The silence that followed the creature's destruction hadn't even lasted a minute before something shifted.
A faint tremor ran through the stone beneath their feet.
At first, no one paid attention. Dungeons weren't exactly known for stability. But then, Amukelo narrowed his eyes. "Why… is the flesh moving?"
They all turned to look. What just been a shattered, grotesque mess of rotten muscle and bone was now twitching—shivering. As if caught in a silent, electric hum. Then the black mist began to rise from it like smoke off a pyre. It streamed upward in slow, spiraling coils before rushing inward again. The twitching flesh, the bones, the slime, all of it began pulling toward the epicenter like metal shavings to a magnet.
"What the hell…?" Idin said under his breath.
The sound came next. Horrible, guttural, like something whispering backwards in tongues not meant for humans. The voice crawled up their spines, incoherent, vile. It sounded like death learning how to speak.
And then, the dungeon shook.
A violent, echoing quake snapped down the stone walls. Pebbles clattered from the ceiling, and the torches lining the passage began to flicker and die one by one.
Amukelo's instincts snapped.
"That's not looking good." He stepped back fast, then turned on his heel. "Everyone, run. Get to the exit. Now!"
There was no argument. The moment he barked the order, all of them turned and sprinted, footsteps hammering against stone. Bral, Bao, Idin, Pao, and Amukelo—all breaking into a desperate dash through the winding, trembling corridor.
Amukelo was the fastest. He darted past his companions quickly, leading the group through the tight bends in the corridor. But after a dozen seconds of running, he realized something was wrong.
There were no footsteps behind him. Not immediately, not close.
He turned his head.
He'd left them behind.
His heart dropped as he scanned the group behind him. Pao was at the back, struggling to keep pace. Her staff weighed her down. She wasn't slow by any normal standard—but as a mage, she just wasn't built for long bursts of speed.
He cursed under his breath and came to a skidding stop.
"What kind of Silver Rank Four quest is this!?" he spat. Then without hesitation, he reached to his belt and began unbuckling the weights strapped to his torso, legs, and arms. One by one, they fell to the ground with a clunk, lightening his frame.
Bral, running just behind him, nearly ran past before catching himself.
"Don't stop!" Bral called. "Go ahead! If you're faster, make sure the exit isn't blocked. If something's coming after us—"
But Amukelo snapped, voice sharp and full of heat.
"No way!" He pulled off the last weight and straightened up. "Pao is the last one. I'm not letting her be the closest thing to that."
He was already sprinting back the other way.
Bral let out a breath. "Fine. You buy us some time. We'll clear the exit." Then he turned and took off again toward the entrance, Bao and Idin keeping pace with him.
Amukelo sprinted through the corridor. The weights had become second nature to him, but now without them, he felt light—like the wind.
But as he looked back, the pieces of the abomination had formed together.
But not in the same shape. It was worse.
Its new form stood tall now—twisted and vertical like a cruel mockery of humanity. The limbs were long and stretched too thin, ending in clawed, mangled fingers. Each one looked sharp enough to tear through steel. The bones along its spine jutted out like jagged spears. Its head… thing that looked like a head… was half-melted, with a crooked skull fused with fleshy horror. Glowing red eyes stared through a half-formed socket, with veins of dark magic pumping through its skin like molten lava.
Black mist leaked from its joints, drifting in coils as it hovered just inches above the ground, like it had become too corrupted to even touch the earth. Runes still danced beneath its skin, but now they pulsed faster, brighter—like they were alive.
It still looked like a ghoul. But it wasn't.
It was something else now. Something that should never have existed.
Amukelo's chest tightened as he turned his gaze to Pao. She was still running, not yet noticing the thing rising behind her.
He pushed himself harder and caught up just enough to shout. "Pao! Run! Don't look back!"
She glanced at him, startled, but when she saw the urgency in his eyes, she hesitated. "But—!"
Amukelo snapped, louder now. "Just be quiet and run! Don't argue. Don't think. Just keep moving!"
He didn't raise his voice out of anger. It was pure fear. Fear for her. His tone was sharp, but the way his body angled between her and the creature said everything else.
He was going to stand between her and whatever that thing became.
Pao stared at him for half a heartbeat longer, eyes wide, then finally nodded and turned back, running with all her strength.
Amukelo slowed just enough to stay behind her—far enough so she wouldn't get caught in whatever happened if the creature attacked, but close enough to protect her if it did.
The sound it made wasn't natural.
It wasn't a roar. It wasn't a scream. It was something in between—a gurgling, twisted howl, like bones grinding together beneath a sea of blood and smoke. It pierced through the corridor, echoing off the dungeon walls in jagged waves, chasing the air out of their lungs as it reached their ears.
Amukelo turned his head mid-sprint.
His eyes locked on the thing behind them.
It was no longer just stalking. It charged.
"Tsk... damn it!" he hissed, and then he shouted over his shoulder, "Don't look back! Don't stop for any reason! It's coming!"
He could already feel the dread pressing against his spine, like a heavy hand trying to drag him backward. The creature was no longer stumbling or floating lazily. It was gliding at terrifying speed—its limbs elongated even further, its claws carving furrows in the walls as it moved, black mist trailing behind it in a wave of corruption.
"We're getting closer to the exit!" Bral's voice echoed from up ahead. "I can see it—but it's collapsing! We have to move!"
Amukelo looked ahead and saw it. The faint shimmer of daylight bleeding through the jagged opening that marked the exit—but the stones were shifting. Cracks raced through the ceiling. Chunks of stone were already falling, one by one.
He looked back again.
The creature was gaining fast.
How can something that big move this quickly!?
His feet hit the stone harder. His lungs burned. Every step thundered against his chest.
Ahead, Bral burst through the entrance first, boots slamming onto the mossy ground outside. He turned immediately, eyes wild, and saw Bao just seconds behind him. She leapt through the gap, rolled, and came up with her bow already drawn—ready to cover.
Then Idin came into view.
"Idin!" Bral shouted.
Idin didn't answer. He was running at full speed, but the gap was tightening. As he reached the exit, a boulder-sized stone dislodged from above—and fell.
Without thinking, Bral extended his prosthetic arm. The crystal embedded in the magical limb flashed as his mana surged through it. A shimmering field of force caught the stone just inches above Idin's head, and with a cry, Bral pushed his mana further.
The stone held—just long enough.
Idin dove forward, sliding through the collapsing gap as the stone slammed into the ground behind him.
He gasped for air as he scrambled to his feet, turning around just as Bral dropped to one knee, drained but still holding his staff.
"Where's Pao and Amukelo?" Bral barked.
They all looked back through the dim corridor.
Pao was far. Too far. And behind her, Amukelo was even further.
"Come on, come on..." Bral whispered, and then he yelled, "Faster! It's coming down!"
Amukelo could see it now—the light from the exit flickering through stone. The air around him was thick with dust and falling debris. The ceiling groaned like something alive.
He looked back one last time.
It was too close.
The creature's claws scraped against the walls as it lunged forward, its distorted, bone-melded limbs dragging it like a wraith. Its glowing eyes locked on him with hunger. It wasn't even slowing down. It wanted blood.
He turned back to Pao, her figure smaller in the distance but growing closer with every heartbeat. Her robe flared with every stride. Her breathing was harsh, her staff clutched in her hand—but she was giving it everything.
And then Amukelo stopped.
He came to a sudden halt in the middle of the corridor, turned to face the thing, and raised his sword.
Behind him, the air turned black with mist. But he didn't move.
His fingers clenched tighter around the grip. His heart pounded not with fear—but something else. Something colder. Something heavier.
"If this is how it's meant to be..." he muttered under his breath, eyes locked on the beast as it drew closer, "God, if the reason You've saved me all those times in the wild was for this moment—to trade my life so someone else could keep theirs... then so be it."
He widened his stance, took a slow breath, and prepared for impact.
"Amukelo!" Bral's voice ripped through the corridor.
Amukelo turned his head slightly.
Bral was just outside the collapsing entrance, eyes wide. "What are you doing!?"
He didn't answer.
But someone else saw him. Pao.
She looked over her shoulder, and her breath caught in her throat.
"No—!" she cried. She slowed.
"What are you doing? RUN!" Amukelo shouted, his voice cracking. "Don't stop! Don't look back! I'll hold it off—just go! Don't make this pointless!"
His voice wasn't angry. It was desperate.
He wasn't yelling because he was mad. He was yelling because he cared.
He couldn't let her die. But she didn't listen.
She skidded to a halt, panting, eyes wide with shock.
Her voice came back louder, stronger. "I'm not going to let you sacrifice yourself!"
"If you're going to die here, then we'll die together!"