A sharp chime cut through Del’s head in the aftermath of battle.

  [Congratulations. You have killed 8 Skeleton Warriors Lv. 5. Experience gained.]

  [Congratulations. You have killed 5 Skeleton Swordsmen Lv. 6. Experience gained.]

  [Congratulations. You have enough experience to level up—would you like to level up now?]

  Del exhaled sharply, blinking sweat out of his eyes as he rolled his aching shoulders. His heart still pounded, his arms felt like lead, and the raw adrenaline of survival still flooded his veins.

  And now BB wanted a chat?

  “Damnit, BB, can’t you see we are kind of busy here? Bugger off.”

  A low huff beside him.

  Del turned, meeting Misty’s golden-eyed stare. She wasn’t even pretending to be subtle about it.

  He smirked. ‘You as well, huh?’

  The oversized feline snorted—a noise that somehow managed to sound both dismissive and deeply unimpressed.

  ‘Well, of course you got some kind of update system, too. How else could you level up?’ He continued.

  ‘How else could she pull off the insane acrobatics and sheer murder-cat bullshit shes been doing lately?’ He asked himself.

  Del gave her a once-over. Her fur was slicked back, her muscles coiled and sharp, her claws still glinting wet with something that wasn’t blood—just an odd, faint shimmer that pulsed under Elara’s light.

  ‘Or get mad crazy new skills,’ he complimented her, wiping his blade against his torn sleeve.

  Misty didn’t dignify that with a response, but her tail flicked sharply, slicing the air like a silent challenge.

  Yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing.

  Del flexed his fingers, still feeling the raw sting of where his grip had slipped mid-fight. He wasn’t sure if it was sweat, exhaustion, or straight-up blood making his sword hilt feel slick.

  But none of that mattered.

  Not yet.

  He adjusted his stance, feeling the dull ache of bruises settling in. Despite the healing potion, his legs protested and his ribs throbbed—but he was still standing.

  And the job wasn’t done.

  Not by a long shot.

  He met Misty’s eyes again. ‘Shall we?’

  She didn’t hesitate.

  A deep, rumbling growl rolled from her throat, rich with anticipation, and together, they stepped into the next chamber.

  Instantly, everything changed.

  The moment Del’s foot crossed the threshold, the inky blackness peeled away, chased back by the glow from his hand.

  It was the same as before—the way the darkness refused to lift until he entered, as though the very space itself refused to be seen until it had to be.

  That wasn’t natural, it wasn’t just a lack of light.

  It was deliberate.

  A veil. A shroud. A waiting presence.

  The crypt stretched out before them, silent, still, and cold as a grave.

  Rows of stone sarcophagi filled the chamber, their lids scattered and broken, some cracked open as though violently forced apart.

  The walls loomed, carved niches lining the perimeter, each one holding urns of varying sizes. Some had intricate inscriptions, long faded to unreadable glyphs. Others bore deep gouges, as if something had scraped against the stone.

  Long-disused sconces sat empty, metal rusted and worn with time.

  Overhead, a crumbling candelabra hung from a single broken chain, swaying slightly, though there was no breeze.

  The air hit different.

  It wasn’t just stale—it was thick, pressing into his lungs, wrapping around him like an unseen weight.

  Cold. But not like a normal cold. Not the natural chill of deep stone corridors.

  This was something else. Something wrong.

  Like the air itself was leeching the warmth from their bodies.

  Del’s stomach twisted.

  He wasn’t a mage, but he knew cursed air when he breathed it.

  And then his gaze locked onto the thing waiting for them.

  At the far end of the chamber, beyond the ruined sarcophagi, a circle of intricate markings pulsed with a dim, red light.

  And inside it—

  A figure.

  Tall. Too tall.

  Cloaked in a robe so black it seemed to drink the light, its hood drawn deep, swallowing everything but two smouldering points of red.

  Del stopped breathing.

  Misty froze beside him, her growl shifting into something lower, sharper, her tail whipping in agitation.

  The thing did not move.

  It stood, still as the grave, robe untouched by the air, the cold, or time itself.

  Del’s fingers tightened on his sword hilt, sweat prickling his palms despite the biting chill.

  His instincts screamed not to move.

  Not because of fear—but because something about this felt wrong on a fundamental level.

  This wasn’t just undead.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  It was worse.

  Two things stood out immediately.

  The staff in its right hand—long, ancient, its twisted wood gnarled with veins of unnatural energy.

  The other, empty; but both, far too skinny.

  ‘Skinny? You stupid fucktard. They are bones, Del’

  No flesh. Not even decayed.

  Just bare bone.

  Long, skeletal fingers curled slightly, their surface engraved with sigils Del didn’t recognise.

  Yet though they had just fought a mass of skeletons, this one, it just felt so much more

  He sensed Misty shift beside him, but she didn’t make a sound.

  Just watched.

  Like a predator weighing another predator.

  ‘Fuck, will you look at that face?’

  There wasn’t one.

  Nothing inside the hood except void—and those two smouldering red eyes.

  Glowing.

  Burning.

  Staring directly at him.

  The skeletal figure remained still, but its presence crushed the space around it.

  Those twin red points of light beneath the heavy cowl bored into Del, pressing down with a weight that had nothing to do with gravity. It wasn’t looking at him. It was pinning him.

  His grip tightened around the hilts of his weapons, sweat slicking his palms despite the unnatural cold suffocating the chamber.

  Beside him, Misty’s growl turned low and guttural, her fur standing in thick, bristling waves. Her tail lashed behind her like a living whip, her claws clicking softly against the stone as she crouched, poised for pure violence.

  Not fear.

  Misty didn’t do fear.

  But the tension in her rigid stance, the way her pupils contracted to slits, was unmistakable.

  This thing wasn’t just dangerous.

  It was wrong.

  Then, the creature moved.

  Not a step. Not a sudden, jerking attack.

  Just the slightest shift of its hand, its skeletal fingers curling around the staff.

  The movement was too smooth, too deliberate—as if time itself only bent to its will.

  When it spoke, its voice rasped like dry parchment tearing apart, brittle and ancient, hollow yet filled with something watching from behind the veil.

  “You should not be here.”

  Del’s pulse spiked, breath caught somewhere between panic and instinct.

  His mouth worked before his brain caught up.

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  The red light in its eyes flared, the empty black of its hood swallowing the glow, like twin embers sinking into a void.

  The circle beneath its feet pulsed, red lines of dark energy surging outward, stretching across the floor in a slow, spreading corruption.

  The crypt itself seemed to inhale, the air drawing tight as if the chamber was waiting to exhale death.

  The staff slammed down with a thunderous crack.

  The sound detonated through the chamber, a jagged shockwave ripping outward in a visible distortion of the air.

  Del barely managed to yank his arms up, shielding his face as the force smashed into him like an invisible sledgehammer.

  His boots scraped against the floor, nearly sending him sprawling as the raw pressure shoved him backward.

  Beside him, Misty let out a sharp, spitting hiss, claws scrambling for purchase as she slid back from the force, her fur rippling like a flame caught in the wind.

  It didn’t give them time to recover.

  A spear of crimson light lashed toward Del, moving faster than an arrow, sharp as a whip crack.

  Too fast.

  He twisted instinctively, barely dodging in time, feeling the scalding heat kiss the air inches from his shoulder.

  The blast slammed into the wall behind him, carving a blackened scar into the stone, the impact hissing as if reality itself had burned away.

  Del exhaled sharply.

  “Okay, then,” he muttered, shifting his stance. “This just got serious.”

  He charged.

  Misty shot forward at his side, her claws tearing against the stone with razor precision, her growl turning into a feral snarl.

  The skeletal mage barely moved, its empty sockets flickering, like it was merely observing.

  Then, with a single flick of its free hand—

  The floor erupted.

  Bone shards exploded from the ground, jagged fragments bursting up like spears, swirling into the air before snapping together into moving forms.

  Del skidded to a halt, his boots catching against the shifting stone as four figures lurched upright—not simple reanimated warriors, but something faster, sharper, more controlled.

  The first charged immediately, rusted curved blades flashing, its motions eerily fluid, as if directly controlled. So unlike undead in the previous room.

  Del barely had time to bring his sword up—

  Clang!

  The impact shuddered through his arm, jarring down to the bone as he caught the attack, the edge of the blade sparking against his own.

  The skeleton didn’t stagger or reel back—it simply flowed into its next strike, moving like a whisper of motion.

  Del twisted his grip, pushing back hard, and drove the pommel of his sword into its jaw.

  The impact sent its skull whipping back, but the body didn’t stop moving—instead, its bony fingers twitched, dropping the sword and reaching forward with clawed hands.

  Del barely yanked his head back before nails raked the air where his throat had been.

  Fuck. They were faster.

  Misty, meanwhile, tore into another.

  She hit from the side, her teeth sinking into its arm, cutting through bone like rotted wood.

  The skeleton let out a horrible screech, a sound like teeth scraping glass, but Misty didn’t release.

  She wrenched violently, ripping the limb clean off, sending the ragged bones clattering across the floor before she spun, already on the next one.

  “Good girl!” Del shouted.

  Mistake.

  The words barely left his lips when—

  Cold fire raked across his side.

  The clawed hand struck before he could react, slicing through fabric, skin, and deep into flesh.

  Pain flared, ice cold and sharp, his body instinctively arching away, muscles seizing with the shock.

  Del gritted his teeth, breath hissing as the unmistakable warmth of blood began soaking through his shirt.

  Not deep. But not shallow enough to ignore.

  The attacker moved in again, its empty sockets burning with unnatural hunger, its fingers poised for another strike—

  Del reacted on instinct.

  He dropped low, shifting his weight, and drove the hilt of his sword upward—

  Crack.

  The impact was brutal.

  His weapon slammed into the skeleton’s skull, splintering the bone in a shockwave of force.

  The thing jerked backward, red light flickering violently in its sockets—

  Then it collapsed, bones crashing to the floor in a heap of dust and remnants.

  Del staggered back, breath coming short, his side throbbing with raw heat.

  No time to recover.

  A skeleton lunged at Del, its movements jerky and unnatural, yet disturbingly fast.

  And in its bony grip—Another bone.

  Wielded like a club.

  Del had exactly one second to process this absolute absurdity before the bone-weapon came swinging for his face.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

  He ducked just in time, the swoosh of air brushing through his hair as the makeshift club whistled past his head.

  The skeleton had no wasted movement, no hesitation—it just kept coming.

  A second swing arced low, aiming for his ribs.

  Del twisted, bringing his sword up—

  Crack!

  The blade caught the bone mid-strike, absorbing the hit, but the force of the impact sent a shudder through his arm.

  What the hell?

  He’d expected brittle bone, but this thing was dense, reinforced with dark magic, the impact jarring as hell.

  The skeleton pressed the attack, relentless in its barrage, its empty sockets blazing with cold fire.

  Del had no choice but to fall back, deflecting each swing with narrow, desperate parries.

  Each impact sent shockwaves up his arm.

  The bone was thicker than expected, heavier than it should be, and—

  It was a femur.

  It was using someone’s femur as a fucking war club.

  “Misty!” Del snapped, dodging another swing.

  Across the battlefield, Misty let out a sharp hiss, slamming a different skeleton to the ground with a crushing swipe of her claws.

  ‘Busy.’

  “Yeah, well, so am I!” Del snapped back, barely managing to lean away from the next attack.

  The leg bone smashed into the ground, hitting hard enough to crack the stone.

  Del’s stomach tightened.

  One hit—just one direct hit—and that thing was going to break something.

  “Misty, seriously!”

  Another parry, another staggering blow shaking his stance.

  Misty’s voice slithered through his thoughts, her tone dry as hell.

  ‘Sounds like a you problem.’

  “Misty!”

  A pause.

  Then, sighing audibly in his head, she moved.

  A blur of motion, a streak of fur—

  And then—

  A snarling, ginger missile slammed into the skeleton’s spine.

  The undead lurched forward, thrown off balance by the sheer force of impact.

  Del didn’t hesitate.

  With the skeleton reeling, he dropped low, pivoted his stance—

  And swung hard.

  His sword whipped upward, a clean, vicious arc, and—

  Crack!

  The leg bone shattered in two, severed at the middle, fragments of enchanted femur clattering to the floor.

  The skeleton jerked, its grip suddenly empty, head snapping up in what almost looked like alarm.

  Del grinned, stepping in fast.

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

  He drove his blade forward, straight through its ribs, twisted the steel— then ripped sideways splitting apart the spine

  The red glow in its sockets flickered, sputtered—

  Then vanished.

  The skeleton crumbled, bones collapsing into a lifeless heap.

  Del exhaled sharply, shaking the numbness from his fingers.

  Misty was already gone, darting back to her own fight, her tail whipping in agitation.

  ‘Try not to need saving again, Del’

  Del snorted, wiping his blade on his torn sleeve.

  “Not my fault it brought a club to a sword fight.”

  Misty’s response was immediate.

  ‘It brought a human leg bone.’

  Del made a face.

  “Yeah, well. That’s worse.”

  Another was already coming.

  It’s weapon raised.

  And the mage still hadn’t moved.