High-ranking vanity meets ancient terror. In the heart of the dungeon, the golden elite learn that some monsters cannot be bought.
A Choreography of Violence
The first goblin lunged at Damien with a piercing shriek that echoed through the corridor like the cry of the damned. Its serrated blade traced a murderous arc toward the noble's throat, but Damien pivoted with fluid grace. His enchanted sword hissed through the damp air. Magical steel met green flesh in a spray of golden sparks, cleanly severing the monster's head. It rolled away across the mossy stones.
Kael watched the scene with morbid fascination. Crouched against the wall under the weight of the gear, he was stunned by the team's coordinated violence. This was his first time witnessing combat from such a short distance.
Elena raised her combat staff, her lips whispering an incantation in the ancient tongue. Orange and red flames erupted from the crystalline tip, forming a hypnotic spiral before morphing into incandescent projectiles. Each fireball found its target with surgical precision, exploding against the goblins' chests in clouds of steam and charred flesh. The pungent, sickening scent of burnt meat filled the air.
"Triangle formation!" Marcus barked, slamming his shield into the stone floor.
Lysa leaped with feline agility. Her feet barely grazed the ground as she positioned herself high on a rocky ledge. Her composite bow flexed in one fluid motion, and arrows whistled through the confined space. Every shaft found its mark with inhuman accuracy: left eye, throat, heart. The goblins collapsed one by one, their death rattles mixing with the sharp snap of the bowstrings.
Damien danced in the center of the fray, his sword tracing lethal arabesques. His enchanted blade left trails of light in the air, as if magic itself burned in its wake. He dodged a spiked mace with an elegant side-step, countered a sneak attack with a flick of his wrist, and followed through with a thrust that skewered two goblins at once. Green blood splattered his black scale armor, but he kept smiling. He was drunk on adrenaline and the unsettling ease of the fight.
Marcus stood as still as a rock, serving as the anchor for the formation. His shield intercepted stray projectiles while his mace strikes shook the ground and pulverized skulls. Every impact echoed like a clap of thunder.
The white wolf simply watched. Lurking in the shadows of an alcove, its icy eyes followed every movement with a strategist's focus. It did not join the assault. This predatory intelligence chilled Kael's blood more than all the surrounding violence.
In less than three minutes, silence returned. Twelve goblins lay on the uneven floor. Their smoking bodies testified to the Valenhall team's deadly efficiency. Only the white wolf had vanished, slipping into the depths of the dungeon like a shadow conscious of its own survival.
Systemic Humiliation
"Hey, porter!" Damien's voice snapped like a whip. "You plan on standing there all day? Pick all this up."
Kael approached, his legs trembling under the weight of the equipment. He began the tedious work of the forgotten: recovering components, cleaning weapons, and inventorying the loot.
"Look at him," Elena sneered. "He's shaking like a leaf. Were you scared, little guy?"
Lysa clicked her tongue mockingly. "It's pathetic. How can anyone live without the slightest power? It must be like being permanently blind and deaf."
"Worse," Elena replied. "It's like being undead. Technically alive, but useless."
Kael did not answer. He gathered claws, teeth, and scraps of leather. His movements were precise; his silence was stubborn. The humidity and the smell of blood weighed heavily on him.
"Tell me, porter," Damien said in a mockingly curious tone, "is that story about your sick little brother true? Mara told me about a fragile kid... Don't you think he'd be better off dying quickly? It would save you from wasting your time."
Kael's hands froze for just an instant. He felt it—and so did Damien. The noble smiled.
"Ah, I hit a nerve. Careful now. When you're a nobody, anger just looks even more pitiful."
Lysa emptied her canteen over Kael's head. "There. Now you smell less like failure."
He did not move. Inside, however, something vibrated. A dull heat, a low growl. It was not fear. It was a silent, contained rage that slowly gnawed at the little patience he had left.
"Keep up with your cleaning, you holy martyr," Damien said, snickering. "At least you're good for that."
Marcus placed a hand on the noble's shoulder. "That's enough. Let's move."
Kael stood up. His bag was full, and his gaze was vacant.
"Yes. Let's go."
The Door of Destiny
An hour later, the scenery shifted. The raw stone was gone. The walls now pulsed with red light, covered in runes etched into an unknown black metal. The air vibrated, heavy and saturated with oppressive mana.
"Something is wrong here," Lysa said. Her ears were twitching. "The energy level... it's too high."
At the end of the corridor stood a colossal door, carved from the same metal. Above it, words burned in the air:
ARE YOU READY TO FACE YOUR DESTINY?
The letters seemed alive and shifting, as if the sentence were reading their minds. Even Damien hesitated.
"We aren't turning back," he decided, placing his hand on the surface. "Open it."
The runes flared to life. A groan rose from the bowels of the dungeon. The door opened with a metallic shriek that made the earth tremble.
The Ancient Abomination
The circular hall stretched beneath an invisible ceiling. In the center, atop a mound of bones, it waited.
A dragon. No—it was something else. It was ink-black and veined with violet, its scales etched with living runes. One eye socket glowed with an incandescent red; the other was nothing but a bubbling pit of steam.
When it roared, the sound vibrated through the air like a shockwave from the end of the world.
"IMPOSSIBLE!" Damien screamed. "That's an S-rank! AN ABOMINATION!"
Elena tried to erect a barrier, but it disintegrated instantly. The monster's breath was not fire, but corruption. Black energy spread like a poison. Elena's skin broke out in shifting patches. Her scream turned into a wet gurgle.
Lysa fired arrows that evaporated before impact. Marcus charged, but the dragon's tail swept him against the wall. He crashed in a din of twisted iron and breaking bones.
Damien screamed to bring the creature down, but his blade bounced off the scales. The beast answered with a breath that swallowed the light.
Perfection collapsed. Arrogance melted into screams.
Instinctive Flight
Kael was already running.
With the bag on his back and his lungs on fire, he bolted from the hall as the dragon's roar tore through the air. Damien's orders were lost in the racket, soon stifled by the wet sound of death.
He fled. His footsteps echoed in the shifting corridors. His fingers gripped the stone to keep from falling. Every breath was a jagged tear in his chest. His eyes stung with tears he no longer felt.
Fleeing isn't cowardice, he thought. It's living.
Silence fell behind him. Absolute. Terrifying.
He stopped, panting, hands on his knees. The darkness seemed to breathe around him. Something moved. Footsteps. Heavy. Slow.
The dragon? No. Too quiet. Too human. Or perhaps too ancient to belong to a single world.
Kael stood up slowly, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his rusted sword. In the darkness, two icy glimmers ignited.
The white wolf was back.