The creature was on its last legs.

  Its once-fierce yellow eyes had dimmed to a glassy hue, breath hitching in ragged gasps. Blood soaked its fur, dark and crusted. Each step left a fresh smear of red across the stone.

  We’d been locked in this brutal, goddamn standoff for a while. Mana for venom, wound for wound.

  Judging by the way it swayed, the Gnoll Archer was at the end of its rope.

  Unfortunately… so was I.

  [WARNING: Your HP has fallen below 15%]

  [WARNING: Mana reserves below 10%]

  My vision swam. The edges of my sight crawled with shadows. I gritted my teeth, forcing my body upright.

  “Ten shots left,” I rasped. “Let’s see who falls first.”

  The Gnoll snarled, low and feral. I widened my stance and locked my gaze on it, ignoring the screaming protests of my muscles.

  First shot.

  My hand wasn’t steady, the attack grazing nothing but air.

  “Damn it.” I stumbled forward.

  Second.

  This one flew true. Wham!

  The blast slammed into its skull. It howled, staggering backward.

  Third.

  Too late. The creature dipped low and fired back.

  Pain tore across my ribs like a white-hot whip.

  “Ghh!” I gasped, clutching my side. That one could’ve killed me.

  Fourth shot.

  Please let this be the last one. I prayed silently, even though I already knew my prayers never came true.

  I hurled another burst.

  The bolt struck its chest. A clean wound.

  Still breathing. Still moving.

  God, why won’t you just die?

  My fingers twitched, reaching instinctively for my pouch.

  “No,” I muttered. “Not yet. I can’t use that now.”

  Fifth.

  Mana surged down my staff. I screamed and let it loose.

  Boom!

  The Gnoll staggered, but refused to fall.

  “Still standing?” I rasped.

  It bared its fangs, blood bubbling from its throat.

  Enough.

  Sixth.

  I raised the staff high. Every nerve in my body howled in protest. I didn’t care. This was it.

  I swung like I meant to break the world in half.

  Condensed Mana tore through the air. Fast, bright, absolute.

  Splaash!

  The Gnoll let out a choking snarl as the blast crushed its throat. Its knees buckled. It collapsed once, then shimmered, light devouring it until nothing remained but drifting motes of gold.

  [Special Event: Challenge 1 of 3 Completed]

  For a long, shuddering moment, I just stared at the empty space where it had fallen. The silence pressed down on me, heavy and absolute. The kind that made you realize you weren’t a hero, just lucky to still be breathing.

  Then, as the adrenaline faded, my knees gave out. The pain hit all at once, like the Tower had remembered I was still alive.

  The staff slipped from my grip as I collapsed to the floor. My palms scraped the floor, slick with blood, some mine, some not.

  I need to check it first, I told myself, refusing to give in to the pain.

  I dragged myself forward, crawling to where the Gnoll had fallen, searching for something, proof it had all meant something. A glimmer caught my eye. Two small, faintly glowing shards.

  Mana Stones.

  Just two.

  A hollow laugh tore from my throat. “All of that… for this?”

  I slammed my fist into the floor, blood smearing across the floor. “Goddamn it.”

  For a moment, I thought I heard the Tower laugh back.

  ***

  The silence that followed was deafening. Only the faint thrum of my heartbeat lingered in the air, as if mocking me. I stayed there for a while, waiting for the shaking to stop.

  I stared at the Restorative Chalice. Its silver surface shimmered in the dim light as I drank the remaining water.

  Warmth surged through my veins, not just healing, but invigorating. My wounds sealed, my fatigue vanished, and strength flooded back into my limbs. I exhaled, gripping the chalice a moment longer before setting it aside.

  It felt like a cheat code.

  I took a few minutes to meditate, letting my Mana recover before descending the narrow staircase that had appeared after I defeated the Gnoll Archer. The steps were uneven, carved directly into the stone, forcing me to move carefully.

  My boots finally struck solid ground, and that’s when I saw them.

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  Alwen and Pica.

  They sat near a massive red door marked with a glowing number two. Pica’s face was buried in her knees and Alwen stared blankly at the floor, lost in thought.

  “...How are you two here?” I asked.

  Pica’s head snapped up. “E-Eryndor!?” Her voice cracked as her eyes widened. “We thought you were dead!”

  “Not yet,” I said quietly, managing a thin smile. “Though it was close.”

  Alwen was already on his feet and moving toward me. “You look like hell,” he muttered, scanning me for injuries.

  Apparently, the chalice’s magic hadn’t completely healed all my wounds.

  “I’ve had better days.” I shifted, squaring my shoulders.

  “What happened to you two?” I asked, my brows furrowing. “Why didn’t you follow me?”

  “We did!” Alwen exhaled sharply. “But the moment we stepped through, we got teleported here. No exits, no monsters. Just... waiting.” He ran a hand through his tangled brown hair. “We thought we were done for, until you appeared out of nowhere. How did you even get in?”

  “Through that staircase. After defeating the Gnoll Archer.”

  “Staircase?” Pica blinked. “What staircase?”

  “This one—” I turned to point behind me, and froze. The staircase was gone. Only empty air remained.

  "…Never mind." I shook my head. "Guess it vanished after I came through."

  Alwen rubbed his nose. "So what now?"

  I raised my staff and cast Rejuvenation to patch up the remaining wounds. The spell’s warmth spread through my skin, much weaker than a priest’s magic, but steady. “We head to the next room.”

  “Isn’t this... dangerous?” Pica’s voice cracked as she hugged her knees. “What if we get split up again? I can’t—"

  “Then what?” I shot back, though a part of me understood her fear. “Sit here until the Tower shuts down? We move, or we die. There’s no other choice.”

  Alwen stepped between us, tone calm but firm. “Easy, both of you. Eryndor’s right, we’ve got to push forward. Let’s enter the room together this time.”

  “Wait. What will we face?” Pica asked again. “You said it would be weak, right?”

  “It’s random,” I said, trying to reassure her. “But definitely easier than the Bramblehog.”

  And I wasn’t lying. The first twenty floors of Descent of Despair were supposed to be manageable, even for newborn druids like us.

  Pica finally nodded. “Okay… but together.”

  We all stood before the door, Pica’s small hand trembling slightly as she reached out.

  “Ready?” Pica whispered.

  “Ready,” I said.

  The moment our hands touched the iron, light surged beneath our palms. The door pulsed once, then opened with a sound like thunder.

  “Let’s hold hands, just to be safe,” Pica said, pulling us both close as we stepped through.

  The room we entered was identical to the one I’d been in before, dimly lit, with massive pillars cracked and broken in places. Just like last time, the entrance sealed behind us with a shimmer of light.

  “Stay alert,” I said quietly, scanning the corners.

  Something moved in the dark.

  A hunched figure stepped into view, blue-skinned and lean, its eyes glinting like shards of glass. A crooked grin split its face as it dragged a massive wooden club across the floor, nearly as tall as its body.

  “Cave Imp,” Alwen muttered, already raising his hand.

  The creature hissed, a wet, rasping sound, before lunging forward.

  Pica reacted first.

  [Summon Treant cast]

  Her summon erupted from the glowing circle, roots twisting into a humanoid form of gnarled bark. The Imp slammed into it a second later, the impact echoing through the chamber.

  Alwen extended his hand and used Tether. A glowing thread of energy shot out, linking him to the Treant. The bond pulsed briefly, then steadied.

  The Imp swung its club again. Wood splintered. The Treant staggered, one arm cracking at the joint, but it didn’t fall.

  I cast Rejuvenation on the Treant, keeping it standing as it absorbed the onslaught. The glow of the spell continued to shine weakly, healing over time. Unlike potions, its effect never faltered mid-fight.

  The Treant struck back, its limb crashing into the Imp’s chest. The creature shrieked, stumbled, then leapt again, faster this time.

  Alwen didn’t hesitate.

  [Overload cast]

  Mana crackled along his staff as he unleashed an electric blast. The bolt struck mid-air, piercing straight through the Imp’s torso. It screamed once before dissolving into light, leaving behind a small pile of loot.

  Alwen lowered his staff, sounding surprised. “That was... easier than I expected.”

  “Don’t jinx it,” I muttered, lowering mine.

  Pica dismissed her Treant, then crouched beside the faint pile of loot. “Wait... only three Mana Stones?” Her face fell.

  “Was that really a surprise?” I said. “Weak monsters don’t drop much. That’s why we need to go deeper.”

  “Then let’s pray the next one drops a Soul Fragment,” Alwen added, a little more hopeful.

  That was one of the most frustrating things about Dreadspire: there was no experience system. Killing monsters didn’t make you stronger. Most dropped only Mana Stones or, if you were lucky, monster parts or gear. But sometimes... if fortune smiled upon you... they’d leave behind a Soul Fragment, one of the few items capable of permanently making us stronger.

  Pica nodded, her earlier fear melting into resolve. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s head to the next room. I’m ready to get stronger.”

  ***

  We cut our way down. Dire Bats. Gnolls. Imps. Goblins. Wererats.

  Floor after floor blurred into a rhythm of sweat, splinters, and blood. Pica’s Treant took the brunt of every charge, Alwen’s Overload finished what I couldn’t, and my Rejuvenation kept us from breaking apart. The Tower was teaching us one thing: efficiency.

  “Switch,” Pica called when the Treant’s bark began to crack.

  Alwen stepped forward, linking Tether to me in one swift motion.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said, catching my concerned glance as he downed a potion of deep violet, the kind that dulled pain to madness-inducing levels.

  He's crazier than I thought.

  I took the front line, Windstride surging through my legs. The Gnoll Warrior’s mace whooshed past, inches from my face, and I answered with a burst of Mana that blasted its chest. The Treant slammed down the next instant, driving it back.

  Then my speed faltered. The world lurched.

  Too late.

  The mace caught my arm with crushing force. It should have hurt, but the potion dulled the pain to a distant throb.

  Alwen didn’t even flinch. He lifted his staff and unleashed Overload. The blast snapped the Gnoll’s head back, killing it instantly.

  “That’s… one way to end it,” I hissed, flexing my arm as I checked for damage.

  He knelt beside me, out of breath but grinning. “You okay?”

  “You’re the one who looks worse,” I said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered with a crooked, breathless laugh. “I can’t feel a thing.”

  I pulled the Restorative Chalice from my pouch. “Don’t turn off the Tether.”

  One long drink. Magic hummed in my veins.

  [Restorative Chalice used. Effect: Lesser Restoration activated]

  The warmth spread through both of us. My arm realigned with a sickening pop, and his wounds sealed over in the same breath.

  Alwen exhaled in relief. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Same to you,” I said. “Without that link, we’d still be face-down on floor six.”

  Pica piped up from behind, teasing, “you two done flirting?”

  “Shut up,” Alwen shot back, laughing.

  We pressed on.

  The chamber was the same as before except for one difference. A black crown was engraved above the number on the door.

  “The first checkpoint,” Alwen said, eyes bright.

  “Made good time,” I replied, checking my Lunaris. We’d made it faster than I expected.

  Pica’s expression turned uneasy. “So the next one’s… stronger?”

  “Yes, a Gnoll Berserker,” I said. The checkpoint enemy wasn’t random.

  “How long until the Treant’s ready?” Alwen asked.

  “Twenty, maybe thirty minutes,” Pica estimated.

  “Perfect,” Alwen stretched, cracking his shoulders. “Let’s rest then.”

  We sat in silence. Even the torches seemed nervous, flickering as if they wanted to go out. When the Treant was ready, we rose and gathered before the red door.

  Pica held out her hands. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” I nodded.

  The black crown pulsed once… twice… then the door split open with a sound like thunder.

  [Special Event: Challenge 2 Initiated]

  finally pay him properly this time?