The world spins wildly, and in an instant, Caelun finds himself falling. He crashes to the ground with a tremendous impact, shaking the earth as dust and debris scatter around him.
The Dungeon's labyrinthine corridors stretch out before him, unfamiliar, oppressive, and hostile. He instinctively feels the weight of the Dungeon's aura, its ancient, primordial nature.
"HAHAHA, TAKE THAT YOU GOLD FUCKS…ha ha..?This is… where in the fuck am I?"
The Dungeon's labyrinthine corridors stretch out before him, unfamiliar, oppressive, and hostile. He instinctively feels the weight of the Dungeon's aura, its ancient, primordial nature.
As a particularly odd tarnished had once said to him after explaining a similar situation, 'He was a loooong way from kansas' wherever that was, funny little fucker that one is, a good freind too, uses alot of weird words though- well perhaps used to be now, Cealun had the odd feeling in his gut that it wouldnt be so easy to see his friend again even if he wanted to go back to the lands between, not like there were people who had much love for him beyond his weird freind. -He surveys his surroundings, dark, damp stone walls, broken remnants of ancient architecture and a faint hum of movement echoing from deeper within. A faint clacking sound growing louder from the distance, reminiscent of the sounds that skeleton wretches made in his homeland yet somehow sounded more threatening- which he was clearly far away from once again, he could tell from the totally foreign divinities which did not seem to gain power through an eldritch god but are islands upon themselves, 'seems like my kinda gods around here' but there was something else, something primordial and dark calling to him from below, trying to… control? His friend had a good variety of different sayings, one seems applicable now, 'this thing is courting death' that voice could fuck right off, would have to figure out who or what it belonged to so he could beat it to death, assuming that where gods are civilization will follow.
He huffs in frustration, brushing the dust off his tattered cloak. Well wherever he was, it was better than Caelid, though that's not much of a bar to clear these days. His body, though disoriented from the rift and a little battered from the fall, is already healing the 'curse' within him responding to his wrath at the attempt at control, despite his external nonchalant attitude it takes almost nothing to get his blood pumping through even minor irritations and he has had to put in alot of work to not pulp any mortal who dare invades his personal space or is a little to loud near him, but trying to bind him, HIM? He would show this dark thing the error of its way no matter how long it took. The dense, muscular body that had once been forged in battle and defiance is already adjusting, ready for the new challenge the Dungeon has to offer.
From the depths, a pack of monsters approaches, eager to feed on the newcomer. Caelun cracks his neck, a grin spreading across his face.
"Bastard skeletons, huh? Better than cultists. Let's see if they're worthy of my time."
He moves in with the grace of an Apex-predator.
Lizardman skeletons, hunched and towering in life, now cracked and undead, their fanged skulls clacking, sockets glowing faintly in the gloom of Dungeon Level 46, still unknown to Caelun. Bone creaked. Weapons rattled. Some bore shields of chitin, others carried spears carved from monstrous femurs.
And into the middle of them strode Caelun.
Bare-chested, barefoot, and towering at over 260 centimeters, he dwarfed them all, not just in size, but in presence. His ragged pants clung to his frame, stained with the blood and ichor of other, lesser things. A black rune shimmered faintly with blighted amber across his chest, pulsing like an ancient scar that thirsted for war.
His expression? a manic excitement bloomed on his face in the form of a wide smile showing off his predatory maw, yet it did not reach his eyes for he knew the conclusion to this encounter was foregone.
One of the skeletons jabbed first. The bone spear cracked against his ominous and divine form as it bit into his side, hairline fractures running along its length thickening at the tip where shards of bone flaked off,stabbing into his thick, rough skin. A single drop of dark blood welled and rolled down the rigid muscle.
Caelun looked down at it.
"...Nice shot… my turn," he murmured.
The skeleton tried to retreat, but his massive hand was already around its skull. One hand. Fingers closed like a bear trap, and with a dry crunch, like a leaf in autumn, the Lizardman skull crumbled, ivory shards fell into the thing's ribcage as its body went slack and lifeless.
He dropped it like garbage. It was garbage.
Two more came at once. Caelun didn't move around them- he moved through them. One skeleton swung high with a jagged sword, Caelun leaned into it, let it scrape across his shoulder, the impact absorbed by layers of iron-hard muscle and ancient resilience. The blade didn't even draw blood.
The second jabbed low.
Caelun's foot rocketed forward like a hammer, catching it in the chest with the force of a ballista bolt. Bone snapped, ribs shattered, and the entire skeleton was launched backward, crumpling into the wall with an explosion of fragments
He chuckled.
"Is that all this place has to offer? The slugs of my sewer prison offered more of a challenge."
Another came shrieking in, a hulking Lizardman skeleton wielding a massive femur club. It brought the weapon down with both hands. Caelun didn't block.
He stepped into the swing, caught the descending club with his shoulder, then brought his elbow down like a falling mountain. The skeleton tried to raise its guard, but Caelun's fist crushed through its shield and skull in a single downward strike, splitting the creature open with a grunt of effort and a wicked grin.
Another skeleton to the side stood shocked about to slash down with a rusty sword no doubt plundered from some poor sod who died to the band of undead, but before it could even raise it's arm, Caelun's knuckles, clad in naturally protruding bone growths smashed through its head effortlessly
The rune on his chest pulsed. He felt it, a faint twitch of gain. The Great Rune stirred, an energy similar to those contained in the lesser runes of his home filled the rune, strengthening him slightly as a maiden would a tarnished, storing the energy it could not absorb in the confines of the rune itself, glowing imperceptibly brighter, barely registering the meager resistance they offered, but rewarding his destruction nonetheless.
He rolled his neck. Bones cracked, his own, re-setting, healing.
The last three tried to flank him.
He let them.
One drove a bone dagger into his ribs, the pathetic excuse for a weapon poorly wrought by the hands of savage undead from the feeble bones of its brethren, it snapped against his skin, barely digging past the surface. Another leapt at his back, only to be ripped off and hurled headfirst into the stone with a motion so fluid it looked practiced, though it was nothing but brutal instinct.
The final skeleton, trembling, sensing the fearsome godling for what it truly was for the 1st time, tried to run.
Caelun caught up in two steps.
He planted a hand against its back and slammed it into the ground, then drove his foot down like a spike, pulverizing its skull beneath his heel.
The silence afterward was only broken by the crunch of bone beneath his shifting stance.
He stood tall, breathing slow, steam rising from the small gash on his ribs as it sealed. The thrum of stored power pulsed again, tiny, insignificant to most, but he felt it.
He grinned. "This world's bones break just the same."