gentle."

She placed her massive hands on his back. She covered almost his entire torso with just her palms.

It was heavy, yes. It felt like a small landslide had settled on his spine. But the heat... the heat was divine.

It soaked through his ruined silk shirt instantly, penetrating the bruised muscles and melting the tension that had been locked in his shoulders since the summoning ritual. The Void chill that always lingered in his bones began to retreat, chased away by the raw, geological warmth of the earth.

Reed let out a long, ragged sigh. His muscles twitched, then finally surrendered.

"That's it," Reed mumbled, his eyes slipping shut. "Just like that. Don't press. Just radiate. You're a toaster, Terra. A big, beautiful toaster."

[System: Thermal Therapy Active.]

[Buff activated: HP Regenerating]

[Status: Cozy.]

Reed was just drifting off into a heat-induced coma. The pain in his shoulder was fading into a dull, rhythmic throb. The sound of the waterfalls was lulling him into a false sense of security.

Then, a sound cut through the tranquility.

SQUELCH.

It was a wet, sticky sound. Like a boot being pulled out of deep mud. Or mayonnaise being stirred with a heavy spoon.

"Oh! Oh! Is it turn-taking time?"

Reed's eyes snapped open. He didn't move his head. "Please tell me that isn't who I think it is."

A blob of translucent blue matter poured itself out of a copper ventilation pipe in the ceiling. It didn't fall; it oozed, defying gravity for a moment before dripping down in a long, viscous strand. It pooled on the obsidian floor, bubbling and swirling before rapidly rising and coalescing into a humanoid shape.

Luma had arrived.

The High Slime was vibrating with energy. She was wearing the Magitech Collar Maira had assigned to her. The gold device hummed, projecting a flickering, slightly transparent hologram of a crisp white spa uniform over her gelatinous body.

The hologram was struggling. As Luma jiggled and bounced, the hard-light projection glitched, flashing wildly between a knee-length skirt, a modest tunic, and for a split second, a bathing suit.

"Reed!" Luma squealed.

She didn't walk; she slid across the floor, leaving a trail of sparkling, viscous slime behind her.

"You're hurt! I can smell the bruising! It smells like... purple! And sour electricity!"

She slithered right up to the massage table. She didn't stop at the edge. She flowed up the legs of the stone slab, hovering over his calves like a hungry blue ghost. Her eyes were wide, taking in every injury with a terrifying, unblinking intensity.

"I can fix it!" Luma chirped, her hands turning into puddles that reached for him. "Let me inside! Or I can go inside you! I'll dissolve the bad blood! I'll fill the cracks! I'll make us the same shape!"

Reed pulled his face out of the towel. He stared at the eager slime-girl.

"Luma," Reed warned, his voice low. "Phrasing. And boundaries."

"I'm just so... hungry," Luma whispered.

Her voice changed. It lost its bubbly, innocent edge and dropped into something thick, wet, and desperate. The hologram flickered and died, unable to maintain cohesion with her unstable form.

She wasn't looking at him like a patient. She wasn't even looking at him like a boss. She was looking at him like a starving man looks at a feast.

[SYSTEM ALERT]

[Staff Condition: LUMA]

[Status: SHADOW ROT (Active).]

[Manifestation: GLUTTONY.]

[Cause: Void Mana creates a spiritual vacuum. Subject desires assimilation to feel 'whole'.]

Reed realized the problem instantly. The cold dread in his stomach wasn't from the temperature, it was instinct.

The Void Shard's influence made the monsters obsessive. For Grika, it was kinetic energy. For Seraphine, it was heat. But for Luma? Luma was a creature of absorption. The Void made her feel infinitely empty. She felt hollow. And she wanted to engulf him because he was the only thing solid enough, the only thing brimming with enough mana, to fill that void.

She leaned closer. Her "skin" rippled, forming tiny tendrils that reached out to attach to his leg.

"Luma," Reed said, his voice calm but firm, channeling a fraction of his Overlord aura. "No engulfing. We talked about this. Guests do not get eaten. The Boss does not get eaten."

"But I'm empty!" Luma whined, her form losing cohesion. She slumped forward, turning into a puddle that draped heavily over his calves. "I need to feel your texture! I need to know where I end and you begin! It's too lonely being separate!"

"You can feel the texture," Reed compromised, trying to kick his leg free of the sudden weight. It was like trying to kick off a blanket made of wet cement. "But only on the surface. You aren't the main course, Luma. You're the garnish. You're the sauce."

Luma blinked, solidifying slightly into a torso. "The... sauce?"

"We're going to do a combo," Reed explained, pointing a finger at her. "Terra is the grill. She provides the heat from below. You are the cooling gel. You go on top. You heal the skin while she heals the muscle."

Reed looked at the Magma Golem, who was currently radiating heat like a wood stove.

"Terra, are you tracking this strategy?"

Terra looked up from her work, her rocky brow furrowing. "A SANDWICH?" she asked, her voice hopeful. "I LIKE SANDWICH."

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