Tauros fell.
The throne room shook as his body slammed against the stone floor. Blood oozed from the massive hole in his chest, soaking into the cracked earth beneath him. The gaping wound smoked faintly, the skin around it burned and blackened.
The beast didn't move.
Pierre dropped his spear. It clattered and rolled beside him. He dropped to one knee, panting heavily.
Vaylan ran up to him. "Are you okay?!"
Pierre nodded between sharp breaths. "Yeah. I'm fine. But... my skill drains me. One cast is enough to empty most of my mana. If I'd used it again... I probably wouldn't be awake right now."
Vaylan glanced at the spear, then at Pierre. "So the skill—does it work by syncing your mana's pulse with the weapon's natural frequency? Then you push one final burst of mana as it leaves your hand for maximum acceleration, like a double-stage propulsion?"
Pierre blinked. "Wait, what...?"
This guy? He's been a walking golden retriever this whole time—how the hell did he just break that down so casually? Was he pretending to be an idiot?
He looked up. Vaylan's eyes were glowing again. That same, sharp blue glow.
Pierre exhaled slowly. "Yes. That's... exactly how it works. I'm shocked you figured that out just from watching."
Vaylan smiled. "My master had a similar technique."
Pierre frowned. "Your master?"
Before he could say more, Zara approached. Lato leapt down from her shoulder and trotted over.
"Are you okay?" Zara asked.
Pierre gave her a tired smile. "Yeah. We did good."
The ground beneath them rumbled.
Zara froze mid-step.
The blood around Tauros's corpse pulled inward, like water funneling down a drain. Shadows gathered unnaturally, swirling in tight circles, climbing up and over the fallen minotaur's body.
Then the light began to fade.
Zara stepped back.
"What... what is that?" she whispered.
The shadows writhed, tendrils stretching across the throne and pooling together into one seething mass. The air grew colder. Heavy. Wrong.
Then—A voice.
Not spoken aloud, but pressed into their minds like a spike of ice.
"WELL WELL WELL... I NEVER THOUGHT PUNY HUMANS FROM THIS FLOOR WOULD SCRATCH MY DOLL."
Zara's blood ran cold.
Lato's ears flattened.
Vaylan spun, looking for the source. "What the hell was that?!"
Pierre's expression darkened. "As I feared... avatars don't move on their own. There had to be a caster."
"BRAVO, EXILE. YOU ARE WISE BEYOND YOUR YEARS. A SHAME YOUR WISDOM COULDN'T STOP YOUR FALL. TELL ME—HOW DID IT FEEL, PIERRE? TO BE STRIPPED OF EVERYTHING? TO HAVE YOUR OATH MEAN NOTHING? TO BE CAST DOWN LIKE ROTTEN FRUIT FROM A LOFTY TREE?"
Pierre's hands trembled. His breath came in shallow gasps.
He tried to rise, but his legs buckled again.
"Pierre!" Zara knelt beside him.
"Shut up, you freak," Vaylan snapped, stepping forward. "Say it to our face, why don't you?"
The shadows above Tauros twisted violently. Something inside them stirred.
The fog collapsed inward, then erupted outward with a low, rumbling hiss. And from the center stepped a man.
He was robed in pitch black, his garments crawling with pale, bone-like veins. A hood covered most of his face, but from beneath it, two hollow yellow eyes burned like dying stars. He held a staff carved from spine and ribs, topped with what looked like a severed hand gripping a violet crystal.
He smiled.
Thin. Too wide. Lips too pale. Like a corpse pretending to be alive.
Pierre's eyes widened. "Benithar..."
The figure spread his arms as if greeting an old friend.
"Ah, there it is. The face of the disgrace. The exiled brat. The fallen knight. I never thought I'd see you again—certainly not here, of all places. In my labyrinth."
Zara blinked. "You know him?"
"Uncle," Pierre said bitterly. "Benithar de Ficquelmont."
Benithar clicked his tongue. "Don't sound so disappointed, Pipi."
"Pipi?" Vaylan blinked. "That's... wow."
PFFT.
Zara broke into laughter.
"Pipi!?"
"Now's not the time!" Lato exclaimed.
Pierre's face turned red. "Don't call me that."
Benithar laughed softly. It was high-pitched, breathy, and wrong.
"I've waited years for this... You have no idea how boring it gets, draining people who stumble into this place. Thieves, runaways, desperate idiots. None of them ever put up a fight. Just screaming and dying."
He gestured around at the bones littering the chamber.
"Each one added to my little throne room."
Pierre gritted his teeth. "You've been hiding here... leeching mana from the living."
"Leeching? No, dear boy. Cultivating. I've been saving it. Feeding on the scraps. Like a rat beneath the table. And now... now I've found a full-course meal."
His eyes settled on Vaylan.
"And I do mean meal."
Vaylan took a step back. "Why me?"
Benithar's smile widened.
"Those eyes. That glow. You knew, didn't you, Pierre?"
Pierre said nothing.
"What are you talking about?" Vaylan asked.
Benithar laughed—sharp and cracked.
"Oh, you poor, clueless lamb. Let me tell you a bedtime story."
He raised his staff, and the air went still.
"The year was 1000 of the New Age. Just seven years ago. A prophecy surfaced. It spoke of a boy—blue eyes, radiant, destined to tear down the Divine Emperor and destroy the gods."
Zara's breath caught.
Pierre tensed.
"It terrified the High Church. The Emperor. The Seven Monarchs. Even the gods above trembled. So they acted."
Benithar tilted his head.
"A decree was issued. A command. One simple order: kill every mortal with blue eyes."
The moving firelight seemed to intensify violently.
"And they did. Billions. Across all races. Burned, butchered, erased. Mothers, infants, scholars, farmers… It didn't matter. If your eyes were blue, you died."
Vaylan stood frozen.
"No one survived. Not on the low floors. Not on Floor 0. Those with any sense ran to the hidden layers. Floors 44, 50, and 70. Where even the Church fears to tread."
Benithar licked his lips.
"But now... here you are."
Vaylan didn't speak.
"You shouldn't exist," Benithar whispered, his voice trembling with delight. "All the blue-eyed vermin were purged. Yet here you stand. Smiling. Fighting. Thinking you matter."
He took a step forward.
"You're a foreigner, aren't you?"
Silence.
Zara's hands shook.
Pierre's fists clenched again.
"Oh, how lucky I am," Benithar whispered. "I've been waiting for a way back. A way to regain my status. I even had to climb the tree like a peasant. But now I don't need to."
He grinned. "If I bring your head to the Church, they'll let me walk free. Back to Floor 79. And when I do... I'll finish the job."
His voice dropped lower, colder.
"As for you... How should I torment you? I should have finished the job that day. Maybe this time I'll start with your sister, Pierre. I'll carve her apart slowly. I'll preserve her face. You'll see her again—one day. In a jar."
"You bastard!" Pierre roared.
His body glowed faintly, his hand reaching for the spear on the ground beside him.
But Benithar raised his staff—and shadows coiled like snakes around the throne.
He laughed again, soft and horrible.
"I'll enjoy breaking you, Pipi. All of you."
***
Zara stared at Pierre. Her throat felt dry.
"Who is that? Really. Your uncle?"
Pierre's hand tightened around his spear. His voice was low.
"He was once a respected figure in our house. Brilliant, clever... charming, even. But his ambition had no end. He hated my father. Wanted to take his place as head of the family."
He looked up, eyes sharp. "So he did what no one in our family ever dared to. He delved into forbidden magic. Necromancy."
Benithar clapped slowly. "Bravo, dear nephew. A fine summary. But allow me a tiny correction."
He tilted his head. "While it's true I hated your father—every fiber of my being hated that man—it wasn't me who killed him."
Pierre's grip on his spear twitched.
"Oh, Pipi," Benithar cooed. "Remember the games we used to play? I was your favorite uncle. You said it all the time." He smiled wider. Too wide. "Let's play a new game. If you cut off the boy's head—" his finger pointed lazily at Vaylan "—I'll tell you the truth of that night. Who really killed your father. And your older brother."
"You bastard!!" Pierre roared.
He hurled Gáe Assail with a shout.
Benithar tilted slightly. The spear zipped past him. He didn't even blink.
"Wow!" he laughed. "Temper temper. You've got your father's rage, don't you? Just like him. You throw before thinking."
He sighed, almost wistfully. "Now, while it's true I didn't kill your father or your brother... everyone else in the family?"
He tapped his chin with a skeletal finger. "I took my time with them."
His grin turned twisted. "It was lovely. The tears. The way they begged. One by one. Oh, how they screamed."
He lifted his arms slowly. "I suppose you could say I'm a big reason why there are only three de Ficquelmonts left."
Pierre froze.
"You... your sister and I," Benithar announced.
Benithar's smile sharpened.
"Ever since, people call me the Bone Collector, you know. Hahaha."
Vaylan stepped forward slowly. "Wait... three? What about your mother?"
Pierre flinched.
Benithar let out a giddy giggle. "Oh, now that's rude, boy. Salt on an open wound."
He turned his head to the side, mock whispering. "That whore—after her husband died—ran off and became a concubine to King Lindert himself. Her own cousin. Isn't that just precious?"
Zara's mouth opened. No words came out.
Even Lato was silent.
"I... I'm sorry," Vaylan said quietly. "I didn't know."
"Don't be," Pierre muttered. "It's not your fault."
[Anthibar]
The golden spear reversed course, ripping back through the air like a whip.
Pierre caught it mid-step and lunged at Benithar.
"DIE!"
Benithar leaned back just enough. The tip missed his throat by inches.
"Woah now!" Benithar said, dancing back. "I wasn't ready! That's not fair!"
Zara readied her daggers. Vaylan drew his saber. Lato's eyes narrowed. Pierre took position beside them.
Benithar chuckled darkly.
"Fine. You want to play?"
He raised his staff.
[Thousand Years of Death]
A pulse of shadow exploded from his staff. It hit the ground—and spread.
The bones. All of them.
Rattled. They trembled, then began to move.
Finger bones clicked. Jawbones snapped into place. Ribs floated together like puzzle pieces. Skulls rolled across the floor, locking into position.
Dozens of skeletons stood up, some wielding rusted weapons, others with empty hands raised like claws.
And at the center—Tauros's corpse twitched.
The hole in his chest still gaped wide, but the flesh was different now. Paler. Rotten. His eyes opened. Not red. Black. A gurgled roar escaped his lips as he stood again.
Vaylan's face went pale. "No way..."
"Undead." Lato hissed.
Zara stepped back. "That's impossible."
Benithar floated above them now, grinning from the shadows. "Have fun."
Tauros charged.
Zara darted left.
Fleet Foot flared as Vaylan moved right.
The first skeleton swung a jagged sword—Vaylan blocked with his saber, sparks flying. Another came behind him.
Lato jumped and clawed its spine, yanking it to the ground.
[Healing Light]
The pulse washed over Zara as she dashed past three more skeletons, her daggers flashing.
Stab. Slice. Withdraw. She moved with grace, silat techniques flowing through her like water.
Meanwhile, Vaylan launched a Fire Ball straight into the ribcage of one skeleton, blowing it apart in a spray of ash.
Then he ducked as the undead Tauros's axe slammed down.
CRASH!
The floor cracked.
Pierre twirled Gáe Assail and slashed across Tauros's chest, cutting open rotted muscle.
The beast didn't flinch.
It swung wildly. Pierre was knocked back, blood flying from his arm.
"Damn it—he's even tougher now!"
"They're mindless. Don't fight like before. Hit and run!" Lato called out.
Zara lunged past Vaylan and stabbed into the soft part of a skeleton's spine, then flipped back.
The air was thick with ash and bone dust.
Vaylan rolled beneath a scythe and blasted Fire Ball again. "There's too many!"
"Keep moving!" Lato shouted.
Tauros slammed the floor again, sending out a shockwave.
Everyone tumbled.
Benithar hovered above it all, smiling like a god watching an ant colony burn.
"You're doing well," he whispered. "But this is only the beginning."
Pierre stood slowly, breathing hard. "They just keep coming."
"And we're not even close," Lato muttered.
Zara looked at Vaylan. He nodded.
No words. Just a silent promise. They would keep going. No matter what.