The Knights Investigators?!

The stench of stale sweat and despair clung to the air in the interrogation room.

Edgar, the hunter leader – the beast who'd bested Lisa – hung limp in his chains, a pathetic parody of the power he'd wielded.

His defeated gaze, visible through the observation window, was a chilling counterpoint to the thrumming pulse of anger in my chest.

Stella, her face a mask of icy calculation, stood beside me, the scent of her sharp, expensive perfume a jarring contrast to the grim scene.

"D-rank Knight," she spat, the words like shards of glass. "A low rank Knight like you. But with power that rivals a low-tier S-rank. A dangerous anomaly." Her eyes, cold and assessing, bored into me, stripping away my pretense.

She knew.

She suspected I was far more entangled with the Shadow Hunters than I'd let on.

My gut twisted. Lisa.

The image of her pale face, the fragile pulse of her mana… almost extinguished.

"How is she?" The question ripped from my throat, raw with fear.

Stella's response was a poisoned dart. "Our healers are doing what they can. But something… something is blocking her mana flow. It's… unprecedented. Even Minerva can't unravel it. Lisa's dying, Alstair."

The words hung in the suffocating silence, heavy as lead.

The metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth; I could almost taste Lisa's fading life force.

My family.

Their safety had been my priority, my driving force.

But Lisa's plight, the unfairness of it all, clawed at my conscience.

This wasn't just a rescue mission anymore; it was a desperate race against time.

Stella's hand, cold as death, clamped on my wrist.

"If you help her, Alstair, you risk everything." Her voice, low and urgent, vibrated with a warning that sent icy dread down my spine.

"Risk what?" I snarled, my voice rough with fury. "The pathetic bleating of the public? The Knight Association's petty concerns? Lisa saved my family. That alone makes my debt immeasurable."

The news footage, the distorted narrative… it was bile in my mouth.

They'd paint her as a villain, twist the truth to justify their own cowardice.

Stella's eyes flashed. "The public perception, Alstair! Your guild's reputation! Your rank! The Association will not tolerate this. They despise Shadow Hunters." Her voice was a venomous hiss.

My jaw clenched.

"Their hypocrisy is as deafening as their silence. I am not swayed by their hollow pronouncements. Lisa is not a criminal; she's a hero." My own words felt like a battle cry.

"Then save her. But do it quietly," she commanded, releasing my wrist. "Do it in the shadows, where they can't taint her name or yours. The world hates Shadow Hunters. Let them hate us in silence."

Then she was gone, leaving me alone with the gnawing weight of my choices, and the chilling certainty that I would face any hell to save Lisa.

I just nodded, then take my leave to the special medical room for Stella.

The air in the medical room hung thick with the cloying scent of antiseptic and fear.

A frantic ballet of healers, their faces etched with grim determination, pulsed with the raw energy of their spells, a shimmering, emerald light barely holding back the encroaching darkness around Lisa.

Her skin, the color of bleached bone, was stretched taut over her sharp features; her shallow breaths rasped like the whisper of death.

The rhythmic thrum of their magic felt like a hammer against my ribs.

Minerva, her S-rank Knight's aura a fractured thing, barely contained, stood over Lisa.

Her usual steely composure was shattered, replaced by a haunted desperation that mirrored my own.

I knew her – a woman who'd faced down dragons, yet now seemed utterly defeated by this silent battle.

I'd saved her husband, a debt she carried like a heavy cloak.

Now, it was my turn to pay.

"It's…blocked," Minerva gasped, her voice raw with exhaustion. "Her mana flow – the very lifeblood of a Knight – is completely stagnant. The healing magic...it's useless."

The words hit me like a physical blow, the metallic tang of blood flooding my mouth.

"How much time?" I demanded, my voice a guttural rasp.

She flinched, her gaze dropping to the floor.

The silence stretched, filled only with the frantic pulse of the healers' magic and the rasp of Lisa's breath, each one a nail hammered into my coffin of despair.

Finally, she looked up, her eyes filled with a grief too vast for words. "Thirty percent. Twenty-four hours, Alstair. At best."

The coldness gripped my heart, a vise squeezing the air from my lungs.

Thirty percent.

A statistical death sentence.

My mind raced, desperate, grasping at straws.

The Black Dagger…could it be the key?

But it had never caused this kind of blockage.

The mystery deepened, a suffocating vortex swirling around Lisa's fading life, entwined with the enigma of the Shadow Hunters, the stolen miracle potion, and the shadowy sorcerer who haunted my past, a relentless specter fueled by revenge.

He was the reason my mother and sister were gone.

Rage, hot and primal, ignited within me, eclipsing fear.

I ripped the vial of Miracle Potion from my System's Inventory, the cool glass a stark contrast to the fiery inferno within me.

It was a desperate gamble, a Hail Mary pass in a game I was losing.

"No!" Minerva shrieked, her voice barely audible above the sudden, deafening roar in my ears. "It's too unstable! She's too weak!"

I ignored her, a blind, desperate fury propelling me forward.

I knelt beside Lisa, the fragile weight of her life pressing into my hands.

Her skin was ice-cold beneath my fingers.

Ignoring Minerva's desperate pleas, I forced the potion to her lips, the sweet, sickly scent a stark counterpoint to the metallic tang of blood still coating my tongue.

As the liquid touched her lips, a blinding blue light erupted from within her, forcing me back.

A raw, potent power, alien and terrifying, pulsed through the room, washing away the emerald light of the healers and eclipsing the chilling stillness of death.

> Utilized Miracle Potion (x1)!

Lisa's eyes snapped open, a jolt that vibrated through her pale frame.

Sweat slicked her skin, but for a fleeting instant, she seemed to hover above the bed, bathed in a blinding blue aura that crackled with raw power before fading.

The scent of ozone hung heavy in the air, a sharp tang against the cloying sweetness of antiseptic.

Her breath hitched, a ragged rasp in the sudden silence, her eyelids fluttering closed again.

Minerva's gasp was a strangled cry.

"Her mana… it surged! How? Healers! Now!"

The rhythmic chanting of the healing spells filled the room, a counterpoint to the frantic pounding of my own heart.

Lisa's fingers twitched, reaching for me, a desperate plea in the tremor of her limbs.

A choked whisper, the faintest articulation of my name, died on her lips.

"Rest, Lisa," I whispered, my voice rough with a grief that clawed at my throat. "Don't worry about my family. My turn."

The weight of their absence pressed down, a suffocating blanket of fear.

Turning, I met Minerva's gaze, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and suspicion.

"What did you give her?" Her voice was a low, urgent murmur.

"A miracle," I replied, my tone clipped, leaving the unspoken truth hanging between us. "Watch over her, Minerva. I'm counting on you."

The investigation room was cold, the steel of the window bars a stark contrast to the warmth of my hand clutching the worn leather of my sword hilt.

Stella stood before Edgar, a silhouette against the harsh light.

His face was drawn, his defiance a thin mask over weariness.

He looked broken, but his eyes burned with a dangerous light.

Stella's voice, crisp and commanding, cut through the tense silence. "Alstair."

The single word was an order, devoid of any pretense of politeness.

Edgar's eyes, filled with the bitter residue of hatred, landed on me. "Alstair! You... you joined them? The hypocrisy! The shame!"

A cold amusement played on my lips. "More shameful to be branded a Shadow Hunter, wouldn't you agree?"

His voice cracked, desperation a raw edge to his words. "You! Zeta's chosen one! Serving these… these humans? I can take you to your family! I swear it!"

The desperate plea was a pathetic counterpoint to the fury in his eyes.

It was the desperate gamble of a cornered beast.

Stella sighed, a weary exhalation that mirrored my own frustration. "He's going on about the Knight Association, about humanity's failings, as if he has all the time in the world. I'm bored."

My voice was ice. "Your theatrics are pointless, Edgar. Tell me where my family is, and the location of your… organization. Now."

The steel in my gaze held the weight of a broken world.

"No! I will help you that, but not in the means of helping Knight Association! Don't you understand what Rhaegar want to do?! He want to put Knight Association and monsters kneeled down upon our ideal! The Shadow Hunter!", Edgar insisted.

"The fuck does he mean?!" The words ripped from my throat, raw and ragged.

My father, the leader of the Shadow Hunters?

The smug bastard hadn't dared mention it during our duel, but the suspicion had festered, a venomous insect gnawing at my insides.

And Lisa… I knew there was a connection.

The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth, a phantom taste from the recent battle.

"Tell me, Edgar," I snarled, my voice a low growl, "Is Lisa part of your pathetic little Shadow Hunter nest?"

The stench of fear, acrid and sharp, clung to Edgar as he whimpered, "She… she was. A traitor. She abandoned our… our ideology." His voice cracked, a pathetic whine.

Ideology?

The rigid, suffocating dogma of these fascists.

No wonder Lisa was broken.

My Lisa.

A cold fury, icy and absolute, consumed me. "Lisa is my family now, Edgar. And you crossed an unforgivable line. Prepare to pay." The air crackled with raw power of my lightning bolt, thick as a man's torso, lanced out as I casted it out, slamming into him.

The searing heat, the smell of ozone, filled the air.

His scream was a strangled, animalistic shriek.

Again, and again, the lightning bolts tore into him – ten times, each strike a brutal punctuation mark against his defiance.

Stella's voice, sharp as shattered glass, cut through the air, "Alstair! Stop!"

But the taste of vengeance was too sweet.

I pointed my Imperial Scepter, the cold metal a comforting weight in my hand. "Your plan to kidnap my family... to violate the sanctity of my home… explain it, Edgar, before I add a little Fire Storm to this electrifying party."

Another scream, this one choked with agony.

He was a broken puppet, twitching and spasming on the ground.

But I needed answers.

I swung the scepter, the sickening thud of bone echoing in the chamber.

The raw, animalistic strength of the Gaia Endowment surged through me.

Each stomp pounded through my boots, through his ribs, his body shuddering.

The wet, coppery stench of blood invaded my nostrils.

"Alstair! Don't—" Stella's protest was lost in the rhythmic crunch of breaking bone.

"This is mine," I ground out, each syllable laced with lethal intent.

His screams, a symphony of agony, were music to my ears, yet I felt nothing but a chilling emptiness.

The thrill of power was gone; only the relentless pursuit of information remained. "If I die… I will die in the name of the Shadow Hunters!"

His voice was a ragged whisper, the words fueled by a desperate, delusional pride. Stella sighed, the sound weary and resigned. "It's no use, Alstair. We've tried everything. Their loyalty, their damned pride… it's unbreakable."

Frustration, raw and brutal, consumed me.

Their stubborn silence was a wall, impenetrable, infuriating.

I had broken him, but the secrets of the Shadow Hunters remained locked away, a dark and dangerous puzzle I was far from solving.

My breath hitched, a cold sweat slicking my palms as I forced myself to calm the tremor.

The System's menu bar swam before my eyes; the Black Dagger, a pulsing obsidian shard, beckoned.

Its connection to the Shadow Hunters, a venomous serpent coiled around my heart, had obsessed me since its discovery.

As I drew the dagger, the chilling weight a physical manifestation of my rage, Edgar's gasp was a strangled whisper, barely audible above the pounding of blood in my ears.

The cold steel felt alive in my hand.

I aimed the point at his head, the sudden paralysis in his eyes, the stark white of his face, a testament to its power.

Fear, raw and palpable, hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

"So, you're a Black Dagger wielder too," he stammered, his voice cracking, "Alstair… I almost forgot." His voice was a pathetic plea, tinged with the desperate hope of a drowning man. "You and Rhaegar, the chosen ones. Don't throw this away for some petty Knight Association!"

I ignored his pleas, pressing the razor-sharp edge against his throat, the cool steel a chilling contrast to the heat of my fury.

With a guttural whisper, I dragged the blade across his stomach, drawing a thin line of blood.

"It's not about the Knight Association, Edgar," I snarled, my voice a venomous hiss. "This… this is about vengeance. You crossed a line, and now, you'll pay."

The silence stretched, taut and suffocating, punctuated only by the ragged rasp of Edgar's breathing.

The dagger plunged into his flesh.

A scream, a guttural, animalistic shriek ripped through the air, a sound that clawed at my soul.

His body convulsed, twisting, spasming.

A black vein, like a malevolent serpent, erupted across his neck, spreading across his face, a chilling testament to the Black Dagger's cursed power.

His agony was a symphony of terror, a prolonged, agonizing wail that echoed through the chamber.

Minutes stretched into an eternity as he writhed in pain, his body wracked by unseen forces, the black vein tightening its grip.

The smell of iron filled the air, mingling with the coppery tang of his fear.

"Please… release it! I beg you!" His voice was barely a croak, his body thrashing uncontrollably, a puppet on strings of agony.

I tilted the dagger, a cruel twist that elicited another scream, deafening, bone-jarring, a sound that threatened to shatter the very fabric of reality.

"The Clock Tower Dungeon!" he gasped, his voice broken, "The hidden dungeon! The boss… is there!"

Stella's voice, laced with desperate hope, cut through the horror. "Alstair, what he says might be a lead. Let him go."

Edgar's screams, a guttural, animalistic shriek, clawed at my ears, the air thick with the coppery tang of blood.

Seconds stretched into an eternity until I sheathed the Black Dagger, the chilling weight of it a stark contrast to the sudden, blessed emptiness where the black vein had pulsed across his body.

He crumpled, unconscious, a broken marionette discarded after a brutal show.

The stench of sweat and fear clung to him, a testament to his agonizing ordeal.

"S-rank Dungeon: The Clock Tower Dungeon," Stella's voice, clipped and sharp, sliced through the silence. Her eyes, usually bright and defiant, were shadowed with a grim determination that chilled me to the bone. "They're in there, Alstair. In that festering, gothic tomb."

I moved, a coiled spring ready to unleash, but Stella's hand, cold as death, clamped on my arm.

"You can't go, Alstair." The words hit me like a physical blow.

"My family, Stella! My family is in there!" The raw desperation in my voice mirrored the frantic pounding of my heart.

My family.

The thought was a white-hot brand seared onto my soul.

"The news… the Shadow Hunter accusations," she choked out, her voice tight with the strain of keeping her composure. "It's a wildfire, Alstair. Even if it's false, associating the Knight Association with you now is political suicide. I can't risk it."

Reasonable?

Bull.

Sheathing bullshit in the hollow shell of pragmatism.

My family's life hanging in the balance while these spineless bureaucrats trembled at the whims of public opinion.

Lisa, my unwavering partner, branded a public enemy alongside me – the gall of it!

"I'll go undercover," I pleaded, a desperate rasp escaping my lips. "No cameras, no official sanction. Just let me in."

Stella shook her head, her face etched with the burden of a thousand impossible choices. "The whispers have reached the high council, Alstair. They're paralyzed by fear. Fear of perception, not the monsters that stalk the Clock Tower." The scorn in her voice was a knife twisting in the wound.

Those fat, complacent executives – their fear a more terrifying foe than any dungeon crawler.

Silence, thick and suffocating.

Then, the jarring peal of my phone – Avyanna.

Why now?

"Alstair… are you alright? Something's happened to you and Lisa… I'm… I'm so sorry, I can't help. Something's… preventing me." Her voice, usually so strong, was laced with a tremor of helplessness, a crack in her usual flawless facade.

I forced a calmness I didn't feel. "Don't worry. We'll handle this." The lie tasted like ash in my mouth.

Damn this poisonous tide of public perception, drowning my family, drowning me.

Avyanna's voice, choked with sobs, rasped through the comms, a chilling tremor in the air itself. "The Crystallice Guild… they Knight Executives accusing you, Lisa… of being Shadow Hunters. They're sealing the guild. I… I had to leave, Alstair. I'm back with my father."

The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth – the taste of betrayal.

The heck?

The question clawed its way out, a strangled roar against the sudden, suffocating silence.

My guild, my guild, dissolved because of this ludicrous lie?

The bitter taste of ash coated my tongue.

The Clock Tower Dungeon – my only hope of saving my parents – slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.

Panic, raw and visceral, seized me.

"Avyanna, we can fight this! This is insane! We're innocent!" My voice cracked, mirroring the desperate splintering of my resolve.

But her reply was a finality colder than any winter's night.

The line went dead, leaving a hollow ache in my chest.

The silence screamed.

I slammed the comm unit down, the sharp plastic a small comfort against the crushing weight of despair.

Stella's voice, smooth and infuriatingly calm, cut through the storm. "See? Efficient, if ruthless. Necessary, Alstair."

Necessary for the Knight Association's pristine image, not for my family's life.

The words were like ice picks to my heart.

My gut churned.

Stella, with her serene smile and calculated moves – a powerful ally, yes, but could she be trusted?

The Shadow Hunters were cunning, ruthless, their power a dark mirror to hers. She might succeed, but failure was a terrifying abyss.

I had no luxury of doubt.

Zeta's curse – a burden, a responsibility, a burning brand on my soul – fueled my resolve.

This wasn't just about my family; it was about the price I'd paid, the sacrifices I'd made.

This was my life's battle.

"I won't be a Guild representative," I offered, my voice strained, a desperate plea for a sliver of hope. "Let me go in as a Knight's Carrier."

Stella's refusal was swift, final, chilling.

The heavy clang of steel, the rough scrape of handcuffs, the cold press of metal against my wrists – it was a brutal slap in the face.

Their efficiency was a sickening display of power.

"Don't worry," Stella said, her voice laced with a chilling formality that belied the flicker of something akin to regret in her eyes. "Your mother and sister are our top priority."

Priority.

The word tasted like ash and bile.

"Is this how you repay me?" My voice was a low growl, the years of loyalty and trust dissolving into a bitter acid.

Lisa and I, we risked everything, delivering crucial intelligence, dismantling their operatives.

Stella's response was a sigh, a weary resignation.

The anger and regret simmering beneath her composed exterior were palpable, the scent of burnt bridges heavy in the air.

"What choice did I have, Alstair? The high command… they gave their orders. This… this hurts me too. But more than that it destroys you." Her voice broke, the carefully constructed façade crumbling under the weight of the situation.

And in that moment, I knew, with icy certainty, that I was utterly alone.

"Do your job," I spat, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "But don't delude yourself. My family? I'd damn the world to save them."

The Knight, one of Stella's hounds, hauled me away, the rough grip a brand on my arm.

Stella remained impassive, a statue of glacial indifference.

Five A-rank Knights, a suffocating wall of steel and malice, escorted me.

The air thickened with the metallic scent of their armor, the press of their bodies a physical violation.

Then, the brutal shove.

The cell—a cramped tomb reeking of mildew and despair—offered only a pallet and a chipped closet.

The anger, a molten core within me, threatened to erupt.

Why?

The Knight's Association, the Shadow Hunters… their clumsy machinations to save my family were an insult, a festering wound.

I sank onto the pallet, the rough wood biting into my skin.

Rage pulsed through me, a venomous tide.

They will pay.

But I suppressed it, forcing my breathing to slow, a deliberate, agonizing exercise in self-control.

An hour bled into the oppressive silence.

My senses sharpened.

The stale air felt heavy on my tongue, the rough texture of the stone beneath my back a constant reminder of my confinement.

My magical senses hummed, pinpointing the two CCVs, their digital eyes relentlessly tracking my every move, and the two A-rank Knights stationed outside.

The moment arrived.

A subtle shift in their posture, a microsecond of distraction.

With a precise surge of power, I unleashed a lightning bolt, silent and swift.

The cameras exploded in a shower of sparks, their surveillance abruptly ended.

The guards remained oblivious, lost in their self-importance.

I rose, my movements fluid, lethal.

The iron bars, cold and unforgiving, held no fear for me.

A magical barrier, shimmering faintly, wrapped around the cell.

I struck the bars, the impact sending a tremor through the wall.

The magical barrier flickered into visibility.

A cruel smile split the face of one of Stella's knights, a towering brute clad in full plate armor, his mana a palpable aura of brute strength.

A tanker.

"Ah, you've noticed our little surprise," he sneered, his voice a gravelly rasp. "Five tanker knights. Our combined skill creates a barrier you won't breach. Lady Stella warned us about your…irregular…power. But frankly, we doubt you'll even scratch it. Go ahead, try." His words were a goad, a challenge that resonated with the burning resentment within me.

The other four hulking figures materialized, their presence instantly tightening the magical cage around me.

Their mana, a living web, pulsed with the power of their collective will.

The churning in my gut mirrored the five Tanker Knights weaving their arcane energies, a shimmering, sapphire barrier coalescing before me – a spectacle I'd witnessed only in hushed legends.

Even its formidable strength couldn't mask the metallic tang of fear in my mouth; time was bleeding out, each second a nail hammered into my chances of infiltrating Stella's raid.

The sterile white of the cell pressed in, a blinding glare reflecting off the mana-infused metal – a cage forged from the very power my captors wielded.

The knight's sneering voice, a venomous whisper, slithered into my ears.

"Think you can outwit Lady Stella? She's extended a twisted courtesy, keeping you here while she 'rescues' your family. Your pathetic alliance with a Shadow Hunter…that's the truth they'll remember."

A thousand burning words choked me.

He didn't understand the agonizing pact I'd made with Zeta, the price I'd pay, the depths I'd plumb to save my family.

The Knight Association's methodical approach was an agonizingly slow death.

I needed to act.

Now.

My hands throbbed with the surge of Magical Magnification.

The raw power of the Dragon Casting Spell, a tempest waiting to be unleashed, thrummed beneath my skin.

Fire, wind, lightning…the perfect storm?

But the collateral damage…the Knight Association's hallowed halls reduced to ashes...

The image seared my retinas.

Then, a spark of desperate clarity.

The metal.

The glistening, mana-saturated metal of my prison.

A conduit.

Lightning Bolt, untamed and swift, would tear through it like a vengeful god.

The knight's laughter, a cruel, brittle sound, pierced the silence.

"Give it up, worm. You think you're tougher than the Association? You're a pariah, a hunted shadow! Alone. Facing the Clock Tower Dungeon...again? Is that really where you want to end up?" His words were like icy shards.

He didn't know the horrors of the Abandoned Tower, the bone-chilling solitude, the taste of despair.

He couldn't fathom the depth of my rage, the cold fire burning in my soul.

He didn't know I'd already walked through hell, and I'd gladly do it again to save my family.

This arrogant fool…this pathetic pawn…he'd soon learn.

His mockery fueled the storm brewing within me, igniting the final, desperate gamble.

"Funny word," I hissed. "A-rank, you call yourselves? Pathetic."

The sneer felt as good as the crackle of raw power building in my veins.

Five hulking Tanker Knights, their faces a mask of arrogant certainty, watched me.

Their eyes, I noted, held a flicker of something akin to fear—buried deep beneath the bluster. "Taste this," I snarled, the words a prelude to the storm.

The air shimmered, as Magical Magnification amplified the already devastating Lightning Bolt.

It wasn't just a spell; it was a visceral eruption, a white-hot lance of energy that seared the metallic cell walls, the sound a deafening crack that vibrated through my bones.

The smell of burning metal filled the air, acrid and sharp.

The crackle reverberated in my skull, a symphony of destruction.

Their screams were swallowed by the roar of the storm I unleashed – a storm born of pure, unadulterated rage.

Each subsequent bolt slammed into them, a brutal hammer blow of energy, their armor groaning under the assault.

I could almost feel their mana snapping, their bodies convulsing as the paralyzing current ripped through their defenses.

Their forms, once rigid bulwarks, crumpled like broken dolls, their eyes wide with a terror that mirrored, yet paled beside my own.

The barrier, their pitiful shield, evaporated.

I stepped over them, their groans a morbid lullaby, the scent of their fear clinging to the air like a shroud.

Freedom.

The cold steel of the cell door felt alien under my hand, a stark contrast to the scorching heat that still lingered on my skin.

But the taste of victory was short-lived.

A vise-like grip clamped onto my ankle – the stubborn, defiant grip of the last surviving knight.

His breath hitched in ragged gasps, a symphony of pain and disbelief. "

You…you damned irregular!" he rasped, his voice a choked whisper. "How…how did you…?" His eyes, bloodshot and wild, burned with a potent cocktail of hatred and bewilderment.

The fear, however, still lingered.

It was palpable.

I looked down at him, at the four broken figures sprawled around him, their faces a grotesque tapestry of agony and defeat.

A wave of cold satisfaction washed over me, mingling with the lingering electricity that still danced on the edges of my senses.

This was their punishment for underestimating me.

For believing themselves invincible.

"A trickster? A manipulator?" I laughed, the sound devoid of humor. "You call this a fight? This… this is barely a warm-up."

I leaned down, my voice a low, venomous purr in the suffocating silence. "Let me go, cur, before I make this… significantly worse."

His defiance flickered, replaced by the raw, animal fear of impending pain.

He opened his mouth to retort, but my spell silenced him before a single word could leave his lips.

The Return to Earth spell slammed into him, a weight far exceeding his own, a crushing pressure that bent metal and shattered bone.

His scream, a muffled gurgle, was quickly extinguished as darkness claimed him.

I left him there, amongst his fallen brethren, their shared fate a testament to my power.

The second my foot cleared the cell block, the Invisible Spell slammed into place – a chilling absence, a void where I should be.

Not a simple invisibility; it was a gut-wrenching severing from the world, a sensory deprivation so profound it felt like my very soul was being peeled away.

Next, the Gaia Endowment surged through me – raw, untamed power that roared in my veins like a wildfire.

My muscles coiled, a predator unleashed, propelling me upwards.

The Knight Association shrunk below, a pathetic ant hill.

The Air Walk Spell embraced me, not gently, but with the fierce certainty of a hawk seizing its prey.

The city spread beneath, a tapestry woven with the flickering lights of human lives.

North, I saw her – Stella's mana signature, a beacon pulsing with raw, untamed magic.

The stench of fear from the assembled knights reached me even from this altitude.

They stood arrayed in the field, a sacrificial offering before her power.

I plunged through the sky, a shadow against the dying light, the wind screaming past my ears.

I saw it then – the Magical Gate, shimmering with chaotic energy, a gateway to the S-rank Clock Tower Dungeon, a gaping maw promising oblivion.

Five Knight invaders, their auras reeking of arrogance and death – A-ranks and B-ranks, a pathetic display of strength against the true horrors that lurked within.

The rest of it are two healers and three hulking tankers.

They sought the Shadow Hunters' lair.

I drifted closer, my invisibility a razor's edge between existence and nothingness, my mana signature a whisper, a ghost's caress.

The sweat slicked my skin – not from exertion, but from the sheer terror of their presence, the desperate hope clinging to their hearts like a drowning man to a raft.

As they stepped through the gate, I followed – a phantom, a wraith, a predator in the shadows.

My own power barely a tremor in the maelstrom of their combined energies, a calculated risk, a dance on the precipice.

Success.

They were none the wiser.

The Air Walk Spell again – a desperate sprint, a tearing away from their inevitable demise.

From afar, I saw them, dwarfed by the monstrous Clock Tower, a skeletal finger pointing towards the heavens – the Clock Tower Dungeon, the place where my family's nightmare began.

Mother, Arlene, I'm here.

I will tear the world apart before I fail you.

I will bring you home.