The dungeon trembled, a deep rumbling that sent dust spiraling into the air. From the center, a massive checkered platform of black and white tiles rose from the stone floor, the very earth giving way to its emergence as though surrendering to an ancient force. The chessboard was no mere decoration—it exuded an aura of power so thick it made breathing feel like inhaling liquid stone.
Denwen's eyes darted to the statues as they moved with eerie synchronization, the mechanical groan of stone limbs grinding against one another filling the air. They gathered at the edges of the board, their crimson eyes gleaming like embers in the darkness. The queen was the first to step forward, her obsidian gown flowing like liquid shadow as she advanced, her footfalls silent despite her towering form.
A gust of cold air howled through the chamber as two ornate thrones rose from either side of the board, their surfaces cracked yet regal, their presence undeniable. The king pieces took their seats, their hollow gazes locking onto the hunters with a silent decree of inevitability.
Then, the queen moved again, stepping onto the scorched remains of Korrin. The dust of his existence was kicked up, swirling briefly before vanishing into nothingness, as if he had never been. A subtle smile curved her stony lips as she seated herself at the white queen's end, exuding the quiet confidence of a ruler who had already won.
Garric felt his fingers tremble as he pulled out the measuring crystals. The numbers flickered, escalating at an unnatural rate, the crystal vibrating violently in his grip. Then—CRACK—it shattered into a thousand glittering shards, the remnants falling uselessly between his fingers. His breath hitched, his mind reeling.
"Shit…" His voice came out hoarse, almost disbelieving. "It's way above Rank 4—possibly Rank 5 or worse…" He swallowed hard, his fingers numb as he let the pieces of the crystal fall to the floor. His shield clattered beside him, the sound ringing hollow in the vast chamber. "What have I done?" he murmured, his face draining of color.
A gust of wind swept past as Renji suddenly turned on his heel, desperation twisting his features. "Fuck this," he spat. "I have no time for this shit." His boots scraped against the stone as he bolted towards the dungeon entrance.
Then—SHHNK.
A single arrow sliced through the air, impossibly fast, its whistling sharper than a sword's edge. It pierced through Renji's skull in an instant, exiting the back of his head before he could even scream. His body collapsed mid-step, dissolving into dust before it even hit the ground.
Silence.
A chill ran down Denwen's spine as his mind raced, recalling part of the encrypted text from earlier.
CENTER. WIN.
His fists clenched. The meaning was clear now.
"No one move," he commanded, his voice firm, cutting through the lingering silence. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he turned to the others. "Look around you. This is a game—chess. This entire dungeon has been leading to this moment. The only way to survive is to play their game and win."
Elara's knees buckled as she collapsed onto the floor, tears spilling from her wide, terror-stricken eyes. "But… but that would mean playing with our lives…" Her breath came in ragged gasps. "I didn't sign up for this! This isn't… this isn't fair!" she sobbed, clutching her arms as if she could hold herself together.
Kaelin's expression darkened, a hint of hesitation flickering across his face. "Kid, how do we even know this will work?" His voice wavered despite his composed exterior. "If we hold out, the gate might start destabilizing. We could—"
Before he could finish, the queen lifted her hand.
At that moment, the four towering rooks at the edges of the board creaked as their archer statues shifted, arrows locking onto the adventurers, drawn back with deadly precision.
Denwen's eyes widened. No time left.
"Shit—get on the board! NOW!"
Without another thought, he sprinted forward and stepped onto the Queen's square. The moment his foot landed, the archers froze, their bows lowering. His chest heaved as he turned to the others. "See? I wasn't attacked. This is our only chance—our only fucking way to survive. So, stop whining like little bitches and get the hell on!"
The sheer desperation and fury in his voice sent a shockwave through the group. Roran clenched his jaw and climbed onto the Rook's slot, taking the archer's position. Elara, still trembling, forced herself to move, stepping onto the Bishop's square, her breath uneven. Garric hesitated only a moment before moving to the Knight's slot, his lips pressed into a tight line. Kaelin silently stepping into the second knight slot.
As soon as the last person took their place, the board glowed. Each square beneath their feet pulsed with light, acknowledging their participation. The archers above withdrew their weapons, the queen lowering her hand with a smirk that sent a shiver down Denwen's spine.
A strange power surged through him, tendrils of invisible energy snaking into his body, filling him with a cold, commanding presence. His vision sharpened, his awareness stretching across the entire board. Authority.
A realization settled over him.
'I am the Queen. The most powerful piece on the board.'
He had picked this position first so as not to be left to the mercy of others but also having at the back of his mind that the Queen is the most attacked piece on the board.
He lifted his gaze to meet the opposing queen, who sat across the board with the same unsettling smile. She knew. She had always known.
Denwen exhaled sharply, turning to the others, his expression hard. "From now on, you're my pieces. Do as I say, and we might just survive this."
The glow beneath him intensified. It spread outward, enveloping his side of the board in a dark hue, their stone opponents shifting as their eyes faded from red to white. A game had been set into motion. A game of death.
________________________________________
Beyond the dungeon, the atmosphere shifted. The once-stable dungeon gate flickered, its edges warping as unstable energy crackled through the air. The stationed officers outside flinched as the distortion pulsed outward, sending vibrations through the ground.
A burly man with a grizzled beard and a cigar clamped between his teeth narrowed his eyes. "Something's wrong. Contact HQ. Now."
One of the younger officers hesitated. "But sir, there's still a team inside—shouldn't we prioritize a rescue operation?"
The captain exhaled a plume of smoke, his expression grim. "If the gate's this unstable, do you really think anyone in there is still alive?" His voice was a low growl. "Our priority is containment. We can't afford an outbreak."
The officer swallowed hard and ran to the communication hub, fingers trembling as he keyed in the emergency alert.
________________________________________
Far away, in a desolate town, a rusted bus pulled to a stop in front of a rundown bar. The door creaked open, and five figures in tattered robes stepped out, blending seamlessly into the dilapidated surroundings. The wind carried the scent of decay, and the neon sign above the bar flickered weakly.
Garrick was the last to exit, flipping a few coins to the driver before waving him off with a forced smile. The moment the bus rumbled away, his expression soured. "God, I hate undercover missions."
"Come off it, Gar," Corbin muttered, tapping at the interface on his wristwatch. "We need to keep a low profile."
A young woman with wild energy bounced ahead, scanning the ruined street with excitement. "First thing's first—we need a place to crash," she declared, her voice bright despite the bleak surroundings.
"Wait, Rin—" Corbin called, but she was already darting ahead. With a sigh, he motioned for the rest to follow, his boots crunching against the dust-coated pavement.
As they passed under a crooked sign swinging lazily in the wind, the faded letters above them:
Welcome to Doitand.