Instinct propelled Petros to raise a hand, summoning Warden’s Embrace in a shimmering haze of golden light. But the Demogorgon was already on him, crashing into the boy’s torso with terrifying force. Petros’s cry of pain echoed off the corridor walls as he tumbled helplessly.
Saul reacted on sheer reflex, his wolfen muscles launching him forward. He seized the end of Petros’s cloak in his jaws, using his momentum to cushion the boy’s fall. They rolled in a half-controlled tumble, the wolf’s thick fur and powerful jaw preventing Petros from smashing headlong into the floor.
For a moment, Petros froze in shock, the corridor spinning around him. Then a warm, rough tongue dragged across his cheek, jarring him back to reality. He coughed, gasping as he shoved himself upright. “I—I hate that thing,” he managed, voice trembling.
Saul barked sharply, echoing the sentiment. His ears flattened, hackles raised, as he turned to rejoin the fight.
At the far side, Jack had barely recovered from the initial chaos. He stood with his staff braced against the ground, eyes darting between Petros’s near-disaster and the Demogorgon, which spun toward him in a frenzy of claws and snapping mandibles.
“Oh, hell no,” Jack snarled. He drove his staff down, planting it into the stone floor, channeling familiar energies. Chain Lightning crackled through the air—a searing web of electricity hooked into the Demogorgon mid-leap, hurling it backward. It crashed through the open doorway and smashed against the wall on the other side.
Jack took a heartbeat to gather his mana, runes along his staff glowing in sequence. “Shy’ra… Zural…” Fire and Void magic swirled at his fingertips, the combined forces humming with savage power. “Shy’ra’Zural!”
A blast of black-flamed destruction tore across the threshold, engulfing the Demogorgon’s twisted form in scorching, soul-searing heat. It unleashed an unholy shriek that made the hall vibrate with raw pain.
The wolf lunged in, jaws snapping for the Demogorgon’s throat. Even writhing in agony, the beast managed to block the kill bite, forcing Saul’s fangs to clamp down on its forearm instead. With furious strength, it slammed Saul against the floor, the walls—everything it could reach—trying to dislodge him.
Petros’s cast Warden’s Embrace without missing a beat. A shield of luminescent gold wrapped around the wolf, reducing the brutal impacts. Saul held tight with feral resolve, refusing to let go. Blood matted his fur, but he didn’t yield an inch.
Jack locked eyes with Petros. They exchanged a nod of grim determination. Already, Petros was readying another spell.
At last, the Demogorgon managed to fling Saul free. The wolf yelped as he smashed into the corridor wall, collapsing in a painful heap. Petros dashed forward, calling on Soul Mend to knit Saul’s wounds, while Jack sprang into action—channeling another wave of energy through the staff.
“Firestorm.” The air above the Demogorgon shimmered. Flames rained down like molten arrows, each strike sizzling against diseased flesh. The stench of charred monster filled the corridor, and the Demogorgon howled, thrashing its many limbs.
But it still refused to collapse. Flames licked across its body, yet it lurched forward, claws extended.
Jack erected a barrier into existence just in time using his mana manipulation skill. The monster collided with it in a punishing impact, sending Jack skidding backward until he slammed against the far wall. The Demogorgon rebounded off the barrier, rolling in a half-dazed sprawl. Jack’s arms shook from the strain.
Recovering quickly, Jack soaked in as much residual mana as he could muster and casted Chain Lightning. Electricity sparked again as the spell tore through the narrow space, arcs of blue light dancing off the stone as he put everything into the spell. Each bolt hammered the creature’s limbs, forcing it to convulse. A strangled roar tore from its throat as it doggedly crawled toward Jack, refusing to die.
“Just die already!” Jack hissed, sweat beading on his brow. He poured the last surge of mana into the chain. The corridor lit up in a final, crackling flash.
With a guttural roar, the Demogorgon leaped—smacking full force into Jack, then falling limp. The beast’s full weight collapsed onto him, pinning him to the cold stone floor.
For a few seconds, no one moved. Petros rushed over, practically dragging Saul along. The wolf latched onto the Demogorgon’s lifeless body, yanking it off Jack. Panting, Jack rolled onto his back with a wince, arms trembling.
“Gods, I hate this place,” he muttered, voice thick with exhaustion.
Petros crouched beside him, staff raised. “Don’t move,” he cautioned, weaving Soul Mend over Jack’s battered form—a soothing gold glow washed over them, sealing cuts and knitting bruises. Even Saul received some measure of healing. The wolf let out a quiet whimper of relief.
They all slumped back, breath ragged. Dull echoes of the chaotic fight lingered in the corridor—splintered wood, scorched stone, and the pungent metallic tang of demonic blood. Jack, still sprawled on the floor, managed a pained grin.
“So,” he said, lifting a finger in jest, “who’s opening the next door?”
Petros only glared, chest still heaving from exertion. Saul rumbled a low bark, more irritated than amused. The distant flicker of torches along the hall cast long, ominous shadows against the uncountable doors looming on either side.
They had survived—but a half-dozen more doors waited, each a potential new nightmare.
The demogorgon’s body still lay sprawled on the floor, a gruesome testament to the fight that had almost killed them. Even so, Jack and Petros found themselves momentarily elated by the chime of their journals’ rewards. The new notifications danced before their eyes, each describing loot and XP:
Jack looted an Alpha Demogorgon Core and a Basic Pair of Pants (completely useless, so he shoved them into his pouch to sell later) plus three silver coins and a handful of copper. More importantly, Chain Lightning had advanced to Level 5, promising more powerful hits on multiple targets.
Petros gained the same coinage and ended up with a Basic Flat Cap that had no real armor or stats. He donned it nonetheless, a small, silly grin passing across his face. “I’ll take fashion over function any day,” he joked.
Jack closed the door to the demogorgon’s room with a decisive yank. They both plopped down to rest, draining a bit of the distilled water from a cask in Jack’s inventory. The immediate tension of the fight ebbed as the water restored bits of their mana. Saul, settled beside them, quietly licking his wounds.
Peering down the corridor, Jack counted more identical doors. Each stretched along either side, diagonally placed, giving the hallway a skewed, dizzying sense of infinite repetition.
“I say we ignore these doors,” Jack finally said, stowing his half-finished water cask. “Whatever’s at the far end might be our actual way out.”
Petros gave a faint nod, eyes flicking back at the closed demogorgon door. “You won’t hear me complaining. One demogorgon is enough for a lifetime.”
Jack smirked. “But hey, we handled it beautifully, right?” A tinge of humor broke the lingering dread in his voice.
Petros managed a small smile. “I guess so. Next time, maybe we do it with less risk of being ripped in half?”
Jack stood, brushing off dust from his robe. “A man can dream.” He clutched his staff, gestured for Petros and Saul to follow, and set off down the hall.
They passed the next door on the right without pausing, though Petros cast it a wary sidelong glance. Another door on the left came into view, identical to the others—heavy wood, faint runic markings around the frame. Jack thought he heard something on the other side, a soft scraping. He unconsciously pressed an ear to the cool surface, his hand drifting to the handle.
Petros grabbed his arm. “Jack. Let’s keep going,” he hissed. His eyes darted back toward the demogorgon room with a visible gulp. “We don’t need more surprises right now.”
Jack gave a sheepish chuckle, stepping away from the knob. “Right. Good call.”
They advanced a few steps farther when a sharp creaking noise sliced through the silence. In unison, they spun around—both the door on their right and the door opposite it on the left were swinging open simultaneously, revealing two rooms shrouded in darkness.
A chill prickled across Petros’s arms. Subconsciously, the pair backed off, mindful of not stepping too close to the next door in line. Jack gripped his staff, runes already sparking faintly, while Petros’s hands glowed with golden light. Saul lowered his head and growled.
A swirl of shapes coalesced from one doorway: two Greater Wraiths (Levels 13 and 14), their smoky forms drifting forward. From the opposite door, a clank of metal rang out as Ghostly Knights—four of them, all Level 13—marched into view. Each knight bore battered black armor, visors showing only flickers of eerie light. One held a sword, another held an ax, the third carried a mace, and the last held a spear.
“Guess this is happening,” Jack muttered, exhaling quickly.
He planted his staff against the stone floor, addressing Saul first: “Hold!” Then he let Chain Lightning flare. Electricity ripped through the corridor, lancing into the nearest wraith, then arcing to the second wraith, bouncing over to the line of ghostly knights in a staggering chain. Instead of diminishing, the lightning drew energy from each spirit it passed, amplifying its power. The final knight in line erupted into sparks, vanishing in a hiss of scorched ectoplasm.
The wraiths, though wounded, seemed to shrug off part of the lightning’s effect and glided in, hollow faces turning on Jack with a hungry hiss.
“Saul, take out the last knight!” Jack barked, his attention never leaving the approaching wraiths.
The wolf darted off, weaving through the mob, heading for a knight lurking toward the back with the spear. Petros advanced, summoning a spectral guardian that swooped in to collide with the wraiths. The ephemeral shape crashed into them, stalling their approach.
Jack channeled mana through his staff, letting a swirl of runic power gather at its tip.
“Shaz’Zural!” he yelled, channeling the Shadow and Spirit runes off the staff.
The two wraiths were sent convulsing, taking significant shadow damage as one of the ghostly knights jumped forward, blade aimed for Jack’s head, but a golden barrier from Warden’s Embrace slowed the attack. Jack pivoted, the knight missed the man and collided with Jack’s staff, sending it skidding across the hall. He snorted in annoyance, cursing under his breath that any creature could move his staff so easily.
“I’ll finish the wraiths,” he hissed, focusing again. Another Chain Lightning flared, crackling between the two spirits. They spasmed, shriveling from the repeated shocks, and dematerialized in a swirl of black mist.
Farther back, Saul had thrown himself upon one knight, teeth locked around its midsection. Another ghostly knight bashed him with a heavy mace, but Wolf Hide glimmered, preventing lethal damage. The battered knight on the ground gave a final rasping wail as Saul tore it apart. The second knight—briefly hesitant—raised its weapon again, but it was too late. The wolf lunged for the kill in a flash of movement, savage and unrelenting.
A wave of notifications pinged across Petros’s and Jack’s journals as the knights and wraiths were all finished.
Panting, the trio reunited, the corridor silent once more save for the hum of leftover magic. Jack collapsed against the wall, staff retrieved. Petros sank beside him, raising a hand to cast quick healing spells over everyone’s bruises. Thankfully, this bout seemed less draining than the demogorgon fight—shockingly, no one was severely injured.
“I’m not sure whether I hate random demon beasts or random undead soldiers more,” Jack said. “You’d think the real annoyance was behind those doors, but apparently they come to us.”
Petros smirked faintly, rummaging through the fallen knights for loot. “No alpha among them,” he reported. “We each get a small pile of coins. Some minor cores, mostly worthless. That’s… that’s that.”
They briefly paused to catch their breath and patch up minor wounds. None dared wander too far from each other or stray close to another door. At last, a mischievous glint lit Jack’s eye.
“Let’s open the rest one at a time,” he mused, stretching his shoulders. “We can’t have them all bursting open on us again, right?”
Petros shook his head, exasperated. “Why do I get the feeling you’d enjoy that?”
Jack grinned. “Because I’m starting to love how much XP these creeps give us. I told you, we’re unstoppable.”
Saul barked, as if echoing his agreement—though he still limped slightly, wincing every time he shifted his hind leg. The respite was short-lived. A heavy creaking reverberated through the corridor, prompting everyone to freeze. Their eyes darted down the hall, where the next door was swinging open on its own, though they’d barely come within ten feet of it.
Jack drew in a shaky breath. “Okay, that’s… definitely not a good sign.”
Petros answered with a grim half-smile, stepping forward with fresh mana swirling around his hands. Saul growled, limping in behind them, unwavering in his loyalty. And thus, the corridor’s next terror awaited—no rest for outworlders forging their path in the deepest realms of shadow.
After the furious battle with the wraiths and knights, a tense hush draped the corridor. Jack, Petros, and Saul stood poised near yet another open door, hearts still hammering as they braced for the next threat. Seconds passed, and no monster emerged. Gradually, Jack allowed the crackling electricity in his right hand to dissipate, lowering his staff in measured caution.
The wolf, however, refused to budge. Hackles raised, Saul growled low, muscles bunched as though expecting an unseen enemy to pounce. Petros, fists aglow with golden energy, cast a wary glance at Jack.
“Cover me,” Jack said, creeping toward the open doorway. His voice tried to sound confident, but a haunted edge lingered from the corridor’s earlier horrors.
Petros snorted, falling into step behind him. “Cover me, he says,” he muttered mockingly. “What does he think I’ve been doing?”
Jack shot him a brief smirk, then turned his attention to the threshold. When he reached the door and peered inside, his posture stiffened. A moment later, to Petros’s astonishment, Jack strode through the doorway without so much as a glance back.
“Jack?” Petros called, but heard no response. A jolt of alarm flashed through him. He swallowed hard, adrenaline flaring again as he gripped his staff. “Saul?” The wolf uttered a confused whine and nudged Petros forward with his muzzle.
Summoning a last shred of courage, Petros stepped up to the doorway. The room beyond looked...empty. There was no sign of Jack—just a barren stone floor. Petros could feel the goosebumps rising along his arms. He glanced over his shoulder at Saul, who was whining now in real distress. The wolf scratched at the invisible barrier as though he couldn’t pass.
“Mom?” Petros whispered abruptly, eyes widening as a figure flickered inside the room. He could do nothing but stumble backward, nearly colliding with Saul. But the wolf’s presence didn’t soothe him—an unseen force tugged at his mind, drawing him inward. Steeling himself, Petros walked into the room, and then he vanished from Saul’s sight.
Jack blinked, finding himself in his old living room. Everything looked exactly as it had the year before the Shadow Realms Online beta fiasco: the worn couch, the TV displaying a battle from SR3’s final boss fight, and just a few feet away, Asil sat, controller in hand, finishing off a digital dragon.
“Asil?” he called softly, heart thudding in confusion. Seeing her here—smiling that old, familiar smile—wrenched a buried longing from him.
“One second, hon,” she chirped, eyes not leaving the screen. She turned to him with a grin when she killed the boss. “It’s about time…”
The words died as Chain Lightning ripped through the living room scene, forcing the shape of Asil’s body to distort and convulse. She hurled backward, striking the far wall. At once, the living room vanished, and Jack realized he stood in a shadowy chamber, the air thick with a rancid smell.
A flicker of raw guilt flashed across Jack’s gaze. He could sense the illusion, yet for one painful moment, he wanted to believe. Then memory and adrenaline kicked in—he unleashed a sudden Even knowing it wasn’t real, the ache of betraying his wife’s face cut him deeply. The shape that had worn Asil’s form now lay crumpled against the stone. A swirling, half-corporeal phantom started to crawl away, trailing arcs of Jack’s residual electricity. Anger glinted in his eyes.
“My mana sense is too sharp for that cheap trick,” he growled, ignoring the tears that threatened. “You messed with the wrong illusions.” He raised his hand, primed for another arc of lightning, but the shadowy figure hissed and slipped through the wall before Jack could finish it.
Jack stood there trembling, half from fury, half from heartbreak. He wiped a tear from his cheek and inhaled a shaky breath. “This place keeps getting worse,” he muttered. Then he turned to the door, stepping back into the corridor.
Saul practically tackled him when he appeared, the wolf’s anxious whine echoing. Jack let out a half-laugh, half-sob, ruffling Saul’s fur. “I’m all right, buddy. I promise.”
His expression turned serious. “Where’s Petros?” The question gripped his stomach like a vise.
Saul whimpered, turning to bark at the open doorway, where a second shape—this one a bit bulkier—shifted in the gloom. Jack’s staff lit with sparks instantly, but something held him back: a subtle sense that the presence behind the illusions was cunning enough to show him or Petros something personal.
“Petros,” Jack whispered, swallowing hard. He marched in, staff brandished, determined not to be fooled again.
Just inside, a stocky figure flickered in and out of view—like a distorting shadow. Jack rushed forward, arms outstretched. He expected to grab empty air but collided with something solid, and the two of them tumbled free of the illusory haze.
Jack stared down into Petros’s blank eyes, the teen slack-jawed and catatonic, tears trickling down his cheeks. “Kid… hey,” Jack murmured, giving him a slight shake. Seeing the kid was unharmed, he turned and shot out an arc, however, the electricity bounced harmlessly off the floor as the phantom escaped through the far wall.
Saul could now enter, bounding at their side. The wolf nudged Petros with his nose, whining softly. Petros shuddered, blinking back awareness as though waking from a nightmare. He let out a shaky sob, clinging to Jack’s arm.
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They sat like that for several minutes, breathing in the stale, bitter air of the chamber. Jack’s heart pounded, and fresh anger roiled against whoever orchestrated these illusions.
Finally, Petros spoke in a trembling voice. “I—I saw my mom.” Another painful pause followed. “She’s been gone so long. I knew it wasn’t her, but it felt so real. She—hugged me. I just couldn’t let go.”
Jack closed his eyes, recalling the Asil apparition that had forced him to strike. “This place is cruel,” he agreed softly. “This entire ‘game’ is messing with us. Makes me want to put a hole in every wall.”
Petros sniffled, a half-laugh escaping. “We have to finish it—because I can’t leave it like this,” he said, voice still trembling but resolute. “We can’t let illusions of our loved ones be used against us.”
Jack nodded, pulling the teen closer and letting him cry out the last of the fear. Saul pressed against Petros’s leg, ears flattened in worry, offering comfort in his canine way.
When Petros’s breathing steadied, Jack pulled him to his feet. “Ready to move on?”
Petros inhaled deeply, eyes puffy but determined. “Y-yeah. Let’s do this.”
They stepped away from the illusions’ domain, collecting themselves in the corridor—one more door… one more trap. The hall still branched out in either direction, lined with countless portals.
Glaring at the oppressive gloom, Jack muttered, “I’m done letting this place toy with us.” He cast a quick healing over Petros for good measure, ignoring the steady drain on his mana. “We focus up, we push forward, no more illusions messing with our heads.”
Petros nodded, and together with Saul, they turned back into the flickering corridor light. Resolute after their illusions, they pressed on—whatever lay ahead would unite them, illusions or not.
They advanced door by door, systematically tackling whatever abominations waited within. Each threshold they crossed came with an onslaught of bizarre nightmares: goblin hordes, undead fiends, even twisted illusions of past adversaries. Between each encounter, Jack, Petros, and Saul paused just long enough to catch their breath before pressing on. More than once, Jack quipped that if this truly was a “beta test,” the developers had either a very dark sense of humor or zero compassion.
“I can’t imagine the devs intentionally coding illusions of our loved ones,” Petros said at one point, recalling the illusory mother he’d seen in the previous chamber. “Maybe it’s some messed-up algorithm tapping into our subconscious.”
Jack nodded solemnly. “Gotta love advanced AI running wild, right?” He tried to force a laugh, but the memory of striking an illusion of Asil hung over him. “I’m telling them to nerf this once we get out. Nobody wants nightmares that real.”
Despite the tension, they leveled up quickly, gleaning precious loot and forging new spells. Between doors, Petros would earn the new ability Soul Bound Scimitar—a glittering, ethereal blade—to practice a few strikes in the corridor, trying to adapt to its unfamiliar weight and spectral curve. Often, Jack would grin, eyes flicking to the teen’s newly learned Wailing Requiem. “No fair you get two new attacks,” he teased. “I’ve just got my Fire and Lightning cranked to insane levels.”
Petros journal update: Congratulations, you reached level 15, new abilities unlocked;
Wailing Requiem: Upon casting, Petros channels the restless spirits of recently departed foes, calling them forth as ethereal specters. Though individually weaker than their living counterparts, their collective assault inflicts steady damage over time, overwhelming enemies through sheer volume. Each summoned spirit lashes out with basic attacks, gradually stacking DoT (damage over time) on any nearby foe. Once the duration ends or the spirits are destroyed, they fade, howling softly back into the ether. (Mana Cost: High, duration: 10 seconds, Cooldown: 30 seconds)
Soul Bound Scimitar: Petros conjures a radiant, curved blade forged entirely of astral magic. Its edge shimmers with spiritual energy, cutting both flesh and essence. Each strike deals +5 bonus damage, with a 14% chance to siphon a portion of the enemy’s life force—healing Petros for a fraction of the damage inflicted. Every swing of the scimitar carries a small chance of triggering Life Drain, replenishing Petros’s health and reinforcing his role as a resilient support-offense hybrid.(Duration: 30 seconds, Mana Cost: Medium, Cast Time: 3 seconds Cooldown: None (though recasting replaces any existing scimitar)
Petros only smirked. “Yeah, but your chain lightning alone could power a city block.”
They eventually discovered a near-empty chamber—a rare respite—where no creature lunged at them. Closing the door behind them, they settled in to rest. Jack rummaged through his pouch, pulling out some bread and the last of their cask water. Petros took the opportunity to check his updated stats, confirming he’d just hit Level 15—and ironically, the new spells seemed tailor-made for the dungeon’s brutal fights. Jack had soared past Level 16, each level awarding multiple skill points. They swapped notes on how best to allocate them.
Jack Journal Update,
Firestorm Level 4 evolves to
Flame Tempest (Level 1): Summons a widespread conflagration from above, blanketing the battlefield in molten embers and swirling gusts of superheated air. Foes trapped within the blazing winds take continuous damage over a short period, with each tick of flame stacking to inflict additional burn. Flame Tempest’s area coverage grows wider than the old Firestorm’s, catching more enemies at once. Damage ramps up if the same foes remain in the area—representing the scorching build-up of layered fire. (Cooldown: 0 sec, Mana Cost: Low, Medium, High)
Chain Lightning level 4 evolves to
Voltaic Cascade (Level 1): Channels a continuous barrage of high-voltage arcs that jump between enemies with greater intensity each time, feeding off residual sparks and amplified by his refined mana circuit. The final strikes can stun or briefly interrupt lower-level foes, forging momentary openings in tense battles. (Cooldown: 0 sec, Mana Cost: Low, Medium, High)
“Thirteen unspent points,” Jack sighed. “Game logic is trying to reward me for frying everything on sight.”
Petros chuckled, sliding his flat cap askew. “Eleven for me. If we keep up this pace, we’ll be unstoppable. I just need to get used to actually using this scimitar in real combat.”
Jack waggled his staff. “And me? I can chain-cast my new Flame Tempest and Voltaic Cascade. You saw how they wrecked those dopplegangers, right?”
They shared a look—remembering the moment they’d fought twisted, “evil” clones of themselves. The illusions had matched them blow for blow, nearly winning until Jack and Petros resorted to spouting random nonsense to disrupt the clones’ predictable strategies. It was a close call, but they’d triumphed. “No cliche goatees, though,” Jack had joked. The memory still brought a tiny grin to Petros’s face.
Refreshed from the short rest, they braced themselves for the next door, only to realize they’d cleared nearly all but one. “Second to last one, ” Petros said, breath hitching at the possibility it might be the final trial. “Wonder if it leads to a mini boss fight”
Jack eyed the door with a mix of dread and excitement. “Only one way to find out.”
He reached for the handle, and the door swung open on its own.
Inside was a fleshy abomination, a massive Alpha Beast labeled simply The Monstrosity (Level 17) in their journals. A tower of quivering, pulsating flesh bristled with random limbs, eyes, and half-formed faces. From multiple mouths, it uttered an agonized plea: “Kill... me...”
Petros clapped a hand over his mouth, stomach churning at the sight. “Gods, that’s horrifying.”
Saul let out a low whimper, seemingly unnerved. The monster seemed too huge to exit the chamber—so the trio tried to quietly back out and close the door behind them. But in a heartbeat, they realized the walls had warped around them; they stood inside the chamber, with the door sealed behind them.
Jack swore under his breath, staff already alive with sparks. “Guess there’s no skipping this one.”
“We handle it,” Petros said, summoning his newly minted Soul Bound Scimitar. The astral blade shimmered in his hands, though he gripped it awkwardly. “I just—just can’t let it suffer like this.”
The Monstrosity roared, or moaned, or possibly both. A wave of Dark Mana rippled across its form, lashing out in jagged pulses. Saul lunged, teeth bared, but a single thrashing limb smacked him aside. The wolf skidded across the slimy floor, falling limp—knocked unconscious in one brutal hit.
Jack and Petros exchanged a horrified glance. Each time they attacked with a known spell, the creature twisted, conjuring a polar opposite. Flames fizzled under watery illusions; lightning sputtered under waves of earthen energy. The abomination adapted, learning their moves as quickly as they cast them.
“We have to coordinate,” Jack gasped, narrowly dodging another scything limb. “It can only adapt to one ability at a time, I think.”
Petros nodded, eyes scanning Saul’s still body. “We keep it busy; I’ll handle the healing after. We just have to strike together.”
Jack inhaled, pulling every droplet of mana he had. Summoning a swirl of scorching Flame Tempest, he let embers gather overhead. At the same moment, Petros lifted his staff—Wailing Requiem building in a swirl of ghostly forms. The Monstrosity tried to shift its counter to fire, but the sudden wave of spirit-wraiths hammered it from another angle, gnawing at its intangible essence. Overwhelmed, the creature shrieked, limbs flailing spastically.
Flame Tempest fell in a wave of molten cinders, layering unstoppable stacks of burn. Wailing Requiem layered a savage DoT from summoned specters, each one carving away lumps of flesh. The Monstrosity let out an echoing, pitiful roar. The final blow came when Jack poured the last of his lightning into the swirling fire, forging a brief, chaotic synergy that tore the abomination from within.
With a final, trembling sigh, the Monstrosity collapsed. The mouths parted, speaking two words that chilled both men:
“Thank you.”
In an instant, the vile mass disintegrated into black sludge, staining the chamber in an acrid stench. Jack groaned, stumbling over to Saul, who lay prone at the edge of the room. Petros hurried alongside him, feeding Saul a healing salve plus a wave of Soul Mend. The wolf stirred, letting out a faint whimper.
Jack closed his eyes in relief, whispering softly, “Good boy… we’ve got you.”
A ping resounded in their journals. The kill had rewarded them generously:
Petros acquired the Monstrosity Alpha Core, faintly pulsating with unusual energy.
Jack claimed a Dark Mana Crystal, its description in Shadow Tongue with an unknown level rating.
“I received a prompt in my journal to absorb the crystal,” Jack held up his book, grinning.
Realizing Jack can be a bit impulsive, Petros laid a hand on the man’s arm.
“Hold off until we are clear of this dungeon, let’s at least translate the description using the books I…” Petros hesitated at the last part “...borrowed from Gondel.” He finished with a mock cough.
Jack’s grin grew more mischievous as he realized the kid knew him well. He stowed the crystal and journal back into his pouch for later consumption.
He then slumped against a relatively cleaner patch of wall, exhaling shakily. “We…did it,” he said, brushing sweat from his forehead. “I can’t believe how tough that was.”
Petros nodded, gaze flicking over the monstrous remains. “It was suffering. Maybe we did it a mercy.”
They both fell silent, recollecting the being’s final, heartbreaking words. Then they caught each other’s eye, steeling themselves anew. Petros rummaged out some potions, dividing them with Jack, while the wolf coughed quietly, eventually rising to his feet and trotting closer.
“All right,” Jack said, in a subdued tone, “Let’s do a quick meditation to restore our mana… then we move on to the last door.”
“Maybe it’s the way out? this last one felt like a final boss for sure.” Petros replied.
It wasn’t the way out.
“This is it,” Jack said, pushing open the final door of the dungeon. “Must be the exit.”
Yet the moment he stepped in, any notion of relief drained away. The chamber was a vaulted hall carved of black stone, ornate columns etched with ancient runes. At its center stood a massive, armored knight—The Black Hand (Level 18, Boss), as their journals plainly labeled it. Its blade dripped with dark, viscous energy, and the air around it crackled with malevolent force.
Petros conjured his Scimita, exhaling. “Great. They had to save the biggest nightmare for last.”
Saul let out a guttural snarl, fur bristling as he instinctively tried to circle to the knight’s flank. Yet before any of them could strike, the boss moved with inhuman speed, crossing the distance in a blur. Jack barely managed to backpedal, staff raised.
“Mana Drain—” Petros yelped, reading the red text swirling over the knight’s head. Tendrils of darkness lashed out from the Black Hand’s sword, coiling around Jack’s arms.
An instant later, Jack felt his mana siphoned away. His Flame Tempest fizzled before it could form in the air. “Oh, come on!” he spat, stumbling from the abrupt drain.
“I’ll draw it off!” Petros shouted, eyes blazing gold as he cast Warden’s Embrace over Jack. A shimmering barrier momentarily cut the tendrils, freeing Jack from the drain effect. The knight turned, void-black visor swiveling. In a single unstoppable slash, it cleaved through Petros’s shield and nearly took his head—Petros ducked at the last second, bracing himself against the shockwave of the blow.
Saul lunged, aiming his jaws at the knight’s weapon arm, hoping to jar the blade loose. But the Black Hand swatted him aside with a backhanded blow, sending the wolf tumbling across the slick stone floor.
“You can’t brute force this, either,” Petros muttered, chest heaving. The boss’s second strike nearly skewered him, ignoring the defensive wards as if they didn’t exist. “It… it says unstoppable. Guess they weren’t kidding.”
Jack clenched his fists, adrenaline blazing. “Well, unstoppable or not, we’re not done. Kid, watch for Summoned Shadows.” Already, smears of darkness began coalescing in corners of the room, lesser forms scuttling out like wraithlike minions.
“We do the synergy thing?” Petros called, eyes darting. “We overload it?”
Jack offered him a cocky grin. “See, that’s why I keep you around. Besides comedic relief, of course.” He kicked off the ground, staff swirling with newly found mana—the boss had drained a chunk, but Jack’s advanced control let him re-channel fresh energy anyway.
“Ignite!” he bellowed, forging a partial Flame Tempest overhead. Embers rained, trying to burn the Summoned Shadows. The Black Hand’s blade flashed with darkness, flicking away the worst of the flames, though the lesser minions burst into black cinders.
The knight advanced on Jack once again, ignoring the flicks of flame. Petros slid in behind the boss, summoning Soul Bound Scimitar with a swirl of radiant essence, then slicing at a gap in the boss’s armor. The blade connected—only for the black armor to shimmer, the blow barely cutting.
Still, the knight hissed, as if wounded in spirit more than flesh. “It can be hurt!” Petros cried, spinning away to avoid a savage counter. The sword cut empty air, unstoppable in force, but lacking a target.
From across the hall, Saul sprang to his feet, shaking off the earlier strike. With a short bark, he lunged in again—this time biting into the knight’s greaves, trying to hamper its movement. The boss hammered at him with unstoppable blows, but Petros cast a quick Soul Mend to keep the wolf conscious.
Jack seized the opening. “Let’s do it! Overload it, remember?” He poured mana into his staff, eyes narrowing. Voltaic Cascade sparked around him like a lethal halo of electricity, crackling against the stone columns. Petros pivoted, channeling every bit of spiritual force he could muster. The room reverberated with the hum of combined spells.
“C’mon, big guy,” Jack taunted, stepping into the knight’s line of sight. “Drain me if you dare!”
The Black Hand thrust out a gauntleted hand, hooking into Jack’s swirling mana. The darkness around the knight’s blade thickened. In that instant, Jack unleashed Voltaic Cascade—not at the knight, but into the malicious vortex that tried to devour his mana. Electricity crackled along the black blade, feeding into the boss’s armor, forcing a spark overload from the inside out.
The knight staggered, black energies flickering erratically. Seeing the boss reeling, Petros lunged in with his Soul Bound Scimitar, slashing at the knight’s chest. The blade glowed as it struck, siphoning dark essence from the knight’s spirit.
“Saul—now!” Petros barked, and the wolf sprang, seizing the knight’s weapon arm in powerful jaws. Simultaneously, Jack let off a final burst of Flame Tempest, setting the boss’s cloak ablaze. The synergy of scorching flame, lightning discharge, and spirit-blade forced the knight to stumble back, black armor fracturing with each blow.
Suddenly, the boss roared, an inhuman cry reverberating in Shadow Tongue. Energy swirled around it, and for a moment it tried to gather unstoppable force for a last strike. Petros saw the Summoned Shadows reappearing at the perimeter, creeping in from every corner. “He’s about to do something big, watch out!”
Jack refused to back down. “Then we do it bigger!”
He poured the last of his stored mana into Voltaic Cascade, arcs chaining off the columns, bouncing between the Summoned Shadows, and feeding back into the boss. Petros, in turn, thrust his scimitar forward, allowing a final Wailing Requiem to swirl around them—dozens of ephemeral spirits shrieking, tearing at the Black Hand’s tether to the demon god.
The corridor exploded in sparks and haunting wails. The knight’s unstoppable blow never landed—its armor cracked outright, leaking vile darkness. Letting out a final, ragged hiss, the Black Hand sank to one knee.
“Val’nok khamor’shor… Zural’gor!” it whispered in an echoing tone, the syllables twisting with malice. Then, in a swirl of dark vapor, it faded—armor clattering to the floor, dissolving into black mist.
Saul panted heavily, fur singed, muzzle caked with swirling shadows. Jack and Petros bent over, clutching knees, panting as their last spells winked out. The final Summoned Shadows melted into the air, undone by the boss’s defeat.
After a long moment of stunned silence, Petros laughed shakily, voice cracking in relief. “We did it…”
Jack, still trying to catch his breath, pointed a finger upward. “Of course we did. We’re unstoppable ourselves,” he joked, though the adrenaline left him lightheaded. “…We are unstoppable, right?”
Petros let out a snort. “We better be, after all that.” He sank cross-legged onto the floor, rummaging for potions and healing salves. With his mana reserve being almost drained, Petros gave a grateful sigh, and rubbed a healing concoction on Saul’s shoulders, nodding to Jack to accept a portion.
A final whisper from the dissolving boss echoed in the gloom—some snippet of Shadow Tongue that neither could fully decipher. The Black Hand was gone, but its disembodied hiss left them certain this wasn’t the final end of the demon god’s designs.
Jack exhaled, letting his staff lean against a half-shattered column. “No idea what it said. Probably cursing us. Or maybe mocking us. But we won.”
Petros let out a shaky laugh, the tension of the Black Hand’s defeat still coursing through his veins. “So... is this the end? That archway might be our real exit.” His voice sounded hesitant, and he cast a wary glance at the wide chamber, half-expecting another foe to materialize out of the gloom.
Jack shrugged, eyes lingering on a faintly glowing set of runes carved around the arch. “If it is the exit, then that was one brutal final boss. But something tells me that arch leads deeper—another level of this damned dungeon.”
They both turned to see that a plain wooden door now stood in the far end of the hall, simple and unassuming, as though the towering knight had physically hidden it from view. Saul padded over, sniffing at the frame, letting out a low, uncertain whine.
“How did we not notice that before?” Petros murmured.
Jack smirked. “Giant unstoppable knight was a bit of a distraction.”
They took a moment to rest, checking over their new loot. Jack paused on a small jade figurine shaped like a squatting monkey, hands clasped tightly over its eyes.
“Mizura, key one of three,” he read from the item’s short description in his journal. An odd weight clung to it, far heavier than something so small and innocuous should feel.
Petros leaned in, eyebrows arched. “See no evil, right? The classic monkey?”
Jack gave a slow nod. “And it’s labeled as a ‘key.’ Probably means there are two more—hear no evil and speak no evil.” He frowned, tucking the statue away. “No idea what they unlock, but if it’s from this dungeon, I’d guess something big.”
Petros simply shrugged, mindful of how labyrinthine their “beta test” had become. “Guess we’ll find out eventually,” he said.
Now more composed, Jack closed his eyes, letting his advanced mana sense fan out across the room. The faint glimmer of a grand archway behind them beckoned with swirling runes, while in front, the plain wooden door waited just as silently. Jack sensed a different kind of resonance from each threshold.
“Let’s take that door,” Jack said, a note of certainty in his voice. “My gut says it’s a way station or respite from the next level. The arch, though, I’m betting that’s the path forward—like, deeper into the dungeon.”
Petros turned, glancing between them. “So... one leads to the next circle of hell, and the other leads us out, maybe.”
Jack laughed—tired but genuinely amused. “Or the door just dumps us somewhere bizarre. The dungeon loves messing with us.”
Still, they approached the wooden door. Petros inhaled deeply, meeting Jack’s eyes. “I’m ready.”
Saul stood between them, tail wagging gently; he, too, seemed relieved that no towering knights or fleshy horrors lunged to block their path.
The second Jack touched the handle, the door swung inward. The three stepped through, uncertain and braced for another wave of horrors. Instead, they found themselves blinking in fresh sunlight and open air—a field dotted with wildflowers and the great oak from which they had started so many trials ago.
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Back here?” He whirled, half expecting an archway or corridor. Instead, the wooden door now stood behind them, free-standing in the middle of the meadow. They could see the gloomy corridor if they looked through the doorway, but from the outside, it was just a weathered plank of wood leading to nowhere.
Petros let out a slow whistle as he walked around to the other side. There, he saw only the majestic oak and rolling grass—no sign of the corridor they’d come from. “Now that is advanced dungeon voodoo,” he murmured.
Saul whined and nudged Jack’s leg, as if urging them to leave it behind for good.
Jack patted the wolf’s neck. “Yeah, let’s... let’s just see if we can close it.” He eased the door shut, and it latched with a gentle click. They watched in silence as the door shimmered, gradually fading from existence.
But before it could vanish altogether, Jack quickly fished out a spare dagger and carved something into the wood.
Petros cocked his head, curiosity tugging at him. “What’re you doing?”
“Leaving our mark,” Jack said simply, scraping each letter with a grin.
The teenage Spirit Warden joined him, peering close as the inscription took shape. Then, with a final slash, Jack stepped back. They both grinned at the ragged letters:
JAQOVHARTS
“Could’ve just put ‘Jack & Petros were here?’” Petros teased, eyebrows raised.
Jack smirked. “Nah. Gotta keep some mystery for the next poor sap who stumbles onto that dungeon.”
They stepped aside as the door wavered, the carving shimmering with it, until the entire structure faded into nothingness. The meadow fell quiet again, an afternoon breeze rustling the tall grass. After the claustrophobic corridors, the fresh air felt like a gift.
Petros exhaled contentedly. “Guess we conquered a chunk of that dungeon. And we lived to brag about it.” He glanced around the wide field, feeling a swirl of relief. “Ready to head back to Pendle?”
Jack slung an arm over the boy’s shoulders, smirking. “Let’s. That place might even feel normal after all this.” He cast one lingering look at where the door had stood. The inscription they left was gone—at least to the naked eye. But hopefully, it would remain as a testament to their half-insane, half-heroic feats.
Saul trotted ahead, ears perked. The two “players” followed, hearts still pounding with adrenaline but stirring with renewed hope. After all the illusions, boss fights, and twisted “key” found along the way, they’d earned a moment of real sunshine—and a chance to plan for whatever mysteries the next level of the dungeon might still hold.