The Sunken Mausoleum – Descent into Darkness

Beneath the City – A Forgotten Tomb

The entrance to the Sunken Mausoleum was exactly where the map had indicated—hidden beneath the streets of Veyleigh, buried under layers of filth and forgotten history.

Arlan stood in front of the iron-barred sewer grate, his cloak drawn tightly around him. The cold, damp air stank of rot and stagnant water. Beyond the bars, a crumbling tunnel stretched downward into blackness.

He exhaled, gripping his wand. "Looks inviting."

Vrekk flicked one of his new daggers, unimpressed. "Too quiet."

Gorrick sniffed the air, his ears twitching. "Dead things below."

Arlan knelt, inspecting the rusted chains that once sealed the entrance. They had been cut—recently.

"The necromancer's already inside," he muttered.

Without another word, he pushed forward.

The Descent into the Depths

The tunnels beneath Veyleigh were labyrinthine, winding paths carved from damp stone and held together by crumbling mortar. The deeper they went, the stronger the scent of decay became.

Then, the water started.

At first, it was just damp ground beneath their boots.

Then, it reached their ankles.

By the time they reached the mausoleum's entrance, the water was knee-deep, cold and murky, rippling with unseen movements.

Arlan grimaced. "Well, this is disgusting."

Gorrick grinned, splashing his massive foot through the water. "Fun."

Vrekk, standing perfectly still, barely disturbed the surface. "No sound. Good for hunting."

Arlan pushed forward.

The mausoleum entrance loomed ahead—a cracked archway adorned with ancient carvings, glowing runes etched into the stone. The necromantic aura here was thick, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Someone had awakened something.

And then—they heard chanting.

The Necromancer Revealed

Inside the mausoleum, standing at the center of a flooded burial chamber, was the final necromancer.

Unlike the others, this one wasn't trembling with fear.

He stood tall, his dark robes slick with moisture, his hands raised in perfect control as he wove magic through the air. His ritual circle pulsed, the water around him glowing with sickly green light.

Arlan's grip tightened.

The necromancer's gaze flicked toward him, his eyes sharp and aware.

"So… you're the one who's been ruining our plans."

His voice was smooth, almost amused.

Arlan didn't waste time with words. He raised his wand, ready to strike.

The necromancer smirked.

"Kill them."

The water erupted.

The Undead Guardians – Hulking Knights of Death

From the depths of the flooded chamber, massive figures rose.

Undead knights.

Not like the weak skeletons from before—these were ancient warriors, their armor still gleaming beneath layers of rust and filth. Their eyes burned with unnatural light.

And they were fast.

One knight lunged at Gorrick, its greatsword carving through the water like air. Gorrick caught the blade mid-swing, but the impact still sent him skidding backward.

Another knight charged Vrekk, swinging a massive axe.

Vrekk vanished into the shadows, his form flickering—only to reappear behind the knight, daggers flashing.

But these knights didn't fall like normal undead.

Vrekk's dagger stabbed deep into its neck—

And the knight didn't even react.

Arlan cursed. "They're reinforced."

The necromancer smirked. "You'll find my creations are far more… durable."

Then—he moved.

Arlan vs. The Necromancer

A shadowy spike shot from the necromancer's outstretched hand.

Arlan barely dodged, rolling through the water as the spike exploded against the stone behind him.

The necromancer didn't let up. He sent another attack—a swarm of black tendrils shot forward, writhing toward Arlan like grasping hands.

Arlan raised his wand, summoning Black Shroud—a wave of necrotic mist surged forward, colliding with the tendrils.

The chamber shook with the force of their magic colliding.

Arlan gritted his teeth. This necromancer was stronger than the others.

This wasn't just some foolish cultist.

This was a true necromancer.

And he was winning.

The Brutal Fight – Gorrick and Vrekk Push Their Limits

Gorrick roared, finally breaking free from his deadlock with the knight. He swung his massive fists, shattering armor, sending one of the undead knights crashing through the chamber walls.

But the knight didn't die.

It stood up.

Unfazed.

Gorrick's eyes narrowed.

"Strong."

Vrekk, meanwhile, had adapted.

He no longer aimed to kill—he aimed to cripple.

His daggers found weak points, slicing through joints, tendons, the exposed gaps in armor.

One of the knights collapsed, unable to move.

Arlan saw his opening.

He turned back to the necromancer, raising his wand.

"I've had enough of this."

The necromancer's smirk vanished.

Arlan attacked.

The Necromancer's Last Mistake

A Shadow Bolt streaked toward the necromancer.

He raised his hand—too slow.

The attack slammed into his chest, sending him reeling.

For the first time, his composure broke.

"You—!"

Arlan didn't stop.

A second Shadow Bolt.

It ripped through the necromancer's arm, the flesh blackening, disintegrating into dust.

The necromancer screamed.

His hand, still clutching his wand, fell into the water.

But even now, he was smiling.

"You… have no idea… what you've done."

Arlan's stomach twisted.

And then—the ritual circle ignited.

Cliffhanger: The Lich Stirs

The necromancer collapsed, his body failing.

But the ritual was already complete.

The water began to swirl, pulling toward the center of the chamber.

A deep, resonant laugh echoed through the crypt.

Gorrick shifted uneasily. "Not good."

Vrekk's daggers twitched in his hands. "Not dead."

Arlan's breath was shallow.

The Lich was awakening.

And they were standing in its tomb.