Riven flapped and fluttered around in a chaotic spiral, his single eyeball wide with disbelief as the dimensional vortex behind Denwen snapped shut with a loud WHOOMPH.
"What the hell!?" Riven shrieked, voice cracking like a kettle left too long on a fire. He zipped around in midair, flailing his stubby wings. "You didn't just clear that dungeon—you obliterated it! Completely annihilated the space-time signature! You demolished the entire biome!"
Denwen groaned, placing a finger in his ear and giving it a lazy rub as if the noise alone had physically hurt him. He pulled himself upright, flexing his sore muscles while surveying the glowing space around him. Above the high arched counter of the Nexus Vault, a massive screen shimmered to life, projecting a vivid replay of his final moment in the Ant's Nest.
There he was—suspended in air like a vengeful star, Resonance Armor blazing, all the shattered crystals orbiting him like an execution halo. The replay slowed, highlighting the exact frame he dove like a comet toward the Ant Queen. The light, the destruction, the sheer grandeur of it all played like a divine punishment.
Denwen raised a brow. "Ah, so you're a fan now," he said with a smirk, tossing a smug glance over his shoulder.
Riven sputtered, spinning around as if Denwen had just slapped him with words. "A fan!? Of you!? I wish that black ant had taken your head off when it caught you slacking! Oh, how delightful it would've been to see your guts decorate the walls like artistic graffiti!"
He began ranting, arms flailing, voice rising with each insult, while Denwen simply shook his head, stretching his back with a crack.
"Sigh… I really loved the silence without your voice in my head," he muttered, walking toward the counter with a tired swagger.
Dungeon Riven—bigger, sleeker, more composed, and definitely more tolerable—descended from the ceiling like a holy librarian. A pristine book materialized in front of Denwen, its surface glowing softly, its spine straight and noble like it had been pulled from the vault of a royal academy.
"Congratulations on your first successful dungeon clearance," Dungeon Riven intoned, voice smooth as flowing ink. "The support skill—Soul Brand—has been obtained. Do you wish to assimilate?"
Denwen didn't hesitate. He nodded once.
The book burst into radiant particles, streaming like starlight into his forehead. A warm hum settled in his skull as his system screen popped open.
PING.
[System Notification] Event: Soul Brand Acquired
There are many ways to grow strong... but nothing is stronger than strength in numbers. Use your power to dominate, to command, to enslave. Let those weaker than you kneel beneath your will.
Result: ➤ Level 1: Soul Brand Unlocked
Denwen exhaled slowly, eyes flickering. "Hmmm… looks like an enslavement-type skill. Quite useful, if you ask me."
"Obviously!" Riven reappeared by his side, bobbing with exaggerated sarcasm. "It lets you beat the crap out of enemies until their will collapses—and then, bam! You brand them. Yours to command. But don't waste time trying it on anyone stronger than you. Or anyone with a spine of steel. Won't work."
Denwen crossed his arms, gaze thoughtful. "Every enslavement skill I know has a target limitation. Cat-type skills for feline disasters, and so on. But this one feels… ambiguous."
"You…" Riven hissed, slowly floating closer with that twitchy flap of his wings, "…you dare compare my work to that flea-ridden garbage?"
He got closer. Too close.
"I… would… never…" Riven said one word at a time, advancing like an irritated professor catching a student cheating on a thesis. "…produce such low-quality trash."
His eyeball loomed within inches of Denwen's face, the pupil narrowing like it was trying to scan his very soul. Denwen instinctively leaned back, blinking.
"Back up, eyeball. Personal space exists for a reason."
But Riven had already flapped away, muttering curses under his breath.
"The only limitation would've been how many creatures your essence can handle. But you just had to go and unlock Boundless, didn't you?" Riven's voice turned bitter, like a chef realizing someone had added ketchup to gourmet soup. "Now? Now I don't even know the limits of your skills."
Denwen grinned. "Man, you really hate not knowing things."
Riven scoffed and twirled away like a diva.
Denwen finally turned his attention to the view beyond the vault. Through the translucent shell of Nexus Space, he saw the village gate in the distance. The crowds from earlier had thinned. The sun had dipped low. Shadows stretched long and dark across the road.
"Wait… how long was I in there?" he asked, frowning.
"Oh, only a few hours," Riven replied nonchalantly. "Just enough time for your reputation to go from 'mysterious guy' to 'where'd the crazy half-naked monster disappear to.' At least now you won't have a crowd ogling you when you leave."
Denwen blinked. "Wait. Half-naked?"
He looked down.
Underpants.
Just underpants.
He sighed in a deep, soul-weary way.
Riven snorted. "Yep. That's what I call fashionably undressed. Welcome back, dungeon warrior."
Denwen gave him a look. "You didn't think to say anything sooner?"
"I thought you knew. You do look like a guy who'd fight bugs wearing boxers."
Denwen ignored him. Instead, he looked around at the shimmering white world of the Nexus Vault, watching as a couple strolled past—right through his translucent body.
"Incredible," he whispered. "It's like… being there, but not. A separate layer of reality."
"Exactly," Riven said with mock grandeur, raising a stubby wing. "A plane where only select idiots like you can stand. Nexus Space: come for the power, stay for the privacy."
Denwen chuckled despite himself.
Then his stomach growled. Loudly.
His eyes had a long glance at the five towers behind the distance a disspointed sigh leaving his lips:
"Too bad fighting inside there won't give me experience points so I can continuously farm and get stronger but for now I need a real meal. And real pants," he muttered. "Maybe I can pawn one of those monster cores for some coin."
He closed his eyes.
"Exit Space."
A flash of light burst around him.
WHOOSH.
He vanished from Nexus Vault.
And reappeared—back in the forest clearing where it all began.
Same path.
Fewer clothes.
And a hell of a story to tell.
---
"Ouch!"
The sharp yelp broke the silence just as Denwen materialized onto the cobbled street, his sudden appearance displacing the air with a soft whoosh. Before he could fully orient himself, a small figure crashed into him at full speed — a blur of brown braids, leather boots, and bundled satchels.
The impact barely budged Denwen, but the dwarven girl bounced backward, falling hard onto her rear with a startled squeak.
She looked up — and froze.
Her wide, slate-colored eyes locked onto his towering form, and her pupils shrank in instinctive fear. To her, Denwen must've looked like a demon: muscles taut with raw power, and glowing faintly with lingering fragments of crystal essence. The setting sun bathed his half-naked frame in gold, casting jagged shadows across his face.
She trembled, her hands curling against the stone as she scrambled to avert her gaze.
"S-sorry, mister… I didn't mean to," she stammered, her voice as thin as a reed, eyes lowered.
Denwen blinked, then sighed.
He slowly knelt in front of her, his expression softening as the harshness melted from his posture. The veins of light along his arms dimmed. Gently, he reached out and lifted her by the wrist, his large hand careful not to squeeze too tightly.
"You don't need to be sorry," he said, his voice warm — quieter now, like a breeze instead of a storm. "I'm the one who just appeared out of nowhere. Scared you half to death, didn't I?"
She hesitated, then nodded slightly.
"But you're not mad?" she asked, peeking up at him.
A half-smile tugged at his lips. "Nope. But I am hungry and mostly naked, so I think you got the better deal."
The girl giggled nervously, the tension cracking just a little as she wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, before turning back in fear as a group of enforcers approached from far.