Ekon threw himself aside as an earthen spike tore past, its edge brushing dangerously close to his ear. He landed behind a slab of half-collapsed wall, heart hammering like a smith at the forge. Damn, that was close.

  This bandaged undead was no ordinary mage. It could hurl hardened sand like javelins, yes, but it could also make the ground itself betray him. Spikes could erupt from anywhere, attacking from any direction. A trap waiting under every step. Still, there was one small mercy. The creature had to see him to strike. So long as he stayed behind cover, he was safe. Probably.

  But hiding behind a rock wasn’t going to win this fight, not with the bastard’s mindless minions crawling everywhere. He had to finish it quickly, before the tide of the dead swallowed them all.

  Now.

  Ekon surged from behind cover, whip in hand, eyes scanning for his opponent. There it was, same place as before, as if it had been rooted to the bones of the earth, a statue wrapped in gold and tattered linens.

  He cracked his whip. A blazing arc hissed through the air like a serpent made of fire and fury. One good strike. That was all he needed. Just catch the damn thing once, ignite those brittle wrappings, and watch it go up in flames.

  But the strike never landed.

  A groan rumbled as a slab of stone punched upward from the ground like a fist, intercepting the whip mid-swing, and the fiery snake clanged off the summoned wall in a shower of sparks. Easier said than done, clearly.

  The dried corpse didn’t flinch. It just stood there like a tombstone, and above it was a crown of several wicked-looking spikes, hovering like they had been waiting for this exact moment. As soon as Ekon exposed himself, they came shrieking.

  He dove headlong, twisting and rolling and cursing. Most of the projectiles missed.

  Most.

  Pain lit up his shoulder like boiling oil being poured into his veins. A hit. Definitely a hit. But he gritted his teeth and kept moving, dragging himself toward the next scrap of wall. Stopping was not an option. If he stopped, he was dead.

  “Duncan!”

  Brynhildr’s scream, raw with anguish, ripped through the courtyard. He had caught a fleeting glimpse earlier, when Dagnar was snatched from the ground by those bird-like creatures and hauled away toward the top of the great structure.

  So, his real name is Duncan, huh?

  Not that it mattered now. What mattered was that they were all on the verge of being obliterated.

  Over there, beyond the crumbling walls, the cage of writhing vines, and the gnawing undead, Mandra and Brynhildr were being swarmed, fighting for their lives. Above, Renee was locked in an aerial duel with a monstrous bird of sand, whose wings were so vast they seemed to tear the sky apart with each thunderous flap. Meanwhile, Ba’atar was trading blows with the Crocodilian, the fearsome beast that had once wiped out an entire party. They were holding on, barely. But what looked like a stalemate was nothing of the sort. No, it was a slow, inevitable execution. The battle would end when one side couldn’t keep up anymore, and obviously, the dead would never grow tired.

  That was why he had gone after the bandaged one. He had figured it was the leader of the undead. If he could take the master down, the puppets would fall apart. Or so he hoped. But it looked like he had failed. Now what?

  “You fool!” came the familiar voice.

  Oh, great. This was exactly what he needed right now.

  “You walked right into the middle of a war between two Ascendants. You’re going to die! You’re all going to die!”

  What the hell is an Ascendant? Ekon shot back.

  But the voice had already cut off. Ah yes, of course she had to leave him with that nonsense. Perfect. So what was she here for anyway? To mock him? To twist the knife in the wound?

  I am going to die? I already know that. Thank you very much.

  But, wait.

  She said that he had stumbled into someone else’s war. In other words, his party just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting dragged into a conflict that shouldn’t have involved them in the first place...

  It was Dagnar.

  Yes, that’s right. He was the reason they were in this mess.

  There had always been something off about that sickly-looking man. Ekon’s gut feeling had told him that he was more than he appeared to be. And, as it turned out, he was right. No ordinary man could survive a giant bolt to the chest like that. And then, when Ba’atar yanked that shaft out of the impaled body, it stitched itself back together within seconds. Even Mandra’s best potions weren’t that good.

  So that’s an Ascendant, huh?

  And the other one was... the dungeon itself?

  Dungeon delves had been quite easy lately. The Cyclops in the room under the staircase? Gone. The monsters on the first floor? Passive. Even the desert on the second floor had offered little more than some sluggish skeletons. In fact, the only real challenge here had been the punishing heat from the false sun overhead. But then, the moment they stepped into the courtyard, everything went straight to hell.

  No, it wasn’t them. It was him.

  Ekon’s party had been here. Other parties had been here. But nothing happened.

  This only happened because Dagnar was here.

  It was obvious, in hindsight. That sickly-looking man was the dungeon’s target all along. The massive ballista bolt that was aimed straight at him. The bird-like creatures that snatched him up. There was only one explanation for all of it.

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  The dungeon being easy was just bait. Everything that had come before was preparation for this exact moment. The dungeon’s jaw yawned open, waiting for Dagnar to be lured in. And when he arrived, the jaw snapped shut. Monsters no one had ever seen before appeared out of nowhere and came crashing down on them in a brutal, coordinated onslaught. It was a trap, and they had walked straight into it.

  If that’s the case...

  Ekon turned and sprinted back toward Mandra’s position, abandoning his assault on the undead leader. The bastard didn’t seem to care. It knew it had already won. It knew time was on its side. There was no need for any clever tricks. It just needed to keep doing what it was already doing: applying the steady, inevitable pressure. Slowly and methodically, the army of the dead would grind them all into dust.

  Thunderous clashes of metal rang out across the courtyard, steel meeting heavier steel. Ba’atar was still at it, locked in a brutal melee with the Crocodilian, the monstrous boss of the third floor.

  What the hell is it even doing here anyway?

  Ekon shook his head. It was pointless to think about it now. This dungeon was unlike any other, after all.

  What mattered was that even Ba’atar, the strongest among them, wouldn’t last forever. The only reason he was still standing at all was Mandra’s potion. She had handed it to him when she spotted the mighty beast barreling toward them. And her expression had been... complicated. Well, it was understandable. That stuff was dangerous. If one consumed too much at once, it would tear their body apart from the inside. On the other hand, drinking it drop by drop was just impractical during a fight. So Mandra had told the big man to take a mouthful, but not to swallow it all at once. Instead, he had to hold it in his mouth and let it trickle down his throat slowly, bit by bit. Nevertheless, the fact remained that Ba’atar was fighting on borrowed time. Sooner or later, either the beast would break him, or the potion would.

  Ekon ran through the chaos, swinging his fiery whip to swat aside any undead in his path. As he neared, the living cage of vines peeled open to let him through, then sealed shut behind him once he had passed.

  Brynhildr turned to him at once.

  “Please... help Dun—help Dagnar. They’ve taken him. Please... do something.”

  Behind her, Mandra had a frown that could cut through steel. All hell was breaking loose around them, and yet the warrior woman was only fixated on her nephew, someone Mandra had barely tolerated to begin with.

  “I guess you failed to kill the bastard,” she finally said. “So? What now?”

  Ekon exhaled, slow and heavy. He was the leader. He must do what must be done.

  “Call Renee back here,” he said.

  Mandra’s gaze sharpened, but she didn’t argue. She raised two fingers to her lips and let out a sharp, piercing whistle. A signal they had agreed upon beforehand.

  Seconds later, Renee came diving down through the air, her brow glistening with sweat. Naturally, the monstrous bird gave chase, but Mandra’s vines erupted upward to block its path, stalling it just long enough to buy them a moment.

  The young aeromancer panted. “What’s the plan?”

  “You,” Ekon said, “take Brynhildr. Then fly after Dagnar.”

  Mandra snapped. “Are you sure that’s our top priority right now?”

  I am.

  The young man and his aunt were the reason for all this. They were the center of the storm. So let Brynhildr chase after her nephew, and let the dungeon chase after them.

  ...while we stay as far away from them as possible.

  He couldn’t believe he was capable of being this cold. That woman, who was undoubtedly watching the drama unfold, must be giggling in approval right now. But it couldn’t be helped. As the leader of this party, he had only one priority: to ensure the safety of its members. Everything else was secondary.

  “Also,” he added, “once you get her there, fly straight to the exit. Do not come back here, and do not stay with them either. Just go. Fly as fast as you can. Don’t look back, no matter what happens.”

  Renee blinked at him, frowning. “I can’t do that.”

  No, you must.

  If the worst came to pass, he wanted at least one of them to make it out alive. And Renee had the best shot. She was the fastest, the most agile, so she shouldn’t be dragged down by the others. Also, she was the youngest here. Too young to die in a place like this, in a war that had nothing to do with her.

  But... how the hell could he tell her that?

  So he did what he always did in times like these. He glanced at Mandra.

  She clicked her tongue, clearly unhappy, but she turned to Renee all the same.

  “Do what he said.”

  “But...”

  “Has Ekon ever been wrong?”

  “Fine,” Renee said, jabbing a finger so close it nearly touched his nose. “But you’d better have a damn good explanation once we’re out of here.”

  “I will.”

  So off they went, Renee and Brynhildr, soaring into the sky, with the monstrous bird of sand screeching behind. Mandra stood beside him, watching until they vanished beyond the peak of the great structure.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  Now what, indeed. He had hoped that Brynhildr’s departure would draw the dungeon’s attention away from them. Or better yet, if the warrior woman could cause enough chaos over there and complicate the dungeon’s attempt to kill Dagnar, maybe it would have to redirect some of its forces from here, pulling the heat off them, giving them an opening to escape.

  But.

  He knew better than to take anything for granted. What if those walking corpses didn’t turn away? What if the dungeon had already marked them for death, just because they came here with those two? No, he would be a fool if he just stayed here, waiting for miracles. If anyone was getting them out alive, it had to be him.

  All he had to do was take that option, the one he had been dreading since the very beginning.

  “Ready to make a deal, Ekon?”

  Of course. She had been waiting for this moment.

  Yes, he replied with a resigned sigh.

  She laughed softly. “Don’t be like that. Actually, I’ve got good news for you. Today, I’m offering you new terms, something you might find more... acceptable.”

  What? He frowned. What do you want?

  “I’ll help you. I’ll get you and your friends out of this mess alive. In return, you’ll do everything you can to investigate this dungeon. Find out who’s behind it. Find the Dungeon Master.”

  What? Isn’t it just the Dungeon Core?

  “No, there’s a human behind all this. So, find him for me.”

  I... don’t understand...

  “Oh, my dear Ekon. Do you really think now is the best time for a discussion? Get out of here first. We can talk again later.”

  As much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. He needed to save his companions, and he couldn’t do that without her. And yes, those terms were much better than what she had usually demanded of him.

  Fine. I accept.

  “Good. Evoke my name, Ekon. Then our pact will be complete.”

  He turned to Mandra. “Fall back. Keep your distance from me.”

  She blinked, confused. “What are you—”

  “Now, Mandra.”

  With a muttered curse, she gave him one last look, then retreated.

  He looked around. The desert’s edge had to be somewhere out there. That way, probably. If they could just walk in a straight line, they would be able to escape. Easy enough if it weren’t for all those walls, buildings, and an army of undead standing in the way.

  So many obstacles.

  Well, he just needed to make them disappear.

  “Grant me your power, Anastraza,” he muttered the name he despised the most.

  Flames erupted around his body in a violent bloom, swallowing him whole. To any pyromancer, this would have been a death sentence. A suicide by self-immolation. But he was not a normal pyromancer, and this was not a normal flame.

  Even though he was ablaze from head to toe, he felt no heat, only cold. Cold that pierced his skin, cold that chewed at his flesh, cold that coiled around his bones.

  It didn’t burn. It sucked the heat from his body. And it didn’t stop there. Everything nearby started to freeze.

  Frost crawled across the courtyard, spiderwebbing along every surface, glistening in the harsh light of the artificial sun. Cracked stone moaned. Vines withered into icy husks. He hoped Mandra was far enough to be safe.

  The flame fed greedily on the stolen heat, growing bigger and bigger, hungrier and hungrier.

  It was time.

  He raised both arms.

  The fire roared, surged, and launched.

  A blast of annihilation erupted from his hands, obliterating everything in its path.

  A blinding flash.

  A thunderous detonation.

  Dust choked the air. He couldn’t see a thing, but he knew the path ahead was clear. Because nothing in that direction was left.