A few moments before the dungeon fell into ruin, Dame, Agrona, and Zara entered through the green gate, the air thick with a strangely metallic essence that buzzed at the edge of perception. The atmosphere felt tense—alive, as though the dungeon itself sensed what was coming.
They had stepped in shortly after Team 10 had vanished into the depths of the forest, unaware that a carefully orchestrated disaster was already beginning to unfold.
"Logan is very impressive, Zara. You should be proud," Dame offered, his voice gruff but sincere. Zara didn't respond. Her sharp eyes scanned the tall ancient trees whose canopies kissed the sky with a quiet reverence. Without another word, she leapt upward, vanishing into the thick, shadowed tree line with a blur of movement.
"I'll be watching from above," she called out, her voice like fading wind.
Agrona sighed, shaking her head. "Dame, sometimes you need to be more gentle with those carrying grief. She lost someone recently, you know."
"I've gone to war," Dame replied flatly. "I've bathed in blood. I've seen friends decapitated in front of me and comrades turned into dust in my arms. I've buried my mother and siblings with my own hands. I understand grief."
He turned to her, his eyes hard like tempered iron.
"But what I can never understand is letting that grief turn into weakness. Grief should not make you sulk. It should forge you harder."
With that, he flickered away, his body blurring into light and shadow.
Agrona sighed again. "Loss. Pain. Grief. Emotion. All these are weaknesses in the eyes of beasts and calamities. The only way to survive... is to evolve beyond them."
She adjusted her glasses and walked deeper into the dungeon.
________________________________________
Elsewhere in the sprawling dungeon forest, Team 3 moved cautiously.
Denwen suddenly lifted a hand to halt Carl, his eyes narrowing. The forest ahead was unnaturally silent. Not just quiet—but lifeless.
"There's something wrong here," Tillo whispered, the tip of his arrow wavering slightly as he scanned the clearing. "This place... it's empty, but not in a good way. Like something cleared it out."
Denwen knelt beside the soil, fingers tracing the soft dirt. No charred remains. No signs of a blast. No claw marks or weapon impact. And no corpses. Just... nothing. A gaping wound in nature where trees should be.
"This wasn't caused by a spell," Ena murmured. "It feels like the ground itself was—wiped."
"Something is definitely off," Denwen muttered, his instincts roaring like a caged beast. "Carl, take charge. I'll investigate. Head toward the gate. Do not stop. If I'm not back in ten minutes, assume something's wrong."
With a flicker of motion, Denwen darted deeper into the shadows of the forest, the tension tightening around him like a rope around his throat.
Minutes later, he reached another clearing—wide, hollow, quiet like a funeral bell—and in the center lay a complex magic circle etched into the ground in glowing red and silver sigils.
Within the circle stood Dame, his head bowed, fingers tracing the lines with practiced precision.
Denwen stepped forward cautiously.
"Sir, what's happening?" he asked, taking a defensive stance. Every cell in his body screamed that something was dreadfully wrong.
"You're sharp," Dame said, standing upright, brushing dust from his knees. "I figured you'd notice these... things."
"You didn't draw this?" Denwen asked.
Dame shook his head. "No. This isn't mine. My expertise lies in my fists and brutality, not formations. But I recognize the style. And if I'm right..."
His voice grew cold.
"Boy, get back to your team. Head for the gate. Now."
"What do you mean—"
"NOW."
Denwen didn't argue. He turned and ran.
________________________________________
As Denwen raced back, Dvalin's voice crackled in his ear.
"Agrona. Dame. Zara. Do you hear me?! We might have an Ember among the students. Locate them immediately."
The message was cut off by static, shrieking into his earpiece like a dying scream.
Back at the circle, five figures erupted upward from the glowing runes—Scions—twisted humanoid monstrosities with elongated limbs, jagged teeth, and skin that rippled like corrupted ink.
They lunged.
Dame didn't flinch.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Before their claws could touch him, five explosive bursts of blood painted the trees crimson. Their heads had been crushed, skulls caved in by punches faster than light. Dame stood still, flicking black blood from his hand.
"Sir," he muttered into the mic, "I've eliminated five. I'm heading toward the portal—"
Silence.
Then static.
Dame's eyes narrowed. "Fuck. We've been compromised."
His aura flared—deep red and overwhelming—the signature of a Peak Rank 4. Essence surged around him like a hurricane. The magic circle began to break apart, unable to withstand his pressure.
But just as he turned to move—chains erupted from the broken formation.
Glowing, golden-white celestial chains.
They latched onto his core. His aura plummeted, his strength buckling.
"What the—? Why are celestial chains—" he gasped, staggering back.
He looked up, eyes wide, breath hitching.
"No... this can't be. If this is the real thing, I wouldn't stand a chance. A mimic. It must be."
Even weakened, Dame's base strength exceeded Rank 3. He gritted his teeth, broke free with sheer force, and vanished into the trees, the chains slithering after him like serpents.
________________________________________
All across the dungeon, portals began to rupture.
Miniature, unstable, glowing like cracks in reality. And from them poured Scions.
They came in waves—howling, screeching, slashing.
Their claws tore through air and bone alike. Their eyes gleamed with hunger. Their bodies danced between shadows and steel.
Children screamed.
Some ran. Others fought. Most didn't make it.
________________________________________
Kelix trembled. His wide green eyes darted from shape to shape, trying to find reason in the madness.
Kara stood her ground, voice hoarse from casting repeated buffs. Her enhancement earring buzzed, glowing dangerously hot from overuse. She shielded Hazel's body, stabilizing her injuries.
Quinn fought like lightning incarnate—his fists flaring with each strike as he held off two mid-rank Scions. Sparks flew with every contact. The air stank of burnt flesh and ozone.
Then, from behind—a portal opened.
And before anyone could react—
A scion struck.
Its claw burst through Quinn's spine, tearing through his chest with a wet, meaty crunch. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his body jerked, feet lifting off the ground.
His heart, still beating, clung to the claw before it slid off like meat from a skewer.
His body hit the dirt with a lifeless thud.
Kara's scream split the sky.
Klein roared and charged forward, but was batted aside like a doll.
Kelix, frozen in shock, barely had time to react as another scion grabbed him by the arm.
He screamed, the sound breaking into a sob, as he was dragged into the portal.
His body shimmered—and vanished.
________________________________________
Far away, Jay and Melissa were still locked in combat with the Martial Chief, its massive form covered in burns and slashes.
Then—the scions arrived.
The Martial Chief turned its gaze on them, and Melissa's flame flared with rage. Jay spun his hammer, readying for war.
More portals.
Their unawakened students dragged away screaming.
No time to save them.
Just time to fight.
________________________________________
Denwen burst into the clearing—his heart already sinking.
His team was surrounded by six scions, their twisted bodies slicing through the air with inhuman precision.
Carl was bleeding from a gash across his face. Tillo's bow was broken. Ena was still casting.
Then it happened.
A scion surged forward. Denwen tried to move, but he was a heartbeat too slow.
He watched in horror as the creature's claw tore through Ena's throat, severing flesh and windpipe in one clean swipe.
Blood erupted like a geyser.
She dropped, gurgling. Her wide eyes locked with Denwen's as the light in them faded.
He froze.
That moment of pause—
Another scion lunged.
It struck Ezekiel, hurling him sideways—into an open portal.
He didn't scream.
He just disappeared.
The scion turned to Denwen.
Its mouth twisted into a grin—jagged teeth and sick pleasure.
And Denwen, with his fists clenched.
'Every time, every single time he steps his foot in a dungeon something happens, why now' his thoughts raced rapidly.