Jason stood on a wobbling crate, puffing out his chest as if he were about to deliver a TED Talk on surviving dungeon floors. "Alright, team! The infamous fifth floor awaits. They say only fools and heroes come back from here. Mostly fools."

  Ada raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to scare us or cheer us up?"

  Jason grinned. "Both. Keeps the adrenaline going. I've got a potion that smells like burnt socks, a charm that might do something useful, and, best of all, enchanted underwear that's guaranteed to stay clean through a three-day slog."

  Anthony, leaning silently against the wall, caught Jason's eye. With slow, deliberate gestures, he pointed to his own throat, then made a tight-lipped smile and shrugged. He was unimpressed.

  Jason nodded sagely. "Yeah, yeah, no voice, but you don't need words to express doubt, huh?"

  Anthony then held up two fingers, mimed a face-palming motion, and then pointed accusingly at Jason's ridiculous grin.

  Amelia chuckled. "He's saying your 'legendary gear' is a death sentence."

  Jason feigned offense. "I'll have you know, my last batch of enchanted socks saved my life. Twice."

  Anthony threw up his hands in mock surrender and gave a slow, exaggerated bow.

  Ada smirked. "Alright, enough theatrics. Let's move out before the fifth floor decides to kill us for our fashion sense."

  Jason hopped down from the crate. "Hey, don't knock the underwear. That's how legends are made."

  Anthony just shook his head, then silently flexed his scarred throat as if to say, Speak for yourself.

  The barracks were a tomb waiting to be opened. Amelia crouched behind the stone archway, eyes flicking between the two guards at the entrance. Their armor gleamed under the lantern light. It was ceremonial, but also still dangerous. She counted the seconds. Jason adjusted his spyglass, and Ada tapped her staff against the stone, the bone charms rattling like a warning. Anthony flexed his fingers, silent but ready.

  Amelia's voice was low and commanding. "We move on my mark."

  She didn't wait for their acknowledgment. The first guard fell before he could even blink. Ada's staff cracked his skull with a sickening thud. The second turned to react, but Jason's vial exploded in a cloud of choking smoke. The elf collapsed, gasping for air. They slipped inside. The barracks were a mess of bunks, weapons racks, and elven soldiers caught in the haze. One officer stood over a glowing mapstone, barking orders. He didn't see them coming.

  Jason grinned. "Time to make a mess."

  He lobbed another vial. It shattered mid-air, releasing a blinding flash and a wave of heat. The elves staggered back, disoriented. Amelia's arrows flew. Three elves dropped before they could react. Anthony charged, his greatsword cleaving through the air. An elf tried to block with a spear; it snapped like a twig. Ada whispered a curse, her staff sweeping through the air. The officer's legs buckled, his body crumpling as if he aged decades in a couple of seconds. Amelia's arrow found his throat. The room descended into chaos. Fire spread along the walls. Elves screamed, scrambling for weapons. Outside, the horn sounded. The slave forces were coming.

  Amelia wiped her blade clean. "Let's move."

  They headed for the storage wing.

  Jason paused, looking back at the smoldering barracks. "That should keep them busy."

  Amelia didn't respond. She was already moving, her mind on the next strike. Anthony followed silently. Ada adjusted her staff, the bone charms clinking softly. She was ready.

  The storage wing smelled like old sweat and rust. Crates stacked high, weapons sealed tight in cases etched with runes. Plasma rifles hummed softly in their racks. That was the elves' edge, and without the salvaged weapons that the enslaved people used, they wouldn't be overshadowed.

  Amelia wasted no time. "Destroy everything with a pulse or a spark. Leave them with nothing but swords and arrows. If this place stands, so does their advantage."

  Ada cracked her knuckles and hefted her cursed staff like a hammer. "Consider it done."

  Jason crouched beside a rack of plasma guns, fingers tracing the glowing barrels. "These beauties are full of mana. Blow the wrong fuse, and the whole wing goes up."

  Anthony's silent presence loomed nearby. He grabbed a heavy case, prying it open with a grunt.

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  "Fuse boxes and field generators first," Amelia ordered, eyes scanning their backs for patrols. "I want this floor dark and deaf."

  Ada stepped forward. Her staff thudded against the stone floor, and the air rippled with dark energy. She muttered a curse under her breath, watching the fuses in the nearby control panel blacken and melt into slag.

  A soft hiss filled the hall as sparks flew and panels flickered. The plasma weapons powered down, their barrels going cold.

  Jason worked fast, setting explosive charges on power conduits and storage crates. "One spark here," he said, lighting the fuse, "and they'll lose a lot more than their fancy toys."

  Suddenly, footsteps echoed. A patrol was rounding the corner.

  Amelia's voice cut low but sharp. "Positions."

  They melted into the shadows. The patrol passed, oblivious to the ticking bombs and cursed sabotage behind them. Minutes stretched thin as the team moved from panel to panel, and from one room to the next. Ada's curses crept along circuits, slowly eating through magical wards and power fields. Anthony smashed control boxes with brutal efficiency.

  Jason grinned despite the tension. "This is more fun than scavenging for rat guts."

  The detonations began with sharp pops and low booms that shook the floor. Lights winked out one by one, and the humming of generators sputtered into silence. They were crippling the elven advantage piece by piece.

  Amelia's voice broke through the quiet. "Last charge set. Let's get clear."

  They sprinted for the exit as the wing exploded behind them in a controlled fury. Fireball after fireball swallowed plasma racks and magic cores. The air filled with the acrid smell of burning circuitry, like the burning smell of an overheating RC car.

  Ada's staff glowed faintly as her last curse took hold, and a slow rot seeped into the remaining systems.

  Jason breathed deeply. "They're about to regret ever building this stronghold."

  Outside, the horn sounded again, and this time it was closer.

  Amelia's eyes narrowed. "Time to meet our reinforcements."

  The screech of shattered plasma echoed faintly in the halls behind the gate, a distant reminder of what the elves had lost. Their prized weapons, which had been sleek and humming with mana, were now rubble and smoldering circuits. The sabotage had rendered their technological edge useless. Amelia watched from the battlements as panic crept into the ranks of the elven defenders.

  "They're searching for weapons," Jason muttered, eyes narrowing despite his grin.

  Anthony's eyes darkened. He clenched his fists, then raised a heavy hand, miming the weight of a greatsword. With a sharp nod, he pointed toward the training ground.

  The training ground was the last resort. It was a barren courtyard lined with racks of basic dungeon-issued gear: rusted swords, battered shields, and cracked bows. These were the weapons the elves used for drills and training, nothing close to their plasma rifles or enchanted glaives. The scene below shifted as groups of guards peeled off, racing toward the courtyard with desperation in their eyes.

  Jason slung his crossbow tightly. "It's a rough fight when you're forced to trade precision for steel and sweat."

  Ada's staff thrummed. "Good. Let them taste what the slaves have lived with."

  Anthony stepped forward and slammed a fist into his open palm, the silent signal of strength and endurance. His gaze hardened, daring the enemy to face him on equal terms.

  Amelia turned to the team. "We keep the pressure building. Don't give them a second to rest."

  The rebels fought with everything they had: improvised spears, rusted blades, and bare hands. For every one that fell, five elves were dragged down beside them, torn apart by the sheer weight of defiance.

  Ten rebels died, a heavy price that was half of the slaves that had completed their basic training. The atmosphere was somber. Fifty elven defenders lay dead or dying, their polished armor buried in ash and blood.

  Ada advanced through the wreckage, her staff slick with gore. She moved like the grim reaper, slamming her cursed staff into the ground as her magic seeped into dying elves, choking their last breaths out with hexes that left their eyes wide and mouths foaming.

  Jason stumbled over a body, breathing hard, then cracked a grin as he kicked an elven helmet across the floor, almost breaking a toe in the process.

  "Well," he said, raising his crossbow and hiding the pain thruming through his foot. "I'd call that an elf-clearance sale."

  No one laughed.

  Amelia didn't even glance his way. "Check the corners. Secure the barracks."

  Jason sighed. "Tough crowd."

  Anthony shot him a flat look and mimed slitting his own throat.

  Amelia's gaze swept across the battlefield, bow still drawn. " Jason, shut up and reload."

  Jason gave a half-salute, already cocking his next bolt. "On it, Commandress."

  The floor was theirs.

  Smoke curled from the broken gates and smoldering debris, curling upward like incense to old gods that had long stopped listening. Bodies littered the field, and elves crumpled in gleaming armor, rebels slumped beside them, fingers still curled around rusted weapons. In the distance, beyond the wreckage and blood, the slave huts stood still and silent. For a moment, no one moved.

  Then, a creak sounded. A wooden door was half-opened. A starved man stepped out, shirtless, ribs poking through his skin like bones of a shipwrecked raft. He stared at Amelia as if she were a phantom. Others followed, women, children, old fighters with slave collars that were the main uniform for the rebel army. Their eyes were wide, their bodies rigid with caution.

  Jason wiped blood from his cheek with a piece of someone else's cloak and gave a soft whistle. "Well, this is either the beginning of a revolution… or an aggressive relocation project."

  He got no laughs again.

  Amelia stepped forward, lowering her bow and raising her voice. "You're free," she called out. "We aren't your masters. We fight for the Earthbound under the banner of Dusk Fury." A low murmur rippled through the gathered slaves.

  Anthony planted his sword in the ground and nodded slowly, his hands held wide; it was a silent vow.

  Ada rested against her staff, her curses quiet now, the glow of exhaustion lining her eyes. "Some of them still think this is a trick," she muttered.

  "They'll learn," Amelia said. "We hold this floor. We get them fed. Eventually, they'll trust us like the rest."

  Slowly, one of the freed slaves walked forward. He dropped to his knees and began weeping, clutching the foot of a fallen rebel as if it were sacred. The Earthbound stood, bloodstained and breathing hard, watching as fear gave way to reverence.