The fall had not been merciful.
Shellia hit the ground with a jolt that rattled her bones, the impact softened only by the magic shield Orielle had cast in the last second. The two Emerald knights landed nearby, their armor clattering like dropped pots. For a moment, silence stretched—only the groaning of stone and the faint trickle of water somewhere far off broke it.
Then the darkness pressed in.
Pitch black. The kind of darkness that devoured even imagination, where not even her spirits' faint glows reached. Shellia sat up, her breath caught in her throat. "I… I can't see anything."
[Of course not.] Orielle's fiery voice cut through the suffocating dark. A small flame blossomed in her palm, illuminating Shellia's pale face. [We fell into the abyssal section. The corruption here is stronger—fire can hold it back, but only in small bursts.]
The knights squinted, one of them—Ser Alven—lifting his dented helmet. "Saints above… It's worse than the stories."
The second knight, Ser Kallum, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.
And then, unexpectedly, the gloom cracked with a soft blue glow.
Orryn stepped forward. Or rather, the Frost Stag padded forward with calm dignity, his crystalline antlers shimmering with pale light. The black aura of the abyss recoiled instantly, as if the beast's very presence offended it.
Shellia blinked. "Orryn…?"
The stag turned his head toward her, luminous eyes gentle, almost amused. He pawed the ground once, and the oppressive dark peeled back in a wide radius, enough for them to see the jagged stone floor littered with bones.
[Hah!] Orielle smirked, tossing her flame from hand to hand. [Look at you. Acting like some divine torch.]
Orryn snorted, lowering his head proudly, the light around him pulsing brighter.
Shellia let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Relief swept over her like warm water. "So… we can see. That's… something."
[Don't get comfortable.] Orielle's tone was sharp. [Light won't stop what lives here.]
The knights glanced uneasily at the walls. Already, shadows writhed at the edges of Orryn's glow, stretching like hungry claws before retreating.
Shellia pushed herself to her feet, brushing dust from her dress. "We need to regroup with Commander Reinhard. We can't be separated in a place like this."
Ser Alven nodded. "Agreed. But with respect, Lady Shellia, until we find a path out, you're the one leading us. None of us can purify corruption like you or your spirits can."
Shellia grimaced. "No pressure, then."
[Pressure is good,] Orielle quipped, stretching her arms lazily, sparks dancing at her fingertips. [Keeps you sharp. Like fire needs heat, you need challenges.]
Shellia gave her spirit a flat look. "Orielle, now is not the time for metaphors."
Orryn's glow pulsed again, like faint laughter.
---
They began to walk, Orryn leading with antlers raised like a guiding star. Every step echoed strangely, as though the dungeon itself was listening. Bones crunched under their boots—ribcages, femurs, skulls with hollow eyes that seemed to follow their movements.
The knights tried not to look down. Shellia tried not to think about what kind of creatures these bones had belonged to.
At one point, Ser Kallum whispered, "Why do the skulls look… human?"
Shellia froze. Slowly, she turned her head. He was right. Some were animal, but others bore the unmistakable shape of human skulls.
Orielle's flame flared hotter. [Corruption doesn't choose its victims. Everything is food to it.]
Shellia swallowed hard. "Then we need to move faster."
---
Half an hour into their trek, the dungeon revealed its cruelty.
The ground trembled, a deep shudder like the growl of something buried beneath. The air thickened, choking them with the stench of rot and ash. And then, without warning, the shadows at the edge of Orryn's glow burst forward.
Dozens of bone beasts erupted from the walls and floor—wolves made of twisted spines, birds with jagged ribcages for wings, malformed human torsos dragging themselves by clawed hands. Their hollow eyes glowed crimson.
Shellia gasped. "Not again—!"
Orryn bellowed, his stag's cry shaking the chamber. Frost exploded outward, halting the creatures' charge as jagged ice sprouted along the ground. His antlers gleamed, slicing through three skeletal wolves in a single sweep.
[Stay behind me!] Orielle shouted, her flame bursting into a whip of fire. She lashed it across the horde, incinerating skulls in a violent arc. [These pests aren't worth Shellia's skin!]
The knights regained their wits quickly. Ser Alven lowered his shield, smashing through a skeletal torso, while Ser Kallum drove his sword into another, shattering bone.
Shellia raised her staff, her voice trembling but clear. "Shield of Grace!"
Light erupted from her hands, wrapping the knights and spirits in a protective barrier. The monsters crashed against it, claws screeching against holy light, but the barrier held.
Orryn lowered his head, frost coiling around his antlers. Then he charged.
The Frost Stag became a storm—horns cutting, hooves stomping, every impact freezing and shattering enemies into dust. His glow burned like defiance itself, and the shadows recoiled, screaming soundlessly as they crumbled.
Orielle laughed, whipping fire into the gaps Orryn created. [Look at him go! I think I'm jealous. I thought I was supposed to be the flashy one.]
"Focus, Orielle!" Shellia snapped, sweat dripping down her brow as she reinforced the barrier.
[What? I am focused. Focused on looking fabulous.]
Even in the chaos, Shellia couldn't help but groan. "Why are my spirits like this…"
---
The battle raged, but eventually the tide broke. With Orryn's frost and Orielle's fire tearing through the corrupted horde, the bone beasts began to falter. The knights seized the moment, driving steel through weakened frames, smashing skulls beneath their boots.
At last, silence fell again. The floor was littered with frozen shards and charred remains. The air still stank of corruption, but it was thinner now, weakened.
Shellia collapsed to her knees, chest heaving. Sweat dampened her hair. "That… was too close."
Orryn padded toward her, lowering his head. The stag's icy breath washed over her, cool and soothing. He nudged her gently with his muzzle, like a cat demanding attention.
Shellia blinked. "…Are you seriously trying to be cute right now?"
Orryn's glowing eyes softened, and he rubbed his antlers lightly against her shoulder, chuffing softly.
[Oh, saints,] Orielle groaned, flicking her flame. [He's doing the whole 'I'm totally majestic but also cuddly' act. Don't fall for it, Shellia. That's how beasts manipulate their tamers.]
The knights exchanged looks—half disbelief, half admiration.
Ser Alven muttered, "If I hadn't seen it, I'd never believe a monster like that could act… tame."
Shellia gave a weary laugh. "Welcome to my life. Spirits with egos, beasts that act like cats, knights depending on me…" She flopped back dramatically. "Why can't I just be normal for one day?"
Orielle smirked. [Because normal is boring. And you're Shellia Emerald, Spirit Beloved and Beast Tamer. Destiny won't leave you alone even if you beg it to.]
Shellia groaned louder. "That's what I'm afraid of."
---
They rested briefly, but Orryn never let his glow fade. He stood like a sentinel, antlers shining defiantly against the abyss. Whenever shadows tried to creep closer, they recoiled instantly, as if scorched.
When they resumed walking, Shellia noticed something strange. The deeper they went, the more the shadows reacted to Orryn. It wasn't just fear. It was hatred.
"They don't want you here," she whispered, watching the darkness writhe.
Orryn lifted his head proudly, his glow pulsing brighter, and stepped forward as though to say: Too bad.
---
But the dungeon wasn't done.
They reached a chamber larger than any before. The ceiling stretched out of sight, and the floor was a graveyard of shattered bones. In the center loomed a fissure, from which black smoke bled endlessly into the air.
Shellia's stomach dropped. "That… can't be good."
Before anyone could respond, the fissure burst open.
A massive figure crawled out—part stag, part nightmare, its body cloaked in shadow, its antlers jagged and broken, its eyes blazing crimson. It was the mirror of Orryn, but corrupted, twisted, hateful.
Shellia froze. "…Another Frost Stag?"
Orryn bellowed, his glow flaring brighter than ever, antlers raised like a challenge. The corrupted stag shrieked back, shaking the chamber with its fury.
The knights lifted their weapons in terror.
Orielle grinned, flame bursting around her fists. [Well. This just got interesting.]
Shellia's heart pounded in her chest. "We… we can't handle this alone—"
The corrupted stag charged.
Orryn met it head-on.
And the abyss itself roared.
---