The dungeon swallowed Kaelen whole.
Stone corridors stretched endlessly, blackened by age and saturated with mana so dense it pressed against his skin like deep water. There were no torches. No echoes. No screams.
Just silence.
Too perfect.
Kaelen's steps were unhurried as he moved forward, Axiomfall resting at his side, gravity subtly adjusting with each stride. His senses were wide open—not searching, but listening. Time itself felt… layered here, as if something had folded moments over one another and left them stacked.
"This place is pretending," he muttered.
Then he felt it.
A presence.
No—many presences.
Deep. Vast. Cold.
An immense power coiled far below, patient and intelligent, watching him walk closer like prey allowed to wander into the trap. Kaelen's lips curved upward.
"So you're not asleep," he said softly.
The corridor opened into a vast chamber—circular, cathedral-like, with a ceiling lost in darkness. The floor was smooth obsidian stone, etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly as Kaelen stepped into the center.
Still no monsters.
Kaelen stopped.
He drew Axiomfall.
The sound of steel leaving its sheath echoed unnaturally loud.
"I can smell your killing intent," Kaelen said calmly, voice carrying through the chamber.
"I know you're there."
Silence.
Then—
Snap.
The sound came from everywhere at once.
Reality shifted.
The air shimmered, like heat haze peeling back a veil—and monsters began to appear.
Not summoned.
Not teleported.
They were already there.
One by one, shapes solidified around Kaelen.
Orcs.
Huge. Towering. Armored in blackened abyss-steel, eyes glowing with murderous intelligence rather than bestial rage. Their presence alone crushed the air, each one radiating power far beyond what an abyssal dungeon should allow.
Kaelen's gaze swept the chamber.
"…One thousand."
High Orcs.
Each one above abyssal rank.
Each one stronger than the drake that had carried a dragon heart.
The ground trembled as they completed the encirclement, forming a perfect ring around Kaelen—no gaps, no hesitation. Their weapons were already raised.
Then the temperature dropped.
Two figures stepped forward from opposite sides of the circle.
Death Knight Commanders.
Sovereign rank.
Their armor was etched with necromantic sigils, eyes burning with cold blue flame beneath their helms. Their swords were heavy, deliberate weapons—each step they took left frost and death in its wake.
And then—
The air rotted.
At the far end of the chamber, a throne of bone and obsidian emerged from nothingness, assembling itself piece by piece.
Upon it sat the leader.
A lich.
Its form was tall and skeletal, draped in tattered robes that flowed like smoke. A crown of floating phylacterial shards hovered above its skull, each one pulsing with transcendent authority.
Transcendent rank.
Its gaze locked onto Kaelen, and the dungeon itself seemed to hold its breath.
"Living… dragon-bearer," the lich spoke, its voice layered with countless whispers.
"You should not exist."
Kaelen slowly turned in place, taking them all in.
One thousand high orcs.
Two sovereign death knights.
One transcendent lich.
Surrounded.
Outnumbered.
Outranked.
He smiled.
"…This is a bad matchup," Kaelen said lightly.
The monsters leaned forward, killing intent surging like a tidal wave.
Kaelen lifted his head.
And unleashed.
Dragon Domain.
The chamber screamed.
An invisible pressure exploded outward, ancient and absolute. The runes on the floor shattered. The air bent. The high orcs staggered as bloodline suppression crushed down on their very existence, forcing their bodies to acknowledge a superior authority.
The death knights halted mid-step.
The lich's hollow eyes narrowed.
Kaelen stood at the center of it all, blue slit dragon-eyes glowing faintly as draconic power coiled around him like a sovereign crown.
"Let's begin," he said.
And the dungeon learned fear.