We did it. We killed the last floor's boss.
Mason stared at the corpse of the nine-headed hydra lying in a vast pool of its own blood, and a fierce grin broke across his face. Nine heads, cleanly severed. His swordsmanship had done it, but he couldn't have achieved it without his teammates.
His close friend, built like a small giant, had taken the hydra's magic and brute force onto his shield.
The team's mage, from the Islands Mana Empire, had devised perfect counters to the boss's innate spells; her endless thirst for knowledge had come through when it mattered.
Rapid arrows from Zareth, the Supreme Archer, had whistled through every opening, ensuring Mason was never caught off guard by hidden traps.
Last, the always-kind priestess of the Holy Kingdom had kept everyone standing. Her holy power mended Mason's wounds and refilled his stamina so his human body could keep up with the monsters.
They were one of the best-known hero parties on a mission to save the world.
What will we get from the dungeon rewards and the corpse? I can't wait to see it. Can't you just heal me already, Aeryth?
Feeling holy mana rushing toward him, Mason closed his eyes and waited for the priestess to heal him.
But the mana slipped past him and slammed into the hydra's corpse.
The blood stretched toward one of the severed necks and knitted a head back into place. Mason's eyes snapped open.
"Why did you do that?!" he shouted. "That's the healer head!"
The hydra rose. White ribbons of light spilled from it, healing the other headless stumps and regrowing their heads. It looked as if time itself had reversed.
Horror washed over Mason. He raised his holy sword, only to feel crushing gravity pin him down.
This spell. Tharion's Suppression Magic.
It was his friend's signature move, the one that let him control enemies around him and lock them in place, even stopping their strongest attacks. Mason had trained his body under this magic so many times he couldn't mistake it. He strained to turn his head over his shoulder, his expression turning savage.
"You're a real monster, Mason. It's my strongest move," Tharion said, smiling wide.
"What… are… you… doing?" Mason forced out.
Tharion wasn't the only one.
Zareth had an arrow drawn and aimed straight at Mason. Veloria's lips moved in an ancient language Mason couldn't understand, but he realized quickly enough; she was speaking to the hydra, calming it.
"I ASKED WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Mason snapped, trying to wrench himself around and force a step toward them.
"Hey, hey!" Tharion tightened his grip on his shield and poured more mana into the skill, increasing its power.
"Please do not force us to use crueler means, my hero," Aeryth said. "You can only blame yourself for this."
"Me?" Mason spat. "You're blaming me? Am I the one healing the dungeon boss and betraying my friends right now?!"
"I did everything I could to keep you from reaching the last floor of the dungeon," Aeryth said.
Mason's breath caught.
Now it made sense: her strange detours, the constant errands that kept pulling them away.
Visits to nobles to train their knights. Parties. Speeches across the continent.
Churches at every stop, prayers for fallen comrades.
Even the adventurer guilds she clearly disliked.
"I even gave you myself…" Aeryth's cheeks reddened, and she looked aside.
Mason's eyes widened as the pattern snapped into place.
"But you ran straight to the dungeon the next day," she continued. "The dungeons must exist, or a great calamity will befall the world. This is the will of the Great One. You, a hero beloved by humanity, must be erased, and then perish."
The blood the hydra had spilled spread to Mason's feet. It wove itself into a divine array that seized him. Crimson chains rose from the blood and wrapped around his body. Mason crashed to his knees and spat a mouthful of blood.
Tharion exhaled and dropped onto the ground, shaking with relief. "Finally… I don't know if I could've held him any longer. He's too strong."
"It is precisely because he has so much potential that he must be erased," Aeryth said. "Fear not, my hero. Your teachings will remain in others as muscle memory, and your swordsmanship will be passed down from generation to generation. You—"
"Haha!" Mason burst into laughter. "Take your bullshit compassion and shove it up your ass, bitch! I may be erased, but I will never be put down. I will come back and keep tearing through dungeons! If you're so desperate to keep them standing, then I swear on my name, Mason Nightfall, that I'll destroy them all!"
"A promise from a dead man is nothing more than a joke," Aeryth replied.
"Getting a stone sword from a low-level dungeon felt better than sleeping with you," Mason sneered.
"Insolent!" Aeryth howled, her calm expression cracking for the first time.
At that moment, the blood chains dragged Mason down into the pool, which deepened until it felt like a sea. He sank into something unknown.
Before his vision vanished, Mason looked at the rest of them.
"You only ever cared about magic, Veloria. You were boring as hell.
"Zareth was no different, but he's got a thing for maids, and at least it was funny watching him follow them around with an archer's focus. Or maybe he's just a bitter creep.
"But you, Tharion… We're from the same village. We've known each other since we were kids. We both came from nothing. I don't know what you think you'll gain from this, but you're a fucking disappointment. A loser. I will never forgive you, no matter your reasons."
At the edge of his fading sight, Veloria remained expressionless, and Zareth's taut shooting stance finally broke.
Tharion only smiled faintly, as if he had accepted those words a long time ago.
Then Mason's vision went completely black.
Only an hour later could he open his eyes.