The staircase spiraled downward for long meters, until it finally opened into a wide space. The path continued to descend, but now it revealed an uneven plain, where veins of magma pulsed like incandescent rivers, lighting the surroundings with a vivid red that shifted between brightness and shadow. The brightest points were blinding, and the dark corners seemed even deeper, as if anything could be hiding there.
"Let's wait a few minutes until our eyes adjust,"
ordered Kuzma, his voice echoing off the walls.
"Form the perimeter. Stay alert."
At last, Nikolai felt his heart race. This was no longer a simulation, nor training. It was real action.
Kuzma raised the ring on his finger and muttered a few guttural words. The air trembled, and then various items materialized on the ground beside him. A huge, heavy, and massive rectangular shield, almost two meters tall; a colossal club over a meter and a half long; full quivers; potions; jars filled with murky liquids. Among the objects, a strangely shaped sword stood out… and a crystalline sphere that reflected the magma's flames as if it had a life of its own.
"That ring… is that the one that needs to be rented?"
asked Nikolai, intrigued.
Daria, positioning herself nearby, answered casually:
"Yes. But this one isn't rented. It's ours."
Nikolai's eyes widened.
"Ours?"
"It cost a fortune,"
she continued, almost with restrained pride.
"We saved up for years. It's very likely the item that will let us retire a few cycles from now."
Nikolai swallowed hard. The vast majority of groups only rented that kind of load-bearing ring. Owning one was an absurd luxury — a mark of survival and persistence. Kuzma's group had truly sacrificed a lot to get here.
He then pointed to the sphere.
"And this crystal ball? It looks… like the one I used for the assessment."
Daria smiled and gestured toward Ekaterina.
"Not just similar. It's the same thing. But Ekaterina was the one who discovered a new use for it in here."
Ekaterina raised the sphere in her hands, and the magma's reflection ran across its surface as if a fire burned inside it. There was a glow in her eyes — not just from the incandescent light, but from a pride she couldn't hide.
"The creatures here emit red magic,"
she began, speaking with the ease of someone explaining something that seemed obvious.
"I thought: what if a copy of the assessment crystal could detect that?"
She paused, as if recalling the days of solitary testing.
"I bought a replica. Tweaked it. Removed the touch-read feature and erased our group's individual responses. Now, when something that isn't one of us enters a fifty-meter radius… it glows. Usually, the magic of the creatures on this floor is dark red. So it becomes easy to identify them."
The group listened in silence. Ekaterina scoffed and added, with a bitter laugh:
"What pisses me off is that those sons of bitches didn't give me a single coin for the idea!"
Nikolai stood frozen. The simplicity of the solution took his breath away.
Any tamer with magic and a basic command of levitation could keep a magic sphere like that suspended above the formation — turning it into a beacon against ambushes. It was clever. Effective. So obvious in hindsight that he wondered how no one had thought of it before.
But then he understood: when you have little at your disposal, you need to be creative.
And in that, Ekaterina was a master.
She noticed the astonishment in his eyes and, before Nikolai could say anything, added with a broad, almost childlike smile:
"But at least I got to name it."
She raised the sphere above her head.
"Cristerina."
The name sounded silly, but in it there was a tenderness, almost dignified. Her smile widened, full of pride. The sphere's glow reflected on her face like a crown, and for the first time, Nikolai understood that, deep down, this was more than a practical invention.
It was part of her — a mark on the world she had created, and of which she was proud. It didn't matter if it hadn't earned her gold, glory, or recognition. Cristerina was hers — and no one could take that away.
"Very well, everyone, we've talked enough. Let's get ready."
Kuzma's voice was firmer than usual, but Nikolai noticed the tension behind the words. He was the leader. And leaders carried the weight of every mistake.
"Andrei,"
he called, in a solemn tone.
"When you're ready."
Nikolai didn't understand at first. But then his jaw dropped.
Andrei began to undress, removing the heavy layers of leather and fabric until only loose underwear remained, hidden beneath pants torn up to the thigh. His muscles glistened under the reddish glow of the pulsing magma, and silence fell over the group.
"Protect me while I complete the transformation,"
he said, his voice already guttural, heavy with strain.
Nikolai felt his heart race. He had read about it, but seeing it live was something entirely different.
Black and brown bears were similar in essence: both lacked magical traits, relying on brute strength granted to their tamer and themselves. But the brown bear was by no means considered inferior. On the contrary. Many said that, in ancient times, it was feared even more than the white — not because of the overwhelming strength the brown bear had over all others of its caste or the imposing size, but because of what it granted its tamer.
The metamorphosis.
An ancestral gift that transformed the tamer into something between man and beast — a semi-bear creature, humanoid, imbued with reinforcement magic that sometimes tripled or more the user's physical strength and awakened unique abilities in the bearer:
Frenzy, a rage that nullified pain and made the skin nearly impenetrable. Focus Draw, an instinctive call that attracted low-intelligence creatures, forcing them to face him. And, rarely, the dreaded Life Steal, blows that drained the enemy's vitality and returned it to the bearer's body in the form of strength and energy.
For centuries, the North was feared more for the horrors wrought by its beast-warriors than for its magic. Unstoppable creatures that dragged unrestrained carnage onto the battlefield.
As he reflected on what he was witnessing for the first time, the crack of bones brought Nikolai back to the present.
Andrei's body twisted, growing. His torso expanded as if muscles sprouted beneath the skin, and bones stretched until they tore through invisible scars. Dark fur spread over his shoulders, and his chest jutted forward — more beast than man.
His thighs were still human but now much thicker and sturdier, firm like columns, but his feet… his feet were now thick claws that scraped the stone of the plain with ease, each step landing like a hammer's blow.
When he raised his face, it was already hard to see just a man there. His eyes gleamed with wild black. His breath was a growl.
With a rehearsed motion, Andrei grabbed the massive two-meter shield, resting it on the ground as if it were weightless, and in the other hand, the colossal club of raw iron.
A half-bear had been born before them.
Nikolai could only think of one word.
Unstoppable.
"I'm ready."
Andrei's voice came out low, dragged by the beast's heavy breathing. Even in that monstrous form, there was control in his words — discipline only forged through years in the field. Nikolai watched, mesmerized: maintaining sanity in that form must cost a great deal.
The group moved with practical efficiency. The strangely shaped sword went to Kuzma — a short, wide, and irregular blade, designed to pierce carapaces; the crystal sphere was raised by Ekaterina, who attached it to a retractable pole, ready to suspend Cristerina above the formation; Daria wore only a fine chainmail shirt, light enough to maintain her mobility and magic; Kira, Daria's small white bear — which wouldn't fit into any armor — was nestled inside a steel crate on Daria's back, curled and protected like a living bundle, but with the crate's mouth open so it could observe the surroundings.
"Let's put the chainmail on the bears and then head out,"
Kuzma ordered, his firm voice making the routine sound inevitable.
Andrei's Laika was already ready. Her pre-molded armor creaked with each adjustment, curved plates protecting shoulders, flank, and neck, leaving only the mouth and eyes free to roar. The beast remained calm as the straps were tightened — it was clear that this had been built to last.
"That set for Laika must have cost a fortune,"
Nikolai murmured, admiring the plates.
Andrei seemed distant for a moment. Ekaterina answered for him, her voice warm:
"There was an incident. Laika almost died. We took our savings and paid for a pre-molded armor. Worth every piece."
The bear rubbed her head against Ekaterina's hand, and for a moment, Laika expressed something close to tenderness — while Mishka, Ekaterina's bear, did the same with Andrei.
The new armor gave Laika nearly 1.6 meters of height, casting a shadow where there had once been only emptiness.
"Gather around,"
Kuzma cut in, calling the team.
Nikolai grabbed the quiver with a few arrows. The chainmail they gave him was clearly too small, the rings tightening whenever he took a deep breath, but it worked — it was all there was. He adjusted the bow he had received from Kuzma, secured Alkonost's string; the feeling of the bow ready in his hand brought an electric nervousness that mixed fear and purpose. Kira, curled on Daria's back within the crate, snored softly, protected and still.
Nikolai had already explained his abilities and training to the group, but Kuzma insisted on playing it safe. It was Nikolai's first incursion, so he would focus on dealing with most of the creatures, while the others refined their skill with the bow in its most basic form. There would be time to test the truth of his words — but, for Kuzma, that time was not now.
Kuzma had mapped the route precisely.
"Our mission is simple. Two Simargl dens were located eight kilometers north of the entrance — we're taking the farthest one. There are no reports of a queen, but we'll stay alert. If there's any inconsistency with the mission, we fall back. Our goal is to clear the area and bring in prey. If possible, we're aiming for at least ten carcasses. If it's fewer, that's fine — safety is the priority."
The group nodded silently and began the march. The gray plain seemed to devour sound; each step lifted fine clouds of dust and ash, which clung to fur and chainmail. In the distance, the rocky outline where the den hid bit into the horizon.
"The hunting grounds on this floor are almost all mapped and need regular clearing. The main nest is untouchable — old rule — but the strays are free to hunt,"
Kuzma continued, this time explaining for Nikolai's understanding, his voice worn by years of caution.
"The problem is, Simargl are clever. There's usually a leader coordinating attacks and, in the worst cases, a queen. Honestly, that's extremely rare — especially on the upper floors — but almost a rule on the lower ones, because of the enemies they face down there. Of course, they're not invincible. But you'll learn soon: better to face one giant enemy than a legion of weak ones with a brain."
Daria pointed to her own forehead with her hand, her tone calm, as if merely adding to what her brother had said:
"The leader usually has a small horn on its forehead. It has a mind-control spell — weak against us, but enough to turn the fight into a strategic battle against us if we don't take it out quickly. Priority one: find and kill the horned one. After that, the cleanup is easier."
The clarity of the order gave meaning to everything. The wedge formation etched itself into Nikolai's mind like a perfect diagram. Andrei, colossal in his transitional form, moved forward with the shield like a living wall; Kuzma and Ekaterina guarded the flanks with their bears, alert to any shadow; Daria remained at the center, gaze firm, while Cristerina floated above them, levitating on a magical tether, pulsing like a second, colorless sun; and he, Nikolai, held the rear, bow raised, ready to cover any breach.
Ashen, without protective mail, walked hunched beside Daria, eyes sharp to every shadow. Now and then, he turned his head to look back at his tamer, and Nikolai had to scold him silently with a quick gesture.
"Don't look at me. Take care of yourself,"
he whispered. But the knot in his throat betrayed that he didn't fully believe it himself.
The air burned in the nostrils, thick with sulfur and iron, as if every breath were a blade. The heat from the magma reflected on the edges of the armors, creating golden gleams that leapt and danced across the metal plates, as if they were alive.
Then, after just a few kilometers heading north, the plain seemed to change. The silence was not merely the absence of sound — it was a weight closing in around them. The whole world seemed to hold its breath.
Nikolai felt sweat run down the back of his neck, despite the metallic chill in his spine. His heart pounded so loudly he feared the others might hear it. But no one said a word. No one needed to.
It was the beginning.