Dual Heritage Book 2
Copyright© 2025 by IanFlint
Chapter 13
Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 13 - The secrets run deeper. The dangers grow darker. Mark thought surviving the first storm was enough. He was wrong. Pulled even further into the hidden world of magic and monsters, Mark finds himself hunted by enemies he can't yet see — and haunted by the one question that refuses to die: Who killed his parents? With new powers awakening and old truths unraveling, every step forward drags him closer to answers... and closer to a war he may not be ready for.
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Fiction GameLit Paranormal Magic Zombies Violence
It felt like they had been walking for hours, though Mark had long since lost any sense of time or direction.
The tunnel seemed endless, twisting and turning deeper into the earth. The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of moss and mildew that clung to the damp stone walls. Between the sputtering torches lighting their way, patches of slimy moisture glistened faintly.
Someone had to light these torches, he thought, brushing his fingers against the flame’s warmth as they passed another. But when? And why? It’s not like anyone down here needs mood lighting.
Their footsteps barely made a sound as they crept along, cautious and alert. Every turn felt like it might be hiding something—a trap, a monster, or worse. The tension was palpable, weighing on all three of them as they pressed forward.
What the hell is this place? Who built it? His mind churned with questions, each more frustrating than the last.
He sighed quietly, rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the stiffness setting in. We’re still no closer to answers. He glanced at Ria and Katrina ahead of him. At least they’re holding up better than I expected.
“Fucking spiders,” Katrina grumbled as she swatted at her arm. A small, squished spider fell to the floor, and she wiped her palm on her pants with a disgusted grimace.
Mark couldn’t resist a small smirk. “Not a fan of our eight-legged little friends?”
“Fan? Those shits are just about the worst thing this planet has had the misfortune to grace its surface with. Creepy, crawly little bastards.”
“Oh come on, they’re not that bad ... right, Ria?”
She simply shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t really have strong feelings one way or the other, honestly.”
“Great,” he muttered. “Thanks for the backup.”
With that disappointing lack of consensus, the conversation fizzled out as they pressed forward.
Ten minutes later, they came to another door. Its thick wooden surface was reinforced with iron bands, and the ringed handle looked worn from use.
Ria took point, deftly cycling through the ring of keys until one finally caught in the heavy lock’s tumblers with an audible click.
The room they entered was massive, the air suddenly feeling heavier and colder. Delicately-carved stone pillars created a hanging walkway on either side, like an arcade in some grand cathedral.
Between the walkway and the platform where they stood was an open space that stretched wide and deep, its floor carved from smooth, dark stone. Lining the center of the room were rows of cylindrical vessels, each one anchored securely to the ground.
The vessels glowed faintly, filled with a luminous bluish liquid that cast eerie shadows across the floor. But it was the figures floating motionlessly inside that caught his attention.
They were undeniably humanoid in form, yet something seemed distinctly ... off about their proportions, their features. Utterly nude, the strangely elongated figures hung suspended in each tank like life-sized infants trapped in the womb. What the hell...
“What in the everloving fuck...” Ria breathed.
He leaned in closer, noting the faint tracery of veins beneath pale, translucent skin. It was a young woman, her body pale and unblemished, her long dark hair swirling around her face like seaweed. He could see the faint rise and fall of her chest, the subtle pulse in her throat. She’s alive.
“What is that smell?” Katrina muttered, her hand flying to cover her nose.
He blinked, confused, until the stench hit him. His stomach turned as the foul odor assaulted his senses—a pungent mix of rust, sweat, bodily fluids, and something else, a sharp chemical tang that made his throat burn.
It clung to the air, heavy and oppressive, with an underlying grime that made his skin crawl.
“God,” he grimaced, raising his arm to shield his face. “No idea, but ... damn ... Let’s keep moving.”
The trio continued down the path, their steps slower and more cautious than before. The cylinders surrounded them, their eerie glow lighting the way. What is this place?
Mark’s eyes darted from one vessel to the next, trying to absorb as much detail as possible. The figures inside varied in size—some smaller, some larger, their features warped or exaggerated in strange ways.
Each one seemed unique as if created or altered individually- some little more than amorphous globs, others bearing distinctly humanoid shapes and proportions.
The path eventually split into two. With no other indications to guide them, Mark chose the leftward fork on a whim. The others fell into step behind him as the tunnel angled off into a dimly lit side chamber.
Stepping through the low archway, they were immediately assaulted by a nauseating new sight.
Nailed to a wooden board on the back wall was a heavily decomposed body. Holy shit.
Its limbs were splayed grotesquely, and its torso had been thoroughly dissected, flesh peeled back to reveal layers of decaying muscle and bone. Internal organs—some preserved in glass jars, others left exposed on a nearby table—were scattered like macabre trophies.
The body was so thoroughly violated and desecrated that it was impossible to discern any defining features or original appearance.
Ria gagged, turning and fleeing the room. Can’t blame her.
Mark stared, his stomach twisting. He’d seen a lot of messed-up things recently, but this? This is next-level.
Katrina stepped forward, her gaze steady as she inspected the scene with cold precision.
He turned to a nearby set of whiteboards. They were covered in chaotic scribbles—symbols, formulas, equations, and strange diagrams. He squinted, trying to make sense of it, but most of it was incomprehensible.
A few scattered words stood out—“extraction,” ”etheric limit,” and “sustainability”—but the rest was beyond him.
“It’s a mage.”
“How can you tell?” He asked, turning to face her.
“Residual ether,” she explained, gesturing towards the corpse. “When a mage dies, their ether doesn’t dissipate immediately. It lingers. I can smell it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah ... See this?” She pointed at a series of dark scorch marks along the corpse’s chest and arms. “That’s what happens when a mage is forced beyond their limits. Ether backfires. Burns the body from the inside out.”
He frowned, leaning in to look closer. What kind of monster would do this?
“Whatever was responsible for this, they clearly knew their craft well...”
They both walked out of the creepy room and spotted Ria doubled over, puking her guts out against the back wall.
He quickly moved to her side, gently squeezing her shoulder.
“Hey, hey ... you alright?”
She managed a jerky nod. “Y-Yeah ... I’ll be fine.”
Deciding to press onwards rather than linger around that disturbing scene any longer, they soon found themselves entering another adjoining space.
This one seemed to be some sort of makeshift morgue, row upon row of slab-like tables lining the chamber - each bearing the pallid, desiccated remains of numerous corpses in varying states of decay.
They quickly moved out, retracing their steps back to the room filled with glowing cylinders.
Choosing the rightward turn, they ventured onwards for what felt like miles - the monotony of flickering torchlight and looming containers their only constants. Just when Mark’s restlessness was reaching a fever pitch, the tunnel finally opened up into a series of adjoining chambers branching off the main artery.
The corridor stretched ahead, its long walls lined with confined spaces barred by gates. On one side was solid stone, while the opposite wall was lined with a series of confined spaces - each one sealed off by heavy iron grillwork.
Mark slowed as they passed, peering into the cells.
Occupying each cramped, bare-bones cell were ... people. Or at least, beings that still looked somewhat human, despite clear signs of unnatural changes and grotesque alterations.
Row after row, chamber after chamber - each one housed one or more of the twisted, mutated specimens in varying states of lethargy and deterioration. Some were utterly inert, little more than shriveled husks lying motionless on the cold stone floors.
Others seemed trapped in states of fitful semi-awareness, wandering aimlessly around their confined spaces like lost souls in a maze. Their bony limbs twitched and muscles spasmed with each step, their eyes dull, showing no sign of thought or awareness.
Some cells were empty, their gates left ajar, but the silence from those spaces was just as haunting.
“This ... seems to be prison ... a lab, or both,” Ria muttered.
He could only nod grimly. “Seems that way, doesn’t it?”
Katrina said nothing, her eyes narrowed as she watched one of the inmates shuffle weakly to the edge of its cell before collapsing in exhaustion.
As they walked, Mark noticed that each prison cell was numbered along the walls. Without a word, he stepped away from their position - moving down the corridor until the entrance archway came into view. There, beside the entryway, a large ‘A’ had been crudely inscribed into the stonework.
Adjacent tunnels had similar markings—B, C, and so on.
“Guys, check this out!”
“What is it?” Katrina asked.
“It is a ledger ... The book we found. It was a ledger for prisoners. Look at the numbers above these cells.”