Olivia stared down at the severed head in her hand. The guard's lifeless eyes, once so full of arrogance, now looked like glass marbles—hollow, meaningless. Blood trickled from the jagged stump of his neck, dripping rhythmically onto the cold stone.
She tilted her head. "Took you long enough," she muttered without looking up.
From the shadows of the hallway, Azriel emerged like a walking storm. His black hair, tangled and damp with sweat and blood, framed a face that looked carved from stone—sharp-jawed, grim, burning with quiet fury. His amber eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, casting reflections across the dungeon walls like firelight on oil.
He looked like death in motion.
Clothes tattered, chest rising and falling with every breath, his caramel skin was streaked with blood and grime. And yet, beneath it all, there was a beauty to him—raw, wild, defiant.
Olivia's gaze lingered on the crimson-streaked claws at his sides.
"Jimmy?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Azriel simply nodded, his voice gravelly. "Ran out of skin."
A faint smirk touched Olivia's lips. She tossed Scarface's head to the side with a wet thud and stepped back toward the thick iron door behind her. Frost clung to the edges of the frame. Even without it open, an unnatural cold seeped through the cracks.
"We're on floor Fifty," she said, her voice steady but laced with unease. "Looks like no one's cleared past this point. If what that basterd Thompson said is true... we get to the final floor and make it out alive, we're free."because there are to many guards on the upper floors so we Descend.
Arthur's eyes flicked to the door. "That's a big if."
Olivia shrugged and smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I like impossible odds. Keeps things interesting."
As they spoke, the remaining beastborn slaves huddled near the walls, eyes vacant, hope long since extinguished. None of them moved. None even looked up.
Arthur's jaw tightened. "They're not coming, are they?"
Olivia didn't answer. Instead, she reached for the iron handle. Frost crawled across her fingers. The chill bit into her skin like teeth.
With a deep breath, she yanked the door open—and the dungeon howled.
A blast of air slammed into them, sharp as knives and colder than death. Ice crusted the edges of their clothes instantly. Arthur's breath steamed in the air. Olivia flinched as the wind clawed at her face.
"This cold…" Azriel muttered.
The door slammed shut behind them.
A growl shattered the silence.
Azriel's eyes narrowed, his glowing amber gaze scanning the pack of beasts before them. Ten of them—massive, white-furred wolf-like monsters, each the size of a small hut. Jagged spikes of ice jutted from their necks like crowns of death, and their growls rumbled through the frozen air like distant thunder.
Beside him, Olivia stood unfazed, her pink eyes gleaming with anticipation. She reached into her shadow, her fingers curling around the hilt of a sword forged from darkness itself—its blade flickering like fire, whispering curses into the wind.
She glanced at Azriel, a wicked grin tugging at her lips. "Whoever kills more has to obey one command from the other. No backing out."
Azriel smirked, claws sliding from his fingertips with a soft metallic hiss. "Deal. But don't cry when you lose."
"Please," she said, flipping her hair back. "You're looking at the next champion of this frozen hell."
And then they moved.
The pack surged forward, snarling beasts slamming their paws into the icy ground, shaking the earth with every step. Azriel met them head-on, his muscles coiling like springs, every motion precise and lethal. He tore through the first beast with brutal efficiency, claws slicing through flesh and bone. Blood sprayed in arcs, steaming as it hit the frozen air.
Olivia danced through the chaos, her blade singing a song of death. With every strike, her sword sank deep into the monsters, the shadows corrupting the wounds, spreading like ink through snow. One after another, they dropped, their bodies writhing and twisting before crumpling into stillness.
Azriel fought like a storm, a force of unrelenting fury. His strikes were raw and powerful, overwhelming. Olivia, by contrast, moved like a phantom—graceful, efficient, and terrifying in her calm.
Snow and blood blurred together into a haze of white and crimson. One by one, the beasts fell until only silence remained. The final creature collapsed with a thunderous crash, and all that was left was the sound of their heavy breaths and the wind howling through the open gate.
Azriel stood panting, claws dripping crimson, steam rising off his skin.
Across from him, Olivia straightened, her blade fading back into shadow. Blood was splattered across her face, already beginning to freeze in delicate red crystals.
Their eyes met. For a long, suspended moment, neither spoke. Just the sound of their breathing—steady, alive.
Finally, Olivia smirked. "Looks like I win by one."
Azriel raised a brow, pretending to count. "Only because that last one tripped over its own paws."
"A win's a win." Her grin widened, and she tilted her head. "Start thinking about what I'll make you do."
Azriel chuckled, shaking blood from his claws. "This is going to be dangerous, isn't it?"
"Oh, absolutely."
They turned toward the next corridor together, bloodstained and battered, but alive.ready for the next fight.
Azriel's breath hung in the air, mist curling around his lips. Across the frozen field, the wolf-beasts snarled—ten More of them, each a mountain of white muscle and fur. Their fangs were blades, their eyes glowing an eerie blue, and from their necks jutted rings of jagged ice spikes like frost-forged armor.
The door behind him sealed with a heavy thud, locking them into the arena of death.
"They're not normal," Olivia murmured beside him. Her pink eyes glinted with wariness as her fingers brushed the shadow at her hip. "Something's… off."
"Doesn't matter," Azriel replied, voice low, eyes never leaving the beasts. "They bleed like anything else."
He crouched, claws extending, muscles coiling.
"Same bet?" Olivia asked, pulling her sword of darkness from the void at her feet. It flared to life like a flame starved for oxygen.
Azriel grinned, a flash of teeth. "Loser obeys one command?"
She nodded.
"Then try not to lose too fast," he said—and then he lunged.
The pack moved as one, charging like an avalanche. Snow exploded under their massive paws as they closed in. Azriel met them head-on, slamming into the nearest beast with full force. His claws tore into its flank, rending through muscle and fur, but the wolf snapped back with unnatural speed, icy fangs grazing his shoulder.
Azriel twisted mid-motion and drove his knee into the beast's jaw. Bone cracked. The wolf yelped, staggering, but not down. Before he could follow up, another beast crashed into him from the side, knocking him off his feet and dragging him across the ice.
Azriel grunted, planting his claws into the ground to halt the slide. The beast lunged again—this time, he met it with a roar, catching its jaw mid-bite and ripping it open with sheer brute strength.
Across the battlefield, Olivia was a whisper of death.
She weaved between two charging beasts, her blade trailing shadows that curled like smoke. She spun, ducked low, and her sword cleaved through one wolf's front leg. It collapsed, howling in pain—but she didn't stop. In a seamless motion, she leapt and buried her sword in its skull, the shadows erupting from the wound like black fire.
Another wolf came from behind, but Olivia stepped sideways into her own shadow and reappeared ten feet away, blade already singing toward its neck. A slice of black steel, a bloom of red.
Two down.
Azriel roared, slamming one wolf into the frozen ground with a sickening crack. He didn't wait for it to rise. He jumped on its chest and drove his claws into its eyes, pulling until it stopped twitching.
Then another slammed into his back, knocking him forward—he rolled, caught its leg mid-pounce, and hurled the entire beast into the ice wall with enough force to leave a crater.
The wolves were relentless. Three more circled him now, jaws snapping, growls deep and guttural.
"I could use a little help," he shouted.
Olivia didn't even look. "Then try killing faster!"
One of the circling wolves pounced. Azriel feinted, dodged under its leap, and gutted it midair. Blood rained on the snow. The others struck immediately after—one bit into his arm, drawing blood. Azriel didn't flinch. He grabbed the beast by the throat and used it as a bludgeon, smashing the second aside with its flailing body.
The third wolf leapt—and got its skull crushed by a backhanded claw swipe that cracked like thunder.
Five down.
Olivia danced through the chaos, shadows coiling at her feet. She cut low, severing tendons, then high, slashing open throats. Her sword wasn't just a weapon—it was an infection. Every wound it made bled darkness. Her enemies didn't just die—they withered.
A wolf managed to pin her briefly, its massive paw pressing her into the snow. She smiled as shadows exploded from beneath her, launching it backward like a bomb had gone off. She rose, robes torn, hair tangled, eyes wild.
"Three left!" she shouted.
Azriel turned to the last two wolves charging him. One was wounded—limping, but snarling. The other was massive, with thicker fur and larger fangs. The alpha.
Azriel's body was bleeding, but he grinned, welcoming the pain. His muscles tensed as he bolted forward, meeting the alpha head-on.
They clashed with a crash, claws against fangs, strength against savagery.
The alpha tried to freeze him—frost spread from its mouth like a blizzard, coating the ground. Azriel powered through, his skin cracking with cold, but his will burning hotter.
With a bellow, he tackled the alpha, slammed it to the ground, and drove his claws into its chest—ripping through bone and freezing flesh until the beast went limp beneath him.
The last wolf tried to run.
Olivia appeared in front of it like a shadow-born goddess. She drove her sword into its side as it turned, and the beast crumpled mid-stride.
Silence returned.
Steam rose from their bodies. The snow was red now. Blood soaked their clothes. Frost clung to their lashes.
Azriel and Olivia stood in the middle of the massacre, chests heaving.
After a long moment, Olivia laughed.
"Seven for me."
Azriel squinted. "That last one didn't count."
"Still seven." She wiped her blade on her sleeve, the blood freezing instantly.
Azriel sighed, dragging a claw across his brow. "Fine. I'll play along."
She smirked, stepping close. "You're going to regret saying that."
He chuckled darkly. "Can't wait."
They turned together toward the next gate, walking through the aftermath like war-torn royalty.