Denwen tore through the Rank 2 Crystalvore as though it were made of fragile glass, the crack of its body echoing like a struck bell as its massive frame shattered under the full brunt of his hammer-formed axe. Shards of glimmering crystal sprayed into the air, catching light in a deadly halo. His speed became a blur as he accelerated, aura flaring outward like a vortex. Rank 1s lunged at him, but they might as well have been moths diving into flame. None could get close—each swept aside by the sheer momentum of his rampage.
He didn't stop. Didn't slow.
His eyes locked on a towering Crystalvore at the rear, one of the twelve remaining Rank 2s. It raised both jagged arms, forming twin crystalline barriers before it. The first cracked on impact; the second held a moment longer, but Denwen twisted midair, spinning vertically like a living drill. He smashed through the shield and crashed down through the creature's skull with a resounding quake, splitting it from head to floor.
Denwen rose amidst the wreckage, breath even, heart wild. His eyes scanned the others, glowing faintly.
They stepped back.
"Ah... So, disasters feel fear."
His voice dripped with menace, a predator's grin stretching across his face. He took a step forward—and the Crystalvores reacted with fury.
RAAAWWWWRRRRR!
The synchronized roar shook the entire chamber. A pulse shot through every Rank 1 on the battlefield. Their eyes flared blood-red as a surge of mindless rage overtook them. From every direction they poured in, converging on Denwen like a living tide.
"Hooo boy," Riven whispered, flickering briefly from Denwen's temple. "I've seen bad ideas, but standing still here? Top ten." He zipped back in just before a Crystalvore claw passed through the space he'd occupied.
Denwen didn't move.
Not at first.
He took a deep breath and lifted his axe. Then he moved.
He spun, twisted, dipped, and surged. His axe cleaved through flesh and crystal. His limbs flowed like water, body in perfect sync with the battle rhythm. A dozen creatures fell before they even realized he was in motion. He leapt, swung backward, crushed two in one blow. He ducked under a leaping Rank 1 and slammed his crystalized elbow upward into its gut, launching it across the chamber.
His armor shimmered with every hit, the 25% Crystal Immunity lighting up as claw after claw failed to pierce his crystalline skin. Their attacks struck like dull echoes, registering barely as irritants.
"Your glimmer's showing, handsome," Riven remarked. "You might want to tone down the light show before the dungeon files a complaint."
"Riven, shut up! I'm trying to concentrate!" Denwen grunted, knocking a charging Rank 1 into three of its allies.
"Oh, sorry! Didn't realize I was interrupting your interpretive dance of violence. I was just making it more entertaining for the non-participants," Riven quipped.
Denwen groaned. "You're insufferable."
"And you're surrounded. You're welcome."
But even as the Rank 1s fell like glass statues in a hailstorm, the Rank 2s began to move.
From their maws, more Prism Shard Volleys exploded.
Dozens of brilliant, high-speed crystal spikes launched at once—a swarm of radiant death. The first wave struck the remnants of the Rank 1s without hesitation, annihilating their own kind to get to Denwen. The second wave soared toward him in a jagged arc.
Denwen saw them too late.
He rolled, raising a hastily summoned wall of crystal armor across his side. Shards hammered him, some bouncing off, others chipping his defenses. A few pierced skin—one grazed his cheek, another sliced his thigh.
Still, he rose.
The light in his eyes deepened.
"Tch. Guess they don't care about friendly fire."
He grinned, blood dripping from his chin. His axe morphed, flowing into a sledgehammer on one end and nunchaku on the other. The chucks spun around his back and shoulders with a rhythmic hum.
With a shout, he spun.
The impact was devastating.
The sledgehammer cracked open three Rank 1 skulls in one sweep. The nun chucks extended mid-spin, wrapped around two Crystalvore legs and yanked, pulling them toward him. He crushed one underfoot, hurling the second with a shoulder flip straight into a Rank 2 that was preparing another volley.
"Combo multiplier: Chaos," Riven cackled, floating beside him. "Now that's what I call crowd control."
Denwen didn't respond. He was a blur now—flashes of crystal armor and streaks of bloodied light. Every motion flowed from his brawler arts, old muscle memory from Vorden's brutal sparring drills mixing with raw instinct.
He ducked under a volley, slid between two charging disasters, vaulted off one to land a dropkick into another's chest. His nunchaku twisted back into his arm and reformed as dual hammers.
"You know," Riven muttered, floating above the chaos, "I used to think I had bad taste in hosts, but this is actually getting fun."
Denwen let out a wild laugh as he shattered another core. Then the battlefield shifted.
The remaining Rank 1s began to flee.
And the Rank 2s in a twist disgusting turn of events began to eat them.
The sound was sickening. Crunching. Splintering. Crystalline bodies reduced to shards between gleaming teeth. Their forms hunched, condensed, their external armor sharpening, condensing into obsidian-like carapaces. They grew smaller—but faster, denser, deadlier.
Riven went pale.
"Yo, host—DON'T let those rocks keep going! They're trying to evolve!"
Denwen gritted his teeth.
"Then let's break them before they break the rules."
He charged.
And then—a stillness.
All twelve of the remaining Crystalvores stood in a perfect ring around Denwen, their monstrous humanoid bodies crouched low, heads tilted at the same uncanny angle. For the first time, they smirked.
Not a grin.
Not a howl.
A chilling, synchronized smirk.
Denwen's entire body tensed. Every instinct, every thread of muscle, every iota of essence screamed one command: Run.
His breath caught. His knees bent slightly.
"Uhm," Riven whispered, his voice uncharacteristically small, "I think you should get ou—"
Too late.
The Crystalvores all raised their arms, crystal-covered palms outward, and glowing spike-shaped singularities formed just inches from their cores. Spinning, thrumming with compressed destruction, they hovered in perfect symmetry. Light bent around them, essence twisted unnaturally—they weren't just energy; they were distortion given shape.
Then— they moved.
At eye-blinding speeds, the singularities zipped forward—and halted just short of Denwen. Suspended in mid-air, vibrating, humming with tension.
Denwen blinked.
"...the hell?"
Riven inhaled. "...Oh no."
The singularities vibrated violently, a high-pitched screech flooding the chamber like a glass blade dragged across steel. The sound alone shattered small crystal shards along the walls. The air thickened with light.
And then—they detonated.
The explosion was not fire or thunder.
It was shards.
A tempest of pure crystal rained in every direction, ripping through the cavern like a storm made of razors. Crystal pillars that had stood for centuries exploded into diamond powder. Walls cracked. The very floor trembled under the force. The shockwave slammed outward, crushing several Rank 1 corpses mid-scatter.
Some of the Crystalvores had braced. Others had not.
Four of them were obliterated outright, their cores exposed and vaporized by the reflected blast. Two others staggered backward, legs torn off, eyes flickering before collapsing into unmoving heaps of shimmering ruin.
The final three—wounded, cracked, bleeding essence from fractured chests—roared in triumph.
RAAAAAWWWWWRRR!
The sound bounced across the ruined cavern, a victory cry.
But it began to falter.
The dust began to settle.
A shape emerged from the epicenter of destruction.
He was broken.
He was bleeding.
He was still standing.
Denwen stood in the heart of the blast zone, chest heaving. His right arm was gone, blown off at the elbow. His left leg was half-erased, the flesh burned away to bone and raw muscle. His torso was riddled with embedded crystal shards, jutting from his skin like brutal ornaments. Blood poured freely down his side, pooling around his feet.
He looked like a corpse dragged from a battlefield.
And yet—his eyes burned.
Not with rage.
With resolve.
"You sick bastards," Denwen growled, voice low and guttural. "You almost killed me."
Something stirred.
His blood began to crystallize, the red turning to gleaming quartz mid-flow. Where it pooled, the surface glittered. The shards buried in his skin began to pulse, and slowly, inexorably, sink inward.
His essence flared.
Dark blue aura erupted from his body like a storm cloud condensed into flame. It twisted and roared, eclipsing the once-illuminated cavern with pulsing shadows of power. The very light recoiled from him. His wounds sealed—not with flesh, but with living crystal, forming a jagged, gleaming arm and leg where there had been none.
His aura intensified.
And the three remaining Crystalvores, now trembling, staggered backward.
They turned.
And they ran.
Riven slowly floated out of Denwen's head.
"Okay... even I'm scared now."
Denwen took a step forward. The crystal under his foot fractured with the weight of his will.
"You should be," he said, his voice barely above a whisper—and yet it echoed, deep and final.