"The Dour Dungeons of Decay"

In the depths of the dungeon, the air was thick with the scent of despair and the metallic tang of blood. Horned Phantasm Caligula of the Smell, his form a silhouette against the dim, flickering torchlight, moved with an eerie grace. The dungeons, a labyrinth of sorrow and torment, had been his playground , a place where he wove his dark magics and cruel intentions into the very stone.

As he stepped over the remnants of chains and shattered locks, his gaze fell upon the lifeless form of a goblin, one of the many unfortunate souls who had been subjected to his twisted experiments. With a skeletal hand, he reached out, drawing the last wisps of the goblin's soul into himself, a chilling satisfaction spreading through his being. The soul, though faint and flickering, was consumed by the darkness within Caligula , fueling his corrupt powers further. He couldn't help but smirk at the sight of the improvised rope, made from the goblin's intestines, dangling from the cell window. "Ingenuity in despair," he mused, his voice a whisper in the gloom. "A testament to the will to survive." Yet, there was a hint of disappointment in his tone. The escape had been too clean, too devoid of the chaos and suffering he had envisioned. "Not enough blood... not enough fear," he lamented, his disappointment a shadow that flickered across his masked visage.

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