Decisions (II)

Carissa trailed along the speckled walls as they guided her down the darkened path. She wasn't alone, deviants of all different sizes and builds surrounded her as they marched along the cavernous pit, their weapons clanking out of turn.

The group consisted of several dozen members of the phoenix guild who were of appropriate rank. Midway through scanning their surroundings, her eyes shifted to the two leading figures at the front of their procession—Marcel Phoenix, and the gentleman walking alongside him.

It was a tall fellow with a slim build; he had straight black hair and a prominent scar stretching across his face. It seemed to be an old slash wound, but not the sort of cut that could be inflicted by a blade.

It was much too jagged a wound for that.

His attire was rather plain for the occasion, decked out in formal wear, all the young man wore was a business suit and tie.

Carissa simply couldn't wrap her head around the strange dynamic he seemed to share with Marcel. Ever since she joined this particular advance unit under the Phoenix guild, she had seen a number of strange and downright shady things, but this was by far the most bizarre of them all.

No sane person would ever enter a dungeon dressed like that, and to make matters worse, the unlikely businessman wasn't even a part of the Phoenix guild to begin with. He appeared out of the blue a few hours before and was given express permission by the raid captain—Marcel —to participate.

Carissa made a small sigh and shook her head. At times like these, she usually found herself staring at the floor out of habit—something she would likely have done now, had she not been standing inside a dungeon.

Guilt and regret weighed on her like twin burdens, growing heavier with each passing day.

Focus. Just pull through this raid and then it'll all be over.

Only about an hour had passed since they entered the dungeon. Their progress through the first floor had been slow despite their numbers, but they were steadily making their way toward the second.

Ba'al's second floor was rumored to be the only part of the dungeon that still housed its core. In practical terms, that usually meant the presence of a hidden boss—one of the reasons they had conserved their strength until now.

At last, the party halted at Marcel's command. Glancing over his shoulder, he gave a single, cold order:

"We're here, Carissa. Do your thing."

The crowd parted at Marcel's word, allowing Carissa to stroll to the front unobstructed. She nodded in assent and move toward one of the giant stone columns stretching up into the ceiling.

"I've heard about her talents before but how exactly is she going to find the core?" The businessman asked as he observed Carissa with an air of speculation.

"I'm not exactly keen on all the details," Marcel said, turning away as he pointed to the glowing specks along the walls. "But from what I gathered, the core has been sealed away. The glowing lights in the walls are crystallized manite clusters that have been imbued with an intent, but they possess an undefined value."

"Meaning what exactly?"

"It means these crystals in the walls are linked to each other through an information network." Carissa responded from the front, kneeling at the base of one of the large pillars.

The atmosphere had grown so silent it was impossible not to overhear them.

"In other words, it's an automatic spell. The crystals on each floor are linked and programmed to react to human presence. Whenever we get too close to the core, the spell activates, and the manites retroactively shift its position by rewriting the surrounding space."

"Oh? A spell that relocates the core the closer we get, is it? Now who could have put something like that in place?" mused the businessman. His words were meant to be serious, yet his tone carried a faint edge of sarcasm.

"Beats me. If the phantom room hadn't destabilized the spell's framework, no normal deviant would have ever been able to find this place."

Carissa's body donned a faint glow as she spoke. The surrounding magical energy rushed into her form spontaneously, filling the dark space with bright arcs of crackling light.

Rising to her feet, Carissa slowly moved her hand along the speckled stone column. She stopped after a few paces and channeled all the mana she had amassed into her resting hand.

The column absorbed her magic like a sponge, and the once-blue shards embedded in every nook and cranny shifted to a pale violet hue.

Marcel keenly observed the violet color spreading throughout the floor. At some point, a smile had curled up on his lips out of pure joy.

"I've seen her do this a number of times before, but this truly is a sight to behold. I wonder how many more dungeon cores have been locked away by this darn spell?"

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Sensing the businessman's curious glare, he gave another laugh and shook his head. "I won't mock you for not understanding, Silas. I didn't grasp it the first time either. She just unraveled that area-interference spell by reprogramming the manites with her own intent. Since they all operate on the same system, her will spread through it like a virus."

After likening the process to a computer hack, Silas clapped his hands together—apparently enlightened. "Enchanters sure are handy."

When the theatrical glow blanketing their environment finally subsided, the entire floor felt like it had been changed somehow. A sliver of the violet glow remained in the specks, but now, something new had also emerged from within them.

Cryptic purple markings covered the ceiling, walls and floor. The pulsing glow evoked an eerie feeling inside Carissa, but she tried her best to ignore it. At this point, it was basically par for the course.

"Let's go, the core is this way." Pointing down the passage, Carissa's finger was squarely aimed at the convergence point for the cryptic markings. There stood a massive stone door, its surface covered in a litany of glowing text.

With the spell undone, the layers of the floor were now firmly set in place. The newly revealed door seemed to have simply appeared out of nowhere, but in truth, it was the direct result of the spell's removal. The core could no longer shift its position relative to their proximity—hence why its hiding place had finally been exposed.

A revelation so subtle, it was almost laughably easy to miss.

"I guess Evan was right, it really was here the whole time." Marcel began his triumphant march after saying that, leading on the dozens of other deviants at his command.

Reaching the door, he conjured a ball of spiraling flames into his palm.

"You're just going to bust it down?" Silas probed, cluelessly scratching his head.

"I don't see the point in being tame." Calmly taking aim, he compressed the ball of flames to the size of a marble before unleashing the torrent of hellfire. The hellish flames surged outward in a flash, melting away the door as it carved their path forward.

Seconds after the explosive bang rang out, the dust settled and revealed the room's layout—marked by the afterglow of Marcel's blast. Aside from a collection of the same towering pillars, the room didn't consist of much. It appeared to bear the same cryptic markings on the inside, but what caught their focus was actually at the very back of the room.

Gleaming in the dark was a strange mechanism, the apparent convergence point for all the scattered markings on the floor. At the center of its triangular slot rested a prism-like object of obsidian hue, embedded into the wall.

It pulsed with waves of untold power—a primal force so alluring that few deviants could resist. No one needed to ask what it was; its identity was common knowledge among all in the field. The core's glow flared brighter, as if sensing their arrival, and taking that as an invitation, the superhumans stepped forward with no choice but to advance.

As enticing as the dungeon core was, the few who'd sense the danger lurking beyond the scorched doorway felt fear and not relief.

In the wake of Marcel's devastating attack, something had awoken1 inside the large, empty room. A tear emerged in the center of the room, it resembled a series of large spatial tears, branching outwards as the fissure grew and expanded.

"The core has activated it's defense mechanisms! Everyone assume you're positions! We've got a fight on our hands!" Marcel yelled, the torrent of magical energy spilling out from the fissure's gaps had snapped every hunter present into high alert.

The fracture widened in an instant, splitting open like a wound in the air. A massive hand pushed through, prying apart the boundaries of the spatial tear before its owner stepped into the room—its towering form revealed to all.

Carissa's breath caught in her throat. Without thinking, she stumbled back, fear tightening around her chest as her heartbeat hammered faster with every second.

"Grrr..." The monster's growl was a low, guttural rumble, vibrating through the walls.

As it advanced, the ground trembled beneath its weight. The Barbarian loomed like a living mountain, its slate-gray flesh corded with unnatural strength. Jagged plates of crimson chitin jutted from its body, sharp and volcanic, as though the earth itself had armed it for war. Twin horns, each the size of a warhorse, curved from its skull, framing a fanged maw twisted into a snarl that promised nothing but slaughter.

Spines and barbs bristled across its back, gleaming with a cruel sheen as if thirsting for flesh. Each step carved deep furrows in the floor, claws raking stone with casual brutality. It moved in a low, predatory stance—less giant, more beast—forever poised to spring.

"A Barbarian, huh? That's not something you see every day." Silas laughed, his tone disturbingly casual. Carissa flinched at the sound, disbelief welling in her chest. She wanted to scream at him for his madness, but one look at his expression killed the impulse.

The man wasn't sane.

In all her time as a member of the Phoenix guild, they'd never faced such a terrifying creature before. As she glanced around, restless and eager, Marcel's voice rang out again.

"Everyone knows what to do, right?" he asked, a gleeful grin stretched across his lips as he asked the question.

"Do we have some kind of secret strategy?" she piped up swiftly.

"Only for times like these. You just need to focus on supporting us, we'll handle the offensive."

After that succinct rundown, Marcel boldly stepped across the scorched boundary, casually sauntering into the Barbarian's domain like a madman. He reached under his coat and pulled out a vial of red capsules and downed a mouthful.

A wave of magical energy immediately rushed into him, the surge coalescing into an aura so dense it left a large divot in the ground. The hunters in the room did the same as they followed his lead, each one downing a mouthful of the dangerously potent drug at their disposal.

Flames roared to life as Marcel unsealed his new grimoire. No longer the familiar orange flare, his fire had shifted—burning in the searing brilliance of complete combustion, each spark igniting into a radiant blue blaze.

Ecstasy surged through him at the sudden spike in his Index. Fixing his gaze on the monster, he leveled a single finger toward it and hurled a brazen challenge.

"I don't know why an A-rank monster like you is here—but you're certainly not getting in my way today!"

As Carissa watched the hunters consume the vials of red poison, she slowly caught on to the cruel reality of their situation. It was tragic, but this was not the time for rumination. Her conviction reignited, Carissa summoned the last of her courage, clinging to hope as her only guide.

With clenched teeth, she slipped into position at the rear and began her chants.

I'm almost finished, Cyril. Just one last time.

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