Chapter 80 – Interlude: Marek

Marek was having a terrible day.

It had been meant to be simple.

A routine delve into a medium-sized local dungeon, nothing more than a proving run for their newest member. Avelyn had joined them only this morning, still green, still slightly reckless with her mana, still looking at everything with that mix of awe and nerves that marked someone not yet used to the work.

The plan had been clean. A few levels. Some coin. Enough success to justify a proper welcome feast for her when they returned to the surface. If luck favored them, perhaps even a respawned chest tucked somewhere deeper in the caves.

Instead, the dungeon had… shifted.

At first, it was subtle.

Level fifty-five crawlers became fifty-six.

Then fifty-seven.

By the time they reached the first cavern, the creatures stalking the tunnels had already reached sixty.

The decision to retreat came immediately.

It came too late.

The ambush had been sudden and precise. Stone split, the ground itself turning hostile as crawlers erupted from all around. Their porter, Tali, died before anyone could react. One moment she was alive, the next she was dragged under a mass of snapping jaws and grinding stone.

They hadn’t even been able to retrieve the lanterns.

Stripped of light, stripped of supplies, they had been driven deeper.

So they ran.

Through narrow tunnels that scraped armor and skin alike, through choking dust and collapsing stone, through the constant, grinding pursuit of creatures that did not tire.

Until the tunnel opened.

Another cavern.

Large enough to breathe.

Large enough to die.

They had barely a heartbeat to register the space before the second wave hit them from the opposite side, crawlers flooding in from every shadow, cutting off any hope of escape.

There had been no discussion.

No debate.

They had turned as one and put their backs to the wall.

The last stand formed in seconds.

A single flame burned at their center, conjured and maintained by Zeke. It flickered violently, casting long, jagged shadows across the cavern walls, barely holding back the suffocating dark.

Marek stood at the front.

He gritted his teeth and drove his tower shield forward, slamming it into an oncoming crawler. The impact rang out through the cavern, a heavy, concussive sound as stone met reinforced steel and wood. The creature was launched backward, its body cracking under the force despite the difference in level.

It wasn’t enough.

More came.

Projectiles formed in the dark, compressed stone shaping itself into bullets, lances, and even crude hammers that tore through the air toward them.

They struck an invisible barrier.

A flash of blue light rippled outward as Bulwark held, deflecting the barrage before it could reach the group.

It was the only reason they were still alive. And it was draining him.

Another crawler lunged.

A sharp crack split the cavern.

Gunfire.

The creature’s head snapped sideways as a gravity-infused round punched into it, the impact driving it into the ground with a heavy crash. It twitched, injured but far from dead.

Above them, Sylrae wheeled through the air, wings straining in the confined space as she maneuvered within the narrow safety of Marek’s barrier. Her shots were precise, her timing impeccable, but there was only so much she could do in a cavern that seemed determined to clip her wings.

Marek let out a low growl and stepped forward again, activating Shield Bash. The skill flared through his limbs as he slammed into another crawler, sending it skidding back into the darkness beyond the reach of their light.

A delay.

Nothing more.

He couldn’t afford anything else.

Every other skill he had demanded too much mana, and right now, every drop he spent meant less time for the barrier.

Less time before they died.

Sylrae couldn’t output enough damage to thin the numbers. Zeke was already rationing his spells, careful not to consume too much oxygen with his flames and suffocate them all.

They weren’t winning.

They were holding.

Barely.

Marek risked a glance back.

Avelyn knelt near the rear, hands trembling as golden light gathered at her fingertips. Tears clung to her lashes, catching the firelight as she worked, her focus locked on Rin.

The Catkin warrior lay against the stone, one hand pressed weakly against his side.

Blood pooled beneath him, dark and spreading from the gaping wound where he had taken a hit meant for her.

The light of her healing magic flickered.

Unsteady.

Running out.

“Avelyn! How long?!” Marek called, voice cutting through the clash of stone and steel.

The Foxkin girl flinched as if yanked out of a trance, ears twitching sharply, but she answered almost immediately, forcing steadiness into her voice despite the tremor beneath it.

“A minute—no, fifty seconds!”

Fifty seconds.

Marek’s jaw tightened.

A downright incredible pace for a tier one healer.

If she held that, if they held that, Rin would be back on his feet. And once he was, they would finally have something that could cut back.

Unlike Marek’s defensive skills or Sylrae’s harassment fire, Rin’s blades ended things.

Quickly.

Fifty seconds.

They could survive that.

They had to.

Marek slammed his shield forward again, the impact ringing through his arms as another crawler was sent skidding back across the stone. Sylrae’s rifle cracked from above, each shot precise and measured, buying them space in inches and heartbeats. Even Zeke had abandoned pretense, swinging his staff like a club, bursts of fire flashing along its length when the situation demanded it.

Around them, stone-aspected magic continued to rain against Bulwark in relentless waves.

Each impact flared blue.

Each flare carved another piece out of Marek’s mana.

The crawlers pressed in harder, undeterred by losses, their stone-plated bodies absorbing punishment as they lunged with grinding jaws and snapping limbs.

Twenty seconds.

Thirty.

The pressure mounted.

The light flickered.

And then—

With ten seconds left—

The line broke.

One crawler slipped through.

It came low and fast, darting past Marek’s guard in a sudden, violent surge, its massive jaws splitting open as it lunged straight for Avelyn.

Marek’s eyes widened.

“Sylrae—!”

She pivoted midair, wings snapping wide, but her shot wasn’t ready.

Rin moved, teeth clenched as he reached for his sabers, forcing his body upright through sheer will—

Too slow.

Avelyn fell back with a sharp, panicked cry, hands rising instinctively to shield her head as the creature closed in.

Marek roared.

“AVELYN—!”

A sharp crack of stone split the cavern.

Rin and Sylrae's heads snapped toward the tunnel.

Marek barely had time to follow their gaze before something pale tore out of the darkness.

One moment it was there.

The next—

It was here.

White hair. A dark dress streaked with dried blood. A massive black blade already moving. Sapphire light spilling across the stone.

Then the crawler came apart, its body collapsing in pieces as Avelyn was left frozen beneath a spray of dark blood.

Alive.

The figure hit the far wall feet-first, knees bending just enough to absorb the force before she kicked off again. The impact sent a sharp crack through the stone as she launched back into motion, her form collapsing into a pale blur.

She reappeared beside Marek.

Another swing.

Another crawler fell, cleaved apart before it could even react.

Then she spoke. Soft, calm, and certain.

“Brace yourselves so you don’t fall. It will only last a second.”

Marek didn’t hesitate.

His knees bent, his stance lowered, shield anchoring into position as he obeyed without question.

Because some instincts, in moments like this—

Were not meant to be argued with.

Then—

Marek’s breath vanished.

His chest locked around unmoving air, lungs seizing as something deeper asserted itself over the simple act of breathing. The world pressed inward all at once, an invisible weight slamming into him from every direction without origin or angle.

His arms trembled. His muscles tensed, braced against pressure that had no surface to resist, no edge to deflect. His knees dipped despite himself, his stance faltering by a fraction.

He had braced.

It wasn’t enough.

His heart stuttered, skipped—

Then hammered against his ribs with a force that bordered on panic.

And in that moment, one thought surfaced with absolute clarity.

If she wanted to kill me, I would die.

There would be no resistance.

No counter.

No survival.

Only inevitability.

Around him, the effect rippled outward.

A crawler mid-lunge collapsed before it reached its target, its limbs giving out beneath it as if the concept of motion had been revoked. Another froze entirely, body locking in place, jaws twitching in empty defiance as its aggression failed to translate into action.

Even the air felt different. It was heavier and thicker, as if the cavern itself had acknowledged something it could not contain.

His vision narrowed.

Edges darkened.

The world compressed to a single, suffocating awareness—

—and then it stopped.

Air crashed back into his lungs in a ragged, uncontrolled gasp, his chest expanding violently as breath returned all at once. The weight vanished just as abruptly, leaving his body to overcompensate as his shield jerked upward, muscles reacting to a force that no longer existed.

Silence followed.

Not true silence, there were still sounds, the distant scrape of stone, the flicker of flame, but the pressure was gone.

The crawlers hesitated. The storm of magic that had filled the cavern moments ago dwindled, the constant attacks faltering almost completely.

Marek moved first.

He snapped his gaze across the group in a rapid check.

Rin and Sylrae had held, although barely. A tremor lingered in their movements, subtle but undeniable.

Zeke and Avelyn were worse.

Fear clung to them openly, visible in their posture, their breathing, but they had not broken. Avelyn had already returned to her work, hands glowing as she forced the healing to completion.

Good.

No collapse. No hesitation.

So Marek acted.

For the first time since the fight began, he stepped forward without restraint.

His full weight drove into the ground, and then into the nearest crawler as he surged ahead, the force of his movement alone enough to send it crashing backward. Steel met stone with renewed violence, every strike backed by strength he had been forced to hold in reserve.

He activated his skills without hesitation.

Mana expenditure be damned.

Because now—

Now he understood.

They were going to live.

Sylrae's firing cadence changed immediately.

The measured, conserving shots gave way to a controlled storm, bullets raining down in rapid succession from above. Some struck with crushing force, their trajectories steepened by her gravity magic into falling impacts that shattered stone on contact. Others twisted what they touched, disrupting balance, forcing missteps, causing the crawlers to stumble and overcorrect, exposing themselves for the next strike in the process.

The pressure shifted.

Ten seconds.

That was all it took.

Rin surged back to his feet with a sharp intake of breath, pain still etched across his features but no longer slowing him. His twin sabers ignited in pale blue fire as he stepped into the fray, Frostflame licking along the edges of his blades. Each strike left a brittle sheen in its wake, stone hardening and cracking before shattering under the next hit.

Their formation stabilized.

Then advanced.

But—

None of it compared to her.

The white-haired Foxkin was not fighting.

She was moving.

No. She was almost... dancing.

Her form slipped through impossibly small openings, weaving between lunges and projectiles with fluid precision. Her blade flashed in tight, efficient arcs, each swing ending in a kill so clean it barely seemed to meet resistance. Every motion had a purpose. Every turn carried her into the next opening before Marek had even finished identifying it.

She never stopped.

Not once.

Two vines extended from her legs, snapping outward with sharp, controlled motions. They intercepted attacks before they could reach her, striking, wrapping, and deflecting, buying her fractions of inches in space that she immediately converted into motion. And anything the vines failed to handle, she did.

Personally. Decisively.

There was a rhythm to it. A progression.

After every strike, her next swing was faster.

Not by much, but more than enough. The difference compounded.

The crawlers couldn’t keep up.

Stone-aspected spells resumed soon after, the creatures pushing back with renewed desperation. Marek reactivated Bulwark, the blue barrier flaring into existence once more as projectiles slammed against it in rapid succession.

He opened his mouth to call out—to tell her to fall back, to stay within the shield—

And stopped.

The words never came.

Two more vines manifested, joining the first pair without hesitation. All four moved in perfect coordination, slapping smaller spells out of the air with sharp, precise impacts while she avoided the larger ones outright, slipping between them with minimal movement.

When a vine shattered under the strain of a heavier deflection, it simply… reformed.

Instantly. Seamlessly.

The assault never slowed.

Marek glanced sideways at Rin.

The Catkin caught the look and gave a small, almost resigned shrug.

“That’s the gap between a genius and the rest of us,” he muttered, voice steady despite the chaos. “Try not to take it personally.”

Marek exhaled through his nose.

Fair enough.

Still—

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of motion.

Her tail.

It swayed once. Slowly. Deliberately.

Radiating a level of smugness that somehow felt louder than the battle itself.