Hot Dog Lady - Chapter 10

Every time he tried to recruit rogue players, he found himself overwhelmed, not by skill, but by chaos.

Sensient sausages tripped him.

Chili bombs exploded under his feet.

The eyeball monster rolled circles around him.

Even Mortimer hovered dramatically overhead, hurling buns like missiles.

By the third failed attempt, Vincent’s frustration boiled over.

He tried to confront me directly, but the dungeon, apparently aware of his ego, had other plans.

A trap door opened beneath him, dumping him into a pit of soft, sticky dough.

He flailed, shrieking, until a sticky, sensient sausage bounced him gently back to the surface, leaving him covered in mustard and embarrassment.

I handed him a deluxe hot dog, unspiced and carefully constructed, and said with a calm, controlled smile, “Maybe start by learning to share.” Vincent froze, sauce dripping down his jacket.

For once, he couldn’t find a way to intimidate me.

His vendetta had ended, not with violence, but with ridiculous, absolute humiliation.

Meanwhile, the dungeons denisens had embraced me fully.

Monsters I had once feared now patrolled the corridors proudly.

NPCs organized food lines.

The little girl in her tattered dress had become a junior manager of the supply chain.

Frier orchestrated kitchen logistics with flare.

Mortimer entertained guests with dramatic storytelling.

Even the sensient sausages had developed a hierarchy and were remarkably polite.

And me? I finally took a breath, standing behind my stall, watching chaos flow smoothly around me.

I realized something bittersweet.

This was survival, yes, but it was also independence.

My identity was no longer defined by fear, by Vincent, or by the dangerous twists of the dungeon.

I was the hot dog lady, legendary, unstoppable, and free.

A group of monsters, once timid, now full of swagger, bounced toward me with gratitude.

One, a manyeyed slime, handed me a glittering mushroom as thanks.

Another, a skeleton in a chef’s hat, saluted with a spatula.

I laughed, the sound echoing over the sizzling grills.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt truly in control.

I had defended my stall, outwitted rogue players, survived the stitcher, and even dealt with Vincent’s antics.

The dungeon, once a terrifying labyrinth, was now my stage.

My hot dogs were more than food.

They were symbols of resilience, cleverness, and chaos.

As the blood red moon rose, casting a warm glow over the market, I served my next customer, a towering monster with three mouths and an extra pair of hands.

He devoured the deluxe hot dog in record time, sighing blissfully.

I smiled.

“Yes,” I whispered to myself.

“Life is definitely worth living.

And these hot dogs, they’re legendary.” The dungeon roared with laughter, sizzling, and the occasional squaltch of sensient sausages.

Chaos had been tamed.

Redemption had been earned, and the hot dog lady had finally claimed her throne.

The dungeon buzzed like a carnival.

My original stall, now fortified, enchanted, and practically legendary, had become the cornerstone of what could only be described as the hot dog empire.

I stood on a raised platform, surveying the chaos.

Miniature portals dotted the walls, each opening to different dungeon wings, bringing in monsters, rogue players, and a few curious NPCs from far-off corners.

All of them were here for one thing, my legendary hot dogs.

Mortimer hovered overhead, twirling a spatula like a conductor’s batten.

“The empire rises,” he declared dramatically, scattering buns like confetti.

“The eyeball monster, Mr.

Blink rolled through a new training corridor, teaching young monsters the fine art of dodging flying chili bombs while catching buns in midair.

Sensient sausages patrolled the kitchens like tiny, squishy soldiers.

Frier supervised a line of apprentices while Clare and Jonah ran advanced battle cooking courses for ambitious players.

Even the little girl in the tattered dress had taken over logistics, zooming between portals on a broomstick, ensuring that every customer, monster or human, was served promptly.

I waved to a group of monsters arriving through one portal.

A two-headed troll and a skeletal griffin marched in, both eagerly awaiting deluxe Chicago style hot dogs.

I laughed as one of the troll heads tried to negotiate a discount.

“Not happening,” I said, tossing a perfectly stacked dog to each of them.

These aren’t just food.

They’re legendary.

No bargaining.

Vincent, of course, was lurking somewhere in the dungeon, presumably planning another ridiculous scheme.

But by now, he had learned a valuable lesson.

The hot dog lady’s empire wasn’t just one stall.

It was everywhere, defended by loyal monsters, sensient food, and allies who knew exactly how to counter his chaos.

I paused, flipping a deluxe hot dog onto the warming tray.

The smell wafted through the dungeon, drawing monsters like moths to a flame.

I couldn’t help but grin.

Each sizzling bite, each satisfied monster was proof.

I had not just survived the horror game.

I had conquered it.

And in a dungeon full of terror, blood, and chaos, there was one unifying truth.

Everyone, no matter how monstrous or terrifying, loved a perfectly made hot dog.

As the sun, or at least the blood red moon, rose over the dungeon, I raised my spatula high.

Long live the hot dog empire, I declared.

The dungeon roared in approval, howls, cheers, and the occasional squaltch of sentensient sausages echoing off the walls.

Chaos and order, horror and laughter, blood and chili, everything had found its place.

And me, I was finally, unquestionably the legendary hot dog lady.

THE END