The air grew thick as Paul and Kaela stood at the threshold of the dungeon's final chamber. Behind them, the long corridor of blood-soaked stone and echoing silence was littered with the remains of monstrous foes and shattered traps. They had braved poisonous mists, shifting labyrinths, riddles spoken by enchanted statues, and monstrous creatures with blades for limbs. Now, the dungeon's heart awaited.
Sylari hovered behind them, her wings dimly glowing in the dark.
"Be careful," she whispered, her voice tight. "This guardian is ancient magic. Even I can feel it trying to crawl beneath my skin."
Paul exhaled, adjusting his grip on his sword. "Let's get this over with."
The doors creaked open, revealing a vast chamber lit by a crimson glow that pulsed like a living heart. A lone figure towered in the center, unmoving. The boss was colossal, a lion-headed knight clad in armor forged from obsidian and silver. Fangs jutted from its mouth, and glowing runes spiraled across its plated limbs. It carried a massive halberd, resting against its shoulder like a staff.
"Holy hell…" Kaela breathed.
The lion-knight moved, its molten eyes flaring to life. "Prove thy worth," it bellowed, voice like shattering stone.
Paul didn't wait. He charged.
Their battle echoed with fury. The lion-knight moved with terrifying speed, its halberd cleaving stone and sending shockwaves. Paul ducked and parried, his blade clashing with unnatural steel. Kaela supported from behind, weaving barriers and launching arcane strikes that glanced off the creature's enchanted hide.
The floor cracked as the boss slammed the halberd down, sending a jagged wave of stone at them. Paul vaulted over it, countering with a spinning slash that sparked off the knight's armor.
"We need to overload its core!" Kaela shouted. "The runes on its chest are binding its power!"
Paul nodded, narrowly dodging another swing. He baited the knight, luring it toward a glowing rune circle Kaela quickly scrawled on the floor. As the lion-knight stepped onto it, Kaela activated the trap—magical chains erupted, holding it in place.
"Now!"
Paul focused everything he had.
"Flame Rend!"
His blade ignited, striking true against the runes on its chest. A terrible roar echoed as the knight staggered. The obsidian and silver armor cracked, its core flaring wildly—then exploded in a burst of dark light. The creature collapsed, its massive form vanishing into dust.
Paul fell to one knee, panting.
But there was no time to breathe.
A slow, mocking clap echoed from the other side of the room.
"Well done."
Paul and Kaela turned.
Ardyn emerged from the shadows, dressed in silver-white armor inscribed with divine glyphs, his single divine sword humming faintly in the dungeon's magic-rich air. Behind him stood a dozen elite soldiers, eyes cold and blank.
"So you made it this far," Ardyn said. "Impressive. I didn't expect you to beat the guardian. But this is where your journey ends."
Paul's blade rose again.
Kaela stepped beside him, casting protective wards.
Ardyn gave a low whistle. "The girl's still with you? Loyal. Foolish."
He moved forward.
Paul charged.
Their blades clashed, light against fury. Ardyn's sword struck like a hammer of judgment, his divine aura pressing down like gravity. Paul fought with every skill he had learned, his blade fueled by grit and desperation. Ardyn was faster—smarter—stronger.
Kaela tried to help, casting offensive spells, but Ardyn's soldiers intercepted her. Magic exploded around them in blinding flashes.
Paul was driven to the edge of the broken chamber. His sword cracked. His knees trembled.
Ardyn raised his blade, its edge shimmering with finality. "Goodbye."
Then—a whisper.
Not from Kaela.
Not from the room.
But from deep inside him.
"Say it."
Paul's lips parted. "Gate of Hell."
The chamber darkened.
Reality trembled.
Behind Paul, space twisted, splitting open into a yawning void of writhing flame and shadow. From within the abyss came a thunderous roar.
A monstrous claw grasped the edge of the gate.
From it emerged Abadon—the General of Hell.
He stood three times the height of a man, his body composed of charred bone and molten flesh. Four twisted horns jutted from his head, and crimson fire burned in his empty eyes. A tattered crimson cloak billowed behind him, revealing wings of scorched black iron. He held a massive blade forged from screaming souls.
Behind him, demons poured forth—war beasts and horrors with blade-like limbs, spectral riders, and creatures of flame and bone. The room turned into a nightmare.
Ardyn's soldiers turned in terror. Even the Sword Saint hesitated, eyes wide.
Abadon let out a guttural laugh. "Who dares summon me?"
Paul stood tall. "I did."
The General looked him over, amused. "You bear the mark of the pact. Very well, mortal. Who shall I tear apart first?"
Paul pointed at Ardyn. "Him."
The dungeon chamber became a battlefield of gods and monsters.
And so the war truly began.