The Guardian didn’t appear willing to give up without a fight.

  Nick kept channeling his will and mana through the Shard, feeling it absorb and direct everything he could give it to power [Call of the Void].

  Against regular spirits, that might have sufficed, but it was clear the colossus needed more than a simple metaphysical pull.

  It attempted to tap into the network of millions of fungal threads beneath the dungeon floor, screaming its claim to life with a roar that shook the very air. It was a creature built on the idea of Eternity, a stagnant, decaying loop of life, feeding on death, endlessly recycling itself to ensure it never truly ends, and no amount of damage could kill it.

  For this, Nick needed something more.

  “Thalamus, gate of waking, pulse of thought, attend.

  Between wakefulness and dreaming lies the darkness that never sleeps.

  I name it. I feed it.

  Void without rim, mouth without mercy, hunger older than light,

  hear the soft drum of my voice and answer.

  By sacrifice and salt, by power and nerve,

  let your cold tide rise through my inner seas.

  Let memory loosen, let meaning thin,

  let every bright desire turn to ash and drift.

  I open the chamber behind my eyes.

  I unhook the tether of fear.

  I offer you the warmth of my blood’s stories,

  and the heat of my enemies’ names.

  Come, End of Ends.

  Drink the sound from their prayers.

  Gnaw the edges of their courage.

  Swallow the distance between heartbeats.

  Make their future a closed fist of darkness.

  What is built must fall.

  What is sung must hush.

  What is loved must fade.

  So speaks the Thalamus, so obeys the flesh.

  Circle my brow with emptiness, crown my tongue with night.

  Let the hollow star within me bloom.

  Let their souls feel the pull, and step down.

  Wake.

  Devour.

  Leave nothing but silence.”

  The ether bubbled as his chant echoed through, distorting it and reinforcing the presence of his [Territory].

  He felt his soul expand as the budding Tree of Life within him resonated with the challenge. The Fourth Step, [Nezach], demanded absolute victory, and he would achieve it.

  The Guardian’s will slammed against his, trying to drown him in the collective consciousness of the colony, to show him the comfort of becoming biomass.

  Nick didn’t even blink. He leaned into [Blasphemy], simply ignoring the other’s attempt and pulling even harder, turning his soul into a gaping maw with much greater ease now that the sapling of the Tree of Life anchored him between dimensions.

  The bond between Guardian and the dungeon, already weakened by his earlier actions, broke a moment later, unable to bear the unending hunger he’d unleashed.

  The colossus shuddered. The vibrant, sickly purple light pulsing through its veins turned gray. Then, with a sound like a thousand dry leaves being crushed at once, it collapsed midair, disintegrating into a cascade of sterile spores before it even hit the ground.

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  Nick stood amid the falling dust, breathing hard, feeling strangely solid.

  A warmth spread in his chest, different from the rush of mana from a level up, but similar. It was a fundamental shift in his very being, as if a new pillar had been added and solidified in the foundation of his soul, using the soul he’d ripped from the Guardian as fuel for the process.

  Victory has been achieved, Nick acknowledged, feeling the concept lock into place. The triumph of the Will over the Cycle.

  Nick exhaled, watching his breath leave his lips. The rush of power was intoxicating, bringing a sudden surge of density that made his skin feel too tight for his body, but he forced himself to resist it.

  There was still work left, and he would have time to think about it once they returned to the base.

  He turned slowly, scanning the depression. The white mantises had long dissolved into sludge, and Kael’s headless body lay where Raphael had dropped it.

  But near the ridge, the mage and the priest were trying desperately to scramble up the slippery mud.

  "Leaving so soon?" Nick called out. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried across the silent clearing with frightening clarity.

  The mage spun around, raising his wand with trembling hands. "Stay back! I’ll—"

  Raphael snapped his fingers, and the tip of a spatial blade gently pressed against the man’s jugular. At the same time, Monte stepped out from behind a mushroom stalk just above the priest, his rapier drawn and his expression politely bored.

  "I believe," Monte said softly, "that the gentleman asked you a question."

  Nick walked toward them. He didn't rush, sensing no more surprises would occur, and he used the eeriness of the scene to his benefit, his staff tapping rhythmically on the stones that were becoming visible beneath the rot.

  The two men looked at him, and Nick saw true terror in their eyes. They weren't afraid of being caught. They were afraid of him. After all, they had just watched him turn a Guardian into dust by pointing his staff at it, and unless they had strong mystical senses, [Call of the Void] would have just felt like a strange pull to them.

  "We... we surrender," the priest stammered, dropping a holy symbol with a water drop. It sank into the mud and disappeared, as if rejecting his claim over it. "We claim prisoner rights under the—"

  "You tried to detonate a psychic bomb," Nick interrupted, stopping a few paces away. "You forfeited your rights when you tried to kill my team."

  He pointed the Shard at the pile of grey ash behind him.

  "That was a Guardian," Nick said flatly. "It was far more powerful than either of you, but that didn’t help it. Do not make me repeat myself.”

  He leaned in, letting a fraction of his anger leak out in a wave of spiritual mana. "Who sent you?"

  The mage swallowed hard, his eyes darting to Kael’s body. "We... we were hired. Through intermediaries."

  “I need names," Nick demanded.

  "The Hones!" the priest blurted out, cracking instantly. "It was House Hone! They said they needed specialists to take control of the dungeon! They paid us in Sunsteel and artifacts! We couldn’t have refused!”

  “Was that why you tried to take over the Guardian?" Raphael asked, frowning.

  “We just did what we were told!" the mage cried, sweat pouring down his face. "They said the timeline had moved up! That interference from an enemy meant the dungeon had to be tamed and broken before its control could be handed to someone else.”

  Ah. Of course. It’s just part of the great game.

  "Is there more of you?" Nick asked. "At the other anchors?"

  The mage was about to answer when his eyes suddenly rolled back in his head. "I—I can't—"

  A spasm tore through the man’s body. He arched his back, a guttural scream ripping from his throat that sounded less like pain and more like a steam whistle. Next to him, the priest clutched his head, clawing at his own eyes.

  "Psychic backlash," Nick cursed, lunging forward.

  He reached out with spiritual mana, trying to stabilize their minds and build a wall around their consciousness before the kill switch activated, but that only allowed him to feel the foreign mana embedded in their brains. It was a complex, jagged command seal that responded to specific keywords or stress levels and was acting far too quickly.

  Nick forced a barrier of will into the mage’s mind, but it was like trying to stop a dam burst with a bucket.

  The mage collapsed, foam bubbling from his lips. The priest convulsed once and then went still.

  Silence returned to the depression, disturbed only by the wet, rattling breath of the mage’s final gasp.

  "Damn it," Nick spat, straightening up. He wiped his hands on his robes, even though he hadn't touched them physically. “Their minds were rigged."

  "That was unpleasant," Monte noted, sheathing his rapier with a grimace. "House Hone covers its tracks thoroughly."

  "It confirms one thing," Raphael said, looking down at the bodies. "We can’t afford to take it easy. I don’t want to imagine what they would do if they gained control of the dungeon, considering how they treat their agents.”

  Nick nodded. He turned away from the corpses and went over to where Kael was lying.

  He knelt down, ignoring the gore, and rifled through her pockets. He found a pouch of coins, a few potions, and—most importantly—the jagged metal spike she had tried to use.

  Nasty, Nick thought, wrapping it carefully in a cloth before shoving it into his spatial ring with everything else. But it might be useful.

  He removed the Sunsteel pauldrons and bracers from her body next. It was grim work, but Sunsteel was highly conductive to light and fire magic, and it would fetch a high price, or he could melt it down for his brother if the others allowed him to buy them out.

  Finally, he walked to the center of the depression, where the pile of ash lay.

  Plunging his hand into the dust, Nick felt around until his fingers brushed against something hard.

  He pulled it out and saw that it was a rough, heavy sphere of dark green crystal, pulsing with power. This would drive people crazy at the auction, but I’m not letting it go without a hefty payout.

  It was made from earth and decay magic and was ideal for stabilizing rituals or serving as a catalyst against death magic.

  "Nick," Raphael called out.

  Nick stood, vanished the core in his ring, and turned to face his team.

  They were gathered at the center of the depression, looking exhausted, battered, and covered in various unnamed stains, but more importantly, they were looking at him differently.

  There was awe there, yes. But there was also fear. They had seen the [Spirit Crunch] turn an army into paste. They had seen the [Call of the Void] unmake a giant.

  "What... what kind of magic was that?" Tessa asked as he joined them. "I've never seen a single spell do that."

  Nick looked at Raphael. The senior apprentice held his gaze for a moment, then stepped forward.

  "It’s a specialized form of curse breaking," Raphael lied smoothly, projecting confident authority. "Nick collapsed the mana density in a localized area, creating a vacuum effect as the dungeon’s curse failed. It looks scary, but it’s just very effective against this kind of enemy."

  I would not have pegged him for this good a liar, Nick thought, hiding a smirk. Now I have to keep an eye out for him.

  "It’s also incredibly draining," Nick added, leaning heavily on his staff to sell the lie. "I’m tapped out."

  The tension in the group eased a little. If it cost him everything to cast it, it felt less terrifying and made him a glass cannon rather than a true monster.

  “If that’s all, we need to go,” he said after a moment, shifting the subject before they could ask more questions. “This area is empty now, but the smell will attract scavengers.”

  Before that, though turned to the obelisk, the Eastern Anchor.

  It was shattered, as the Guardian's death had violently broken the sympathetic link. The bloody drawings were already peeling away, the mana that fueled them drained dry by the Void.

  Nick approached it and laid his hand on the stone. He didn't need a full ritual this time, since the circuit was already dead, but he preferred to be sure rather than have to return.

  Pushing a [Spirit Blast] into the stone, he felt the low hum die down completely.

  "Two down," Nick muttered. "Two to go."

  "We should head back to the main camp," Raphael suggested, looking at the sky. "We need to rest before we can think about the next anchor."

  Nick nodded. He stretched his senses out toward the West.

  The pressure from that direction had changed. It was no longer just a passive pull; it now felt alert and defensive.

  “I agree," Nick said. "The dungeon knows what we are doing now."

  And not just the dungeon. The Hones are aware of our activities now. They might even be setting an ambush at the next anchor right this moment.

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