Raven's POV
Somehow, I had the feeling Morivain knew far more than she was letting on.
I walked for a long time in silence.
The dungeon no longer roared or trembled.
It felt… watchful.
Every step echoed softly, swallowed by the vast corridors, until even my breathing sounded too loud. Then Morivain's voice broke the stillness, calm but edged with warning.
"You're close to the boss's chamber now. Are you ready?"
I didn't slow.
"Yes. I'm ready. Let's finish this quickly and get out of here."
There was a brief pause before she answered, her tone turning serious.
"The Boss will be far stronger than the four elites combined. Are you certain you can defeat it?"
I exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around my sword's hilt.
"I have to," I said quietly. "I will. I'm not planning to die here and start everything over again and I like this body . This body is already strong—but I can push it much further. Past its limits."
My gaze hardened as I walked.
"I'll turn it into a weapon sharp enough to face that coward goddess."
Morivain hummed, thoughtful.
"This is the strongest incarnation you've achieved out of fifteen so far. Losing it here would be… unfortunate."
"It won't be lost," I replied, steady and certain. "I won't die."
The corridor ended.
Before me stood a massive black door—towering, ancient, carved with shifting runes that seemed to crawl when I wasn't looking at them directly. Mana seeped from the symbols like cold breath.
"The Boss" I murmured. "It's behind this door."
I placed both hands against the stone.
And pushed.
The door groaned open, its weight protesting as I stepped inside with deliberate caution. My hand slid to my sword, drawing it slowly, the blade whispering free of its sheath.
I advanced to the center of the chamber.
The room was enormous—its ceiling lost in shadow. Dim light spilled from scattered mana stones embedded in the walls and floor, casting pale reflections across cracked stone. At the far end stood a colossal stone throne.
And seated upon it—
Something that should not exist.
The Boss was massive, easily twice my height even while seated. Its body was a grotesque fusion of flesh, stone, and dark metal, as though the dungeon itself had tried to give form to a nightmare. Thick, corded muscles strained beneath skin the color of ash, veined with glowing lines of corrupted mana that pulsed like a living heartbeat.
Its face was wrong.
Too many sharp angles. Too many teeth.
A crown of twisted horn-like growths rose from its skull, framing eyes that burned with a cold, intelligent malice. Those eyes followed me—every step, every breath—as if it had already measured the exact moment I would break.
A thin, mocking smile stretched across its monstrous features.
It did not rise.
It did not speak.
It simply watched, I shifted my stance, preparing to strike— , And then it lifted one massive hand It pointed at me.
The air changed.
From the shadows lining the chamber came sounds—wet, crawling, scraping noises. Heavy footsteps. Ragged breathing. Claws dragging against stone.
Figures emerged slowly from the darkness.
Wolves with glowing eyes and blood-slicked fangs.
Ghouls with distorted limbs and regenerating flesh.
Vanguards, towering and armored, their mana flaring violently.
Hollowborn, twisted and malformed, their empty gazes locked onto me.
They formed a loose circle, advancing step by step, cutting off every retreat.
Morivain spoke quietly, tension clear in her voice.
"It seems the Boss wishes to test you… before facing you itself."
I lifted my sword, its blade humming in response.
"…Fine," I whispered, a faint smile touching my lips.
"If it wants a demonstration—
I'll show it exactly what kind of monster it's dealing with."
They came at me all at once.
No roar.
No signal.
Just instinct and hunger.
The wolves were first—low to the ground, muscles coiled, fangs bared. Ghouls lumbered behind them, heavy steps cracking stone. The Vanguards advanced more slowly, their massive frames radiating oppressive mana, while Hollowborn slithered and staggered through the gaps like living shadows.
I didn't rush.
I exhaled.
And then I moved, The world blurred.
My body surged forward, speed enhancement flowing naturally through my muscles—controlled, restrained. I passed the first wolf before it even finished its leap.
A single slash.
My blade barely kissed its neck.
The wolf collapsed behind me, head separating cleanly as black mana bled into my sword and rushed back into my arm. Warm. Familiar.
Another wolf lunged from the side.
I pivoted, using only my wrist.
Steel flashed , four bodies fell, I didn't look at them.
The ghouls reached me next, arms swinging wide, claws scraping air. I slipped between them, my movements economical—no wasted steps, no unnecessary force. My sword carved shallow arcs, precise and lethal, severing tendons, piercing hearts, slicing through spines.
Each strike fed me.
Mana flowed through the blade, through my hand, into my core. Not violently. Not greedily.
Like breathing.
A Vanguard brought its weapon down where my head had been a moment earlier.
I was already gone.
I reappeared at its side, driving my blade into the joint beneath its armor. The metal screamed as it split, and the Vanguard collapsed to one knee with a roar.
I twisted the sword once.
Its mana surged into me in a thick, heavy wave.
I stepped back before its body hit the floor.
The Hollowborn tried to swarm me—too many limbs, too many angles. I increased my speed slightly, just enough. My blade danced through them, threading between arms and torsos, severing cores with delicate precision.
Bodies fell.
Then more.
The floor grew slick beneath my boots.
I never stopped moving.
Not once did I unleash fire.
Not once did I bend the air.
Not once did I push my strength beyond what was necessary.
This wasn't a battle, It was maintenance, Between strikes, I felt it—the Boss's gaze.
I glanced toward the throne, It hadn't moved.
Still seated.
Still smiling.
Watching in silence as its army was dismantled piece by piece.
Not anger, Not surprise.
Interest.
Morivain spoke quietly, awe restrained in her voice.
"You're… not even trying."
"I am," I replied softly, stepping over a corpse as my sword drank deeply once more. "I'm just not showing everything."
Another Vanguard charged.
I met it head-on.
One step.
One thrust.
Mana flooded into me as it fell.
I turned slowly, surveying the chamber.
Dozens of bodies lay scattered across the stone floor—wolves, ghouls, Hollowborn, Vanguards—all motionless. The oppressive pressure in the room thinned slightly, the air heavy with the scent of blood and fading mana.
I rolled my shoulder once, calm. Uninjured, My sword hummed in satisfaction.
Only then did I look back to the throne.
The dungeon lord's smile widened—just a little.
Still silent.
Still watching.
I raised my blade slightly, resting it against my shoulder.
"…Is that enough?" I murmured, meeting its burning eyes.
I pointed my sword at him, a slow smirk curling on my lips.
"Your turn."
The dungeon lord rose from his throne at last.
He moved with infuriating calm, his posture relaxed, his expression filled with quiet arrogance—as if the outcome had already been decided. As though I was nothing more than a formality.
I stepped toward him, unhurried.
Then—
"Alexandra."
I froze, My breath caught painfully in my chest.
That name.
Not Raven Nightthron.
Not Riven.
Alexandra.
My real name.
My brows knitted together as I turned slowly, searching for the source. The voice echoed from everywhere at once—reverberating through stone, through air, through my skull. Distorted at first… then, terrifyingly clear.
"Alex… how could you do this to me?"
My body locked in place.
That voice—
No.
My heart began to pound violently.
"I'm truly disappointed in you , alex. " the voice continued, heavy with hurt. "After everything I did for you… how could you?"
My eyes widened, my lips trembling.
"…Sam?"
Light gathered in the darkness ahead.
A figure emerged, walking toward me slowly, each step deliberate. Her face was unmistakable—lined with anger, grief, and unbearable disappointment.
My voice came out weak. Broken.
"Sam… how is this possible? How are you here?"
She kept walking.
"I raised you," she said coldly. "From the time you were a child. I worked day and night so you would never lack anything. I studied and worked at the same time, never once telling you how exhausted I was—because I didn't want you to worry."
My hands began to shake.
"I made sure you were never hungry. Never cold. I bought you the best things so you wouldn't feel different from other children."
Her voice cracked.
"And this is how you repaid me."
I stumbled backward, my heart racing so fast it hurt.
"You killed my only daughter."
The words hit like a blade through my chest.
"I worked without rest," she continued, tears burning in her eyes, "even on my days off—so you'd be safe. So you'd be happy."
Then she spat the words like poison.
"And you killed my daughter in return."
My sword slipped from my fingers.
It clattered against the stone as my knees gave out beneath me.
I collapsed to the floor.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, over and over. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
She stopped in front of me, towering over my kneeling form.
"All I ever asked of you," she said, her voice shaking with fury, "was to take care of my daughter. She was everything I had in this world."
My vision blurred with tears.
"And you killed her."
I looked up at her, sobbing.
"I'm sorry… I'm really sorry…"
She looked at me with pure contempt.
"Do you think an apology is enough?" she hissed. "I never asked you for anything in my life. Just one thing—protect Liz. Let her grow up with you. She was just a child."
Her voice broke completely.
"She was only ten years old."
I heard Morivain calling my name.
Distant.
Faint.
As if from underwater.
Everything around me blurred—Sam's face, her voice, the chamber itself.
"I just wanted her to grow up loved," Sam screamed. "Not in an orphanage. Not lacking anything. That's why I entrusted her to you!"
Her voice rose into a scream that tore through me.
"But you killed my daughter!"
I opened my mouth to speak—
And suddenly—
Impact.
Something slammed into me with brutal force, throwing me backward. I hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from my lungs.
My vision snapped into focus.
Morivain was straddling me, her face pale with panic.
"Riven!" she shouted. "Wake up! That's not your sister—it's the Boss !"
I stared at her blankly.
Then—
Smack.
Her hand struck my face sharply.
"Wake up!"
Reality crashed back into me.
I gasped, tears still streaming down my face.
"Where… where is Sam?" I whispered.
Morivain exhaled shakily.
"She was never here," she said softly. "That was the boss. He showed you your deepest fear to break you—to kill you in a single strike."
I turned my head slowly.
The place where Sam had been standing—
Now stood the dungeon lord.
Tall. Massive.
A grotesque figure holding a huge, jagged axe in one hand. Its twisted face wore a mocking smile.
Morivain's voice weakened.
"I have to retreat back inside you… I've used too much energy, but be careful."
And she vanished.
I pushed myself to my feet.
Theboss met my gaze, that same infuriating smile carved into its face.
And in that moment—
Something inside me snapped.
Not pain.
Not sorrow.
Something far worse.
A cold, bottomless rage surged through my veins—deeper than anything I had ever felt in my life.
My tears stopped, My breathing steadied, Slowly, I lifted my head, and I looked at him with pure murderous intent.
"You shouldn't have done that," I said quietly.
The dungeon trembled.
Something inside me detonated.
A vast surge of black mana erupted from my core like a bomb, violent and uncontrollable. The entire dungeon shook beneath my feet, stone screaming as cracks raced through the floor and walls.
A heavy, oppressive aura engulfed my body—thick, dense, writhing like black fire. It wasn't just surrounding me.
It was devouring everything.
I lost control of my absorption.
Mana poured into me without restraint—ripping itself from the corpses of fallen monsters, draining the scattered mana stones, tearing directly from the dungeon itself. Streams of power flooded my body endlessly, violently.
The air around me warped and trembled, With every heartbeat, my aura grew denser. Heavier. More suffocating.
I felt invincible.
I had never known rage like this.
My vision darkened at the edges until everything bled into black, I didn't bother picking up my sword.
One step.
Two.
On the third—
I vanished.
I reappeared directly in front of theboss , my fist pulled back as I layered an explosion spell over my knuckles.
I punched.
The moment of contact birthed a violent detonation.
The explosion roared through the chamber, shockwaves ripping outward. The dungeon lord was hurled backward several steps—but I was already moving again.
I leapt forward, driving a second punch toward him.
He reacted fast.
Too fast.
The massive axe in his hands swung toward my neck in a blur—but I wrapped my fist in black mana and smashed it directly into the blade.
BOOM.
The impact forced his arm violently aside.
I surged forward, jumped high, and slammed my knee into his face with crushing force.
He crashed to the ground.
I stood there, staring down at him, my expression empty.
Cold.
Every second that passed, my aura grew heavier—more oppressive, more lethal.
The boss pushed himself to his feet, dust and fractured stone falling from his body. He laughed softly, a mocking smile stretching across his twisted face.
"…Not bad," he said. "Now I see how you slaughtered my followers."
His eyes gleamed with hunger.
"You are strong," he admitted.
"Very strong."
Then his smile sharpened.
"But I am far stronger."
He straightened, resting his massive axe against the ground.
"Allow me to introduce myself."
The mana around him darkened, thickening like a storm about to break.
"My name is Malzaryth, the Black Sovereign."
The title alone carried weight—ancient, domineering, absolute.
He studied me in silence for a moment, then spoke again, his tone turning solemn.
"And you are Raven Nightthron , right?."
A low chuckle escaped him.
"She promised me that if I killed you here… this dungeon would finally open, and I would walk into the outside world once more."
His grin widened into something monstrous.
"I will destroy everything," he said calmly. "I will kill anyone who dares stand in my way."
His eyes burned with ambition. "I will become king of that world."
He raised his axe and pointed it directly at me.
"And you," he said coldly,
"are standing between me and my throne."
The black aura around my body surged violently in response.
I didn't answer him.
I only took a step forward—
The moment I stepped forward—
Malzaryth moved.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Precise.
The axe vanished from where it rested and reappeared inches from my skull. I twisted my body sideways just in time, the blade shaving past my cheek and splitting the air behind me with a thunderous scream.
The wall exploded.
Stone and mana shards rained down as I countered, driving my fist toward his ribs—only for his knee to rise and collide with my abdomen.
The impact sent me flying.
I crashed through a pillar, stone collapsing around me as I skidded across the ground. I rolled to my feet instantly, black mana flaring—just in time to block the axe descending from above.
CLANG.
The shockwave flattened everything nearby.
My boots sank inches into the floor. My arms trembled.
So did his.
Our eyes met.
For the first time—
Malzaryth wasn't smiling.
We pushed off simultaneously.
I vanished in a burst of speed, reappearing at his blind spot, black mana shaping itself into a blade along my forearm. I slashed downward—
He twisted impossibly, the axe haft intercepting my strike as his horned head slammed forward.
My vision flashed white.
I answered with a headbutt of my own.
The collision cracked the air.
We separated, both sliding back, both bleeding.
Equal, exactly equal, I inhaled slowly
Mana roared around us—mine devouring everything within reach, his commanding the dungeon itself. The walls pulsed in response to him, veins of corrupted mana lighting up like a living organism.
"So," he rumbled, rolling his neck,
"This is what you are."
I didn't reply.
I moved.
This time, I didn't attack directly.
Wind bent around my body, compressing, folding, exploding outward as I accelerated beyond sound. I struck from three angles in a single breath—fist, knee, elbow—each enhanced, each carrying explosive force.
Malzaryth blocked two.
The third shattered part of his shoulder.
Black blood sprayed—
And the wound sealed instantly.
He retaliated with a sweeping arc of his axe, releasing a crescent of compressed mana that carved through the dungeon. I leapt, flipped, landed atop the blade itself, and ran along it toward him.
Our fists collided mid-strike.
Mana detonated between us.
The dungeon screamed.
We were thrown apart again—this time farther.
I landed on one knee, breath steady but heavy. He landed standing, axe planted into the ground, chest rising and falling.
Neither of us rushed.
We circled.
Predators measuring predators.
"You absorb," Malzaryth said slowly.
"I dominate."
The dungeon trembled as if answering him.
"But neither of us breaks."
I wiped blood from my mouth ,looked at him With expressionless face.
His grin returned—wide, feral.
We charged.
This time, there was no technique.
No restraint.
Only impact.
Every strike shook the dungeon. Every clash rewrote the battlefield. Pillars fell. Mana stones vaporized. The air burned with friction and corrupted energy.
I felt it—every hit making me stronger.
He felt it too—every exchange feeding his authority.
A war of equals, a battle with no shortcut, no mercy, no escape.
Something changed.
At first, Malzaryth didn't notice it.
Neither did I.
The rhythm of battle remained the same—clash, recoil, impact, separation. Axe against fist. Mana against mana. The dungeon still screamed with every collision.
But then—
I landed a hit.
Not harder.
Cleaner.
My knuckles sank into his side, black mana flaring on impact. I felt it instantly.
His mana.
Warm. Dense. Ancient.
Flowing into me.
My breath steadied.
My movements sharpened.
I blinked.
And I was already behind him.
My heel crashed into his spine, enhanced—compressed wind detonating outward as an explosion spell ignited at the moment of contact.
The blast sent him skidding across the ground, carving a trench through stone.
He rose immediately—
But slower.
Just a fraction.
Enough for me to see it.
Enough for him to feel it.
"…Interesting," he muttered, planting his axe.
I didn't give him time.
Wind wrapped around my legs, spiraling tighter, denser, screaming as I forced it to obey. I moved—and the world blurred.
I struck.
Fist. Knee. Elbow.
Each blow reinforced—enhancement layered atop enhancement, explosion sigils igniting inside the impact.
His guard cracked, Black blood sprayed again, This time, the wound didn't close instantly, felt more mana rush into me, My core burned—no, sang.
Malzaryth staggered, Only one step, But he noticed, His eyes narrowed, "…You're accelerating."
I vanished again, This time, I didn't reappear nearby.
Wind compressed beneath my feet, detonating downward as I drove my fist into his shoulder with full enhancement and an explosion spell layered inside the strike.
The sound wasn't an impact—
It was a detonation.
The dungeon floor collapsed under him as he crashed through it, stone and mana erupting upward like a geyser.
I landed lightly at the edge of the crater.
Breathing slow.
Pulse calm.
Stronger.
Malzaryth climbed out, armor fractured, mana veins flickering unevenly now. His regeneration lagged—a heartbeat too long.
For the first time—
Concern crossed his face.
"Impossible," he growled.
"You're not meant to grow during battle."
I stepped forward, black mana coiling tighter around my limbs.
Wind screamed again—louder this time.
Every movement became sharper, cleaner, faster. My body adapted with terrifying ease, enhancement reinforcing muscle, bone, nerve—while my absorption reached deeper.
I struck his axe directly.
Not to block.
To drink.
Black mana surged through my arms as I tore power straight from the weapon and its wielder.
Malzaryth hissed, ripping the axe back.
"…You're taking from me."
I was already moving again.
Faster than before.
Each step cracked the floor. Each punch carried layered destruction—wind compression, physical enhancement, explosive release—all detonating in perfect timing.
Malzaryth blocked.
Then missed.
Then blocked again—
Too late.
A knee shattered his guard.
An elbow crushed into his jaw.
A final punch—enhanced, accelerated, explosive—slammed into his chest.
The explosion flung him across the chamber, embedding him into the far wall.
Silence fell.
Dust drifted.
I stood where I was, aura burning darker, heavier.
For the first time since this battle began—
Malzaryth did not rise immediately.
When he finally did, his breathing was heavier.
Uneven.
His gaze locked onto me, no longer amused.
"…You were meant to break," he said quietly.
I tilted my head, eyes glowing faintly.
Malzaryth felt it.
Not defeat—not yet.
But loss.
Slow. Inevitable. Creeping into his movements like rot beneath armor.
His regeneration lagged.
His strikes grew sharper—but desperate.
And then his gaze changed.
A smile curved his broken lips.
"Enough," he said softly.
The pressure in the dungeon shifted.
His mana didn't surge outward this time.
It slithered inward.
Into my head.
"You are only a weak human," his voice echoed—not through the air, but inside me.
"And I am the Black Sovereign. Ruler of all my kind."
I took a step forward.
Then stopped.
"How," he continued, amused,
"does a creature like you dare make me bleed?"
His eyes burned into mine.
"You are nothing but a killer."
The words struck harder than any blow.
"You killed a child."
My breath caught.
"Not just any child," he added, smiling wider.
"But your niece."
The world tilted.
Sam's face flashed before me.
Her eyes—burning with grief.
You killed her.
You killed my daughter.
My hands trembled.
"How dare you," Malzaryth whispered, circling me slowly,
"enter this place as a so-called Huntress.
How will you protect others—"
His voice sharpened.
"—when innocent blood stains your hands?"
I couldn't move.
The dungeon faded.
All I could hear was Sam's voice.
Angry. Broken.
You killed her.
Morivain screamed from somewhere far away.
"RIVEN—FOCUS!"
Too late.
Malzaryth was already there.
I felt it a heartbeat before I saw it—
The axe.
Coming for my side.
I reacted on instinct alone.
Black mana surged around my right arm as I twisted, catching the haft mid-swing, The impact detonated through my body.
Pain exploded across my waist, The blade tore into my flesh, Warm blood spilled.
But I didn't fall.
I moved.
My left hand snapped up—mana condensing, shaping—
A black dagger formed instantly.
I slashed.
The blade bit deep into his arm—the one holding the axe.
But this was no ordinary wound.
I pushed.
My mana flooded into his flesh, invasive and corrosive, clinging to his core like a curse.
Malzaryth hissed.
He ripped the axe free and leapt backward, landing heavily.
For the first time—
He looked down at his arm.
The wound didn't close.
"…Interesting."
He chuckled, shaking his head.
"Humans truly are fragile creatures," he mocked.
"So easy to manipulate."
He looked back at me, eyes gleaming.
"I didn't expect such a simple trick to work on you.
One sentence. One memory."
He laughed loudly.
"You dropped your guard instantly."
Then he glanced again at the wound, still oozing blackened blood.
"…Do you really think a scratch like this will weaken me?"
"I will heal in seconds."
I stared at him, My teeth clenched so hard they ached.
The guilt twisted inside me—
But beneath it—
Something darker moved.
I straightened slowly.
Black mana coiled tighter around my body, heavy and suffocating.
I said, my voice low and shaking—not with fear, but rage.
"I will crush you."
My voice hardened.
"I will make you regret ever speaking her name."
The dungeon trembled again.
Malzaryth's smile faltered—just slightly.
Don't listen to him," Morivain said sharply.
"He's trying to cloud your mind."
I didn't answer.
Silence stretched.
"Riven," she said again, urgency creeping into her voice.
"Did you hear me? Don't let him affect you."
Still nothing.
"Riven—why aren't you responding?"
Her voice sounded distant.
Muffled.
As if it were coming from underwater.
I couldn't tell what she was saying anymore.
And I didn't care.
I didn't care about the blood soaking my side.
I didn't care about defense, or timing, or caution.
There was only one thing left in my world.
Malzaryth.
Everything else dissolved into fog.
And inside my head, a single command repeated itself—over and over—soft at first, then screaming.
Kill him.
Kill him.
Kill him.
Black mana surged violently as I formed two daggers in my hands—long, curved, and impossibly sharp, their edges bleeding shadow.
One step.
Then the second—
Space folded.
I vanished.
I reappeared behind him and slashed his thigh.
Malzaryth snarled and swung his axe—
I was already gone.
I appeared in front of him, cutting deep into his knee.
Steel howled through the air again—
I vanished.
Appeared at his side.
Another slash.
Then another.
And another.
Each movement was pure instinct.
No thought.
No restraint.
My teleportation flickered relentlessly—short, brutal jumps that tore at space itself. Every time I appeared, my blades bit into him, carving lines across his body. His hide was tough—far tougher than any creature I'd faced—but that didn't matter.
I wasn't trying to cut him down in one strike.
I was making him bleed.
Blood spilled.
Mana spilled with it—dark, volatile, delicious.
I drank it greedily without even meaning to.
Time lost meaning.
I carved him again and again, dancing through his blind spots, striking where his guard lagged for a fraction of a second. His roars echoed through the dungeon, shaking stone loose from the ceiling.
Finally—
He snapped.
Malzaryth roared, his voice shaking the dungeon to its core.
His mana exploded outward in a violent shockwave.
I reacted on instinct, flipping backward once—twice—three times, landing far from him as the ground cratered where I'd been standing.
Dust and black energy filled the air.
I straightened slowly, blades still dripping.
Across from me, Malzaryth stood seething.
His chest heaved.
Blood ran down his body in glowing lines.
His eyes burned with fury.
"You've crossed the line," he growled.
The mocking tone was gone.
What remained was wrath.
"You are nothing but an insect," he snarled, tightening his grip on the axe.
"How dare you touch me?"
His aura flared violently, crushing the air between us.
"I will make you pay for this."
I stared back at him through the haze, my expression empty—cold—inhuman.
The voice in my head went quiet.
And in that silence, something else took its place.
Focus.
Sharp.
Lethal.
I lowered my stance slightly, daggers angled downward, black mana rolling off my body like a living storm.