Years passed in shadowed silence.
Lucien, once a boy of sharp tongue and sharper mind, now sat as a man of eighteen winters. His silver-white hair had grown long and styled, framing a face too perfect to be natural. Sky-blue eyes shimmered with mana-tinged brilliance, and pale, unmarked skin lent him an otherworldly grace. He didn't just look like royalty. He looked like something *designed* to rule death itself.
He looked like a prince born from the grave.
In the time since the Shattered Blade's creation, he and Alazaar had grown into a strange partnership—necromancer and lich, pupil and guide, rivals in curiosity. The lich, ever the scholar, had committed to Lucien's ascent like a man betting on the end of the world. He charted ruins, mapped leyline scars, and scouted "farming grounds"—areas where death pooled thick and monsters respawned like clockwork.
Lucien borrowed that term from Earth. Alazaar eventually adopted it with a dry smirk.
Lucien hunted. He tested. He refined. Alazaar studied the cursed blade.
One time, the lich attempted to wield it himself. The shadows exploded upward. The crypt screamed. The air warped.
But Alazaar didn't budge. He raised one hand. His aura alone smothered the weapon's rebellion.
"It tried to devour me," he murmured, letting it fall. "How quaint."
Lucien shrugged. "I think it likes you."
Their bond deepened. Not as equals—but as aligned anomalies.
Lucien taught Alazaar about Earth: concrete jungles, flying machines, cities that never slept. Alazaar responded with tales from before the gods consolidated power. Of Solomon the King. Of seventy-two disciples—each one mythic in their own right.
"I was the seventy-second," Alazaar said one night. "The last. The forgotten."
When Lucien explained roleplaying, Alazaar blinked. "Diplomacy. Or deception."
"No," Lucien clarified, "for fun."
Alazaar considered. "Ah. Like when I pretended to be a highborn vampire duke for seventeen years to avoid a crusade."
"…Yeah, that counts."
"I was very committed to the bit."
Lucien nearly died laughing.
---
Outside, the wind carried a sharp chill as Lucien sat silently at the entrance of a cave that loomed like a wound in the side of a craggy hill. Mist coiled around the stone like a living thing, drawn toward the cave's maw.
Alazaar had given him the location days ago.
"A phenomenon known as a 'Dungeon,'" the lich had called it, voice tinged with interest. "But not like those in your games. Here, they are not instanced or fabricated. They are living things."
Lucien remembered raising an eyebrow at that.
Now, staring into the mana-drenched darkness, he understood.
The cave pulsed faintly—not with light, but with pressure. With presence.
Dungeons, in this world, were naturally-occurring concentrations of mana. They lured in wildlife, beasts, even travelers with the promise of raw magical saturation. Creatures drawn into them were slowly molded, changed. The dungeon absorbed their essence, twisted their instincts, and sealed them inside.
Once they entered, they could not leave.
And as time passed, the mana reshaped them—made them faster, stronger, more aggressive.
Dungeon monsters were not born stronger.
They were *made* stronger.
Lucien adjusted the cuffs of his long coat, the pale bone-trim flickering in the ambient witchlight. He rolled forward, alone, into the dungeon's breathless dark.
Over the years, Lucien had learned many things. The system was not static. His constructs—his creations—were not final products. They could be reforged. Rebuilt. Enhanced. With better materials, more mana, and refined design, a summon could evolve.
And one did.
"Kaelthorn," Lucien called.
The air split.
A gush of necrotic flame exploded forth, not just from the ground, but from the very seams of reality. The veil tore, bending light and space as green fire scorched the edges of existence.
From within that infernal gate, two sets of glowing emerald eyes emerged.
The creature that stepped forward was no longer the chimera Lucien had once built from scraps. It was a monster reborn.
Kaelthorn now towered taller and broader than any ogre. Two dire wolf skulls served as its heads, fanged and snarling—each the size of a tiger's and ten times more vicious. Its body was a fortress of fused bone, with a broad skeletal chest and thick plated ribs that pulsed with an unstable mix of divine and necrotic energy.
From its torso extended four massive arms—crafted from human, gnoll, and dire wolf bones. Each limb ended in jagged claws sharp enough to cut through iron with effort.
It did not walk.
It *marched.*
A war machine bound by will and soul.
> [Unit Created: Reforged Chimera – "Kaelthorn" – Tier III]
> HP: 2,100
> MP: 1,560
> STR: 169
> CON: 169
> DEX: 174
> INT: 151
> WIS: 151
> CHA: –
> Traits: Unstable Energy (Death/Divine Mix. Stats reduced by 75%), Regeneration, Sharp Claws, Sharp Teeth, Agile, Ambidextrous
> Infused Mana: 150 MP
> Duration: Indefinite (until death)
Lucien's lips curled into a cold smirk as he read the stats hovering before him.
"Much better."
He raised his hand, fingers snapping once in the stale dungeon air. "Kill."
Kaelthorn responded without hesitation.
The chimera lunged forward like a war-born specter, claws scraping across the stone floor, limbs moving in perfect, primal unison. The necrotic fire still clung to his form, casting flickering shadows that made him look less like a summon and more like a myth reborn.
The first gnoll didn't even have time to scream.
It was a creature of mottled fur and yellowed eyes, hunched and snarling, with jagged metal armor strapped to its wiry frame. Its mouth hung open, revealing fangs twisted by mana corruption. In another world, it might have been mistaken for a beast-man—a savage predator cursed by centuries of magic.
Kaelthorn struck like a guillotine.
One head sank its jaws into the gnoll's throat while the other bit down on its shoulder. Four claws followed—tearing, ripping, shredding. The gnoll was dead before it hit the ground, its body torn into a smear across the stones.
The others roared and charged.
Dozens of them emerged from the dungeon's winding halls. Each gnoll was unique: some bore ritual markings burned into their fur, others wielded rusted axes or bone clubs. A few had extra limbs or misshapen backs—evidence of long exposure to the dungeon's mutating mana.
Kaelthorn met them with merciless precision.
He danced through the mob with inhuman fluidity. One arm blocked a descending axe, another arm tore through a gnoll's chest. The third and fourth lashed out like twin scythes, bisecting foes left and right. His movements blurred, his glowing eyes flickering with bloodlust and controlled madness.
The gnolls fought savagely, but they were outmatched. Their blows bounced off Kaelthorn's enchanted bones. Their tactics, born of instinct and rage, crumbled under his coordination.
Lucien followed at a calm pace behind the storm.
Blood slicked the dungeon floor. Chunks of fur and twisted limbs littered the stone. And still Kaelthorn carved a path forward, relentless, unstoppable.
The deeper they went, the thicker the air became—charged with mana, humming like the breath of something old and hateful.
Lucien narrowed his eyes.
A flick of his fingers summoned his soul point counter into view.
> [+120 SP per kill – Dungeon Creatures: Level 12]
The number ticked upward rapidly, each slain gnoll fueling his reservoir of power. Though the gain per creature was lower than what he earned slaying undead just outside the crypt, the *volume* made up for it.
Dozens had already fallen.
Hundreds more likely waited.
He didn't mind.
This place was worth the grind.
They were close.
The passage opened into a vast, echoing chamber—a natural cathedral of jagged stone and sickly green light. Bones littered the ground in chaotic piles: ribcages, skulls, and femurs intermingled in crude arrangements. Some were from animals, but many bore the unmistakable signs of human origin—shattered jaws, splintered spines, fingers still clutching rusted weapons.
Wooden cages dangled from the walls, some splintered open, others still holding desiccated remains. Braziers burned in alcoves, casting long shadows across the walls. The air was thick with the scent of blood, rot, and burning fat.
At the center of it all sat a throne built entirely from bones—spines layered for the backrest, femurs stacked for the arms, and a cracked skull forming the centerpiece of its crown. Seated upon it was the beast.
The Gnoll Chieftain.
Massive, monstrous, and adorned with crude bone-plated armor lashed together with sinew and chain, the creature dwarfed its kin. One eye gleamed beneath a jagged brow while the other was a scarred ruin, sealed shut by a brutal claw mark. It held a jagged bone saw-blade longer than Lucien's entire body, its teeth encrusted with dried gore.
Its fur was darker, almost black, with streaks of sickly green mana that pulsed beneath its flesh. Flanked by a dozen lesser gnolls, it rose slowly as Lucien and Kaelthorn entered.
Lucien's gaze sharpened. "Inspect."
> [Boss: Gnoll Chieftain – Level 17]
> HP: 1900
> CON: 190
> STR: 162
> DEX: 140
> INT: 70
> WIS: 50
> CHA: –
> Skills: Summon Allies, Roar of Ferocity, Pack Tactics
Lucien steepled his fingers. "Let's see if Kaelthorn can manage on his own."
The chimera charged without waiting.
The room erupted.
Kaelthorn tore through the first wave of minions with savage grace, ripping gnolls apart by the dozen. His claws sheared bone. His fangs shattered armor. But the Chieftain howled—an ear-splitting bellow—and a new wave of allies burst from side tunnels.
Kaelthorn redirected. He slaughtered the reinforcements quickly, but again the Chieftain roared.
And again they came.
Lucien observed silently, watching Kaelthorn wade through blood and bone. Each time the boss summoned, its strength surged. Surrounded by its allies, the Chieftain's power climbed, each stat inflated by some unseen buff.
If Kaelthorn ignored the summons, they swarmed him—biting, clawing, slowing him down.
Eventually, the pressure became too much.
One of the gnoll minions latched onto Kaelthorn's back. The Chieftain swung wide. The bone-saw shrieked as it tore through Kaelthorn's arm—severing it clean at the shoulder.
Lucien let out a sharp tut. "Still too much for Kaelthorn to take on a boss alone."
He raised a hand and pointed.
"Bone Thorn."
Eight bone spikes conjured into existence behind him with a crack of power. They launched forward in a flash, impaling gnolls mid-charge, pinning them to walls, skewering their limbs and torsos.
Before the Chieftain could howl again, Lucien beat him to it.
"Animate Undead."
From the ground and bone piles, skeletons surged upward—not the brittle weaklings of earlier years, but hardened undead soldiers clad in ancient armor. Their shields were reinforced with mana-tempered iron. Their blades gleamed with dark enchantments.
> [Skeleton Soldier ×30 – Silver III]
> [Skeleton Archer ×20 – Silver III]
The soldiers locked shields and moved as one, blocking the tunnel entrances. When the next summons came, they were ready—shield walls bracing, denying reinforcements access to the battlefield.
The boss's power waned. His stat buffs fell, reducing his ferocity.
From the back, the archers opened fire. Their shots were precise—arrows slamming into the Chieftain's blind side, shredding through tendon and muscle.
Kaelthorn moved in again.
This time, unimpeded, he found his opening. The chimera lunged, slamming the Chieftain into the bone throne. Both sets of jaws clamped down—crushing windpipe, spine, and skull in one brutal chomp.
The Chieftain gurgled once.
Then fell still.
> [Dungeon Cleared. +300 SP]
> [Achievement Unlocked: Massacre – Slay 3,000 Gnolls. +1000 SP]
> [Achievement Unlocked: Relentless – Clear the Same Dungeon 30 Times. +2500 SP]
Lucien smiled faintly. "That'll do."