The floor shook.
Only once.
But it shut everyone up.
Even the skeletons.
Merlin turned.
So did Flint.
Dion stopped breathing.
From the far end of the corridor, behind the pile of shattered ribs and severed arms, a hand pulled itself out of the stone.
Not the floor.
The stone.
It cracked like plaster under pressure. One hand, then a second. Both massive. Bone thick enough to be confused for armor.
Then the rest of it dragged free.
Tall. Seven feet minimum. Spinal plates like a centipede's. A skull that looked crushed and rebuilt wrong.
And in its hands?
A weapon.
A halberd.
Rusty. Crooked. Still glowing faint blue near the edge.
Dion's voice cracked. "That's not standard skeleton size."
Merlin didn't reply.
Didn't blink.
Just stepped forward.
The boss lifted its head. No eyes. Just twin black holes where something used to be.
Then it screamed.
No mouth.
Still screamed.
The regular skeletons moved again.
Faster.
Reckless.
