Silence, thick and choking as the settling dust of Stoneheart, blanketed the plaza. The sickly green moonlight painted stark shadows on the faces of the Ember Unit, frozen in the aftermath of impossible, horrific power. Doom stood amidst the fading grey ash of the colossus, naked, scarred, the monstrous Ossuary Blade held loosely at his side. Kael's skull pommel seemed to leer in the dim light.
His glacial eyes swept over them, lingering with predatory intensity on Silk's lithe form and Faith's terrified, luminous presence. The cold calculus screamed eliminate, but beneath it, stirred by Ainar's spectral urging and his own fractured humanity, was the sharper, darker hunger for dominance, for leverage, for the heat of life under his control.
He took a deliberate step forward, the obsidian grit crunching like bone under his heel. The sound was deafening in the stillness.
"Talk," Doom commanded again, his voice a low rasp that scraped raw nerves. He pointed the still-warm tip of the blade first at Faith, making her flinch violently, then at Silk, pinning her with his gaze. "Where is the seal? The anchor. Speak."
The unspoken threat was palpable.
Fuel for the blade.
Silk swallowed hard, her knuckles white on her short blades. Faith trembled, her healing light utterly extinguished, replaced by pure dread. Brick shifted his weight behind his ruined shield, his face a mask of impotent fury beneath his helm. Ember gripped his staff, knuckles pale, his depleted mana reserves a tangible weakness.
"W-we don't know what you're talking about!" Faith stammered, her voice cracking. "Seals? Anchors? We came for the Guardian's core! For the Petrified Heartstone!"
Doom's predatory smile widened, devoid of warmth. He began to circle them slowly, a predator assessing cornered prey.
He shifted his focus, his gaze raking over the two women with deliberate, invasive appraisal, a stark contrast to the terrified men.
Silk..
Lithe and wiry, built for speed and sudden violence. Her leather armor clung to sweat-slicked skin, emphasizing lean muscle. Her breasts were smaller, high and firm beneath the worn leather, like ripe, unyielding fruit. They moved subtly with her panicked breaths, drawing Doom's eye. Her waist was a narrow cinch above the flare of her hips, leading down to a surprisingly full, perfectly rounded buttocks that strained against her trousers, a heart-shaped curve promising resilience and strength. Fear warred with defiance in her dark eyes, her knuckles white on her short blades.
Faith
Where Silk was compact fire, Faith was softer intensity. Her healer's robes, damp with sweat and dust, clung to generous curves. Her breasts were fuller, heavier, yet still lifted with a youthful firmness beneath the fabric, the outline of her nipples visible as they peaked in the cold dread. They swayed slightly with each trembling breath, a hypnotic rhythm. Her waist was defined but softer, flowing into lush hips and a proportionate, rounded buttock that filled out the back of her robes.
Golden light still flickered faintly around her hands and the symbol at her neck, illuminating her face, pale, terrified, but holding onto a desperate core of resolve. Her eyes, wide and blue, were fixed on Doom, raw horror battling with a healer's instinctive assessment of the impossible power before her.
His gaze never left Silk and Faith. He moved with unnatural silence, the power radiating from him a physical pressure. As he passed close behind Silk, his free hand, large and scarred, brushed deliberately against the curve of her hip through the worn leather. It wasn't a caress, it was a claiming, a violation of space, a reminder of his absolute control.
Silk froze, a strangled gasp escaping her lips, her blades trembling violently. Silk held herself perfectly still, He made sure she could feel his presence like a shadow pressing against her back, his touch lingering like a brand. She seemed to be wanting for the right moment. Letting her body relax slightly, feigning submission, letting him believe she was too afraid to act. His attention was on her, but perhaps-just perhaps-he was distracted by the curve of her hip, by the illusion of control.
Then she struck.
In one fluid motion, she spun.
She whirled, her blades flashing in a lethal arc aimed for his throat. But Doom was fast. His hand, which had just been a possessive weight on her hip, snapped up with preternatural reflexes, catching her wrist in an iron grip before the steel could kiss his flesh.
A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. "Predictable," he murmured, his voice like gravel and smoke. His fingers tightened, threatening to crush bone.
For a heartbeat, they stood locked in the tension of the failed strike, her pulse hammering beneath his grasp. Then, with deliberate slowness, Doom released her wrist-only to deliver a sharp, stinging spank that echoed through the stillness.
Without another word, he moved on, leaving Silk seething, her pride stinging worse than her skin and made his way towards Faith.
"Liar," Doom murmured, his breath unnervingly close to her ear. He stopped before Faith, his towering presence overwhelming. He reached out, not to touch her, but to trail the cold, obsidian tip of his claw-like fingernail down the line of her jaw. Faith recoiled as if burned, a whimper escaping her. "You fight its guardian. You know it's a tomb."
"Get away from her!" Brick roared, the sound raw with rage and fear. The sight of Doom violating one of his comrades, the helpless terror on Faith's face, shattered his discipline. He abandoned his shield stance and lunged, a desperate, clumsy overhead chop with his heavy broadsword aimed at Doom's exposed back. It was pure fury, devoid of tactics.
Doom didn't even fully turn. He pivoted with terrifying economy, the Ossuary Blade swinging in a short, brutal arc. It met the descending broadsword and the edge of Brick's shield in a shower of sparks and a horrific SCREECH-CRUNCH. The enchanted steel of the broadsword shattered like glass. The already compromised tower shield didn't just break, it disintegrated under the blow, the lower half vaporizing into metallic dust. The blade continued its path, biting deep into Brick's armored forearm.
HARVEST INITIATED: [WARRIOR - "BRICK"]
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BIO-TITHERIUM EXTRACTION: [LIFE ESSENCE - MINIMAL]
YIELD: TRACE (1%)
There was no spray of blood. Where the Ossuary Blade bit, Brick's flesh and armor grayed instantly, desiccating. A visible wisp of vital energy, a faint crimson shimmer, was siphoned up the blade. Brick screamed, a sound of pure agony and terror, stumbling back, clutching his withered, useless arm. The limb hung limp, the skin ashen and cracked like old parchment where the blade had touched, the armor fused to dead flesh.
Ember saw his opening. Driven by desperation and the need to protect his crippled friend, he channeled the dregs of his mana. His staff flared with unstable sapphire energy. "BURN!" he shrieked, unleashing a desperate, ragged bolt of pure arcane force directly at Doom's back.
Doom didn't flinch. He turned to face the attack fully, making no move to block or evade. The bolt struck his chest dead center.
There was no explosion. No deflection. The sigil flared, a vortex of absolute darkness opening within its fractured lines. The sapphire energy bolt was sucked in, vanishing without a trace into the abyssal mark. The sigil pulsed once, fiercely, the cracks seeming to glow momentarily brighter, darker. The stolen energy vibrated down the chain only Doom could feel.
HARVEST COMPLETE: [ARCANE ENERGY BOLT]
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CONTRIBUTION: NEGLIGIBLE. VOID ENERGY ABSORBED.
SYNCHRONIZATION: STABLE.
Ember stared, his face slack with utter disbelief and horror. He'd poured his last reserves into that strike, and it had been consumed like a drop in an ocean. His staff dimmed, its core crystal cracking.
The cold calculus in Doom's mind snapped back with the force of a guillotine.
Threat.
Expendable.
Example.
He moved.
One stride closed the distance. Ember barely had time to raise a hand in futile defense. The Ossuary Blade swung horizontally, not with brute force, but with the precision of a headsman. It passed through Ember's neck without seeming resistance.
There was a dry, crumbling thump, like rotted timber collapsing. Ember's head toppled from his shoulders, hitting the ground with a hollow thud. His eyes were frozen wide in shock, but the horror lay in the severed neck, where the blade had cut, the flesh and bone were instantly desiccated, gray and powdery as ancient ash. No blood flowed, the wound was a parched, cracked ruin, veins and arteries withered to brittle threads. A thin wisp of crimson energy snaked up the obsidian metal. The severed neck showed no raw wound, only cracked, ashen tissue where life had been vacuumed away.
HARVEST INITIATED: [MAGE - "EMBER" - DECAPITATION]
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BIO-TITHERIUM EXTRACTION: [LIFE ESSENCE - INSTANTANEOUS]
YIELD: TRACE (1%)
NOTE: CRITICAL STRIKE. SOURCE TERMINATED.
The body remained upright for a heartbeat, a macabre statue, then collapsed into a heap of robes, Doom stepped over the corpse. Without breaking stride, he reversed his grip and drove the Ossuary Blade downward like a black lightning bolt, piercing the center of Ember's chest. The body convulsed, back arching off the ground. A sickening hiss filled the air as the crimson veins flared with ravenous satisfaction.
Visible waves of crimson energy, thick as blood and bright as embers, surged from the corpse into the weapon. Flesh shriveled, muscles atrophied to leathery cords, bones bleached to brittle chalk. The pooling blood vaporized into coppery mist, sucked into the blade's fractures. Within seconds, only a desiccated husk remained, crumpling into gray ash that scattered across the stones. Only the untouched head remained intact beside the dust.
HARVEST COMPLETED: [MAGE - "EMBER" - CORPSE DRAIN]
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TOTAL YIELD: MODERATE (18%)
COMPOSITION:
VITALISESSENTIA (LIFEFORCE): 12%
ARCANE RESIDUE (MANAWEAVE): 5%
MEMETICIMPRINT (SKILLFRAGMENTS): None
SYNCHRONIZATION: STABLE +0.7%
Silk screamed, a raw sound of grief and terror. Faith retched, collapsing to her knees, golden light flickering uselessly around her as she tried to staunch the impossible horror. Brick moaned, cradling his dead arm, unable to look away from Ember's decapitated body.
Doom stood over the pooling blood, the Ossuary Blade dripping red. He turned his gaze back to Silk and Faith, the message clear.
Talk, or join him.
"Enough! Please!" Silk sobbed, tears cutting tracks through the grime on her face. She dropped her blades, holding her hands up in surrender. "We don't know! We swear! We're just... scavengers! Low-tier! We came for the Heartstone! For coin!"
Faith, trembling violently, looked up at Doom, her eyes filled with tears and desperate horror. "Th-the Core!" she gasped, pointing a shaking finger towards the largest of the distant, cyclopean ruins, a jagged maw leading into utter darkness at its base. "The Dungeon Core! Deep inside! It... it controls the Guardians! It changes the tomb! Maybe... maybe what you seek is tied to it? Anchored to it? Only the Core Keeper would know... but no one who goes deep... comes back!"
Her knowledge was fragmented, born of terrified guesswork and adventurer's lore. The Ashen Gulf was a Tier 3 Dead Zone, a "Shattered Tomb." Its Dungeon Core was rumored to be unstable, warping the environment, birthing horrors like Stoneheart. Some whispered it wasn't just a core, but a seal on something older, something buried beneath the ruins. But specifics? The nature of anchors? Ember, the lore-keeper of their ragged group, was headless at Doom's feet.
"Core..." Ainar's voice whispered, strained but focused, cutting through the lingering bloodlust. "A nexus. A focus point. It makes sense, my blade. The heart of the prison's reflection... it could hold the key. Or be the key. Her terror speaks truth, even if she doesn't comprehend it."
Her spectral presence brushed against his consciousness, a deliberate pulse of heat, an encouragement to focus on the goal, on the living resources before him. "The dancer... the light-bearer... they know the path, if not the destination. Use them. Guide them. Their fear is a tool. Their flesh... a reminder of what you wield power over."
Doom stared down at Faith, then at Silk, his gaze lingering on their terror, their vulnerability. The Ossuary Blade hummed, sated for now, but the void within him echoed. The Dungeon Core. The heart of the tomb. The potential anchor. He scattered Ember's ashes with his foot and pointed the blade toward the ruins.
"Get up," he rasped at Silk and Faith. He pointed the dripping blade towards the dark maw of the ruins. "You lead. To this Core. Move."
He didn't need to elaborate on the consequences of delay or deceit. The headless body and Brick's withered arm were testament enough. The hunt continued, deeper into the Ashen Gulf, towards the heart of darkness, guided by terrified whispers and the promise of an answer, or oblivion. The fractured sigil pulsed steadily, a cold beacon in the gloom. The chain stretched taut into the void.