272. Door Part 2

Inside Dungeon, Northern Coast, Kim Island, Kim Dukedom, Ancorna EmpireThe air in the goblin nest was thick with the stench of rot and the wet, chittering sounds of a thousand monsters. From her position behind the jagged obsidian outcrop, Ravenna checked the action on her Kim Pattern pistol, the cold steel a grounding weight in her palm.

“Position!” Ravenna commanded, her voice a low, lethal thread that cut through the cavern’s gloom.

Knight Kalahad and his remaining squad adjusted their rifles, their faces grim masks of soot and sweat. They were low on ammunition, every round a precious life-line they couldn't afford to squander.

“Marie, give me the signal,” Ravenna ordered, her eyes fixed on the massive, unstable ceiling above the central nest.

Marie closed her eyes, her consciousness expanding. The blessing of time began to thrum in her veins, slowing the world until the frantic movements of the goblins became sluggish, like insects trapped in honey. She could see the structural stress in the rock, the invisible lines of mana holding the cavern together.

“Now, Master!” Marie cried, her voice ringing with divine resonance.

Ravenna exploded from cover. She was a blur of violet silk and flashing steel, her twin daggers spinning in her hands like silver fans. She didn't hunt individual goblins; she herded them. With a few precise, barking shots from her pistol and the terrifying, predatory grace of her blade-work, she drove the chittering mass toward the center of the hall, directly beneath the weakened vault.

“Fire!” Knight Kalahad roared.

The knights unleashed their final volley, not at the monsters, but at the structural supports rigged with Nille’s specialized explosives.

The world turned into thunder.

As the massive shelf of rock groaned and began its terminal descent, Ravenna didn't flinch. She felt the pressure wave hit her skin, the shadow of a million tons of stone looming over her. With a thought, she triggered the system.

Entering the Origin Domain will consume 2,000 Reputation Points. Do you wish to proceed?

The chaotic roar of the collapsing cave vanished instantly, replaced by the oppressive, sterile hum of ‘The Office’. Ravenna stood alone in the endless office void, the silence ringing in her ears. Outside, time was a fraction of a second; here, she had as long as she needed to breathe, to adjust her gown, and to wait for the dust to settle.

When she exited the domain, the scene was one of absolute annihilation.

The central nest had been replaced by a mountain of rubble. The thousand-strong goblin horde had been crushed into the earth, their chittering replaced by a tomb-like silence. Ravenna stood at the very edge of the debris, untouched, her dark hair barely ruffled by the shockwave.

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Marie, Alice, and the knights stood frozen, their mouths agape. They had watched the ceiling fall directly onto Ravenna’s head, only for her to reappear amidst the wreckage as if she had simply stepped through a curtain of air.

“Master…” Marie stammered, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and terror. “How did you… you were right under it.”

Alice adjusted her glasses, her hands trembling as she looked at the impossible lack of dust on Ravenna’s shoulders. “Ravenna, what in the Goddess’s name was that?”

Ravenna merely smirked, the sharp, mocking curve of her lips signaling that no answers would be forthcoming. “Don’t look so pathetic. We have a schedule to keep.”

But before anyone could press for an explanation, the temperature in the room plummeted. A sickly, sweet fragrance, the smell of overripe lilies and copper, filled the cavern.

They all looked up.

Above the mountain of rubble, where the ceiling had once been, a new structure had appeared. It wasn't stone, and it wasn't wood. It was a door, three meters tall, constructed from pale flesh and Broadleaf Arrowhead flowers that seemed to pulse with a rhythmic, wet heartbeat.

Inside Dungeon, Landon’s Rebellion Camp, Outside the Capital City, Ancorna Empire

The world did not return in a rush of color, but in the sharp, metallic tang of blood and the rhythmic, bone-chilling clatter of a thousand teeth. Prince Landon’s eyes snapped open, his vision swimming as the hazy violet sky of the dungeon pressed down on him like a physical weight. He tried to shift, to push himself upright, but a white-hot spike of agony shot up from his left leg, pinning him back against the cold, cracked cobblestones.

He wasn't in the open fields outside the capital anymore.

Landon lay in the heart of a ghost. An abandoned city stretched out around him, skeletal remains of grand architecture where statues watched with hollow eyes and the streets were paved with the dust of centuries. The air was stagnant, heavy with the scent of mildew and the unnatural hum of the tear that had swallowed them whole.

“Stay down, Landon! Don't move that leg!”

King Finel’s voice broke through the din of battle. The King of Estra was a vision of grim image, his ornate armor splattered with a dark, viscous ichor that wasn't quite blood. He stood over Landon, his sword whistling through the air as he shattered the ribcage of a charging skeleton.

Around them, the rebellion camp was a scene of organized slaughter. The knights of Estra and the soldiers of the Vassal States had formed a desperate circle, their shields interlocking to create a wall of steel against a tide of the magical beasts. Skeletons, clothed in the rotted remains of ancient imperial uniforms, hurled themselves at the line with mindless ferocity, their empty sockets burning with a faint, malevolent purple light.

“Where… where are we?” Landon managed to rasp, his hand clutching at the jagged tear in his trousers where the bone had nearly breached the skin.

“A dungeon,” Finel replied, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he kicked a skull clear across the plaza. He ducked a rusted blade, stepping back to check Landon’s pulse with a frantic glance. “The Spymaster… Frank… he wasn't human when he detonated. He was a trigger. We were pulled in the moment the vortex expanded.”

Landon winced as a nearby explosion of mana rocked the ground. A group of mages stood atop a collapsed fountain, their flowers in their hands glowing with the frantic light of spells. “The floors, Finel? Which level?”

“They don't know,” King Finel spat, his jaw tightening. “The spatial coordinates are a mess. The mages are still trying to determine the threat level, but the mana density here is suffocating. We’re deep, Landon. Far deeper than a surface-level dungeon should be.”

Landon grit his teeth against the pain, forced his head to turn, searching the ruins for any sign of a tactical advantage. His gaze traveled past the shattered columns of a Great Hall and the rusted husks of market stalls until it landed on a building that stood untouched by the decay.

It was a narrow, windowless tower of obsidian stone, and at its base sat a door that made the hair on Landon’s neck stand on end.

It wasn't made of wood or iron. It was a pulsating slab of translucent, pale flesh muscle, the surface rippling with the slow, heavy beat of an unseen heart. Woven into the living tissue like a crown of thorns were the Broadleaf Arrowhead flowers. Their petals were a deep, bruised indigo, weeping a thick, black ichor that pooled at the threshold.