Dust swirled through the fractured silence of the third floor.
From the mouth of a crater, Orian rose, groaning as he clutched his side. Pain radiated from his ribs with every breath. He had fallen hard—slammed through the floor and into what looked like an ancient, forgotten chamber. Rubble crumbled beneath his boots as he staggered forward, light pouring through the jagged hole above him.
The room was quiet. Still. Sacred.
At the far end stood a stone altar, bathed in a shaft of golden light that fell precisely upon a single object: a small, yellow sphere, no larger than an eye. Orian stepped closer, drawn by instinct. The ball lay still—delicate, organic. It resembled an eyeball, but encased in fleshy eyelids, as if it were asleep.
He reached out.
With careful fingers, he picked it up.
The moment his skin touched it, the sphere twitched—and then it melted through his palm.
Orian screamed.
The orb passed through his hand, burrowing into his flesh. Blood gushed from the puncture wound, the pain blinding. He dropped to the ground, thrashing as the foreign object slithered beneath his skin.
It traveled upward—gliding through muscle, grazing the radius, scraping past the humerus. Every inch of movement felt like fire wrapped in needles. The orb coursed past his shoulder, threaded through his chest, bypassing his lungs, until it reached his heart.
Orian collapsed to his knees, one hand clawing at his chest. The pain was unbearable. Then—stillness.
The ball had stopped.
Slowly, it sank into his heart.
He screamed again.
The eyelids surrounding it dissolved into the surrounding tissue, and his heart began to change. Veins extended toward the sphere like vines reaching for sun. Blood vessels latched onto it, forming new pathways. Then—a white, luminous liquid pulsed from the orb, flooding into his bloodstream. His heart beat once—then twice—then roared to life, pumping the strange liquid into his second heart, which carried it through the rest of his body.
And just like that, the pain was gone.
Orian gasped, drawing his first full breath in what felt like hours. He sat still, chest rising and falling in the quiet aftermath.
He didn't know it yet—but everything had changed.
He had assimilated a Seed.
---
Orian leaned on the edge of the altar, his hand still trembling. He pulled a Strek from his pocket—a pen-shaped communication device—and pressed it to his lips.
"Omira, are you there?"
Static.
Then a voice, frantic and breathless.
"Orian? Thank the heavens—you're alive! Where are you? We need to leave now. I found a return scroll."
Orian coughed and steadied himself.
"It's all right," he said, voice raspy. "You go. I have my own scroll."
He reached into his coat and drew out a small return scroll, pressing it against the altar as he exhaled.
"How's Ola? Is she safe?"
Omira replied, "Yes. She's already made it to the surface."
Relief flooded his face.
"Good… That's good."
He glanced at the glowing scroll in his hand.
"Let's use them together. On three."
Omira's voice came through again, firm now.
"I'm ready."
"One… two… three."
Both of them pressed the red glyph on their scrolls.
In a flash of light—they vanished.
---
On the second floor, Pungence landed gracefully—without a sound. No crater. No shattered stone. Only silence.
Far below, on the fourth floor, the humanoid machine, still unscathed felt something.
Its head tilted upward.
Then, without warning, flames erupted from its feet, and it launched itself skyward. It ignored Dreados and Omfry entirely. Not a glance. Not a flicker of attention. It knew what it had sensed above.
It flew with singular purpose—through the massive hole torn in the third floor, through the second, until it emerged into the broken light of the upper ruin.
It hovered, as if to confirm what it already knew.
And then it surged forward—toward Pungence.
The machine understood.
He was the threat. The apex.
The final wall.
---
Meanwhile, on the fourth floor, Omfry landed beside Dreados, his left arm limp and useless. Gritting his teeth, he leaned down and hauled Dreados up with his right hand.
"We have to leave—now. Before that thing comes back. We can't beat it."
Without waiting for a reply, Omfry slung Dreados over his back, bent his knees, and leapt.
His foot struck the air as if it were solid ground, and he vaulted through the breach—onto the second floor.
Then it happened.
A sound unlike anything before tore through the ruin. A deep, resonant shock that shook the entire ruin around them.
Omfry looked up—and froze.
Above them, he could see it.
Not the illusion of sky cast by ancient magic.
The real sky.
He whispered, voice trembling:
"What the hell…"
Far in the distance, Pungence walked.
Behind him trailed the shattered remains of the humanoid machine—its head severed, its body cleaved in two. But that was only the beginning.
From Pungence's feet, a single deep scar carved itself across the entire battlefield—stretching from his path to the farthest edge of the ruin.
The terrain was split.
The walls of the ruin—split.
Even the artificial sky—split.
And through the fracture, the sun poured in.
For the first time in history, sunlight touched the Beniek Ruin.
Because Pungence had broken through the Beniek ruin—a world buried 500 kilometres beneath the surface.
---
Omfry leaped forward, making his way toward the others. But Pungence kept walking.
Then—
A wave erupted.
Not of light. Not of fire.
But of something deeper. Invisible. Violent.
An unseen pulse expanded outward from him, rippling through stone and soul.
And then the screams began.
Men and beasts howled in unison. Every being the wave touched convulsed—blood bursting from their eyes, their noses, their mouths, their ears, even their pores. Veins ruptured. Nerves ruptured. Lungs collapsed. Most people died instantly. The wave made no distinction. It punished all life, but only life. The terrain was unaffected.
Dreados and Omfry, still airborne, were hit mid-flight. They crashed to the ground, screaming. Omfry couldn't stand. He dropped to his knees and touched his face—his nose was bleeding.
Then his eyes.
Dreados rolled across the floor, clutching his head as crimson ran from every opening.
The pain was unbearable.
But worse than the pain… was the isolation.
Omfry scanned the ruin—he could feel no one. No auras.
Only one presence remained.
It felt like it was everywhere. Around him. Within him. Above him.
He gasped, trying to hold it back. But he couldn't. The pain was too vast.
And then he screamed.
Pungence walked on.
Each step sent the wave further.
He removed the cigarette from his mouth, exhaled a slow plume of smoke, and placed it back between his lips.
Far away, Katos screamed—rolling on the ground, blood pouring from every hole in his face.
Then his voice gave out.
And then—he died.
---
Elsewhere in the ruin, the hooded man turned from the abyss where he had thrown Valerius. He stopped.
He felt it.
He looked upward.
On another floor, Ziraiah, Anuel, Gustein, Sumshus, and Lisa all heard the screams—the howling of men, women and beasts. They rose from where they'd fallen, eyes wide with fear.
Even King Gozay heard the screams. He turned his head toward the tremor.
Maloi stood, eyes narrowed.
Katos was silent. Dead.
Dreados and Omfry—still writhing—slammed their fists into the ground, cratering the stone as they screamed through blood and sorrow.
They looked at each other—eyes red, faces torn, veins bulging—and in their expressions there was not just pain.
There was fear.
And something deeper.
Hopelessness. They were mere seconds away from death.
Then, the hooded man leapt—vaulting from the third floor to the second.
He landed far from Pungence, within the wave's radius.
Yet he walked—untouched.
The pressure meant nothing to him. He advanced calmly, as if stepping through morning air.
Pungence paused.
He felt something.
His gaze shifted, sharp and sudden.
"…Gozay?" he said quietly.
Then he felt them—children.
Not far from the Elf King.
His expression hardened.
And with a breath, he stopped the wave.
The unseen agony ceased. The ruin grew silent. Dreados and Omfry were granted reprieve.
---
Of the one hundred thousand souls who entered the Beniek Ruin…
fewer than eighty remained.
Silence draped the ruin like a burial shroud.
The hooded man stopped, standing amidst the destruction. His body began to glow—soft at first, then brighter, whiter, blinding. Energy pulsed from within him, building, gathering, compressing. The ground quivered beneath his feet.
And then—
Pungence appeared beside him. No flash. No sound. Just sudden presence, a hand gripped firmly around the man's glowing arm.
"No."
Pungence's voice was calm. Final.
He stared down at the man, emerald eyes filled with steel.
"There are children here," he said, voice low but charged. "Not to speak of the neighbouring countries. You know what this kind of release will do."
Pungence said, "Why are you here?"
The hooded man replied, "You don't have the authority to know."
Pungence scoffed. "I don't have the authority? Me?"
The hooded man looked up slowly. Their gazes locked—two titans, unmoving.
"I've been given orders," the man said.
Pungence didn't flinch.
"I don't care about your orders. You will not do this."
The light around the hooded man intensified, the air humming with pressure. His voice came colder this time:
"Let go of me, Pungence. I won't ask again."
"And I won't tell you again," Pungence replied, unblinking.
The world held its breath.
The ground began to shake. The hooded man's glow flared. The ground cracked. Power trembled between them.
Then, slowly, Pungence closed his eyes. He exhaled a long breath through his nose, voice softening—but not weakening.
"Do me this one favour… and I will owe you."
A pause.
The glow faltered.
"Do you realise what you're asking me?" the hooded man said. "You're asking me to go against orders. Everyone in this ruin—must die."
Pungence didn't look away.
"The criminals will. I've eradicated most already."
"But if you insist on annihilating entire countries over one tiny ruin… then... you'll have to walk over my dead body first."
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"If you can."
The tension in the air became suffocating. Even the ruin itself seemed to still.
Then… the light faded.
The hooded man broke eye contact and slipped his arm from Pungence's grip.
He turned away.
But before leaping, he paused—looking over his shoulder.
"You owe me one, Pungence."
And with a single motion, he launched skyward—disappearing through the crater Pungence had carved into yilheim itself.
---
Pungence stood still for a moment, staring in the direction the man had come from.
Then he turned.
And leapt—straight into the hole, plunging down to the third floor.
He landed like a thunderclap, his coat flaring around him like a shroud of war.
Something stirred.
He felt it—Valerius.
The aura was faint… but unmistakable.
Pungence vanished in a flicker, reappearing at the edge of a dark abyss. He peered downward. Nothing but shadow.
Then, wordlessly, he stepped forward—onto the air.
And began to walk down, descending into the abyss like he was descending stairs carved from silence.
---
To Be Continued...