The room was pure madness.

  Shapes moved too fast to track, bone and steel flashing through Elara’s unnatural, shadowless light. There was no time to process individual enemies—just the constant, instinct-driven cycle of strike, block, evade.

  Del’s sword was in motion before his mind could catch up. He swung to his left, deflecting the arc of a rusted mace, then twisted right, slicing through the brittle spine of another advancing skeleton. Bone fragments exploded into the air, raining down over his shoulders.

  Something lunged at him from behind—a mass of bones more than a clear shape. He reacted on instinct, whipping his dagger backward in a short, vicious stab.

  Nothing.

  The blade slid uselessly through empty ribs, finding nothing solid to pierce.

  ‘Okay. Stabbing’s fucking useless.’

  Del yanked the dagger back, shifting tactics. The flat of his sword worked better—blunt force was the key. If he hit hard enough, the damn things broke, magic or not.

  The skeleton in front of him raised an old, jagged sword. He stepped in fast, slamming the flat of his blade across its skull with a sharp, ringing crack. The impact shattered bone, sending its head cartwheeling through the air before it landed with a dull thunk against the floor.

  The body kept moving.

  Even headless, it staggered forward, still reaching.

  Del barely had time to process before Misty’s hulking form pounced from the side, her claws shearing through the glowing tendrils of magic holding the skeleton together. The purple energy burst apart, flickering like a dying ember as the bones collapsed into a pile of lifeless remains.

  No time to breathe. More coming.

  Del pivoted, barely dodging a war axe that whistled past his face. He dropped low, swept his leg out, and took the skeleton’s feet out from under it. Before it could reassemble, he brought his blade down like a guillotine, splintering it from hip to collarbone.

  The ground beneath him was treacherous now—littered with bone fragments, skulls, shattered weapons. His foot slid slightly as he adjusted his stance, catching on something round and disturbingly intact.

  A ribcage. Still glowing.

  It twitched.

  The shattered bones were trying to pull themselves back together.

  His gut twisted. The magic keeping these things alive wasn’t just a passive force—it was actively fighting against their destruction.

  Misty, still in the thick of the fray, snarled and spat something guttural into his mind.

  ‘Too much mana. It lingers. It feeds.’

  The fight was a goddamn war of attrition. If they didn’t finish this quickly, these things would just keep rising.

  A flash of movement—something big.

  A bulky skeleton, larger than the others, charged toward him, wielding an ancient flail. The chain whirled in the air, a heavy iron weight at the end swinging like a wrecking ball.

  Del braced himself, lifting his sword—

  The impact nearly knocked it from his grip.

  “Fuck.”

  His arms vibrated with the sheer force of the blow. He staggered, barely keeping his footing as the flail snapped back for another swing.

  Too slow. Not enough room to dodge.

  He acted on impulse—ducked in low, inside its reach, and thrust his blade upward.

  The point met resistance—lodging into something solid. For a second, Del thought he’d hit the thing’s spine—

  Then he realised his blade wasn’t moving.

  His arms jerked as he tried to pull back. Something had caught it.

  ‘Oh. Oh, fuck.’

  The flail skeleton wasn’t dead—just impaled.

  And in his attempt to kill it, he’d pinned its skull onto the end of his own fucking sword.

  A sickening, hollow clunk sounded as the rest of the skeleton collapsed behind him—but the damn skull stayed stuck.

  For half a second, Del and the severed head impaled on his blade just stared at each other.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  It blinked.

  He blinked.

  ‘Oh, fuck off.’

  A second skeleton charged from the right. Del had no time to pull his blade free, so—instinct took over.

  He swung.

  The impaled skull smashed into the charging skeleton’s face, exploding into fragments of ancient teeth and shards of ivory.

  The remaining body toppled, its glow snuffed out instantly.

  ‘What. The actual. Fuck.’

  The room stilled.

  The only sound left was their own breathing—harsh and ragged.

  Del blinked through the dust and bone fragments, glancing around. The fighting had stopped.

  Misty stood a few feet away, watching him with those eerie, golden eyes.

  ‘Is that all of them?’ he asked through the link.

  The big cat twitched her tail once.

  ‘Here, yes.’ A pause. ‘Something other. In the far room.’

  Del followed her gaze.

  At the far end of the room, another archway yawned open, a gaping maw of absolute darkness.

  The air around it felt different—dense, oppressive, pulsing with something old and angry.

  Something that hadn’t bothered to send its minions to fight.

  Something that was waiting.

  His muscles ached. He had no idea how many he’d fought—probably more than he cared to count. He could already feel bruises forming beneath his skin, the sharp sting of slashes that had broken through his defences.

  But he wasn’t dead.

  And that meant there was more work to do.

  Misty was watching him.

  Del wiped sweat from his forehead, then turned to face the waiting darkness.

  The battle had been bad. This would be worse.

  And whatever was in there?

  It already knew they were coming.

  The battlefield was a graveyard twice over.

  Bones lay in shattered heaps around them, fragments of ribs, femurs, and skulls forming an uneven, treacherous landscape of the fallen. The air still hummed with the lingering echoes of combat—an eerie resonance of dark mana fading into the stone.

  Del exhaled, his breath coming sharp and ragged.

  How many had they killed? Too many. And yet, it still felt like not enough.

  He could count the skulls, if he could be arsed. But really, what was the point?

  The bloody BB system would vomit out a combat report eventually, a neat little notification to let him know exactly how many skeletal bastards he’d reduced to dust.

  For now, though, all that mattered was the next fight.

  Because the real threat was still out there. Waiting.

  That oppressive, malevolent presence hadn’t faded—it was just watching.

  Measuring them.

  Assessing.

  With a heavy sigh, Del forced himself to straighten. His muscles protested. Bruises were forming, hidden beneath his armour and clothes, deep aches he knew he’d feel in full force later. A shallow cut along his ribs stung like hell, and his hands were starting to shake from exhaustion.

  He couldn’t afford to go into the next fight like this.

  “Did anything in the job description mention garbage disposal?” he muttered under his breath.

  A deadpan voice answered in his head.

  ‘What fucking job description?’

  Del huffed out a laugh despite himself. Fair point.

  He reached into his belt pouch, fingers closing around the smooth glass of a healing potion. He hated using them—too few, and no idea when they’d find more—but something told him that if he went in there half-mangled, he wouldn’t be walking out.

  The thick, red liquid slid down his throat like warm honey, rich with an unnatural energy that spread instantly through his body. It burned—a deep, satisfying heat, knitting flesh, mending tissue, pushing bruises back into nothing.

  Del flexed his fingers as the cuts on his arms vanished before his eyes.

  His spine clicked back into place as he rolled his shoulders.

  Holy shit, that felt good.

  His body still ached—potions didn’t fix everything—but at least he didn’t feel like he’d been thrown down a flight of stairs anymore.

  Time to move.

  He turned to Misty. She had not relaxed. If anything, she looked more tense—her tail low, ears angled forward in hunting posture, muscles thrumming with coiled violence.

  “Misty. Ready?”

  She didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate.

  The voice in his mind was sharper than before, darker with something that wasn’t quite the cat he knew.

  ‘Let’s hunt.’

  She took the lead, gliding forward with silent, predatory intent.

  Del followed, adjusting his grip on his sword, trying not to focus on how slick the hilt had become in his grip. He wasn’t scared. Not exactly.

  Just… keyed up.

  Like something inside him already knew they were walking into something bigger.

  The hallway was unnaturally quiet.

  Only twenty feet long—not much space between them and whatever waited ahead.

  But the air was wrong.

  Heavy. Waiting.

  The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but full.

  Something was here.

  Something old, something malevolent.

  Drip.

  A single drop of water hit stone somewhere in the distance.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Steady. Rhythmic. Like an incipient heartbeat, marking time as they approached.

  Del’s pulse matched it. His breathing slowed to the same cadence.

  His fingers tightened on his sword, and he could hear the slight hitch in his own breath as the pressure in the air built.

  The sensation wasn’t constant. It swelled, rose like a tide, then drew back, only to return stronger.

  Like breathing.

  Like whatever was inside that next chamber wasn’t just waiting—it was… sensing. Feeling them. Adjusting.

  He swallowed.

  Looked down.

  Misty’s massive form moved beside him, her long claws ticking softly against the stone. The glow in her golden eyes flickered, catching the light, making her face seem almost inhumanly feral.

  For a split second, Del wondered what it would feel like to be her prey.

  He shook the thought away.

  Tension made his thoughts drift to weird places.

  Still, he had to ask.

  ‘This… change. Is it permanent?’

  Misty’s thoughts curled lazily into his mind.

  ‘Just for hunting.’

  Simple. Matter-of-fact.

  He found himself grinning at that.

  For all the madness of the past few hours, at least one thing hadn’t changed.

  Misty was still Misty.

  Weird. Terrifying. Capable of horrific murder.

  But still his cat.

  And that was somehow grounding.

  They walked in silence, the air thickening, the sense of wrongness deepening.

  Del’s anger helped hold his nerves steady.

  ‘I still don’t know what the fuck a retired disabled office worker is doing fighting fucking skeletons in the crypt of some damn shrine in the middle of a bloody magical wood.’

  The absurdity of it burned. The sheer stupidity of it.

  And yet, here he was. Sword in hand. Following a mutant cat into the unknowable dark.

  Misty’s voice snapped through his mind, cutting through his thoughts like a blade.

  ‘Stop your grousing, Del. We’re here.’

  His stomach dropped.

  They had reached the threshold of the next chamber.

  And the blackness beyond wasn’t just darkness.

  It was alive.

  It shifted. Swirled.

  Like shadow misting through unseen currents.

  The pressure in the air didn’t build this time.

  It simply was.

  A vast, heavy presence, sinking into their bones, daring them to step inside.

  Del swallowed hard.

  His grip on his sword was white-knuckled now.

  But there was no turning back.

  One last glance at Misty.

  One last deep breath.

  Then he stepped forward.

  And the darkness swallowed them whole.