[WARNING: DUNGEON IS CLOSING!]

Zestiel stood just a few paces away, arms folded tightly over his chest, flanked by two men who looked like they hadn't taken a single thing seriously in years.

Their expressions were twisted into identical lazy sneers—mocking, relaxed, and just a little too eager. Like wolves circling prey that had wandered too far from the herd.

Lucien froze mid-step, his stomach turning cold.

'What now…?'

The two at Zestiel's sides—he remembered their names from earlier. Brian and Peter. He hadn't interacted with them much, but they carried themselves the same way their leader did: entitled, bored, and just looking for someone to talk down to.

'Figures they're his lackeys.' Lucien thought, watching them with careful eyes. 'The type that laugh at every joke Zestiel makes, even when it's not funny.'

"Look, E-Class," Zestiel called, his voice too loud, too casual. "I see you're done now. And hey—good job."

There was something oily in the way he said it. The smirk didn't match the praise, and the sarcasm dripped from every syllable. It wasn't encouragement. It was a pat on the head before a slap.

Lucien didn't flinch, though his shoulders tensed.

'He's not being genuine. Obviously. But why go out of his way to say shit like this?'

He forced a polite smile, the same tight-lipped one he wore at uncomfortable family dinners and fake job interviews. "Just doing my job, sir."

Peter barked out a laugh and casually sauntered closer, his boots crunching over charred gravel. "You got a girlfriend, E-Class?"

Lucien blinked. "No. I don't really have time for that. I'm supporting my family, so…"

"Oof. That old story," Brian chimed in with a scoff, arms crossed like he was settling in for a show. "That, and I doubt you're pulling anyone with a face like that anyway."

Lucien's jaw tensed. He didn't respond—not outwardly, at least.

'You're one to talk. All three of you look like NPCs from a crusty mobile game. Who the hell are you to judge anyone's face?'

He knew he wasn't anything special. Average features. Forgettable eyes. He'd always been the "best friend" type—the one girls confided in, not the one they confessed to.

But he'd made peace with that a long time ago.

'Besides, I'm more into guys anyway.'

Not that these assholes deserved to know that.

Zestiel stepped forward just a bit, hands resting casually on his hips, eyes raking over Lucien with calculated laziness. "Well, look, newbie. We've been doing S-Class dungeon cleans for years now. Exhausting stuff. Mentally draining. Physically taxing."

Brian gave a dramatic yawn beside him, and Peter rolled his shoulders like he'd just climbed a mountain.

Zestiel continued, "So since you're already done, and you've still got… what, thirty minutes left?"

Lucien didn't answer.

Zestiel's smirk widened. "We figured you could finish things up for us. Y'know, take care of the last bits. We'll just… rest up outside."

He jerked his chin toward the shaded rocks near the exit—already walking away as if Lucien's agreement was a given.

Lucien didn't move.

The heat clung to his skin like wet cloth, and the dungeon around him pulsed—slow, steady, and wrong. That strange energy still lingered in the air, humming just below the surface like a faint, malevolent whisper.

Every breath tasted like ash. The ground ahead stretched into shadows and blood-slicked stone, the kind of darkness that felt like it was watching.

He looked toward Zestiel's back, already retreating without a second glance, and then back to the jagged battlefield before him—littered with scorched armor, splintered weapons, and the stench of old death.

'They're making me clean the rest while they rest up. Fuck these assholes.'

He clenched his fists at his sides. Every part of him screamed to speak up, to say something, to refuse.

He hadn't been able to shake the unease crawling along his spine since the moment he'd stepped foot in this place—and now they wanted to leave him alone in it?

He wanted to protest.

But he didn't.

Instead, he forced a breath past the growing weight in his chest and gave a single, stiff nod.

"…Understood."

Because what else could he do?

He was just an E-Class.

He didn't have the authority. He didn't have the rank. Hell, he barely had a voice around people like them.

These men—Zestiel, Brian, Peter—they were stronger. Higher class. People with real power.

And from what George had said earlier, Zestiel was kind of a big deal. Lucien couldn't afford to make enemies this early on.

'Even if it feels wrong… even if I want to say no… I just can't. That's my life.'

Zestiel turned on his heel and walked back over with a mocking smirk. He ruffled Lucien's hair like one might pat a dog that had finally learned to sit. "Good choice," he said, condescension dripping from every word.

Brian and Peter chuckled behind him as they gathered their gear, slinging their packs over their shoulders like they'd just finished a light jog rather than a dungeon sweep.

"Don't forget the corner by the collapsed altar," Peter added, already halfway out. "Smelled like something crawled out of hell in there."

"Probably your reflection," Brian quipped, snickering as they passed through the portal.

Lucien didn't laugh. He didn't even flinch.

He just stood there, watching as the three of them walked out of the dungeon—laughing, satisfied, and utterly careless.

One by one, they vanished through the shimmering gate at the far end, their silhouettes swallowed by light.

And then it was quiet.

Lucien let out a slow breath through his nose.

Alone.

Trapped in a dungeon that reeked of death and smoke and things better left buried.

He looked down at the scorched ground, hands loosening at his sides.

'Assholes.'

But oddly… he wasn't as angry as he thought he'd be.

He was annoyed, yes. Tired. Disgusted. But not surprised.

'I'm used to this.'

Being the one left behind. Being the one expected to take on what no one else wanted. Expected to swallow his pride, work harder, and stay quiet.

'As long as I get paid. As long as I get the credit. As long as I get experience… I can take it.'

After all, Lucien was doing this for his family.

And with that thought anchoring him, Lucien finally moved.

He picked up his tools, wiped the sweat from his brow, and stepped forward. The corpses were still there. The ash still fell like dying snow.

He started cleaning.

And then the ground shook.

A deep, low rumble vibrated through the floor beneath his feet. The walls trembled. Dust cascaded from above. Lucien staggered, eyes wide, grabbing a nearby rock for balance.

"What the—?"

His words caught in his throat as the air shifted.

And much to his horror—

The dungeon gate, still faintly glowing in the distance, began to flicker.

And then it began to close.

"What the fuck?!"