I had never felt the flame inside me so small.
Not weak — small. Like a lit candle in the middle of an eternal blizzard. The hall we were in felt more like a mausoleum than a command chamber. Columns of black ice supported the ceiling, and demonic symbols pulsed along the walls, spreading a cold that came not only from the air, but from the mind.
The Sixth General of the Demons remained seated on his throne of deep ice, resting his face on one hand, as if all of this were nothing more than a tedious formality.
I could barely breathe.
Every step I tried to take was like walking against an invisible current. The flame reacted, burned, tried to grow… but was smothered by something far greater.
"So this is it," his voice echoed, far too calm. "This is your limit."
The SS-Class elf advanced first.
His presence changed the air. The pressure crushing us was pushed back for a few seconds when he released his aura completely. It was absurd. Dense. Ancient. The dungeon itself seemed to recognize that power.
He said nothing. He simply raised the elven blade, glowing with green and gold runes, and attacked.
The impact was devastating.
The ground exploded into fragments of ice and stone when the blade struck the invisible barrier surrounding the General. A shockwave tore through the hall, hurling lesser demons against the walls. I felt the impact in my chest, even from several meters away.
For an instant… just an instant… I thought it had worked.
The General raised his eyes.
And smiled.
He stood up from the throne with a single slow movement. There was no explosion of power. No shout. Just one step forward.
The barrier closed.
The elf was thrown back as if struck by an enraged god. His body tore through two columns before stopping, dropping to his knees, coughing blood onto the ice.
My heart froze.
"SS-Class," the General murmured. "Impressive. In another era, you would have been a worthy hero."
He snapped his fingers.
The cold intensified to an absurd degree. My legs failed for a second. Elara dropped to her knees, struggling to breathe, her mana evaporating like vapor in the frozen air.
"I… I can't hold it…," she said, gasping.
Vespera tried to attack. I saw the arrow leave the bow, perfect, fast… and miss.
Not because she missed.
The arrow simply veered in the air, frozen before it could get close to the target, falling to the ground like a shard of broken glass.
"This is impossible…," Vespera whispered, eyes wide.
Liriel tried to conjure light magic. A faint glow appeared in her hands, trembling, unstable. The light barely traveled a few meters before being swallowed by the cold.
"Useless…," she murmured, her voice breaking. "My magic… it doesn't reach…"
I advanced.
Not because I thought I could win.
But because standing still was worse.
The flame inside me burned with everything it had. I felt the heat rise through my arm, through the blade, through my chest. I put everything I had into that strike.
When I attacked, the General finally moved for real.
He appeared in front of me.
There was no time to react.
His hand passed through my defense as if I weren't even there. The impact slammed me into the ground with enough force to rip the air from my lungs. The pain was immediate, deep, real.
"You," he said, looking down at me. "Not yet."
He didn't kill me.
That was the worst part.
Because in that look, I understood. He wasn't underestimating us. He simply didn't need to try.
The elf tried to rise again. The blade trembled in his hand. He screamed, releasing everything he had left, and attacked once more.
The General answered with a single blow.
Not a technique. Not a spell.
A punch.
The impact echoed like thunder inside the dungeon. The elf was hurled into the ground, unconscious, his body covered in ice, his aura almost completely gone.
Silence.
The General looked around.
"Enough."
The pressure increased once more, crushing. I felt my bones protest. Vespera collapsed beside me. Elara could barely stay conscious. Liriel cried silently, trying to conjure something that would not come.
Then I heard the voice of one of the allied adventurers shout from the back.
"Fall back! RETREAT NOW!"
I didn't want to.
But I understood.
If we stayed… we would die.
The General turned away, returning to the throne, as if everything were already over.
"Run," he said, without even looking back. "Grow. Survive."
He paused.
"And bring something worth my time when you return."
The dungeon began to tremble.
And in that instant, I knew we had lost.
Not for lack of courage.
But because we were not enough yet.
And this defeat… would mark us forever.