Raven remained crouched in the shadows, his presence erased by Dungeon Stealth. His form blurred with the darkness itself, unseen, undetected.
The chain coiled loosely around Raven's arm, an extension of his will—a weapon, a tool. With a flick of thought, it could latch onto stone or structure, letting him shift positions unseen.
From his perch high above, he watched the Emberlight guild press deeper into Hollow Fang Den, unaware their hunt was being watched.
Five players. Mid-tier gear. Good enough to bleed. Not good enough to survive.
Perfect.
Raven adjusted his position on the rocks, silent, patient. He watched them fumble their formation, burning mana, missing cues—the slow, inevitable death spiral of an inexperienced group.
They thought they were hunting the Duskrunner Alpha.
But Hollow Fang Den made them bleed first.
Skeletal wolves lunged from blind corners, forcing the group into sloppy defensive formations.
Twice, corrupted goblin scouts ambushed them, slashing at armor gaps and draining mana reserves faster than they could recover.
Traps triggered underfoot—rusted spikes jutting upward, narrowly missing knees and boots, keeping the party jumpy and off-balance.
By the time they stumbled into the cavern that housed the Alpha, their movements had slowed. Potion belts hung lighter. Their mana pools ran dangerously low.
Ronan barked orders, but it was obvious even to Raven.
They weren't ready for the real fight.
They were already prey.
But Raven had already claimed this ground.
The Alpha emerged from the darkness—a massive, jet-black wolf with burning crimson eyes. It moved like smoke, faster than any of them could react.
The battle was brutal. Relentless.
"Hold aggro!" "I'm dry on mana!" "Potion cooldown still ticking—"
They were close. The Alpha's HP flickered low.
Almost time.
The air shifted.
A metallic whisper crawled across the cavern walls—a noise barely above a breath, but sharp enough to claw at the edges of instinct.
The rogue stiffened.
One of their own, a nervous cleric, whispered urgently: "Stay together…"
No answer.
Only the scrape of boots on stone. Breaths caught sharp against the cavern's damp air.
The rogue twisted toward the sound—
"What was that—"
The first chain struck, a glint of movement too fast to react to, dragging him into the darkness before his team could even scream.
Raven moved.
A chain, thin as a whisper, lashed from the gloom—its motion unnerving, weaving through the air like a hunting serpent—before piercing the rogue first. No theatrics. No warning. Just a brief snap of motion.
[Emberlight - Darius has died.]
The rogue's body dropped, caught mid-step. Before the others could react, another chain coiled around the cleric's leg, jerking him backward.
One by one.
Surgical.
No battle cries. No flashy kills.
Only removal.
Ronan, the leader, spun wildly—too slow. A final chain found his heart.
[Emberlight - Ronan has died.]
Chaos bloomed.
The Alpha, sensing blood, lunged back into the fray. Without healing support, Emberlight shattered. Within moments, the wolves finished what Raven had begun.
Their bodies blinked out, respawning miles away, confused, furious.
But there would be no combat logs. No PK tags. No recorded attacker.
Just a rumor.
Chains in the dark.
Exactly how he needed it.
Raven lingered in the shadows for a full minute longer.
One survivor, one panicked runner back to town, and everything he built would crumble.
But no alarms sounded. No teleport flashes. No frantic shouts on local channels.
Only silence.
Perfect.
The Alpha staggered, wounded, its HP bleeding down to a bare flicker.
In a normal dungeon, the boss would reset.
But Raven remained.
The system's logic—flawed, exploitable—kept the Alpha tethered to death.
It rasped, blood matting its fur. Crimson eyes still burning.
Not submission.
Rage.
[Alert: Boss has entered Rage State.]
Expected.
Raven stayed still, measuring the Alpha's staggered stance and shallow breaths.
Let it rage.
The longer it burned, the weaker it would become.
Only once its fury sputtered into exhaustion did Raven flex his fingers, summoning his enforcers.
"Bone Tyrant. Goblin King."
Chains shimmered as the two bosses materialized—one a towering skeletal colossus, the other a hunched, rusted tyrant.
No commands needed.
The Alpha launched, a blur of fangs and fury.
Bone Tyrant swung—missed.
The Alpha tore into his spine, fracturing bone.
Goblin King lunged—landed a heavy slash—but was thrown aside with brutal efficiency.
Data feeds spiked. Alerts blinked.
[Bone Tyrant — Armor Integrity Critical.]
[Goblin King — HP 18%.]
The Alpha fought like a wildfire—feral, uncontainable.
Blow for blow.
Until finally—
The Bone Tyrant collapsed into shards of bone.
[Goblin King has been defeated.]
The battlefield fell silent.
Raven stood alone.
He watched the Alpha's labored breathing, its body trembling under the strain of survival. 2% HP left. Bleeding. Broken.
But still, it stood.
Still fighting.
He smiled coldly.
"Perfect."
[Dominion Chain: Activated.]
Chains erupted from his arm, writhing and twisting like iron serpents, snapping around the Alpha's limbs with predatory speed. It struggled—pure instinct—but there was no strength left.
The chains constricted.
The Alpha dropped to one knee, head low.
Submission.
[Subjugation Successful.]
Raven stepped forward, boots crunching softly against broken stone.
The Alpha's crimson eyes flickered—anger fading into recognition.
It remembered.
From beta.
Not a master.
A handler.
The Duskrunner Alpha wasn't a pet. It was a weapon. A partner built for pursuit and annihilation.
And now, it was his again.
"Welcome back, partner."
He reached out, resting a hand lightly against the Alpha's battered fur.
The beast didn't flinch.
Even now, Raven didn't drop his guard.
His eyes swept the battlefield—checking for signs of patrols, for the ripple of teleport signatures, for anything out of place.
Nothing.
Only the flickering torches. Only the ragged breathing of the Alpha kneeling before him.
Only then did he allow himself to relax.
It accepted.
With a smooth, familiar motion, Raven uncoiled his chain, letting it slither back around his arm like a living serpent. The iron links wrapped tight, vanishing into his sleeve—silent, ready.
System alerts pinged softly.
[Raid Loot Acquired: Ring of Grinding.]
[+20% chance to double resource yield in mining/gathering. 10% chance to obtain a blue-to-purple item for every 100 materials gathered.]
A minor accessory. Ignored by most.
Pathetic, to casuals.
But Raven saw differently.
His dungeons would grind endlessly.
His minions would harvest without sleep.
Every "worthless" resource would fatten his coffers quietly.
While the rest of the world chased orange-tier loot drops, he'd build an empire from scraps.
An empire built on patience.
And no one would see it coming.