The deeper they went, the more twisted the dungeon became.
What once resembled a laboratory with reinforced steel walls and flickering lights had evolved into a hybrid battlefield—half-mechanical, half-demonic.
Flame-spewing vents roared like beastly mouths.
Overhead pipes dripped molten metal instead of water, and monstrous constructs, fused with burning cores and industrial frames, roamed every corridor like sentinels from hell.
Elius walked at the front, his expression cold and serene.
Keith followed behind, limping slightly but not complaining.
He was covered in bruises and soot, but his eyes were sharper than ever, more determined.
He kept glancing at Elius, as if trying to engrave every motion into memory.
FWOOSH!
Suddenly, a fire jet burst out from the left corridor—an ambush trap.
CLANG!
Elius didn't even look. One of his floating swords spun sideways and deflected the fire blast, dispersing it like a breeze brushing away smoke.
Then came the real threat.
