By the fourteenth floor, the Dungeon was visibly damaged.
Fragments of chitin and bone littered the stone, scattered in uneven arcs where bodies had fallen and been dragged aside. The Dungeon had already begun reclaiming what it could. Scorch marks still clung to the walls. Cracks spidered across the floor where something large had collapsed under concentrated fire.
At the centre, Luthar stepped through the remains without hesitation, the source of the damage moving on as if the consequences were irrelevant.
For him, the twelfth and thirteenth floors had offered resistance in theory only. He had passed through them before, and this time was no different. The number of monsters had increased, and so had their strength, but none of it mattered. They died before they could close the distance, any formation breaking down before momentum could become dangerous.
Ahead, movement registered at the edge of his awareness.
He raised a hand, signalling that another wave of monsters was coming.
The Black Widows changed magazines instantly, spacing adjusting by instinct. Two shifted left, one right. Firing lanes overlapped without crossing. No one spoke.
The next wave emerged in pieces.
Creatures poured from side passages in uneven clusters, ignoring the floor's usual logic. Killer Ants rushed first, bodies low and skittering, numbers swelling far beyond what the corridor should have produced. Hellhounds followed close behind, fangs bared, pressing forward with relentless aggression.
Luthar opened fire.
The corridor was drowned in gunfire. The weapon roared continuously, recoil ignored as rounds tore through flesh, chitin, and stone alike. Killer Ants burst apart mid-charge, bodies shredded so completely that fragments splattered the walls. Hellhounds were cut down in motion, some collapsing outright, others slamming into the floor by sheer force before they finished dying.
Stray rounds chewed into the Dungeon itself. Stone cracked. Chunks of wall blew apart under sustained fire, leaving jagged scars before the surface began to regenerate.
One Hellhound leapt through the chaos, clearing the smoke and debris.
Without easing the trigger, Luthar dragged the stream upward. The creature was caught midair and folded violently into the wall behind it.
Behind him, the Black Widows exchanged quick glances. None of them spoke, but the concern was obvious. Luthar was causing too much damage to the Dungeon, forcing it to send more monsters.
The Widows tightened their grips, eyes flicking between the destruction and the darkened passages ahead. This wasn't just clearing monsters anymore—and it definitely wasn't the training they had been promised. Luthar was tearing through everything as if it didn't matter. Before their thoughts could settle, something broke from the smoke.
A group of Killer Ants burst out of the haze, skittering through the edge of Luthar's firing arc. Another followed, then another, closing the distance faster than expected.
Natasha snapped out of it and drew her gun in one smooth motion, firing once to drop the second ant before it could get any closer. The one already in front of her left no room for distance. She swung her blade without hesitation, splitting the monster with a single strike.
The other three immediately followed up with their own weapons, engaging the monsters that had come too close. On the other side, Luthar kept firing on instinct, his thoughts drifting to how he was supposed to reach the fortieth floor if the Dungeon kept throwing monsters at him like this.
As the massacre continued, stray bullets began to come dangerously close. Stone shattered, rounds ricocheting past Natasha and the others just enough to force a shift in focus. For the next few minutes, they fought under tighter constraints—cutting down monsters while constantly adjusting their positions, careful not to drift into Luthar's firing lanes.
It made everything harder for them.
For Luthar, it was a bonus. He didn't slow down or adjust. There was no such thing as friendly fire—only people who learned to move correctly, and those who didn't.
For a long stretch, they fought under constant pressure. Only when the Dungeon began thinning its response—sending fewer monsters at wider intervals—did the tension ease enough for the Black Widows to take a breath. Luthar slowed as well, not out of fatigue, but because there was finally no one left on the floor.
Even the final Hellhound collapsed, its body skidding across the stone before dissolving into light.
The floor was littered with magic stones, enough to fill a small room.
Luthar lowered his weapon, then reached into his pocket and released a cluster of small scarabs. They spilled onto the stone and immediately went to work, scattering outward to scan, collect, and sort the magic stones with mechanical efficiency.
The Black Widows allowed themselves to slow. Shoulders dropped a fraction. Grips loosened. One of them leaned briefly against a half-regenerated pillar, eyes still tracking the corridors out of habit rather than necessity.
Seeing the fatigue on their faces, Luthar took out water and rations and passed them around.
They ate quickly, efficiently. Minutes passed in near silence, broken only by controlled breathing and habit-driven glances down the corridor.
The scarabs finished their work in silence, returning one by one before sealing themselves away again. The floor was clear. No movement registered nearby. The Dungeon remained quiet, watching but no longer pressing.
Only then did Luthar gesture forward.
"Let's move," he said.
The Widows straightened, discipline snapping back into place as they fell in behind him. Rest over, weapons ready, they moved on together, leaving the scarred chamber behind as they descended toward the fifteenth floor.
For them, there was not much difference between the fourteenth and fifteenth floors, aside from the corridors widening just enough to change sightlines.
Monster encounters continued—but without urgency.
They appeared only in small groups, following predictable patterns. No overlapping spawns. No forced engagements. Each threat was addressed as it arose.
After the chaos above, it almost felt unreal.
The Widows adjusted quickly, pace loosening as tension bled away. Weapons remained ready, but movement became smoother and more economical. This was progression again, not survival.
Luthar led them onward without comment. For the moment, the dungeon had ceased its frantic testing and the chaos subsided into a heavy stillness—broken only by the occasional encounters.
Authors note: sorry for little late as spend too much time in Chapter 249 which delay me from writing other chapters and posting new chapter.