The ruin had opened. The world had held its breath.
And then—they surged.
The Unbound and Raiders bolted through the stone doorway like unleashed ammunition. What awaited them inside wasn't a chamber or a tomb—it was a descent. A steep, road-like corridor plunged sharply downward, stretching miles into the earth's core.
This was no passage.
It was a gauntlet.
The incline was brutal, the floor smooth and seamless—too perfect for anything built by modern hands. Stone walls arched overhead, pulsing with dormant energy. Then, as the first feet struck the path, the ruin awakened.
Lights along the walls began to flare—one by one, in rapid sequence—chasing the runners like lightning. Every step forward lit another glyph, another set of markings, another trigger.
And the traps followed.
Arrow barrages hissed from hidden slits.
Guillotines snapped down from the ceiling with death-speed.
Whole sections of the floor transformed into fields of retractable spikes.
Some moved with supernatural grace, vaulting over sawblades and ducking beneath swinging axes. Others weren't so lucky. Screams rang out—cut short. Blood sprayed. Armor was torn. Limbs lost.
Some ignored the traps entirely—smashing through them like battering rams.
But no one moved like Dreados's team.
They didn't run—they glided. Omfry and Dreados at the lead, sprinting sideways along the walls and ceilings like it was second nature. Where traps couldn't be dodged, they were destroyed in motion—smashed mid-air, sliced mid-swing, caught mid-fire.
Behind them, Anuel flew forward, cradling Ziraiah like a baby in her arms. Beily tore through the corridor like a freight engine, with Valerius and Eryndor tucked under his armpits like sacks of cargo. The Warframes wrapped around the siblings kept their bodies stable—but nothing could suppress the sheer chaos they were flying through.
Valerius could barely process anything. His vision blurred, colors smeared past his helmet, and the sudden accelerations made his stomach twist.
Dreados and Omfry darted through falling metal blades like shadows. Projectiles began launching from mechanical turrets embedded in the walls—ancient weapons that recognized invaders. They opened fire in synchronized volleys.
Omfry deflected a full barrage with a twist of his forearm, his smile widening.
Dreados caught two bolts with his palms and crushed them into fragments without slowing.
And then—dead end.
Except it wasn't.
At the end of the path, the corridor cut off into a massive vertical shaft, a colossal hole descending deeper into blackness. A tunnel straight to the center of the world.
No hesitation.
Dreados's team launched off the wall—used the ceiling as a springboard—and hurled themselves into the pit with terrifying speed.
The others followed. Dozens of Unbound and Raiders dove into the vertical chasm, falling like spears. The light from above faded. The green glow of the shaft began to pulse around them like veins beneath the skin of the world.
They were falling faster than gravity allowed.
"AAAAH!" Ziraiah screamed, her voice swallowed by the roar of the wind.
All the twists, the jolts, the sharp directional changes had been too much.
Valerius groaned. "I don't feel so good. I think I'm gonna hurl—"
His helmet opened just in time. And he did.
Behind him, Sumshus flew down in perfect form—until—
SPLAT.
Valerius's vomit collided with his visor mid-fall.
"What the hell?!" Sumshus yelled, wiping it away with a snarl. "You bastard—I'm gonna kill you when we land!"
"Hey Omfry!" Daiel shouted through the wind. "How long is this going to take?! We've been falling forever!"
Omfry tilted backward mid-fall, hands behind his head, grinning like a kid on a roller coaster. "We're almost there. I can feel it!"
The shaft grew brighter.
Strange inscriptions along the walls lit up, casting the shaft in glowing green light. Far below, a sliver of blinding white began to emerge—the bottom.
Dreados's voice echoed down the tunnel, calm as ever. "Jeriana."
"I'm already on it," she replied.
From above, a blue shimmer surged through the entire group—Jeriana's spell.
Floatation.
Jeriana's spell surged outward—an arc of blue light that twisted gravity without slowing it. It bent air, redirected velocity, and aligned every falling body into perfect formation.
They didn't decelerate.
They shifted.
Dozens of figures veered from vertical descent into a sweeping horizontal charge—aimed directly at the glowing opening carved into the shaft's wall. At full speed, they plunged forward, skimming into the tunnel like fire launched from the heavens.
Jeriana dropped the spell the moment they breached the threshold.
Impact.
Dreados's team hit the ground like warheads.
Beily landed hard, knees bent to absorb the shock—dragging deep, burning trenches through the stone floor as his boots tore through it. Sparks burst in his wake. Under each arm, Valerius and Eryndor bounced like strapped-down cargo, their helmets rattling from the force, but the Warframes held firm.
Anuel landed just behind, her boots cleaving through stone, carving a long, symmetrical crater in the ruin floor. She cradled Ziraiah tight against her chest, shielding her from the brutal force of the landing.
Dreados and Omfry landed in perfect sync, gliding across the floor like shadows at full sprint, leaving cracked paths behind them.
Jeriana descended last, landing light, her fingertips brushing the ground to bleed off momentum.
Dust and stone fragments rose in every direction.
The skidding dragged on for several meters.
Then, silence.
Dozens of trails carved across the floor behind them—scars of arrival.
The siblings were set down carefully, legs shaking from the g-forces they didn't understand.
Valerius groaned softly.
Eryndor's visor flickered, stabilizing.
Ziraiah blinked, her breath shaky, still curled in Anuel's arms.
They had made it.
And now they stood—not in a tomb, or a vault—
—but in an impossible world beneath the surface of Yilheim.
---
Dreados stood at the edge of the landing crater, surveying the impossible horizon ahead—the world beneath the world.
"Let's move," he said, his voice calm but edged with urgency.
"The rest are coming. This place will be swarming in mere seconds."
And then—
impact.
The sounds came in waves.
Behind them, through the gaping shaft they had fallen from, a storm of bodies began to crash into the floor.
Some Unbound landed with practiced grace—feet hitting stone, knees absorbing the force.
Others weren't so lucky.
Sickening cracks echoed as some landed headfirst, bones shattering on impact. Others smashed into the ground back-first, limbs crumpling.
A few didn't even scream.
Thousands upon thousands of Unbound poured down from above, a rain of bodies—flesh, blood, and steel—filling the vast underground platform.
They came with war cries, with hunger in their eyes, and greed in their hearts.
The floor was slick with death.
Bodies piled atop bodies near the landing zone—blocking the very opening they had come through.
And then came the cleansing.
Those who landed last, furious and bloodthirsty, unleashed devastating blasts of power to clear the path. Flame, lightning, mana bursts—the dead were obliterated, their remains vaporised in waves of destruction.
The stone turned red.
A river of blood flowed from the landing zone, staining the ancient ruin before a single treasure had even been claimed.
---
Dreados adjusted his gloves, eyes scanning the vast underground expanse stretching before them.
"Let's move," he said coldly. "The rest are coming. This place will be swarming in mere seconds."
Behind them, the air began to tremble.
Valerius turned his head, frowning. The low rumble of impact echoed up through the shaft—then a sickening thud.
And another. And another.
Bodies began to drop from the vertical shaft like cursed rain.
Some Unbound landed on their feet with perfect ease—like wolves bred for this madness.
Others… did not.
Skulls cracked. Spines shattered. Some landed on their necks, heads twisted at impossible angles. Others collapsed on their backs, never to rise again.
But they kept coming.
Thousands of Unbound rained from above. Raiders, mercenaries, freelancers, and nameless hunters, all plunging into the ruin like it was their last chance at salvation. For some—it was.
They rushed forward, emerging from the tunnel with greedy eyes—only to stop cold.
What they saw defied belief.
A subterranean world, glowing with strange light, massive and ancient, opened up before them. Towering walls covered in lush growth. Strange trees and shattered monuments. It was like stepping into a buried ecosystem sealed by time.
The awe didn't last.
Those who landed last found the entrance choked with corpses—stacked in jagged piles, limbs tangled, blood soaking the ancient stone.
The solution was swift and cruel.
They unleashed power.
Explosions of fire and concussive force disintegrated the fallen, clearing the way in a grotesque purge. The blood ran thick, pouring down cracks and stones in crimson sheets. The entrance flowed like a river of red, and still—more Unbound came.
---
Above ground.
The wind howled quietly over the Beniek ruin as the Ignir forces arrived.
Five thousand soldiers stood in formation before the entrance—armor gleaming, weapons poised. Their formation was flawless, a sea of discipline and steel.
At the front stood the Elf King, his silver cloak rustling in the wind. In his gloved hand, he held a pendant—worn, sacred. He stared at the ruin entrance and clenched it tightly.
"I'm coming, Eli," he said softly.
Beside him, a young elf boy approached the door.
His pristine white uniform shimmered under the light of Yilheim's twin moons, its surface interwoven with glowing threads of light blue and green, like veins of energy dancing through cloth. A tall, radiant collar hugged his long, pointed ears, pulsing faintly with magic. On his chest, the number 10 glowed softly.
Heinzel. The Tenth Spellbound. A genius among prodigies.
He raised his hand. "Search."
A sphere of translucent energy expanded from his body, covering two kilometers in all directions.
He turned back to the King. "This place goes deep. Very… very deep. The Unbound are beyond my search range."
Maloi, towering and composed, stepped beside him. Her long white coat flowed behind her, the gold runes on her high boots shimmering faintly. She placed a gentle hand on Heinzel's head.
"Look over there," she said, pointing toward the shadows.
Heinzel turned. In the distance, a fleet of unfamiliar kruisers sat quietly, their metal hulls scarred but active.
He blinked. "How did they get their hands on kruisers?"
Maloi chuckled softly. "Use your head. They're Unbound. Of course they have artifacts like that. We buy ours. They bleed for theirs."
She crossed her arms, her fingers brushing against the glowing word Spellbound etched across her back.
"Take a Raider, make it illegal, throw a few dozen lunatics into the mix—and you get the Unbound."
Heinzel frowned. "They're really that dangerous?"
Maloi nodded grimly. "Yes. Be careful."
She gripped his shoulders gently and locked eyes with him.
"If you see a long-haired elf man…"
She leaned in close.
"…Run."
Then she placed her hands on her hips and gave him a soft smile. "Nervous?"
Heinzel nodded. "Yes. This is my first mission."
Maloi smiled and pulled him close, resting her forehead gently against his. "Don't worry. I'll protect you. I promise."
But in her mind, her thoughts were sharp and silent:
Children shouldn't be Spellbounds. Not for this.
---
A ripple of power echoed as a new figure stepped forward—her presence silencing the crowd.
Anisa Belcruver.
Her uniform was immaculate: white robes trimmed with glowing green and blue, the number 3 etched into her chest like a crown. Her skirt flowed elegantly over her armored trousers, and the arcane lettering across her back glowed brighter with every step.
She raised a single hand.
"Search."
An invisible field exploded outward—this time covering thirty kilometers.
She paused. Then spoke without turning.
"There's no trace of them. They've descended too far. This path is too long to walk."
She raised both arms.
"I'll cast Floatation."
The soldiers shifted into ten perfect lines.
With a single motion, Anisa cast the spell. A ripple of blue light swept through the formation—and then they rose. Every soldier lifted gently off the ground. All the Spellbounds began to hover, eyes sharp, weapons drawn.
Even the King floated effortlessly above the dust, cloak trailing like smoke.
"Let us move," he said.
And they moved.
They flew through the ruin passage in formation, ghosting above the ancient stone. Their presence was quiet, surgical. No trap was triggered. The air obeyed them.
As they passed the initial descent, they saw what had come before—the shredded bodies of fallen Unbound, still fresh. Twisted, burnt, broken.
No blades. No arrows. No mechanical traps in sight.
Maloi drifted alongside Anisa, her eyes narrowing.
Did they kill each other?
She didn't have to ask aloud. She already knew.
When Unbound gather in numbers… it's bound to happen.
The last wave of bodies struck ground with less violence. The chaos had slowed. The descent had ended.
The ruin's entrance was now swarmed—tens of thousands of Unbound and Raiders had landed, surrounding the cavernous mouth like insects drawn to flame.
The air was thick with awe and tension. Even the wildest among them stood still, faces turned upward.
And then, the final group descended—Orian and his team.
Omar held out his palm mid-fall. "Floatation."
A gentle aura surrounded them, softening their landing. They touched down light as feathers.
"Wow…" Omar exhaled, wide-eyed. "That was… intense."
"Ewwwwww…" Omria groaned, hugging herself and stepping over a body. "The blood. It's everywhere."
Before them, the ruin entrance was jammed—bodies stacked, people crowded, Unbound shoulder to shoulder, all gazing into the impossible.
"Why are they just standing there?" Omria asked, squinting past the silhouettes.
Orian grinned, as loud and fearless as ever. "Come on! Let's go!"
They pushed forward, squeezing between towering strangers, nudging past raiders.
"Hey, Omar," Orian said, nudging his friend. "Do your thing."
"It's not my fault you're short," Omar muttered.
"Come on, man. Please?"
Omar rolled his eyes and cast a spell. "Floatation."
The group lifted, rising smoothly above the crowd.
And then—they saw it.
They hovered above the masses, their eyes widening at the sight that lay beyond.
An entire world beneath the surface.
Forests stretched into the distance—massive, alien trees with glowing leaves and roots as thick as riverboats. Rivers flowed through the canyons of stone, reflecting the golden light of an overhead sphere suspended high above, casting illumination across the entire biome.
"By the Mother of Yilheim…" Omria whispered.
Orian's jaw dropped. "There are… so many people. Tens of thousands. Were they all hiding in the forest?"
Omria turned in a slow circle. "It's like… a second world."
Orian squinted toward the dome of golden light in the sky. "Wait—is that the sun? How can we see the sun from down here?
Omria shook her head slowly. "That's not the sun. That's something else… Some kind of artificial light source."
She wasn't wrong.
This wasn't nature.
This was a constructed ecosystem—a sealed civilisation beneath the world. A sanctuary. A tomb.
And it was no longer hidden.
---
Within the cavern of Baniek, over a hundred thousand souls had gathered. All of them armed, desperate, and hungry.
Among them stood factions whose names brought fear and fire:
The Devouring Beasts — a pack of Lycans, towering wolfmen between 14 and 18 feet tall, black-furred and gold-eyed. Their muscles rippled beneath jagged armor, their claws soaked in dried blood. At their head: Katos, the alpha whose roar silenced cities.
The Ironborn — dwarf outlaws from the volcanic reaches, forged in steel and hate. Barely 7 to 8 feet tall, but with shoulders like stone slabs. They carried weapons of their own making—each one a masterpiece of death.
The Stellers — elite Aurellian Unbound. They looked like humans, but taller—9 to 11 feet in height, with pointed ears and skin shades ranging from obsidian to sun-kissed bronze. They moved like shadows, eyes sharp with calculation.
And then there were the Raiders—scattered warriors from every race across Yilheim. Adventurers. Mercenaries. Glory-chasers. They had come not for glory, but for treasure. For legacy. For power.
More factions moved in the distance—dozens of them. Some old. Some unknown.
But they all had one thing in common:
They would kill for what lay ahead.
They would die for it too.
And soon, the Baniek Ruin—this sacred, silent world beneath the earth—
would become a graveyard.
---
To be continued…