The passage was lit by small candles, their dim light offering faint relief to my eyes after the endless darkness.
Each step echoed softly against the stone walls, swallowed by the silence pressing in from all sides.
At the corridor's end stood a cracked door — its surface carved with strange, twisting symbols. Just looking at them made my skin crawl. A faint stench of rotten blood leaked through the seams.
I drew my sword and downed the potions one by one, the bitter taste long since familiar. My breathing was steadied, my senses were sharpened to their limit.
And then, I opened the door.
The sight inside could've broken the mind of any sane man.
Blood clung to the walls like paint, thick and dark. Rotting bodies hung from iron hooks — each carved with deliberate precision, etched with symbols that reeked of ritual.
I stared blankly. My thoughts faltered.
Those symbols... I knew them.
They clawed at memories I had spent years burying.
And then, as if some fragile thread inside me snapped, the fear simply disappeared.
What replaced it was the old version of me — cold, detached, empty.
The man I'd promised myself I'd never become again.
Footsteps.
Someone was coming.
I slipped behind a mound of corpses, pressing myself into the shadows.
A man entered, sealing the door behind him with a mana lock. His mana was weak — likely a guard.
I followed him quietly through the twisting hallways until they opened into a vast chamber.
And there he was.
Rodeao.
Strapped to a glowing magic circle, motionless, surrounded by chanting figures.
The air was thick — blood, mana, and madness all tangled together.
At least two hundred cultists filled the room, each radiating power close to my own.
At the circle's edge, words had been scrawled in blood:
"Devil's Melancholy"
I was utterly powerless.But before the ritual could begin, the dungeon itself seemed to shift.The air tightened. The mana trembled.
Something was coming.A crushing wave of presence descended from the darkness — seven people stepped out of shadows.
Their mana distorted the air itself. Symbols glowed faintly on their hands, pulsing like living veins. The cultists froze for only a heartbeat before the slaughter began. Flesh tore. Screams echoed and vanished. Within minutes, the ritual site was reduced to ruin.I stood still — the only witness to the massacre.When the noise faded, the chamber lay buried under blood and silence.
I wanted to flee.
But those symbols on the walls... they weren't just cult markings.
They were the same ones from that day.
The ones that were on emilly
The seven regrouped amidst the carnage.
Their leader stood calm, composed — his voice level, his tone unmistakably noble.
Three others laughed as they tore through what remained, reveling in the blood.
The other three stood like statues — cold, silent, and watchful.Two were women — tall, merciless, their poise regal and distant.
"Hand me the Devil's Essence, and I'll let you live," the leader said.
Even through his mask, authority dripped from every word. He spoke like a man born above consequence.The air vibrated with mana. The few surviving cultists trembled, leading the Seven deeper into the ruins.
The exit stood open behind them.
I could leave.
But Rodeao was still bound to that circle.
My mind told me to run – it was the only practical and logical answer. But, I want to end it , once it for all. I don't want another emilly haunting me.
I invoked Leap.
Mana rippled, and I blinked beside Rodeao. I severed his bindings quickly, reaching to lift him—
I get a cold sword approaching my neck
My instinct screamed.
I evoked Leap again, twisting away as a blade carved through the space where my throat had been. I reappeared behind him, sword raised—
But he was ready.
White fire burst from his other hand.
It grazed me for less than a second, and that was enough. Agony tore through my arm — flesh burned to the bone before I could even react. The flames erupted through several floors above before fading.The air crackled blue, ionized from the sheer mana output.
He stood before me — one of the Seven shadows.
His mask was smooth,and featureless. The. White hair spilled from beneath his hood, his mana radiating a cold fury.
Without a word, he closed the distance.
His punch landed square in my chest, ribs shattering on impact. My vision got blurred and my pain got transcended to the next level.
I fell to my knees, choking.He approached slowly, sword in hand, a faint grin visible behind that mask.
Maybe this was it.
Maybe I deserved it.
I had already accepted my faith.
But then suddenly, the ground started shacking violently. Ominous mana poured in from every direction
Even the masked man was faltered. His stance broke.For the first time, he looked uncertain.I gave him a grin — the only victory left to me.
Raw mana surged, swallowing everything — the chamber, the bodies, the screams. What just remain was the ominous silence .
When I woke, the air was filled with the stench of blood and smoke.
The ritual chamber was gone, reduced to rubble and corpses. The mana surge had erased nearly everything.
My body screamed in pain. My arm was charred black; every breath dragged against broken ribs.
Rodeao lay nearby, he was unconscious but still alive.
There was only one healing potion left in my pouch, other were destroyed during the confrontation. I immediately drank it. It's bitter taste made me feel alive again.
It took some time for it take effect , but now my vision had recovered and I was finally able to move.
The world around me had changed.
The walls were red — alive, pulsing like veins. The air was thick, humid, metallic. Bone-white roots snaked along the ground.
Thats when I realised that, we were no longer anywhere near the upper floors. We were in one of worst parts of the dungeon. The one no adventurers dared to explore.
The Scarlet Forest of Death.