BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
A relentless storm of explosions rips through the dungeon floors, shaking the very foundation of the ancient structure. The heat and concussive force distort the air itself, warping the space around them as Baya's ferocious, lightning-infused punches rain down with unstoppable force.
Ithiona is hurled through layer after layer of the dungeon, her body shattering through the barriers of dimensional space. Walls bend and crack. The fabric of the dungeon groans, trying and failing to contain the sheer destructive force.
And still—Baya doesn't stop.
A streak of burning fire and electrified fury, she twists her body mid-air, eyes flashing a wild, golden-green as she propels herself forward at inhuman speed. Another punch. Another shockwave of detonations. The world is caught between the deafening BOOMS of her attacks and the silent screams of space itself being ripped apart.
Far above, Ithiona finally halts.
Twisting in mid-air, she blows away the swirling debris with a casual flick of her wrist, revealing herself completely unscathed. A dark purple shield shimmers around her, flowing like liquid shadow.
A chuckle slips past her lips, her voice as soft as silk, yet brimming with mockery.
"Wow~"
Mana pulses around her. It twists, darkens, condenses. The once-faint whispers of her power swell into a symphony of malicious intent.
Extending her hand, her long obsidian fingernail reaches forward—
And meets Baya's fist.
The instant they make contact—
BOOOOOOOM!
A violent shockwave erupts, the sheer force of the explosion splitting the air. Yet, instead of shattering, Ithiona's barrier ripples. Like water absorbing a stone's impact, the black energy bends and flows around the strike.
Baya's eyes narrow. Her knuckles burn red-hot, steam rising from the sheer heat of her power clashing with something… unnatural.
Ithiona simply smiles.
"You poor girl."
Her voice is laced with mock pity.
"You would be on your knees if I had my original power."
She lazily points upward, her obsidian nail glinting under the flickering lights of the battlefield.
Baya grits her teeth.
"You motherfuc—"
A massive black arm erupts from Ithiona's magic circle.
It moves faster than sound, a twisted manifestation of her dark magic. Before Baya can react, it slams into her face, sending her plummeting downward.
The impact is catastrophic.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
A thunderous, skull-rattling explosion rips through the battlefield.
The sheer shockwave is so massive that even Mirelith has to act, halting its destructive force before it obliterates the dungeon entirely as the dungeon focuses its power on a single point.
"It is not time yet."
Mirelith's voice, calm yet absolute, cuts through the battlefield. His golden eye glows ever brighter, casting a soft yet eerie luminescence over the wreckage. His gaze moves from the destruction left in Ithiona's wake to the deep scar in the earth where Baya still stirs.
But then—his gaze settles elsewhere.
On Ilúvëthar.
A subtle, almost imperceptible shift occurs in the mana of the room.
A tremor.
A pull.
Like something greater, unseen, waiting.
A warning.
Ilka moves first.
"Stop it."
Her small, spectral form flickers through the air, her presence like a cold gust of wind against Mirelith's ever-growing power. She glares at the Fairy Prince before twisting around to look at the elven prince.
"I don't know what the hell you're thinking of doing—" she yanks at his hair, causing the fairy prince to barely flinch. "But don't. Kael said you can trust the elf won't break the agreement they made."
Mirelith's glowing eye does not dim.
Not yet.
His expression remains unreadable. His posture, relaxed yet too still, a predator caught between instinct and restraint.
'I have no intentions of interfering,' his thoughts ripple through the air, reaching Ilka in the same way he had spoken to her in life.
His golden eye shifts back toward the core of the dungeon.
The tree.
The flower.
The womb of the witch.
'The only thing going through my head is what that witch plans to do when she wakes up.'
A heavy sigh.
Mirelith closes his eyes.
-
A deep hum vibrates through the air—a soundless tremor that isn't heard but felt, pressing against the skin, crawling under the flesh, thrumming in the bones. The very atmosphere is thick with energy, suffocating yet invigorating, as if the space itself breathes, inhaling and exhaling in an endless rhythm.
The room is vast, its boundaries impossible to define. No walls, no ceiling—only a horizon swallowed by endless twilight. The sky is neither dark nor bright, but a shifting mass of muted blues and greys, illuminated without a source. Despite its openness, the air here is denser than any natural space, thicker than mist, heavier than fog—an invisible ocean that pushes against the body, demanding presence, demanding awareness.
At the heart of this enigmatic domain, the floating water bubble pulses. A perfect sphere, suspended mid-air, seemingly weightless yet unmovable, eternal. Its surface is smooth, pristine—undisturbed by any external force, yet alive, ever-shifting.
Inside the orb, currents swirl— three massive streams of light blue mana weave through the liquid like celestial rivers, twisting, colliding, splitting apart before rejoining in an endless, hypnotic cycle. Their glow is soft yet powerful, illuminating the water from within like veins of pure energy.
But the true disturbance lies beneath.
Three other currents, dark as dried blood yet glowing a deep, malevolent crimson, surge outward from the orb, slithering across the floor like living veins. Unlike the graceful blue streams, these red currents are erratic, pulsing, writhing, tearing through the ground like cracks in a dying world. Wherever they move, the air shudders, warps, distorts— an unseen force reaching out from beyond.
The ground is not stone nor soil, but a field of living grass, untouched yet wrong. The blades are a rich, vibrant green, swaying gently in a wind that doesn't exist. Among them, red and black flowers bloom— their petals curling, twisting as if whispering to something unseen. Every now and then, a flower sheds a petal, and the moment it touches the ground, it vanishes into dust.
Beyond the field, towering trees stretch toward the endless sky, their bark the color of the abyss, absorbing rather than reflecting the faint, eerie light. Their leaves are a deep crimson, like freshly spilled blood, shifting as if stirred by unseen hands.
"This is the room," Leena murmurs, her voice steady, almost indifferent. The glow of her holographic screen casts faint blue reflections onto her pale skin as her fingers swipe through multiple live camera feeds. On each screen, different angles of the dungeon shift—dark, hollow corridors, twisted roots curling around ancient stones, and the distant pulse of the floating water sphere.
"As I said," she continues, flipping to another feed, her gaze sharpening slightly, "Mother will wake, destroy this place, and then head to the Elven Kingdom."
Her words are clinical. Factual. As if she's simply stating a scheduled event rather than the impending doom of an entire civilization. Yet, as she scrolls further, her expression shifts— a raised eyebrow, the slightest hint of confusion.
Kael stands beside her, rubbing his chin as he observes the room in front of them. The dense, tangible mana in the air clings to his skin like mist, making each breath feel heavy yet strangely invigorating. His instincts buzz.
'That's ancient magic. No doubt about it,' he muses, narrowing his eyes at the currents of light blue and blood-red mana that swirl through the floating sphere. 'If I can get access to that room, I can confirm it.
But something is wrong.
Leena is too calm.'
His fingers tighten around his wrist as he suppresses a sigh. 'She hasn't reacted negatively once. Not to me, not to any of this. Just what the hell is supposed to happen?' His jaw tightens as an unwelcome thought creeps into his mind. 'Did I change something? Is this future different because of me?'
He exhales sharply. 'No—too unlikely.'
Leena lifts her palm, and space distorts.
A rift splits open before them, the edges flickering with unstable energy before stabilizing into a doorway of shifting darkness. Beyond it, the mana pulses like a living thing, breathing in rhythmic waves.
"Let's go," she states, stepping forward without hesitation. Her crimson and flower-like eyes flick to Kael. "Come with me. Reconsider your stance on death once you see what will come."
Kael rolls his shoulders with a lazy stretch, but his mind is already elsewhere. "One sec," he mumbles.
'System, open a rift directly to where Eira left the cloak.'
A momentary pause. Then—
[Notice: Opening a rift will reveal your position as a Dungeon Master.]
His smirk remains unwavering. 'Do it.'
A second rift tears open before him, its edges flickering violently before stabilizing into a doorway of swirling black. A sharp pulse of mana ripples outward, sending a faint shockwave through the air.
Leena flinches ever so slightly, a minuscule shift in posture, but Kael catches it. Unlike the rift she created, this one wasn't part of the dungeon's system. It was his.
Through the gap, dim candlelight illuminates a dark wall, casting long shadows against the rough surface. The room beyond is barely visible, but one thing stands out—a black cloak, long-sleeved and hanging motionless against the wall. At first glance, it seems ordinary, made of some soft, high-quality leather-like material. But the longer it remains in sight, the more unnatural it feels.
Kael reaches into the rift without hesitation, grasping the cloak's smooth fabric. It's cool to the touch, yet not uncomfortably so, as if its temperature is perfectly neutral. The moment his fingers tighten around it, the rift snaps shut, sealing the space once more.
Leena watches him carefully, but her focus isn't on Kael—it's on the cloak.
A chill spreads through the air, faint but unnatural, a sensation she feels in her bones rather than her skin. It isn't the usual bite of cold mana or the oppressive weight of dark magic. No, this is something else entirely. Something unreadable.
She clenches her fingers slightly, resisting the urge to rub her arm as an unnatural prickle dances across her skin. The dungeon does not react to it, yet her body does. As if warning her that something is wrong.