Will of the Dungeon

A pressure began to rise in the chamber.

A presence. Not sentient. Not intelligent.

Just aware. Watching. Waiting.

BOOOOOM.

The first pulse of raw energy hit like an earthquake. A ripple of violet shock surged out from the core, distorting the air around it.

Belle staggered back, shielding Kai with her body as dust lifted off the floor in concentric rings.

It wasn't mana. It wasn't miasma either.

It was something primal.

Her draconic blood flared, reacting violently. Her eyes shimmered with threads of silver-blue light. Her instincts screamed in warning.

Something inside this core… was awakening.

Above ground. Across Dawnstead, townsfolk could feel the sudden chill in the air. Warriors and monsters alike paused in their battles. The sky warped slightly—like ripples across a mirror.

Captain Roderic and the Dungeon Suppression Squad felt it first as they were the closest to the dungeon.

A ripple down Roderic's spine. Not fear. Recognition.

He turned sharply toward the dungeon entrance.

"The hell was that…?" he whispered.

Vice-Captain Gale and the Perimeter Defense Squad fighting kilometers away from the dungeon, covered in blood and dust, looked up from the chaos. 

"Did you feel that pressure?"

"It's coming from the dungeon." Gale muttered. "Something just woke up."

Back below at Floor Twelve.

The second pulse hit like a hammer made of gravity.

CRACK.

The wall behind Belle shattered as the shockwave sent her flying. She twisted midair, wrapping herself protectively around Kai as the two were flung across the chamber like ragdolls.

Stone. Dust. Collapse.

They crashed hard—tumbling into a hidden corridor, deeper still.

Light flickered—dim torches long dead reigniting with blue flame as if reacting to their presence.

Belle landed on her side, gasping. Her back screamed in pain. Something warm trickled down her shoulder. But her arms stayed locked tight around Kai.

His breathing was slower now.

Almost nonexistent.

"No… Kai, don't—don't you dare—!"

She knelt beside him, brushing damp hair from his face. Her fingers trembled, silver-blue energy beginning to flicker faintly across her veins.

Her gaze lifted.

The chamber around them was small, circular—more like a shrine than a room. Glowing runes crawled across the walls like scars, faint and ancient, humming in time with the core's pulse.

They had been brought here—to Floor Twelve—straight from Floor Nine. 

Each floor of the dungeon was supposed to exist in its own pocket dimension and can only be connected through a predetermined path. Their fall had defied this logic.

"…The dungeon wants us here," Belle murmured, voice barely a whisper.

Her eyes narrowed. "It's growing…"

She turned to Kai again, placing her hand on his chest.

She didn't care if the dungeon wanted to awaken.

She would not let it take him.

Not while she still drew breath.

The pressure on Floor Twelve was suffocating.

Not just heavy—but oppressive, like the weight of an unseen giant pressing down on Belle's chest with every heartbeat.

The miasma was no longer just a toxic mist. It had become a presence—aware, slithering through the cracks of the ruined chamber, crawling into every breath, every pore, every thought. It whispered at the edge of her mind, like a thousand unseen voices chanting in a forgotten tongue.

Kai lay motionless, crumpled against a jagged slope of stone. His lips had turned a deeper shade of blue. His chest rose and fell in shallow, irregular patterns. Every second that passed wasn't just a countdown—it was a curse ticking toward finality.

Belle knelt beside him, her knees scraping against the stone floor. Her fingers pressed desperately to his chest, feeling the erratic rhythm of his heart beneath the fabric of his torn jacket. It was faint. Sluggish. Like a flickering candle in a storm.

Her own breath hitched.

He was dying.

And this time, she didn't know if she could stop it.

She had given him the best potion she had—high-grade, pure, expensive. One drop could heal gashes and shattered bones. And yet here… in this place… it was barely keeping him alive. 

The miasma swallowed its magic like a starving beast, draining its essence before it could mend his wounds.

Belle clenched her teeth, a helpless fury coiling in her chest.

"No good… it's not enough," she whispered through grit teeth, voice trembling with desperation. "I have to buy him time."

Her mind raced, darting between combat spells, utility magic, emergency kits. Nothing was built for this—nothing was made to fight the dungeon's final breath.

But one thought flared in her mind. 

Risky. Reckless. But necessary.

She stood.

Her silver eyes flared with light. Mana surged through her veins like liquid lightning as she inhaled deeply, ignoring the sting in her lungs. She threw both hands forward with a sharp cry:

"Burn."

The magic exploded from her like a dam breaking.

A vortex of flame erupted around her, howling as it expanded. Fire whirled in a violent spiral, searing away the miasma in a hundred-meter radius. For a moment—just a moment—the haze cleared. The air tasted cleaner. The suffocating grip loosened.

Kai's chest rose sharply as he gasped.

Oxygen-starved lungs sucked in cleaner air, and color fluttered faintly back to his cheeks.

Belle's heart leapt—but her victory was short-lived.

Even before the last flame flickered out, the miasma began to slither back. Thicker. Faster. Like it had been enraged by her defiance. It coiled along the floor and ceiling, pulsing with the dungeon's own heartbeat.

Belle staggered, her mana flaring dangerously low. Her fingertips tingled with numbness.

"I can't keep this up…" she muttered, panting. "I'll burn myself dry before I even start with the core."

That was when it happened.

The core pulsed.

Not a light. Not a glow.

A sound. A heartbeat.

But not from any living thing.

The crystalline mass suspended above the black pit lit up—deep crimson veins pulsing like arteries feeding something ancient and hungry. With every pulse, the entire chamber shook. Dust rained from the fractured ceiling. Obsidian roots curled tighter around the orb like a cage—or a womb.

Then came the second pulse.

Stronger. Heavier. Deeper.

A wave of force swept through the chamber like a soundless shockwave. Belle dropped to one knee, instinctively shielding Kai. The floor cracked beneath her feet.

The miasma twisted in midair, drawn toward the core in thick strands like ink pulled down a drain.

"It's devouring it…" she breathed. "No… It's absorbing everything."

And then—the core growled.

It wasn't sound. It wasn't even a vibration.

It was a feeling that crawled through the marrow of her bones, whispering to her very soul.

Belle's breath caught. Something buried in her draconic blood shivered in response.

"This isn't mana," she whispered, heart pounding in her chest. "This isn't even miasma anymore. This is… something that shouldn't exist."

She looked back at Kai.

His chest had begun to falter again. The brief reprieve was fading.

And that left her no choice.

She rose, power sparking across her limbs. Flames and lightning danced in tandem—wild, unstable. Her silver eyes narrowed into slits.

"Damn it," she whispered, every word a blade. 

"I'm ending this."

She blurred forward—feet cracking the ground beneath her as she launched herself at the core.

A fiery slash carved through the air, trailing behind her like a comet's tail.

BOOOOM—!

The attack struck the core directly.

A burst of light—and a hollow, metallic clang.

A barrier shimmered into existence, absorbing the full force of her assault. Sparks scattered across the chamber. The core remained untouched, pulsing like an indifferent god.

Belle didn't stop.

She attacked again—and again—flames, lightning, fists, roars of elemental fury.

BANG! CRACK! BOOM!

Nothing. Not even a dent.

The barrier pulsed with each impact, mocking her. As if the core was laughing—amused.

Then came the third pulse.

And this one did not ripple. It detonated.

BOOOOOOM.

An eruption of raw force blasted outward like a cannon shot.

Belle was thrown like a ragdoll, her back slamming into a cracked pillar that exploded on impact. Her vision whited out as she crumpled to the ground, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.

The core… began to change.

The red glow turned black—like dying embers swallowed by ash. Jagged cracks formed across its surface, leaking streams of obsidian light. The roots holding it began to tremble and twist, writhing as if something within was waking up.

And from the broken stone behind Belle, something shifted. Ancient runes carved into the walls began to glow—symbols older than the dungeon itself. The chamber was more than just the heart.

It was a cradle. A prison. A gateway.

Belle pushed herself up slowly, eyes wide with realization—and dread.

"This place…" she whispered. "It wasn't just protecting the core."

"It was containing it."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Then—cracks began to form in the walls.

The air shifted.

Not gradually—but violently, like the world itself had taken a sharp breath in.

A sudden silence fell across the chamber—thick and unnatural. The kind that makes even the bravest hold their breath.

Then the torches lining the ancient stone walls snuffed out, one by one. Not flickering… erased. Swallowed by an invisible force. The last ember dimmed like the final heartbeat of a dying god.

The room plunged into blackness. And then the cold came.

Not a winter's chill. No, this was something deeper. 

A deathly cold, the kind that seeped into your bones and made your soul recoil. 

Belle's breath turned visible, white vapor curling from her lips as frost bloomed across the cracked tiles at her feet.

The stone walls moaned.

Veins of red light crawled through them like arteries pumping blood through a decaying body. Chunks of stone peeled away, as if the dungeon itself was shedding an old, broken skin. The entire chamber groaned—a creature in metamorphosis.

In the center, the core began to rise.

Slowly. Elegantly. Then faster.

It floated upward, spinning with increasing momentum. A howling wind swirled around it—no source, no exit, only chaos. The miasma it had devoured now burst outward, spiraling in furious cyclones of black and violet, wrapping around the core like a living shroud.

Thunder cracked from within the storm.

The swirling mist thickened into a cocoon—dense, seething, alive. It pulsed with a heartbeat that did not belong in this world. Every pulse sent ripples through the floor. Small stones levitated. Mana distorted. 

Belle felt her own aura twitch in rejection, as if something inside her knew what was coming—and feared it.

From within the cocoon, red light began to leak.

Thin at first—lines glowing between the cracks like magma pushing through fractured earth. Then the sound came.

Screaming.

Not voices. Not creatures. But the very air. The room screamed in protest. The dungeon screamed, as if trying to hold back its own heart.

Then—chains.

Massive, ghostly chains erupted from the void above, coiling tightly around the cocoon. Each one forged from glowing sigils and ancient runes, inscribed with warnings in long-dead tongues. They wrapped tighter, trying to suppress whatever slumbered within.

But it was too late.

The cocoon convulsed.

And then—SNAP!

The chains shattered like glass. Shards of spectral steel spun through the air, vanishing before they touched the ground.

A deep, resonating howl tore through the chamber. The cocoon split open.

And from it…

It descended.

Floating at first—then landing with a thunderous impact that cracked the floor like an earthquake. Dust and red mist burst outward in a perfect circle.

The monster had been born.

Malraketh.

A name Belle didn't know. But somehow, her draconic blood reacted in terror.

The creature towered over her—at least three times her height. Its silhouette alone was enough to drown out the fading light.

Its body was a grotesque blend of nightmare and machine: chunks of corrupted armor fused with obsidian crystal, jagged and asymmetrical. Pulsing veins of molten red energy snaked across its form, glowing like the arteries of a fallen god. 

Beneath the armor, the shadows twisted unnaturally—as if a living void squirmed inside its shell.

Its face—or what passed for one—was a skull-like helm fused into its flesh. A single, vertical eye burned at the center of its head—reptilian, unblinking, filled with malice beyond reason. From its crown rose a fan of jagged horns, spiraling like the blades of a guillotine.

Its wings unfurled.

Not wings in the natural sense—fractured mana, torn from reality itself, arcing in jagged black frames where feathers should be. They shimmered with a flickering distortion, like broken glass reflecting a world that didn't exist.

Every movement of the beast leaked raw energy—unstable, toxic, wrong.

It didn't just exist in this world. It defied it.

The creature raised a massive clawed hand—each digit a blade. And the room… responded.

The dungeon groaned like a living beast, then obeyed its master.

CRACK!

Black spikes erupted from the floor, surging toward Belle like spears.

She rolled aside, still dazed, her limbs screaming in protest. The spike missed her by centimeters—but the wall behind her exploded as another followed through. Debris rained down. Dust filled her lungs.

She coughed, eyes watering, blood trickling from her brow.

This wasn't just a normal dungeon boss. This wasn't a monster.

This was the will of the dungeon itself.

An avatar of corruption, born from centuries of devoured life, shaped by the malice of fallen adventurers, forgotten sacrifices, and ancient curses.

"You…" Belle whispered, voice shaking, "You're the reason this dungeon's breaking apart…"

Malraketh turned its burning eye on her.

The floor beneath it fractured with each step. Its presence was gravity, its movement doom.

Then it roared.

Not a scream. Not a bellow.

A symphony of suffering.

The walls fractured. The runes around the chamber ignited in red flame. A ring of miasma surged outward in a dome.

She stood slowly.

Bloodied. Bruised. And very much alone.

But her silver eyes did not waver. Her heartbeat steadied—not because she wasn't afraid. But because she was.

And she chose to face it anyway.

The final battle… had begun.

End of Chapter 68