Wails of Despair

The moment Michael and Valencia bolted from the ghastly figure, the dungeon itself seemed to come alive. The walls warped and shifted, casting erratic shadows that clawed at them as they sprinted through the winding corridors. Each twist and turn felt like a labyrinth designed to trap them, the oppressive darkness growing thicker with every step.

Behind them, the wailing of the apparition echoed through the halls, its ghastly voice resonating in their bones like a dirge for the dead. Michael's heart pounded in his chest as he risked a glance over his shoulder. The spirit was relentless, gliding after them with an otherworldly grace, its towering form stretching across the hallway like an inescapable nightmare.

"We have to keep moving!" Michael shouted, his voice strained from the effort of running.

Valencia, her crimson eyes alight with determination, nodded but kept her focus ahead, scanning the dim, twisted corridors for any sign of an escape. The dungeon seemed to warp in response to their presence, the walls almost shifting to funnel them deeper into its maw.

"This thing isn't going to stop, is it?" she muttered between heavy breaths, her frustration beginning to show.

The ghastly figure was gaining on them, its massive, skeletal hand reaching out as if to drag them into the abyss. With every pulse of dark energy that emanated from it, the air around them grew colder, the ghostly wails louder.

Then they saw it: a dead end.

Michael's heart sank as they skidded to a stop, the hallway abruptly cutting off into a solid stone wall. There was nowhere left to run. The haunting glow of the wraith's hollow eyes illuminated the space behind them, casting long, flickering shadows over their faces.

"This can't be happening," Michael growled, slamming his fist against the stone wall in frustration. His mind raced for a solution, but the figure's cold, inevitable approach left him with little time to think.

Valencia stepped forward, her eyes narrowing in defiance. "We can't keep running forever." She raised her hand, her fingers crackling with arcane energy. "Let's see how it handles this."

She threw a fireball, a swirling mass of red and orange flames hurtling toward the spirit. The spell lit up the corridor for a brief moment, the heat from the flames warming Michael's skin. For a second, hope sparked in his chest.

But that hope was immediately dashed. The fireball passed straight through the spirit's ethereal form, dissipating into the darkness as though it had hit nothing at all. The figure didn't even flinch.

"Damn it!" Valencia cursed, her frustration growing. "Physical attacks won't work. That thing isn't bound by the same rules as us."

The spirit continued to advance, its spiritual hand stretching out further. The air grew thick with dread, and for the first time, Michael felt a wave of true helplessness wash over him. Was this how it would end?

Valencia wasn't ready to give up. Her eyes darted around, thinking fast. She unleashed a barrage of spells—lightning bolts, arcane blasts, wind blades—each one just as futile as the last. Every spell passed through the apparition like it was nothing more than mist. Her breathing grew heavy, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

"Valencia, it's no use!" Michael shouted, stepping in front of her, desperate to find any means of stopping the advancing wraith. "We need to think of something else!"

But Valencia wasn't listening. Her crimson eyes were locked onto the spirit, her mind whirling with a wild, desperate idea. Magic wouldn't work—at least, not in the conventional sense. If fire, lightning, and physical spells couldn't touch it, then the answer had to lie in something else. Something deeper. Something less tangible.

She felt it—the dark pulse of the creature's very essence, the faint but unmistakable echo of its soul. It wasn't like anything she had ever encountered before, but there was something there, hidden beneath the layers of death and despair that radiated from the creature. It had a soul, or what was left of one, and that was its weakness.

"I have an idea," she muttered, her voice low and dangerous.

Michael glanced at her, confused. "What? What are you talking about?"

"I'm going to attack its soul," she said, her voice steady despite the chaotic energy around them.

Michael blinked. "Its soul? You don't even know how to—"

"I don't need to know," she interrupted, her eyes burning with determination. "I can feel it. I can feel its core, the remnants of whatever this thing used to be. I'm going to destroy it."

With that, she closed her eyes, blocking out the noise, the pressure, the weight of the dungeon's gaze. She focused, diving deep into the arcane reservoir within her, reaching for a type of magic she had never tried before—magic that wasn't taught, magic that wasn't learned. It was instinctual to her, primal.

A soft glow began to form around her hands, a deep crimson light that pulsed with the rhythm of her own heartbeat. She reached out toward the spirit, the light from her hands stretching forward like tendrils of blood, seeking the core of the creature before them.

The spirit halted its advance, as though sensing something had changed. Its hollow eyes locked onto Valencia, and for the first time, there was hesitation. The tendrils of crimson light wrapped around the figure, slipping through the folds of its tattered robe, winding through its form like vines searching for a heart to strangle.

Valencia's eyes snapped open, her pupils glowing with the same crimson light as her magic. "Found you."

The spirit let out a terrible, unearthly wail as the tendrils of Valencia's magic sank deep into its seemingly invisible soul. The room trembled, the very air vibrating with the intensity of the dark energy being released. The wraith thrashed, its massive form convulsing as if it were trying to break free, but it was too late. Valencia's magic had latched onto its soul, and it wasn't letting go.

With one final, wrenching motion, she clenched her fist, and the crimson tendrils constricted. The spirit's wail reached a deafening crescendo before, in an instant, it fell silent.

The ghastly figure dissolved before their eyes, its translucent form shattering like glass into a million pieces, each fragment vanishing into the shadows until nothing remained. The oppressive air lifted, and the temperature began to rise once more.

Valencia let out a long breath, the glow around her hands fading. She staggered slightly, the large consumption of mana to exert the soul magic clearly taking its toll, but she remained standing, her gaze fixed on where the apparition had once been.

Michael blinked in astonishment. "You… did it."

Valencia turned to him, a small, exhausted smile on her face. "I didn't know if that would work… but I had to try."

Michael stepped closer, placing his remaining hand on her shoulder. "You just destroyed a spirit by attacking its soul… I don't think people usually can do that."

Valencia gave a half-shrug, still catching her breath. "I guess I'm not like most people."

Michael chuckled, the tension finally beginning to fade. "No, you're definitely not."

But even as they shared that brief moment of victory, Michael couldn't shake the feeling that something far more dangerous lay ahead. If a creature like that was merely part of the dungeon, what else was waiting for them in the shadows? What other trials would they face that couldn't be beaten by conventional means?

Valencia straightened, brushing her hair back from her face. "Let's keep moving. I doubt that was the last of the surprises this place has for us."

Michael nodded, casting one final glance at the empty space where the spirit had been. "Yeah. Let's go."

With renewed resolve, they turned their backs on the dead end and started down another corridor, the dungeon's secrets still waiting to be unraveled.