The Riftscour's white eyes burned through the darkness and locked onto me—cold and certain. It didn't hide anymore, didn't need to. It knew what it was in this chamber.
The predator.
And I was cut open—flesh torn in strips, wounds still raw, my body struggling to hold its shape as pain pulsed through me.
The Riftscour launched at me, faster than before. Before, I'd felt it coming: a faint breeze, a flicker in the air—just enough warning to move on instinct. Now I still felt it, but only after it was already there.
Too late.
I hadn't managed to hurt it. I hadn't landed a single real blow, and whatever I had just fed it had made it worse.
I felt the slight breeze again and, without thinking, I stepped. When I turned back to where I'd just been, the white eyes had vanished the moment I saw them. Panic climbed up my throat, and I stepped again—then again.
Shadow Step snapped me across the chamber in broken bursts—left, right, back—anything to stay ahead of the strike. Each time I reappeared, a blade cut through the place I'd been a heartbeat earlier. The Riftscour wasn't guessing; it was starting to catch my timing. Every step I took it got closer, its reactions speeding up, while my body got worse after each shift—dim at the edges, sloppy, like every use of Shadow Step tore something out of me and didn't give it all back.
But I couldn't stop. I had no choice. The chamber felt tighter with every step, and the truth hit hard.
I can't beat it.
The thought landed like a weight dropping into my core. I tried to step again and my body failed. A violent jolt ran through me as the cough came back harder, tearing through my chest in an ugly, choking burst. For a fraction of a second I was stuck, heavy and sluggish, refusing to move.
That was all it needed.
Sharp claws carved through my mimic flesh, leaving deep rakes as pain exploded and my body spasmed, the cut flaring hot and raw as it peeled me open. As the claw left my body, the Riftscour did too—gone, nowhere to be seen—and I was left exposed and weak.
HP: 7 / 68
Damn it. I can't hold out much longer.
The thought that followed was colder. So this was it. All of it—every fight, every kill, every desperate step—just to die here anyway.
I forced my head up and scanned the chamber, eyes shaking as they took it in: the Virelochs, the shattered Coloss, broken stone and smoking gouges carved through the walls, cracks webbing across the floor, holes punched clean through plates of rock, debris everywhere. A graveyard I'd made—and it still wasn't enough.
Then something under the ruin caught my eye: a faint glow. Beneath the fractured floor, purple veins pulsed like a heartbeat trapped in stone. They brightened once, then twice, and an idea slid into place.
I can't defeat the Riftscour. But I can sever whatever's controlling it.
I raised my hand toward the suspended man—not at him, but at what held him.
Claw Slash.
Three razor-sharp arcs ripped through the air—clean, screaming lines—aimed at the dungeon-limbs binding his body. If I sever the control, maybe everything chained to it will break.
The slashes crossed the chamber and the shadow moved. The Riftscour snapped into their path like it had been waiting for the decision. A black blade formed along its limb—clean and sudden—and met the first arc head-on. The air shrieked as, for a split second, the arc resisted—grinding against the blade like metal on stone—before splitting apart into two fading crescents. The second arc came in immediately; the Riftscour twisted, shoulders tightening, and carved through it mid-flight.
Shredded. Gone.
Only one remained.
It slipped past the Riftscour's guard and kept going, still on course for the bindings. My chest seized—not pain, failure. A cough tore out of me, violent and wet. Something thick hit my tongue. I spat, and a strip of my own flesh slopped onto the stone. More followed in ragged fragments, dropping with heavy taps as my body dimmed another shade, edges sagging like I couldn't hold my shape. My vision swam for half a beat, but I forced my arm up anyway.
Claw Slash.
Three more arcs ripped out—jagged, desperate—thrown on pure refusal to die. The Riftscour flashed again, black blades snapping up to intercept, but the first arc was already there.
It hit the dungeon limb holding him suspended.
Impact thundered through the chamber. Purple veins lit up instantly, racing along the limb toward the wound like living wires, flooding it with light. The slash didn't fade—it pushed. For a heartbeat the limb became a battleground, purple surging against the arc's pale edge, two forces grinding into each other in a violent purple-white flare. The veins tightened, resisted, tried to knit the damage shut—then the arc bit deeper. The purple light stuttered, faltered, and lost.
The limb shattered.
Stone and violet fragments burst outward. For the first time, the suspended man's body moved—his right arm tore free and dropped, and he screamed. Not a shout—pain ripped straight out of him as the remaining bindings yanked at what was left.
The dungeon answered immediately. It roared—not a sound, but a full-body convulsion that ripped through stone and air alike—and the floor bucked violently.
My balance collapsed. Plates shifted under me, sliding toward cracks as the ground rolled and threw itself around. The Riftscour faltered too; for the first time, it looked forced to react. It tried to move—tried to intercept—but its footing betrayed it. A step skidded. A jump came up short. Its body snapped for purchase, blades flaring, but the ground wouldn't give it a stable line.
That was the opening.
The remaining arcs—already in motion—reached the bindings untouched. The first struck and a dungeon limb cracked, purple veins flaring bright as they tried to hold it together—then failed.
It shattered, and the suspended man's left leg dropped free.
The second arc hit the next binding before the dungeon could stabilize. A violent snap. Purple light surged—and tore apart.
His right leg broke loose.
The third arc followed immediately with another impact, and his left arm fell free. The last limb gave way, splintering into fragments as the purple glow finally lost its grip.
The man dropped hard. He hit the floor and slid, ending slumped against the wall, debris clattering around him as the purple glare in his eyes flickered once—twice—then faded.
The dungeon trembled again, but this time it wasn't anger.
The structure groaned like it was tearing itself apart. In the distance, Virelochs shrieked as the corridors convulsed—stone plates sliding, ceiling slabs breaking loose and crashing down. They clawed at falling rock, scrambling over rubble as dust choked the air, while beams flashed through the dark in wild, desperate shots trying to blast open space where the dungeon was collapsing around them.
The Riftscour's posture changed—no longer hunting, now measuring, preserving. It stepped toward me to finish what it started, then stopped. Its head tilted and one ear-like ridge lifted slightly, as if it had caught something I couldn't hear. Its jaw tightened and a low growl rolled out—cold and irritated—aimed at me like a promise postponed.
Then it turned and darted into a deeper chamber, vanishing into the darkness as the dungeon continued to break itself apart.
That worked. The pressure in the chamber shifted—subtle, but unmistakable—like a hand had finally loosened its grip.
Control was gone.
Relief hit anyway, thin and shaky. Above, the ceiling cracked and stone began to fall.
Then a soft voice said, "Thank you."
I looked up. The man lay coughing, blood spilling from his lips. His body was failing. I moved toward him sluggishly, my body dim and faint—like it had run out of energy hours ago and kept fighting anyway—and knelt in front of him. For the first time, his eyes looked alive: no purple light, no binding glare. Just him.
He took a deep breath like he was breathing fresh air for the first time. "Finally… I am free," he said in a raspy voice, and his eyes locked onto mine. "I didn't think I'd be saved by a…" He hesitated, then let out a soft, broken chuckle. "Mimic?" The chuckle turned into another cough, and more blood spilled from his lips.
His gaze veered up toward the ceiling. "I've held onto that lie for long enough now," he stuttered, then pushed through as emotion flooded his voice. "I've been away from them for long enough. It's time for me to accept what I know is true."
His eyes dropped back down and stared directly at me. "Do you know what you've done?"
I frowned.
"He will come after you now," the man continued. He paused for a brief moment. "Like he did for me."
I started to respond, sharp and confused. "W—" But he cut me off before I could ask.
"Take this," he said weakly.
His right hand trembled as he revealed something: a bright blue stone, light pouring from it.
"Is this—?"
He gave a faint, bitter chuckle. "Something I was saving for myself. But I have no use for it now."
"I can't take it," I said quickly. "You can use it to save yourself."
He shook his head. "No. It's time I go home." A tear rolled down his face. "They're waiting for me."
His right arm pushed closer, the crystal shining with bright blue light. I grabbed it reluctantly, and power surged through me in an instant—unlike anything I'd ever felt. Pure. Honest. Extremely powerful. I pressed the mana crystal to my body, making sure it would stick so I wouldn't lose it, then locked eyes with him again.
"Thank you," I said softly.
He nodded slightly, his eyes starting to drift away.
I asked again, "Who is going to come for me?"
His eyes snapped back to life like the thought alone filled him with agony, like his instincts flared so hard he couldn't let himself fade. He looked at me with focus… and fear.
"Vae—"
A breeze cut through the chamber. My instincts screamed and I stepped back instantly. The man's mouth stayed open mid-word.
Then I saw it—his neck.
Something was wrong.
For a split second it looked normal, and then the line appeared: a clean cut. His head slid from his shoulders and hit the floor with a dull, heavy bounce. His eyes faded instantly.
No red. No purple. Nothing.
Just a head detached from its body—forever.
No…
Why did it kill him? He wasn't controlling them anymore. Why did it come back?
White eyes flashed in the darkness, then vanished. I waited for the shift—for that familiar flare, for red—but it never came. Not once. The thought hit slow and heavy, settling into place like a key turning in a lock.
Does that mean…?
A massive slab of ceiling dropped toward me and the thought shattered. I jerked aside—cleaner than I should've been able to—and my body felt different. Not dim. Not fading. I glanced down as a faint blue glow pulsed from where the mana crystal had sunk into my flesh. Warmth spread through me in slow waves, energy threading into my body and holding my shape together as it flowed.
Then something else caught my eye: a white glow near the man's body.
But his body was already coming apart—not rotting, not bleeding out, disintegrating—breaking into motes of light that lifted off him like ash in reverse. The light pulled inward, condensed, and an orb formed where his chest had been—too bright to look at. It twitched, then shot toward me.
I flinched hard and squeezed my eyes shut.
Impact. Not on my skin—inside—like something forcing its way past my flesh and sinking deep without permission.
Panic surged.
What is that?!
I snapped my eyes open. I was still standing, still alive. I looked down at my hands, my arms, my chest—nothing. No mark. No wound. No glow. The orb was gone. The light had simply… disappeared.
The dungeon rumbled again, louder. Cracks spread. Dust rained down in choking sheets. I didn't have time to process what had just entered me.
I ran.
No Shadow Step. My body wouldn't answer anymore—not after everything I'd forced out of it. Every movement felt delayed and heavy, like my flesh lagged behind my intent. I sprinted back the way I came as the corridors changed around me—walls splitting, floor plates shifting, ceilings sagging under their own weight.
Virelochs lay crushed beneath falling stone. Purple light still pulsed in their cores, trying to heal what had been flattened, but the dungeon kept pressing down and the light couldn't win. Some of them twitched. Some groaned. Some kept trying to pull themselves free with broken limbs that wouldn't stop knitting wrong.
I passed the chamber where bodies had once been loaded into the wagon—human remains, withered monster carcasses—and remembered the presence, the voice. The jagged purple stone that had absorbed their energy was gone: dark, no glow, no trace.
No time to think.
A section of ceiling collapsed ahead and I threw myself sideways, sticky flesh catching on a cracked wall. I climbed up without thinking—hands and feet clinging, dragging my body vertical as rubble slammed down where I'd just been. The corridor behind me exploded inward as stone burst and dust billowed.
More Virelochs stumbled through the haze—panicked, wounded, trying to escape the collapse. Some didn't make it. A slab dropped and crushed one mid-step, purple light flaring bright as it tried to rebuild under tons of rock—then dimming as the weight won. Another lunged toward the opening and I shoved it aside, hard—not to save it, but to clear my path. It staggered into a falling beam and disappeared under the rubble with a wet crunch.
I kept moving, jumping from wall to wall when the floor split, climbing when the corridor tilted, using my sticky body to traverse gaps and broken stone like I was more insect than creature while the dungeon tried to bury everything inside it. The groans behind me stacked into a chorus—Virelochs screaming, stone cracking, beams firing uselessly into dust as panic tore them apart.
The entrance was ahead: light, air. I pushed harder as the ceiling began to fall in waves, rolling collapse chasing me like a living thing.
I burst through the opening just as the entire dungeon caved inward. The entrance sealed behind me—stone folding shut like it had never existed. The final groans were cut off, crushed forever.
I stumbled outside and dropped to my knees—exhausted, burning, alive. My chest heaved, lungs dragging air like they were full of dust and fire.
Then pain hit.
White-hot. Deeper than any wound.
It didn't come from my flesh. It came from inside—somewhere buried in my core where I couldn't reach, couldn't see, couldn't even understand. It was brutal, like every cell in my body was being torn apart and rewritten. I squeezed my eyes shut as a faint white light pulsed deep within me—visible through my dimming form like a heart I didn't own.
I saw it, and the pain doubled. My vision blurred. The world tilted. I couldn't stay conscious.
And I collapsed onto the ground outside the ruins of the dungeon I had just escaped.