The Whispering Shades shrieked, recoiling—but not fully breaking. As they passed through Patch’s barrier of light, they became more corporeal, allowing them to be struck in some form.
Jace braced himself, heart thundering in his chest as the mist surged with movement—too many, too fast.
He twisted his warhammer mid-step, a pulse of will igniting Bone Manipulation. The weapon groaned, reshaping with a wet, grinding crunch into a savage morning star. Jagged bone spikes jutted outward like a crown torn from some dead god’s skull.
“Incoming!” he shouted, voice slicing through the fog.
Nyra didn’t hesitate. She launched forward, shield snapping into place just as the first Shade slammed into her barrier with a teeth-rattling screech. The impact drove her back, boots gouging deep furrows in the dirt—but she held.
“They hit harder than they look!” she growled, tail lashing behind her like a whip.
Sylas blurred through the chaos, flickering between shadows like lightning in a storm. Her daggers flashed, carving through limbs to draw their attention, always vanishing a half-second before claws could reach her.
Torak was a machine of death—four blades dancing in perfect harmony. He moved without panic. Without fear. Each strike was calculated, surgical. He didn’t fight like a soldier.
Patch’s runes flared brighter, gold flooding from his palms. “Deploying secondary cleansing rune. Fall back.”
Jace yanked Nyra by the elbow and vaulted backward as the runes exploded across the clearing. A golden circle of burning light surged upward, locking the Shades in place.
They screamed—not in pain, but rage. The air quaked under it.
Jace’s grip tightened around his mace. His skull pounded like something was trying to dig its way in through his ears, whispering that he was already too late.
‘No. Not today.’
Inside the ward, the Shades thrashed violently. Their forms flickered—caught between worlds, struggling to hold together.
An opening.
Jace surged forward.
His mace swung wide, the bone spikes catching a Shade mid-lunge. The impact detonated in a thunderclap of black mist and fractured howls. The creature disintegrated on contact, its soul shattering like glass.
A rush of warmth hit him—sharp and primal. His core drank deep, and his body surged with borrowed power.
One down.
No hesitation. He pivoted, muscles tight, blood singing with momentum.
Instinct roared louder than fear.
He lunged again.
The next mace strike was raw fury—a savage arc that tore another Shade in half, its body unraveling into mist and wails that scraped along Jace’s bones.
Their screams were knives now, each one slicing across his thoughts, pressing against his will like drowning fingers on a throat. They whispered surrender. Promised peace if he just let go.
‘Screw that.’
He planted his boots. Locked his jaw. Anchored himself to the weight of the bone weapon, to the sound of his heartbeat thundering louder than the madness.
He would not break.
Not here.
Not now.
Another chill ghosted across the back of Jace’s neck.
He spun on instinct.
A Shade materialized out of the mist behind him—silent, hollow-eyed, jaws yawning open like a broken hinge.
“Fade away,” it whispered.
Jace roared, dark power crackling to life as Soulrend surged down his arms and into his weapon. Shadows swirled along the bone-forged haft as he brought the mace down with brutal force.
The head struck dead center.
There was a wet, warped thwomp—like hitting something that wasn’t entirely real—and then the Shade imploded into mist and silence, its body scattering like ashes in the wind.
Two down.
And more were coming.
Across the battlefield, the remaining Shades twisted and screamed inside Patch’s cleansing ward. Their forms flickered wildly, the golden light unraveling them from the inside out—bones, limbs, mouths—none of it stable anymore. Just corruption given shape.
“NOW!” Nyra’s voice cut through the chaos like a whip crack. “While they’re weak!”
Jace looked down, his bone mace burning with a faint green glow that pulsed with Patch’s magic. He smiled and nodded at Patch. “Time to end this.”
Jace became a storm, his smashing through Shade after Shade. Every motion was deliberate, elegant. Efficient. Like a killing machine that knew exactly how to dismantle anything in its path.
Sylas blurred into the chaos, darting from opening to opening. Her daggers didn’t just cut—they ended. Her strikes were fast, exacting. Veins of silver dancing in the corrupted light.
Torak followed his four swords, slicing clean arcs through the chaos.
One by one, the Shades fell.
Shattered by runes.
Torn apart by blessed steel.
Hammered into oblivion by bone and will.
And then—
Silence.
Only their breathing remained, loud in the quiet.
Jace stood at the center of it all, hammer slick with cold mist, arms trembling with spent adrenaline. Around him, the remnants of the monsters faded like ghosts into dawn.
Reaper's Touch Activated.
Soulreaver Core: 50/100
+25 intelligence, +25 wisdom
He didn’t miss the way Garrik stared at him after the Shades dissipated and their soul fragments twisted in the air as his core siphoned them in. He was about to remark to throw the werewolf off his scent when another notification assaulted him.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
New Skill Acquired: [Shadow Hunter] (Rank 1)
You have fought creatures of the veil and learned to track them through instinct alone. Your perception of supernatural entities has increased.
The message hung there longer than normal. Glitching faintly around the edges, but not in the text this time.
‘Shadow Hunter… huh. That may end up being useful.’
“Holy shit…” Sylas exhaled, grinning wildly, hair tousled and eyes bright. She flicked mist from her daggers and pointed at him. “That was intense.”
Nyra let out a huff of laughter, slinging her shield over her back. “That wasn’t normal, was it?”
Torak gave a slow nod, the faintest twitch of fear crossing his expression. “Something is wrong.”
Patch’s runes dimmed back to a steady pulse. “No further threats detected.”
Then came Garrik. He strolled into the clearing with hands tucked in his pockets like he hadn’t just watched a supernatural brawl in the middle of a cursed forest. But his gaze told a different story—calculating, sharp, heavy with something Jace couldn’t quite name.
“Those Shades were corrupted,” Garrik said. His voice was neutral. Too neutral. “And the four of you sliced through them like wheat.”
He reached into his belt and pulled out his worn leather notebook, flipping it open without ceremony.
Jace arched his brow. “Is now really the time for grading us?”
Garrik smirked, the expression carving across his face like a scar. “Always time for notes.”
He scribbled something quickly, efficiently, and didn’t look up.
Jace exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders to shake off the leftover tension. His core still pulsed from the soul energy, dark and electric. Whatever had awakened inside him during the fight wasn’t done. It was watching. Waiting.
He forced a grin, if only to keep the unease at bay. “Alright then. What’s next?”
Garrik’s eyes met his. Calm. Measuring. The kind of stare a predator gave just before it pounced.
“You tell me,” he said evenly. “It’s your assessment.”
Around them, the Veilwood stirred—subtle, but alive. The mist didn’t fade. It circled, coiled, pressed in tighter. Like it knew something had changed. Like it didn’t want them to leave.
Nyra gripped her shield, amber eyes narrowed. “Even with the corruption?”
“Those ghosts,” Sylas muttered, wiping ichor from her blade and casually dragging it across Jace’s shirt. “They were just the opener.”
“Hey—seriously?” Jace batted her hand away.
She winked. “Consider it a laundry fee.”
Garrik’s grin twitched wider, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Look around,” he said, gesturing to the treeline. “The entrance is gone. Sealed itself the moment we stepped in.”
Jace’s stomach dropped. He turned—but the forest behind them was endless. Seamless. Like they’d never come from anywhere at all.
“There’s no way back,” Garrik continued, slipping his notebook away. “Not until we find the boss and slay it.”
“So what—you knew this was corrupted?” Nyra asked, stepping forward.
“I had suspicions,” Garrik admitted, calm as ever. “The signs were there. Strange mana readings. Mist that didn’t move right. But now it’s confirmed.”
“And the Guild still sent us in?” Sylas snapped.
Garrik gave her a look—dry, tired, but firm.
“Who do you think they send to clear corrupted dungeons?” His voice dropped a notch. “People who won’t panic. The parties they want to test. That’s why they sent me. If things get too heavy, I'm here to stop it. I won’t let any real danger come to you.”
Jace’s throat tightened. “So this is our test run?”
“We’re the line between the corruption spreading… or stopping,” Garrik said. “If we fail, this dungeon breaks. Everything it’s holding back spills into the wilds, then… further.”
A long silence followed. Only the distant hiss of mist shifting against bark.
The forest grew denser as they delved deeper, the air growing thick with an eerie, unnatural stillness. The path beneath their feet twisted in ways that made no sense—one moment they were on a clear trail, the next it had wound back on itself. The deeper they went, the more off everything felt.
Jace kept his mace resting against his shoulder, his eyes darting to the shifting trees around them. Their branches moved when no wind blew, their bark cracked in whispered tones that felt far too much like speech.
Garrik followed closely behind, his eyes sharp, watching everything. Jace took the chance to ask, “So, what rank are you, exactly?”
Garrik smirked. “End of Gold.”
Jace’s brow lifted. “Which means?”
Garrik glanced at him. “It means I can take on dungeon assessments like this. Only Gold-ranked adventurers can serve as instructors. I am also part of the corruption cleansing crew.”
Nyra let out a low whistle. “Damn. I knew you were a big deal, just didn’t know it was that big of a deal?”
Garrik chuckled. “Means I’ve survived this long, kitten.”
Sylas snickered at Nyra’s deepening scowl.
Garrik’s golden eyes flicked to Jace, sharp as ever. “Alright. My turn. You really cleared a whole dungeon solo?”
Jace nodded slowly, his voice steady. “Yeah.”
The air shifted. Even the mist around them seemed to pause.
“Mind sharing?” Garrik said, flipping his notebook open without looking down. “You don’t just stumble into a corrupted dungeon and walk out by accident.”
Jace hesitated, aware that every member of the party was now watching him like a riddle wrapped in blood and bone. He went over what he had already told the party before. He was from another town and wandered around until he found himself at the top of a mountain. It was cold so he looked for shelter and found the dungeon. He added that last bit to make it sound more believable that he would stumble into a dungeon.
“Once I stumbled through the entrance, I noticed the entrance was just gone. Just like it did here.”
“I still can’t believe you were alone?” Nyra asked, brows raised.
“Yeah,” Jace said. “When I entered, I didn't even realize it was a dungeon. I thought I got hit with some spell or something. I couldn’t go back, so I pushed forward. Then I ran into the undead mostly—zombies, draugr, skeletons. But the deeper I got, the more aggressive they became. Smarter too.””
“That is astute. Dungeons get progressively harder the further you go.” Patch rumbled, his runes pulsing low and steady.
Torak cocked his head. “And you reached the boss alone?”
“Two, actually,” Jace said. “The first real boss I found was a corrupted undead wyvern. Big bastard. Eyes glowing violet and mist pouring from its mouth like it was choking on its own corruption.”
Sylas gave a low whistle. “No wonder you killed that level 35 behemoth. If that was your first real boss fight, this all makes sense.”
Garrik’s brow twitched. “That dungeon… The Hallows. Bronze ranked originally, but the Guild upped it to Silver after multiple parties failed to return. Most didn’t even make it past the mid-tier undead.”
Jace’s expression darkened. “The wyvern wasn’t the worst part. Like I said, it was just the first boss.”
Everyone stilled.
“There was another,” he said. “A Horror. That’s the only word I have for it. Like someone had stitched together all the undead in the dungeon into a pile of just flesh and muscle. Too many limbs and mouths, and eyes. It was just wrong. It didn’t walk. It dragged itself. And it bled shadows.”
Torak’s mandibles clicked uneasily. “Corruption-mutated amalgamation?”
Garrik’s pen froze mid-word. “And you killed it.”
Jace nodded, jaw tight. “Barely. I only survived because of my class. Vitality Leech. Every strike, I drained life from them. The wyvern gave me just enough to keep moving. The Horror… nearly ended me.” His mind snapped to the voice. He just realized he hadn’t heard from it since then… he focused. “But I wore it down. Outlasted it.”
Sylas stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You out-healed a dungeon boss?”
Jace shrugged. “Out-bled it. Drained its strength faster than it could take mine.”
“You didn’t have an Identify or Analyze during that fight?” Garrik asked, skeptical.
“Got it after,” Jace lied smoothly, meeting Garrik’s eyes.
Garrik didn’t look convinced, but he scribbled furiously into his notebook. “You’re a Soulborne, aren’t you?”
Jace nodded once.
“And this Vitality Leech class…” Garrik’s voice trailed off, almost reverent. “I’ve seen a lot of rare classes and races, but nothing that would allow someone to solo a corrupted dungeon above or even at their current rank.”
Patch spoke up. “His existence alters our statistical bell curve.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Garrik muttered. He finally closed his notebook with a soft snap, his gaze heavy on him.
Jace glanced down just long enough to catch one word that was scribbled on the page before Garrik closed it completely.
‘Corrupted?’ His heart rate spiked. He immediately regretted saying anything at all.
“The Guild’s gonna have a field day with you. Assuming you live long enough.” Garrik placed the notebook back into his belt.
“I’ll manage,” Jace said, rolling his shoulders, trying to ignore the rising terror. He still had to get through this dungeon and get through it alive.
Garrik gave him a long, unreadable look. Then, finally, he nodded. “I believe it.”
The group fell into a brief, stunned silence as they continued on the misty forest path.
Then Sylas broke it with a lazy grin. “Alright, mystery man. That’s one hell of a first dungeon story. No pressure for this one, right?”
Jace grinned back. “Let’s just hope this one doesn’t end with another Horror.”
Nyra tightened her grip on her shield. “If it does, we’ve got your back this time.”
They moved forward, deeper into the Veilwood, but Jace felt it—something had changed. Not just in how the group looked at him, but in how he looked at himself.
Suddenly, Jace froze.
It wasn't a sound. Not a whisper. Just wrongness—slithering through his veins like ice water, turning muscle to stone.
Up ahead, the mist parted.
A clearing.
The first break in Veilwood’s endless suffocation since the Whispering Shades—but there was no relief. No light. No reprieve.
Only it.
Something stood at the center, waiting.
Still as a corpse.
Alive like a nightmare.
Glowing violet eyes locked onto them through the gloom—unblinking, ancient, and utterly alien. They didn’t shimmer. They burned.
Jace’s breath hitched. Every inch of his soul remembered this kind of gaze.
Not as prey.
Not in challenge.
This thing was looking at them like a butcher eyeing his next kill.
Then it moved.
Just one step forward. One soundless shift in the mist.
And the world shuddered.
Mine.
Mine.
Their blood painted the bark.
The herd was too loud.
Too clean.
Too whole.
Snapped their necks like brittle twigs.
Antlers cracked like thunder.
Eyes... eyes don’t blink once they're gone.
Silent.
Perfect.
Until you.
Until them.
Footsteps. Breathing. Hope.
I hate the sound of hope.
It danced.
It sang.
It hissed in my skull until I tore it out through my antlers.
him.
my breath,
You carry a hunger like mine.
Core.
Core.
CORE.
Twists like bone-worms in your chest—
It sees me.
Not predator.
Not prey.
wrong.
The scream in the root.
The rot beneath the skin.
So... how are we feeling about Harmony of the Fallen so far?
