Time froze for Kyle Nyeku. Around him lay the broken bodies of his guild C-Rank and B-Rank hunters gasping their last, A-Rank veterans collapsed in silent defeat. This wasn't how the playbook went. He'd planned epic glory, not an impromptu funeral.
And there, at the center of the carnage, stood the Dungeon Boss arms crossed, brow furrowed in what could only be described as cosmic boredom. He looked at the battlefield as if someone had canceled his favorite show.
"Ugh… did I waste my entire afternoon on this?" the Boss seemed to sigh.
Even the ShadowClan, who'd brought only their S- and A-Rank champions, suffered losses just enough to remind them of the cost of showing face.
Tyrone Gardon, whose life had flashed before his eyes twice by now, peeked over his crystal barrier and quipped into his mic,
"Folks at home, let that be a lesson: never volunteer your friends for a mass barbecue. Kyle, bud, you can't bribe your way out of a beating… but hey, at least it's good TV!"
Behind him, Alina's face was ghost-white. A true S-Rank hunter, but even the strongest steel bends under a hammer like this. She ducked her head and signaled frantically to Kyle: Activate emergency retreat!
But Kyle's jaw was locked. Pride spat in the face of survival.
"We stand and fight," he growled. "Or… at least make one last heroic scene."
The ShadowClan leader eyes still sharp despite the thinned ranks muttered to his lieutenants:
"When he's done, we loot the bodies. Those Hunter Crystals aren't going to harvest themselves."
As plotting whispers filled the ash-choked air, something impossible happened overhead. The swirling vortex of dungeon mist once a calm blue bled into crimson red, flickering like a lethal beacon. Kyle felt raw mana slam into his chest like a wrecking ball.
"Defensive wards! Shields up!" Kyle barked, dislodging his pride for fear.
The ShadowClan slunk behind the Peerless front line, eyeballs wide, hoping to survive the coming storm.
And then
VROOOOMMM!
A blinding beam cut through the clearing, incinerating every hunter on the front lines in an instant. The roar shook the very bones of the earth.
Tyrone, clutching his mic as if it were a life raft, was thrown off his feet by the shockwave. He coughed into the camera, eyes watering, and gasped to viewers:
"Well... I definitely did not sign up for this level of Special Effects!"
When the dust settled, Kyle staggered forward. His heart sank as he saw Alina's charred form crumpled beside him and realized eighty percent of his S-Rank elite lay in smoldering ruins around her.
His vision blurred. Bloodshot eyes locked onto the carnage. The weight of every fallen comrade pressed down, threatening to crush him.
Tyrone's voice crackled through the haze:
"That, dear viewers, is why you never bring a butter knife to a dragon fight. Stay tuned for nail-biting heroics or you know, mass incineration!"
As the Boss turned and drifted into the cavern's depths, unimpressed once more, Kyle gritted his teeth. This was beyond survival now. This was personal.
And the Dungeon Boss had just made an enemy for life.
Kyle's eyes were bloodshot with fury veins pulsing like overcooked magma as he planted his feet, sword raised high.
"Dungeon Boss!" he thundered, voice cracked and raw. "I swear on every Hunter Crystal in this caveI will kill you myself!"
Tyrone Gardon, crouched behind a shattered pillar with his camera still rolling, couldn't resist a snarky aside:
"Oh, brilliant plan, Kyle! You know, nothing says 'I've got this' like hollering threats after your entire army got barbequed. Gas station fireworks have more survivability!"
Kyle whirled only to spot the ShadowClan slipping away. With a shout, he barked:
"ShadowClan! Evacuate any survivors now!"
The ShadowClan leader paused, lips curling into a devilish grin. He flicked his wrist, and in a swirl of inky shadows, teleported himself and his A- and S-Rank survivors back to the cave entrance leaving the rest to roast alongside Peerless Guild's ruin.
Tyrone huffed through his mic:
"Well, folks, there you have it snakes in the grass, and apparently they prefer the grass to you. Good riddance!"
Abandoned and bloodied, Kyle looked at the faces of his remaining hunters despair etched into every brow. There was no backup, no retreat. Only him and a handful of stunned survivors.
Steel rang as Kyle slammed his mystic sword into the ground. A shockwave of Peerless Aura flared out a crackling storm of raw mana meant to rally his troops. Weapons around him glowed orange and gold as swords and arrows hummed with energy.
Tyrone, wiping soot from his goggles, gaped into the camera:
"Behold, the aura of a true SSS-rank hero like a candle next to a supernova! But hey, at least it's something!"
As Kyle turned, expecting cheers, he opened his mouth for the rousing speech he'd rehearsed a dozen times:
"Hunters! Stand with me! We will fight until the last drop of mana ..."
Kyle spun on his heels, ready to unleash the speech that would rally nations. His chest heaved, sword still pulsing with raw mana.
> "My comrades! Today we...."
A hiss cut through the air. One by one, the remaining hunters shook their heads, mouths twisting in disgust.
A few brave souls spat curses
"Save it, oh mighty beacon of doom!"
"Nice speech—now die like the rest of us will if we stay!"
"Fuck you, Kyle!"
"Go solo, buddy!"
and bolted for the portal back to safety. Within seconds, every hunter had fled, leaving Kyle alone under the cavern's eerie glow.
Their words stung worse than any blade. Within heartbeats, every hunter fled leaving Kyle alone in the echoing cavern.
Tyrone, shaking his head, muttered to his viewers:
"Finally, some common sense! Who knew the definition of 'Peerless' didn't include 'oblivious'? Good luck, Kyle try not to die before the commercials!"
Silence roared in his ears. He staggered, heart pounding. His aura flickered uncertainly, then stabilized in a steady, blinding glow around him.
Across the cavern, the Dungeon Boss sighed a bored rustle of tattered wings. He tapped his clawed foot, already weary of this farce.
Kyle stood firm, sword leveled in front of him, mana crackling like captive lightning.
"I… I'll do this alone," he whispered, voice trembling but resolute.
Tyrone's voice broke the hush, distant but deadpan:
"Solo performance it is, folks. Stick around for the fireworks or the funeral pyre. Either way, best seats in the house!"
From the swirling vortex above, a low hum begana slow buildup of power that set the crystals in the walls humming in resonance. The Dungeon Boss inhaled deeply, aura flaring in savage arcs of black flame.
Kyle braced himself, every muscle coiled. He was alone against a force that had effortlessly slaughtered armies. But he refused to bow.
"Come… at… me," he spat, channeling every ounce of hurt, pride, and sheer defiance into the words.
The Dungeon Boss's hollow eyes glowed brighter. He raised a taloned hand and the final act of this deadly dance was about to begin.
Kyle clenched his teeth, his entire body tremblingnot from fear, but from the sheer amount of mana raging through him like a storm. His aura blazed around him, growing so intense that the very ground beneath his feet began to crack and tremble. A swirling whirlwind formed at his legs, howling louder and louder until
WHOOSH!
Kyle was launched fifteen feet into the sky like a missile.
He was no longer human in that moment. He was a living tempest, faster than any recorded wind, faster than a flash of lightning on a summer night. In a heartbeat, he closed the distance between him and the Dungeon Boss.
BOOM!
With the momentum of a crashing meteor, Kyle thrust his mystic sword forward. The blade, wrapped in layers of compressed wind pressure, howled as it tore through the air
And struck the Dungeon Boss right in the shoulder.
The impact unleashed a shockwave so violent that it blasted apart everything within a hundred meters. Massive crystal structures harder than the finest diamonds shattered like glass sculptures. Dust and debris clouded the cave, while the very earth quivered as if in fear.
Even Tyrone, who had been doing his best "hidden cameraman" act, yelped from behind his rocky cover. Peeking through his broken lens, he gave an excited shout to the viewers at home:
"Ladies and gentlemen, that hit was harder than my mother's slipper! Kyle might actually..."
He froze mid-sentence.
Through the clearing dust, the Dungeon Boss stood.
Unharmed.
Uninterested.
Unmoved.
He merely tilted his head slightly, as if watching a mosquito try to stab him with a sewing needle.
Kyle's heart sank. His strongest close-range attack completely useless. The Dungeon Boss hadn't even tried to dodge.
Realizing that melee combat was futile, Kyle retreated swiftly, his mind spinning. He decided to push his magic to the limit. The air surrounding him thickeneda terrifying pressure that could crush ordinary men to pulp within seconds.
Yet the Dungeon Boss simply flapped his tail casually, slicing the heavy air like it was morning mist.
Kyle gritted his teeth harder, drawing deeper from his mana well. He soared back into the air, wind spiraling fiercely around him. In seconds, thirty giant, drilling arrows of pure wind formed, each spinning at a speed that blurred their shapes into screeching death spirals.
The guild leaders watching the broadcast couldn't help but gasp at the display. Even Tyrone, ducking behind a newly-formed boulder, shouted into his mic:
"Now that is what I call weather forecasting ...tornadoes incoming!"
With a sharp command from Kyle, the thirty arrows lunged at the Dungeon Boss.
And then, the impossible happened.
The vortex above the Dungeon Boss stirred with a low, ominous hum
and sucked every single arrow in like they were nothing more than leaves caught in a storm drain.
Tyrone's voice broke in with comedic horror:
"... And the weather report just got canceled, folks. Our tornadoes have been... vacuumed?"
Kyle's face turned pale. His most intricate magic attacks had been eaten like snacks by that cursed vortex.
He wasn't done yet. In a desperate flurry, he raised his sword high, swinging it faster than the eye could follow. Fifteen enormous wind slashes, each ten feet tall, roared forward like giant blades made of air. The cave shook with the fury of the assault.
But once again SLURP!
The vortex devoured the attacks without a scratch landing on the Dungeon Boss.
Kyle's mind raced. He needed something bigger. Stronger. Smarter.
An idea sparked in his panicked brain. He clutched at it like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline. Concentrating with everything he had, Kyle intensified the air itself around the Dungeon Boss. The pressure became blades thousands of razor-sharp wind swords forming in an instant, aiming to pierce from every direction.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The simultaneous assault created shockwaves so violent that a massive gust of wind blasted Tyrone clean out of his hiding spot, sending him rolling across the cavern floor like a tumbleweed.
Still spinning, Tyrone somehow managed to shout into the mic mid-spin:
"Breaking news: I have been upgraded from cameraman to human bowling ball!"
Kyle, panting heavily, stared through the dust, praying he had finally landed a real blow.
But his hope evaporated as he saw it
The swirling vortex.
Alive and hungry.
Effortlessly absorbing everything.
Slurp.
Slurp.
All the thousands of swords vanished without even grazing the Dungeon Boss.
Tyrone, now half-buried under a pile of rubble, muttered into his cracked microphone:
"I don't know about you, folks... but I think that vortex just called Kyle's career a snack."
Kyle dropped to one knee, gasping, his heart screaming in frustration. His strongest abilities. His cleverest plans. His desperate last stand.
All useless.
And the Dungeon Boss hadn't even raised a finger yet.