Just as Michael was pondering about how messed up this dungeon was, he finally saw a structure up ahead. He couldn't make out the full shape, but at least he saw a glimmer of hope away from this wasteland.
Michael quickened his pace, rushing towards the structure. Michael couldn't quite make out what it was, but he saw something far up ahead.
Michael walked for about a mile, his footsteps echoing against the barren ground. But no matter how far he went, he never seemed to get any closer to the structure; it was as if the very fabric of the world was stretching before him, making the structure appear more distant with each step, as though some unseen force was toying with his sense of direction and reality itself, drawing him into a strange, endless illusion. But the only thing that kept him going was the sight of what the structure was: a door, a giant door in the desert, as he would often tell himself.
After a few more miles, Michael finally reached the front of the door. He had to say, the door was so huge that he felt like an ant in front of the giant, black door.
"How am I supposed to open this huge door?" Michael muttered, staring up at the towering structure that loomed before him like a forgotten relic of the gods. What unsettled him even more was the fact that the massive door wasn't connected to any walls—no building, no frame, nothing. Just a door standing in the middle of an empty field, as if reality itself had placed it there on purpose. Who builds a door with nothing to enter? The thought gnawed at his mind.
"Could this… be the entrance to the dungeon boss room?" he whispered, reaching out to touch the ancient door's surface. The moment his fingers brushed the cold, stone-like metal, a faint pulse trembled beneath his skin.
Michael tried pulling the door, then pushing it with all his strength, but it didn't budge—not even a little. Frustration flared in his chest. "Why won't you open, you stupid door?!" he snapped, and without thinking, gave it a hard kick.
Bad idea.
Pain shot up his leg instantly. "Agh, damn it!" he yelled, stumbling back as he clutched his foot, hopping on the other. The door stood there, unmoved and unbothered, like it was mocking him in silence.
Thankfully, Michael had instinctively channeled essence to his foot just before the kick landed; otherwise, he was pretty sure his leg would've snapped. Even with the protection, it still hurt like hell. He was still clutching his aching foot when, to his surprise, the massive door gave a low groan and shifted slightly—just a few inches—before stopping again, as if it had changed its mind halfway through opening.
"What…?" Michael blinked, more confused than ever. "Did kicking it actually do something?" he muttered, but quickly dismissed the idea. He'd have to be an idiot to try that again.
"Then what triggered it?" he said aloud, scratching his head. "Wait… that's it. Why didn't I think of that sooner?"
He stepped forward, placed his hand on the cold surface of the door, and channeled his essence into it. Immediately, a deep cracking sound echoed from within as the ancient mechanism responded. Slowly, the massive door began to open with a groaning creak, revealing a pitch-black room beyond.
A rush of wind poured out from the darkness inside, cold and stale, like breath from the mouth of a beast, sending a chill down Michael's spine. Whatever was in there... it wasn't welcoming.
Michael first sighed and then took a deep breath, summoning the Blackcoil Armor. He wasn't about to enter this room without protection.
The armor appeared in a flicker of light, like sparks dancing in the air. Michael froze, watching as it slowly formed around him, starting from his shoulders and spreading across his body like liquid metal turning solid.
He could feel it not just touching his skin, but wrapping around him, almost as if it was hugging him. It was strange; the armor didn't feel cold or heavy. Instead, it felt warm, almost familiar, like it had been made just for him.
As the last piece settled into place, Michael took a breath. The armor didn't just sit on him; it fit him perfectly. It felt like it belonged there. Like it had always been part of him, just waiting to return.
Michael then took his first step, heading into the partway opened door.
The air was thick and damp, clinging to Michael's skin like a second layer of sweat-soaked cloth. The room stretched out ahead in eerie silence, carved from black stone that glistened faintly with moisture. Cracks split the walls like veins, oozing with a faint, greenish glow that pulsed slowly, almost as if the dungeon itself was breathing.
Stale air drifted from somewhere deeper within, heavy with the scent of rot, mold, and something metallic—blood, maybe. The ceiling arched high above, swallowed in shadow, with thick chains hanging loosely like the remnants of some forgotten torture chamber. Some still swayed slightly, as if recently disturbed.
The floor was uneven, scattered with shattered bones and the rusted remains of old weapons. Every step echoed too loudly, bouncing off the walls in distorted whispers. It felt like the room was watching, waiting.
At the far end, a massive archway led deeper into the darkness, framed with jagged runes that pulsed dimly with crimson light. Whatever lay beyond it wasn't friendly, and it felt like the dungeon knew that someone had just entered its domain.
"Isn't it a little bit too much with the scattered bones?" Michael said, heading deeper into the shadowy dungeon room. Michael knew he couldn't rush to meet the dungeon boss; after all, he didn't know what creature he would face in there or even its strength. Michael had to make sure that whatever was in there, he was ready to face the unknown .
" What is the worst that could happen, I get killed,never seeing any of my loved ones and being a monsters dinner, yeah that's the worst that could happen" Michael said heading into the darkness, into the shadows embrace