Kael descended into the Howling Cysts, and the world above vanished behind a veil of rot and shadow.
The entrance tunnel sloped down in jagged spirals, carved not by tools, but by decay. Black ichor dripped from the stone, hissing where it touched bone or metal. Faint whispers echoed along the walls—sometimes his own breathing, other times… not.
The deeper he went, the darker the air became. Not just in light, but in presence—a pressing, invisible weight that clung to his skin and whispered to his bones.
Inside the dungeon, the walls were slick with moss and what looked like old skin. Veins of tainted crystal pulsed along the ceiling, casting a dull green glow. Twisted fungal growths sprouted from cracks—some pulsing with fluids, others chittering softly, like they were breathing.
Corpses, desiccated and warped, lined the alcoves. Some were bound by vine-like tendrils. Others still had teeth marks on their bones. One was still twitching.
And the monsters…
They came in waves.
Plagueborn Crawlers—skittering, eyeless things with bloated torsos and gaping maws.
Carrion Wisps—drifting gasbags of necrotic vapor that screamed silently before exploding.
Hollow Gnashers—emaciated, almost-human horrors that ran on all fours, jaws dislocated wide enough to swallow a man’s head.
Kael’s first battle came suddenly.
Two Crawlers pounced from the ceiling, claws raking across his shoulder, one biting into his arm. He flung it off with a roar, pain flaring, and thrust his hand into the cold soil.
“Rise.”
With a surge of mana, a broken corpse behind him convulsed and stood—a skeletal warrior missing half its jaw, still clutching a rusted blade in its bony fingers.
The undead leapt forward.
It bought him time—just enough to cast Necrotic Missile. Twin bolts of rotting energy slammed into the crawler’s side, eating into its flesh. It howled as the dot effect took hold, dark veins pulsing up its spine before it collapsed.
The battle was won… but barely.
He sat, panting, shoulder bleeding, staring at the crumbled bones of his first summon.
“…I’ll need more.”
As Kael pressed deeper, he began to harvest the fallen. Every monster that died fed his arsenal. Some skeletons were swift. Others were slow but hit like hammers. He raised tooth-filled torsos that crawled like spiders. A malformed skull fused with a beast’s spine served as a scout.
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And the Hollow Grimoire whispered all the while.
Its voice now was clearer, more intelligent, almost… companion-like.
“That one died screaming. Its soul was lightless. Not worth storing.”
“The next chamber is wrong. The ground hums—use bone, not flesh.”
“Raise him. He killed three before dying. His rage lingers—use it.”
Kael began to listen. And trust.
But the dungeon fought back.
Further in, the monsters grew stronger. More coordinated. They came in packs. They leapt from ceilings, burrowed from below. One of them—a Spineback Butcher—crushed two of his summons in seconds, its hooked arms tearing through bone like twigs. Another, a Wailing Widow, vomited a cloud of black acid that melted one of his undead into sludge.
Kael adapted. He changed tactics. Stored the stronger remains in his Soul Vault before they were lost. Began to favor ranged tactics. Learned which ones could tank, which ones could distract, which ones exploded when killed.
Every battle bled him.
Every step made him stronger.
Somewhere between the tenth and twelfth chamber, after slaying a pack of Gnashers that nearly reached his throat, the System Window shimmered into view.
[LEVEL UP!]
Kael has reached Level 2.
+1 to all base stats (automatically applied)
+5 Stat Points available for manual allocation
+1 Skill Point
+10 Health / +15 Mana
He smirked, blood running down his chin, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
The Grimoire fluttered beside him.
“You feel it, don’t you? The hunger… the rhythm. This place feeds you.”
It was right.
Kael stood before the archway, breath shallow, blood drying on his fingers. The dungeon had already tested him harder than he expected. Too many of his summons
had fallen—crushed, melted, torn apart by monsters that learned faster than rotting bones could react.
He pulled the Hollow Grimoire closer, its pages fluttering as if sensing his intent.
“You hesitate,” it whispered.
“Because you’ve seen the limit of the dead you command. They break. They flinch. They die again.”
Kael narrowed his eyes. It was right. Raising undead was the core of his strength—his blade, his shield, his hunting hounds. And right now, they were too fragile. Too dumb. Half of them moved like meat puppets, unable to react fast enough, unable to think like the creatures that hunted them.
“No more,” he murmured.
He opened the System Window, ignoring the glowing list of new skill options, and focused instead on the familiar:
[Upgrade Skill: Raise Lesser Dead — RANK I → RANK II?]
Cost: 1 Skill Point
Confirm?
He didn’t hesitate.
[Skill Upgraded: Raise Lesser Dead – Rank II]
A surge of power shot through his hand, feeding into the Grimoire, which let out a low hum—almost a purr. Something unlocked. Something ancient.
From now on, the dead he raised wouldn’t just lurch.
They would remember.
A fallen swordsman might swing with discipline. A dead beast might stalk like it once had in life.
Kael grinned, teeth flashing in the dungeon gloom.
He stepped toward the yawning black of the boss room, cloak dragging ash behind him.
“Let’s see what’s left to kill.”
Kael didn’t just feel stronger—he felt awake. Every kill, every raise, every step was a drumbeat echoing deeper into his soul.
Now, just ahead—past the cracked arch lined with flesh-pods and bone-torches—he felt it.
The Boss Room.
The air reeked of burnt skin and stagnant blood. The ground trembled with something large shifting in the dark.
Kael stepped forward, raising his hand.
The Hollow Grimoire snapped shut, silent.
For now.
