As Harry pushed deeper into the breeding vault, the space around him abruptly widened.
The narrow corridor opened into a vast, cathedral-like chamber, its ceiling lost in darkness. The air felt different here—thin, humming, alive. His footsteps echoed far longer than they should have, and for the first time since entering the dungeon, Harry felt watched from above.
Then something moved.
At first, he thought it was a bat.
A massive silhouette detached itself from the ceiling and glided soundlessly through the gloom, wings stretching wider than a carriage. Its body was lean and angular, malformed by magic, and its shrill screech sent vibrations through the chamber. Before Harry could fully process it, the darkness around the ceiling rippled.
Hundreds of smaller shapes stirred.
Mutated pixies.
They clung to the roof like diseased fruit, their wings torn and regrown too many times, their bodies elongated and warped. Their eyes glowed with feral intelligence as they noticed him—and then they descended.
They fell like a storm.
Harry reacted instantly.
He slammed his wand against the stone floor and poured magic outward, chanting sharply. Water surged from thin air, spiraling into layered domes that rotated around him like a living barrier.
[Water Shield – Activated]
The first wave of pixies slammed into the rotating water walls and were violently flung aside, their shrieks echoing as they crashed against pillars and stone. The larger bat-creature veered away, circling high above, testing him.
For a moment, Harry allowed himself a breath.
Then the pixies rose again.
Even those that had struck the ground twitched, wings spasming before lifting their broken bodies back into the air. Their movements were wrong—jerky, relentless, driven by something that didn't understand pain or fear.
Harry's eyes narrowed as he finally got a clear look at them.
Their faces were twisted, mouths split too wide, teeth needle-sharp. Veins glowed faintly beneath translucent skin, and crude runes had been carved directly into their bones. These were not natural creatures.
A chill ran down his spine—but only for a moment.
There was no retreat here.
Harry stepped forward, letting the Water Shield rotate wider to keep the swarm at bay. With his free hand, he drew his sword, the Mithril blade humming softly as it met the dungeon's mana.
The fight began in earnest.
Harry slashed upward as the first pixie darted too close, cleaving it cleanly in half. The body fell—but this time, he didn't give it a chance to rise. A follow-up Fireball, cast low and precise, incinerated the remains before they hit the ground.
More rushed him.
Harry shifted seamlessly between styles—sword cutting through anything that breached his range, wand magic blasting clusters of pixies out of the air before they could overwhelm him with numbers. Water Shield deflected claws and shrieking bodies alike, its spinning currents flinging attackers into walls with bone-cracking force.
[Enemy Resistance: Moderate]
The bat-like monstrosity finally joined the fray, diving toward him with a piercing scream. Harry met it head-on, reinforcing his shield and hurling a compressed jet of water upward. The impact sent the creature spiraling, wings tearing as it smashed into a pillar high above.
The chamber filled with chaos.
Pixies burst into flames mid-air. Others were split apart by silver steel. Shattered bodies rained down, only to be destroyed again before they could reform. Harry's movements were precise but relentless, his breath steady despite the strain.
He knew one thing with absolute certainty.
If he slowed down—even for a second—they would bury him.
So he didn't.
Sword flashed. Spells detonated. Water roared.
And Harry pushed forward, cutting a path through the swarm, determined to clear the chamber—or die standing.
The last of the lesser pixies burned out of the air, their ashes drifting down like black snow. Harry stood at the center of the destruction, sword lowered but not relaxed, Water Shield still rotating around him in a slow, vigilant orbit.
Then the air pressure changed.
A deep, resonant screech tore through the chamber—low, furious, intelligent.
The massive bat-like creature descended at last.
It landed on the far side of the chamber with a thunderous impact, stone cracking beneath clawed feet longer than Harry's arm. Its wings folded slowly, revealing a body that should not exist: the torso of a bat stretched and armored with overlapping chitin plates, veins glowing faintly crimson beneath semi-transparent flesh. Its head was elongated, jaw split unnaturally wide, rows of curved teeth slick with venom.
At its chest, embedded where a heart should be, pulsed a crimson crystal, beating like a living organ.
The dungeon reacted.
[Dungeon Boss Encounter Initiated]
Name: Crimson Broodlord
Type: Mutated Alpha (Bat / Pixie Hybrid)
Threat Level: Extreme
Status: Enraged
Special Traits:
High Magic Resistance
Aerial Dominance
Regenerative Core (Crystal)
Harry exhaled slowly.
"So you're the mother," he muttered.
The Broodlord answered by lunging.
It moved faster than its size should allow, wings snapping open with a concussive boom that shattered pillars and sent a shockwave rolling across the floor. Harry was already moving—Wind Step activating as he vanished sideways just as claws tore through where he had stood.
The impact carved gouges into solid stone.
Harry retaliated instantly.
A Fireball, compressed and reinforced, slammed into the creature's flank. Flames washed over its body—but when the smoke cleared, the chitin was scorched, not broken.
The Broodlord screeched in laughter.
It took to the air.
The chamber became a storm.
Sonic pulses burst from its wings, vibrating the air so violently that Harry's vision blurred. His Water Shield warped under the pressure, waves distorting as the sound battered against it.
[Warning: Sonic Damage Detected]
Harry clenched his teeth and reinforced the shield with MP, blood trickling from one ear.
"Alright," he growled. "Magic won't carry this."
He dismissed the Water Shield and sprinted forward as debris rained down, leaping from fallen stone to broken pillar. The Broodlord dove, jaws snapping shut inches from his head, venom spraying across the floor and hissing as it ate through stone.
Harry jumped.
He twisted midair and drove his sword into the creature's wing joint.
The blade bit deep.
The Broodlord shrieked in genuine pain, crashing into the far wall as one wing spasmed uselessly. Harry hit the ground hard, rolled, and came up coughing—but alive.
The creature didn't regenerate.
Not fully.
Harry's eyes locked onto the crystal.
"That's it," he whispered.
The Broodlord changed tactics.
Its chest crystal flared violently, and the corpse-like remains of fallen pixies began to twitch. Bone fragments and ash lifted from the ground, dragged together by red mana, reforming into twisted airborne constructs.
[Phase Two Initiated: Brood Resurrection]
Harry swore under his breath.
He opened his inventory mid-run, fingers already moving.
Mithril armor reinforced itself around his body with a shimmer of silver-blue light. He uncorked a vial and drank without hesitation.
[Draught of Rage – Consumed]
The world sharpened.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
Harry roared and charged.
He became violence.
Bone Spear formed in his hand and was hurled point-blank into the Broodlord's chest. The spear shattered against the crystal—but cracks spiderwebbed across its surface.
The resurrected pixies descended.
Harry didn't slow.
He spun, sword cleaving through the constructs with brute force, smashing them apart faster than they could reform. Magic resistance didn't matter anymore—raw impact did.
The Broodlord tried to take flight again.
Harry leapt after it.
Wraith Flight activated in a burst of dark mana, his body lifting unnaturally as shadowy wings carried him upward. He slammed into the creature midair, grabbing onto its fractured wing and hauling himself toward its chest.
Claws ripped into his armor.
Pain flared—but dulled by rage.
Harry raised his wand with his free hand.
"Lightning Wave."
Electricity exploded outward in a spherical burst, arcing across flesh and crystal alike. The Broodlord convulsed, wings spasming as it lost control and plummeted.
They hit the ground together.
Harry didn't give it time to recover.
He climbed its chest, sword raised high, muscles screaming, vision red.
With a final shout, he drove the blade straight into the cracked crystal.
The chamber went silent.
For half a heartbeat—
Then the crystal shattered.
A shockwave of crimson mana tore through the chamber, ripping apart every remaining construct. The Broodlord let out one last, broken screech before its body collapsed into lifeless flesh and ash.
Harry fell backward, chest heaving, sword slipping from his grasp.
[Dungeon Boss Defeated]
Crimson Broodlord – Eliminated
The dungeon trembled… then stilled.
Harry lay there, staring at the ceiling, body shaking from exhaustion, HP and MP dangerously low—but alive.
Barely.
He laughed weakly.
"Still standing," he whispered.
Harry moved carefully through the ruined chamber, boots crunching softly over fragments of chitin and stone. The air still smelled of scorched walls and burned flesh, but the oppressive presence that had weighed on the dungeon was gone. Whatever ruled this place had died by his hand.
That was when he noticed it.
A narrow door, half-hidden behind a collapsed pillar, its surface reinforced with old iron bands etched with warding runes so crude they almost felt desperate. It wasn't part of the dungeon's natural flow. This was something added later—hidden, protected, and forgotten.
Harry frowned and pushed it open.
The sight beyond made him stop.
Gold.
Galleons were piled so high they pressed against the ceiling, spilling across the floor in shimmering waves of enchanted metal. The light from his wand reflected endlessly, turning the cramped room into a sea of molten gold. Coins clinked softly as they shifted under their own weight, reacting faintly to his magic.
Harry let out a slow breath.
There was no doubt in his mind where the money came from. This wasn't old wizarding wealth or dungeon treasure. This was blood gold—profits wrung from illegal breeding pits, trafficked creatures, and lives treated like commodities. Vincent McNair's fortune, hidden where no sane wizard would ever dare to look.
A place protected not by locks—but haunted by monsters.
Harry raised his hand and opened his inventory.
The gold vanished in a steady stream, flowing into the void like water draining from a basin. The system tallied silently, efficiently.
[Currency Acquired: +39,842 Galleons]
Harry exhaled slowly as the room emptied, leaving behind nothing but bare stone and the faint echo of greed.
It was a staggering amount—but it didn't excite him.
Once upon a time, it might have.
Now, gold was just another resource.
Since inheriting Slytherin Castle and claiming the Blackfyre legacy, Harry no longer trusted banks—especially not goblin banks. He had seen enough of their history, enough of their wars, to know better. Goblins were not merchants at heart; they were a warrior race that tolerated commerce only until conflict suited them better.
And when goblins went to war, Gringotts always closed its doors.
Vaults sealed. Accounts frozen. Wizards left helpless and furious.
Harry had no intention of ever being one of them.
That was why most of his wealth now slept beneath Slytherin Castle, warded by ancient magic, guarded by creatures that answered to him alone. He only carried a small amount on his person—enough for travel and emergencies. Everything else stayed where even goblins wouldn't dare reach.
He glanced once more at the empty room.
McNair's fortune was no longer poison sitting in the dark.
It would be repurposed.
Used.
Turned against the kind of world that created men like Vincent McNair in the first place.
The moment Harry stepped into the core chamber, the air changed.
It wasn't the heavy, rotten stench of earlier corridors, nor the metallic tang of blood and oil from shattered constructs. This place felt alive—tense, watchful, coiled like a bowstring pulled too far back.
A translucent blue screen snapped into existence before his eyes.
[Quest Triggered: "Shadows of the Fallen Herd"]
Objective: Rescue the surviving Morticorns
Details: Escort the herd to a safe location
Warning: Morticorns are hostile to all non-herd entities
Status: Active
Harry's breath slowed as his gaze lifted from the notification to the chamber itself.
They were already moving.
At first glance, they looked like horses carved from shadow. Sleek, powerful bodies covered in midnight-black coats, muscles rippling beneath skin that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Bat-like wings folded tightly against their sides twitched in agitation, leathery membranes scarred and torn. Their hooves—golden, heavy, and sharp-edged—scraped against the stone floor, leaving faint gouges behind.
Their horn caught his attention immediately.
Long, spiraled, and unmistakably unicorn in shape—forged in gold, etched with faint crimson veins where blood still clung. The tips were stained dark, as if they had been used not only to defend, but to kill. Golden horns and hooves contrasted violently with their dark bodies, giving them an almost regal, terrifying beauty.
Morticorns.
A forbidden crossbreed—unicorn purity twisted with thestral hunger.
Carnivores.
Harry counted quickly.
Sixteen including the children.
Their flanks were heaving, wings partially torn, bodies crisscrossed with old wounds that had never been properly healed. One limped slightly, favoring its rear leg. Another had dried blood matting the feathers near its neck. They were survivors—cornered, starving, and furious.
And they had already decided he was the enemy.
A shrill, echoing screech tore through the chamber as the lead Morticron reared back, wings snapping open. Its golden hooves slammed down with enough force to crack stone, and in the same instant, all three moved.
They were fast.
Too fast.
Black blurs streaked across the chamber, wings beating violently as one took to the air while the other two charged low, horns angled forward like living spears. Harry barely had time to react as killing intent crashed over him in a suffocating wave.
"So that's how it is," he muttered under his breath.
He could feel it now—their instincts.
To the Morticorns, everything that wasn't one of them was prey.
Or a threat to be erased.
Harry slid one foot back, magic surging through his veins as he raised his wand and steadied his stance. This wasn't a battle meant to be won by brute force. Killing them would be easy—too easy.
But that wasn't the quest.
These creatures weren't monsters.
They were victims.
Cornered, bred, starved, and driven into madness by survival.
And somehow… he had to save them without breaking what little remained of the herd.
The first Morticorn struck.
Golden hooves slammed down where Harry had been standing a heartbeat earlier, stone exploding outward in a shower of fragments. Wind from beating wings ripped at his cloak as the airborne one circled above, eyes glowing with feral intelligence.
Harry tightened his grip.
"This is going to hurt," he said quietly, more to himself than them.
Then he stepped forward—into the storm—already calculating how to subdue beasts that saw mercy as weakness, and rescue creatures that would never thank him for it.
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