The air thickened the further Vel walked.
The cavern narrowed, its walls contracting into a corridor carved not by natural forces but by deliberate hands—chisels and cruel intent. Etched into the stone were faint grooves, half-worn inscriptions in a tongue Vel could not place. Symbols of binding. Of command. Of worship. He dragged his skeletal fingers across one of them as he passed, and flakes of blackened dust fell away, as if even stone could not withstand the corruption that lingered here.
The System's vibration grew stronger. His bones thrummed with each step, until it felt as though he was not moving deeper by his own will, but being pulled by invisible strings.
Then, the passage opened.
Vel entered a chamber vast and hollow, so wide his glowing sockets could not find its edges at first glance. It resembled an arena—circular, domed, with cracked stone benches carved into tiers that climbed toward the shadowed ceiling. The seats were not for the living. They were filled with corpses. Rotting cadavers propped upright, some still clutching scraps of banners or weapons, all silent, all watching. Their empty eyesockets stared blankly, as if frozen in mockery of an audience awaiting bloodsport.
And at the heart of this macabre theater stood a throne.
Not of stone. Not of iron.
But of corpses, fused and stacked, molded by necrotic magic into a grotesque chair of screaming forms. Hands still twitched faintly, heads still shifted, jaws opened in silent cries that never ceased.
Upon that throne sat a giant.
The figure was immense—towering even in repose. Armor clung to its massive frame, though shattered and corroded by centuries. The steel was cracked and blackened, the breastplate caved in as if by colossal force, the gauntlets fused to decayed flesh. Yet despite its ruin, the armor held a terrible presence, as though it remembered the wars it once conquered.
The being's head was bowed, helm dented and visor half-shattered, revealing the pallid remains of a face beneath. Its flesh had not rotted away completely. Patches of skin, gray and leathery, clung stubbornly to the bone, stitched together with necrotic sinew. Across its lap lay a weapon: a sword, if it could still be called that. Jagged, rust-eaten, chipped along the edge, yet larger than Vel's entire frame. The blade reeked of blood spilled centuries ago, and it pulsed faintly with necro-magic, as if still hungry.
Vel froze. His sockets narrowed, and for the first time since awakening in this body, he felt something almost like fear.
The System pulsed inside him, a single line of script burning into his awareness:
Warning: Dungeon Elite Encounter. [Greater Zombie Knight]
As if responding to that truth, the giant stirred.
The corpse-throne creaked as the massive figure shifted, rising with slow inevitability. Bones cracked. Armor plates groaned. Dust rained down as the hulking frame straightened to its full height, nearly three times Vel's size. The jagged blade scraped against stone as it was lifted, its weight unbearable to any normal being.
The helm tilted downward, and from beneath its ruined visor, two faint embers flickered to life. Not the mindless glow of ferals. Not the blank hunger of the horde.
Intelligence.
The Knight spoke.
Its voice was a guttural rasp, broken like stone grinding against stone, yet threaded with twisted coherence. "Ahh… another… toy."
Vel's sockets flared, and his grip tightened around his battered sword.
The Knight's jaw shifted, a grotesque grin pulling across its half-dead face. "You… I know your stench. The mark… of him. Failed… experiment."
The words reverberated in Vel's hollow skull. His stance tightened, sword lifted in defiance.
The Knight chuckled, a sound like gravel spilling into a tomb. "Good… good. Stand. Swing. Break yourself upon me."
Then it moved.
Despite its size, despite the centuries of rot, the Greater Zombie Knight surged forward with terrifying speed. Its jagged sword came down in a single, sweeping arc, the weight of mountains behind it. Vel barely sidestepped, the blade smashing into the arena floor with a detonation of stone shards.
The impact rattled the chamber. Corpses in the stands tumbled from their seats, bones scattering like coins thrown to the ground.
Vel retaliated, darting in with skeletal agility. His sword lashed out at the Knight's exposed flank, striking a seam in the corroded armor. Sparks burst, and rotten flesh split, but the wound was shallow—barely more than a scratch.
The Knight turned its head toward him, laughter rumbling from its hollow chest. "Little bone-thing… scratching at iron…"
Its gauntleted fist shot out, a backhand blow that struck Vel before he could retreat. The skeletal warrior was hurled across the arena, smashing through one of the corpse-benches. Bones splintered, corpses scattered, and Vel tumbled through the wreckage before dragging himself upright, his own frame miraculously intact.
He had no flesh to bruise, no blood to spill—but the shock of impact reverberated through him like a gong. His bones ached in ways he hadn't thought possible.
The Knight advanced, dragging its sword behind it, the metal shrieking against stone. Each step was thunder. Each movement carried inevitability.
Vel steadied his stance. His sockets flared with cold light.
If brute strength could not win, then he would rely on precision, speed, cunning. His body was weaker, his weapon broken, but his mind—his will—remained sharp.
The next clash began in a blur.
Vel darted to the side, slipping under the Knight's downward swing. His sword lashed at the giant's knee-joint, striking the gap in the armor. Metal cracked, and necrotic sinew tore. The Knight grunted, staggering slightly.
Vel pressed the attack, weaving around its massive blows, every strike targeting joints, gaps, weak points. He was a phantom circling a mountain, his blade flashing with relentless precision.
But the Knight was not mindless.
It adapted.
Its swings grew faster, more deliberate, cutting off Vel's avenues of movement. It shifted its stance, pressing him into corners, forcing him against the curved arena walls.
Finally, Vel misstepped.
The jagged sword came down in a brutal arc. Vel raised his blade to parry, but the force was overwhelming. His weapon screamed as it met the giant's, and for a moment, the two were locked—skeletal will against monstrous might.
Then the greater blade overpowered him.
Vel was smashed aside, his sword wrenched from his grip. He crashed through another wall of corpses, the impact sending him tumbling through stone and bone alike. Dust filled the air, and fragments of skulls clattered around him like broken applause.
The Knight's voice echoed through the chamber, mocking and cruel.
"Failed… broken… you are nothing. You… are mine to crush."
Vel dragged himself upright, sockets burning. He had no lungs, but he would have breathed raggedly. He had no heart, but it thundered in his will.
This battle was far from over.
The Knight lifted its blade again, advancing with steps that shook the earth. Vel snatched his sword from the rubble, lifting it once more.
His body had no limits. His resolve had no chains.
The clash would continue until one of them was reduced to dust.
And as the chapter ended, Vel was hurled once again—this time through solid stone walls, fragments collapsing around him, the Knight's laughter booming in the darkness.