As Vane pushed the heavy stone doors open, the team was met with a wall of absolute, suffocating darkness. For a few heartbeats, the only thing Aiven could hear was his own frantic breathing.

  Then, without warning, the entire space ignited.

  A wave of brilliant, white light washed over the chamber, emanating from the high vaulted ceiling. It was so bright it felt as if they had suddenly stepped out from the bowels of the earth and into the midday sun of a desert. As Aiven’s eyes adjusted, he felt his breath hitch.

  They were standing at the edge of a colossal hall. It was an arena in all but name—vast, cold, and constructed from polished, seamless stone. The scale was staggering; Aiven estimated a thousand people could stand within its center and still leave room for a small army to maneuver.

  At the far end, several hundred meters away, stood another gate—even larger than the one they had just entered.

  "It’s... it’s huge," Pelka whispered, her voice trembling as it echoed off the distant walls. She clutched her suitcase tight, her sheep ears twitching nervously.

  Vane scanned the perimeter, his clawed hands hovering near his suit jacket, ready to draw.

  Aiven stood near the entrance, his brow furrowing as he looked at his left shoulder. "Wait," he murmured, lifting the Armvil Mark 4. "The vibration... it stopped. The Aetheric Echo isn't picking up anything now. It’s completely silent."

  Virelle, who had been watching the ceiling with a look of mild critique, drifted forward. "And why should that surprise you, Master? Perhaps the anomaly grew bored of waiting and simply ceased to exist." She looked at the distant gate, her eyes glowing with impatience. "What are we waiting for? Standing by the door is a trait for servants and solicitors. We should simply head to the gate at the end."

  "We should wait for Pelka to deploy her artifact first, just to be safe," Aiven insisted.

  Pelka nodded frantically and set the brass spider on the floor. It scurried a few meters, its red eyes scanning the stone, but it gave only the steady, green clicks of a safe path. "Nothing detected," Pelka reported, though she looked overwhelmed.

  "But…with a hall this large, it would take hours to ensure every square meter is safe with this artifact.”

  Virelle let out a long, weary sigh, her silver hair fluttering as she ascended higher. "Ineffective. Truly. You would have us crawl across this floor like insects just to reach a door that is clearly visible?" She gave Aiven a playful, slightly arrogant smirk. "Trust me, Master. No trap or monster in this rotted shrine would harm me—and by extension, they cannot harm you."

  Before Aiven could protest or reach out to stop her, Virelle surged forward. She didn't float with her usual leisurely grace; she moved like a streak of lavender light, heading straight for the center of the arena.

  She had barely reached the midpoint of the hall when the floor beneath her erupted in a blinding golden light.

  A massive summoning circle, etched with runes that looked like twisted vines and crashing waves, materialized instantly.

  Aiven felt the mana-density in the room spike so hard it made his ears pop.

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  From the center of the circle, a creature manifested. It was a lion of legendary proportions, its body covered in fur that shimmered like tempered steel. But it was the heads that stole the air from Aiven’s lungs. Three distinct, snarling heads sat upon its broad shoulders.

  The center head possessed a mane of flickering, white-hot flames; the left head had a mane of swirling, high-pressure water that dripped onto the floor; and the right head was crowned with a mane of sharp, emerald-green leaves that rustled with the sound of a forest storm.

  The beast planted its massive paws and let out a roar—a discordant, terrifying sound as all three heads cried out in unison. The soundwave hit Aiven like a physical blow, vibrating in his very marrow.

  "T-that is no boss-class monster!" Pelka screamed, dropping to her knees and covering her ears as the roar echoed endlessly.

  “It has to be mythic-class, right below legendary-class,” Vane said, taking a stance to lunge forward.

  Aiven didn't think. He didn't hesitate."Virelle!" he shouted, his muted eyes wide with terror for her.

  Vane was already moving, his suit jacket fluttering as he dashed forward with predatory speed. Aiven followed suit, his obsidian arm glowing as he pushed his legs to their limit, desperate to reach the center of the hall before the three heads could strike.

  He didn't know exactly what he should do against a monster of this scale, but he knew he couldn't just stand back. He raised his left arm, the matte obsidian plating of the Armvil Mark 4 catching the artificial glare of the ceiling.

  Five seconds, Aiven thought, his jaw set. I’ll give it a standard five-second charge.

  He didn't want to risk a meltdown yet, but a ranged blast would allow him to measure the creature’s toughness from a distance without entering the immediate "danger zone" of its flaming and watery manes.

  The lion leapt towards Virelle, jaws open.

  She didn't dodge. She didn't retreat. She simply stopped mid-air and thrust her palm forward toward the snarling beast.

  "Stay," Virelle commanded, her voice a cold, melodic snap.

  The effect was instantaneous and terrifying. The Tri-Elemental Sentinel, mid-leap and mid-roar, froze in the air. The flickering white flames of the center head turned into static pillars of heat; the swirling water of the left head hardened into a motionless sculpture.

  The beast struggled, its steel-like fur vibrating as it tried to fight against the invisible weight of her magic, but it was to no avail. It was suspended in a vacuum of frozen space.

  Virelle didn't stop there. She didn't even look stressed. With a graceful, circular motion of her fingers, a shimmering violet barrier erupted around the lion, encasing the massive guardian in a translucent sphere of high-density mana.

  Then, she slowly closed her palm into a tight fist.

  BOOM.

  There was no sound of a struggle—only a muffled, wet explosion. The pressure inside the violet barrier spiked so violently that the Sentinel was pulverized in a single heartbeat. Crimson blood and elemental residue splattered against the inner walls of the sphere, coating the violet glass in a gruesome, opaque layer.

  Aiven and Vane skidded to a halt, the sheer suddenness of the execution stealing the breath from their lungs. Aiven felt the mana in his arm dissipate as he instinctively canceled the charging sequence, his eyes wide with shock.

  Vane stood frozen, his claws still extended, staring at the bloody sphere with a look of profound disbelief. "What the..." the Lion whispered, his voice a low, shaken rumble.

  Virelle gave a bored, dismissive flick of her wrist. The bloody violet barrier vanished into a vacuum, leaving not a single drop of gore or a fragment of fur on the arena floor. The space where a mythical guardian had stood moments ago was now perfectly clean, as if the creature had never existed.

  Virelle turned around, her hair settling perfectly over her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled with their usual smug brilliance as she smoothed her sleeves.

  "There," she said, her voice dripping with a self-satisfied silk. "As I told you before, Master... nothing in this rotted shrine would be able to harm us. You truly should have more faith in your—"

  She stopped. The theatrical smirk vanished from her lips.

  The vast, brightly lit arena was silent. The air was still cool and crisp, and the stone walls remained smooth and bioluminescent.

  But Aiven was gone. Vane was gone. Even the cowering, terrified Pelka was nowhere to be seen.

  Virelle was standing in the center of the colossal hall, entirely alone.

  The Sunken Fane had made its first move.