The cave trembled with the force of a growing catastrophe. The black cloud oozing from the Wyvern's corpse writhed unnaturally, its form shifting, expanding as if something ancient and malevolent was awakening. It slithered along the rocky ground like a living shadow, corroding everything in its path.
Sen's body, still battered and weakened, shivered involuntarily as he stared at the festering darkness. His instincts screamed at him—this was wrong. This was something beyond any of them.
"Sen… what the hell is that?" Vahn's voice was strained, his hands trembling as he instinctively took a step back. His water essence, so reliable in battle, felt utterly useless in the face of this unknown force.
"Could this be its berserk state?" Varek asked, his breathing heavy, exhaustion evident in every fiber of his being. He leaned on Sen's shoulder for support, but his grip faltered against the sweat and blood staining their uniforms.
Sen forced himself to stand straighter, gripping his axe with unsteady hands. The weight of his weapon felt foreign now, the once-trusted steel humming weakly as if sensing the dread looming before them. His essence reserves were nearly depleted, his body screaming for rest, but his mind remained sharp.
"No… it's not," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "A disaster can't enter berserk mode after death. Its core would have to be intact, and I made damn sure to smash its skull to pieces."
The certainty in his voice did little to comfort the others.
Varek swallowed hard. His body ached, his essence was drained, and his nerves were fraying at the edges. Every instinct screamed at him to retreat, to get out before it was too late. "Then whatever it is… we shouldn't be here. We need to leave, now." He tried pulling Sen back, but the stubborn fighter didn't budge.
"Come on, bro, now isn't the time to be reckless!" Varek urged, his voice desperate. His hands trembled as he gestured toward the countless injuries littering Sen's body—a swollen, bloodied eye, a dislocated ankle, deep cuts painting his arms and torso crimson. He wasn't just injured. He was barely standing.
"I don't think you even have enough essence left to use Lightning Blitz again. Sen, please, let's go."
But Sen didn't move. His gaze was locked on the disaster, his breath slow and measured. Then, he smiled—a weak, tired smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Look, I hear you," he said, voice calm despite the chaos around them. "But don't you feel it?" He pointed toward the swirling black mist now coiling around the carcass like a sentient being. "This thing… whatever it is, it has to be stopped. Its energy is climbing past Rank 3, and it's still growing."
Varek and Vahn fell silent, their eyes following the slow, crawling decay of the dungeon around them.
"The dungeon is destabilizing," Sen continued. "That black mist—it's corroding the ground, the walls, everything it touches. The gate outside won't be able to contain it. A dungeon outbreak is coming, and if this thing gets loose…"
He let the thought hang in the air, unspoken but understood.
Vahn's fingers twitched, his usually confident stance faltering. "So what? We just throw our lives away fighting it?" he snapped, shaking Sen's shoulder as if trying to rattle some sense into him. "Damn it, Sen! We're drained! If we push any harder, we'll be the ones who don't make it out!"
Sen exhaled, his grip tightening around his axe. "Our lives aren't worth more than the people out there."
The words sent a chill through Varek's spine.
"I don't know what this thing is," Sen admitted. "Maybe it's an experiment. Maybe it's Emberfall. Maybe it's something worse. But one thing is for sure—we're unlucky." He let out a strained chuckle, shaking his head. "Besides… I thought you guys said you wanted to get stronger."
That was it.
That was Sen.
He wasn't the type to talk about heroism or sacrifice. He never lectured about duty or honor. He simply did—and that made him all the more terrifying.
Before Varek could argue, Sen shifted his stance, pulling essence from the very depths of his being. He activated his ability one last time.
The dungeon rumbled.
His aura, though weakened, surged again—but this time, something was different.
The air around Sen cracked. His essence wasn't just flaring—it was burning.
"Sen… what are you doing?" Varek whispered, horror settling in.
Humans had a failsafe—a last resort, a final gambit that pushed beyond their limits.
Cracking one's core.
A desperate act that transformed the core itself into raw energy, temporarily elevating a fighter beyond their peak. The price? Certain death once the essence burned out.
Varek felt sick. "Sen, stop!"
"Sen, don't you dare—!" Vahn reached for him, but a deafening ROAR shook the entire cavern, cutting him off.
The mist was no longer just an ominous cloud. It was alive.
The Wyvern—or whatever monstrosity it had become—was evolving before their eyes.
A single flap of its malformed wings sent shockwaves through the cave. Its scales darkened, the crimson glow in its dead eyes flickering back to life, twisted and malevolent.
Sen took a single step forward.
"Varek." His voice was calm, almost gentle. "We need an opening. Just one. I'll handle the rest."
Before Varek could react, Sen hit the whip from his hand and gripped it tightly moving forward towards battle.
Varek stunned silence as the realization hit him.
"Wait, Sen—your axe—"
But as his fingers wrapped around the weapon's handle, something shifted.
The axe darkened, its once-bright silver white hue turning black. Crimson veins spread across the metal like pulsing veins, and an unnatural heat surged through Varek's arm.
His essence was being pulled into it.
Sen smiled—weak, but content.
"From now on… Dreadrend belongs to you."
Then he turned, eyes locked on the nightmare before them.
And he ran toward it.
---
Back to the Present,
The hospital room was silent.
Denwen sat frozen in place, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. Across from him, Varek leaned back in his chair, his expression distant, hollow.
A single tear traced down his cheek.
Denwen's throat was dry. "I… I can't believe you went through something like that."
Varek let out a bitter chuckle. "Neither could I."
The weight of his words sank deep. The guilt in his voice was unbearable.
"It was supposed to be my best birthday," Varek murmured. "Our first mission… a fresh start… maybe even a skill book as a reward." He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "But none of that mattered. That day… I lost everything."
Denwen remained quiet, listening.
"People told me it wasn't my fault," Varek continued. "That no one could've expected an experimented disaster in a dungeon. Some called Sen a hero, said he saved lives." His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "He left me his weapon. His legacy. And every time I pick it up… it feels like a curse."
Denwen swallowed hard. His chest ached—not from his wounds, but from the sheer weight of Varek's grief.
"Den," Varek's voice softened, "you have people you love—Nicole, Kara, Roy, Rachael. Be careful. Don't add more guilt to your heart."
Denwen looked away, staring out the window.
Varek sighed, pulling out a phone. "Here. Strength isn't bad, Den. But don't let it blind you."
Denwen hesitated, then took it.
"I know you love Xena's music. I got her new album loaded in."
(A/N: Xena sings like Enya or Aurora)
A smile broke through Denwen's grief, small but real.
As he placed the earpiece in, a familiar, soothing melody filled his ears.
And for the first time in what felt like forever…
He let himself breathe.
Varek watched on with a soft smile on his face as the door opened once again:
"Ah Mr. Hale you are already here" Dvalin voice resounded through the room as he walked in together with Vorden and Agrona. Varek stood up like a rocket as he was shocked.