The cathedral walls groaned like an ancient beast as dust drifted from the ceiling. The ground still trembled from the explosion that had nearly shattered their formation. Bodies lay strewn across the broken pews — some groaning in pain, others silent forever.
Bright staggered upright, coughing dust from his lungs. His ears still rang. His Danger Sense pulsed like a frantic heartbeat inside his skull, warning him: Move. Now. Move.
Roegan stood first. His armor was caked in ichor, his skin already bruising. He looked furious—at the Shroud, at command, at himself. He drew in a breath through clenched teeth.
"Sound off!" he roared.
Voices answered shakily.
"Duncan—alive!"
"Link—still breathing!"
"Adam—here!"
Others chimed in, fewer than before. Too few.
Bright found Bessia leaning against a cracked pillar, clutching her arm. Her self-healing soul talent fizzled faintly under her skin — closing wounds slowly, painfully. But she was upright, eyes hard.
A quick count. From thirty-five, now barely over twenty remained.
Slaughtered. Played with.
Roegan cursed under his breath. "We regroup, we treat wounds, we—"
The world outside screamed.
Not a howl.
Not a roar.
A command.
A psychic bellow that rippled through the cathedral and clawed into their ears.
The Crawlers answered.
Claws scraped against stainglass. Something slammed the front entrance — metal hinges bending inward. The wall to the left of the altar buckled. A chant began to echo:
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Dozens. Maybe hundreds.
Link swallowed, eyes wide. "Uh… is anyone else hearing—"
"Positions!" Roegan barked. "Barricade every gap!"
Soldiers scrambled. Benches overturned. Sandbags reinforced. Spears jammed through broken windows. Fires lit across the pews.
Bright's Danger Sense flared again — sharper than before. He could feel shapes moving in the fog, their footsteps mapped in his head. His eyes snapped to the stained-glass mural.
"Left flank—now!"
Duncan reacted without hesitation — dragging two soldiers aside just as claws burst through, snagging air instead of flesh.
"Good call!" Duncan grunted.
Bright didn't answer.
He was staring at the fog outside the window — watching shadows twist and coil like tendrils.
The Crawlers weren't rushing in.
They were surrounding them.
A trap closing slowly.
Bessia shivered. "Why aren't they attacking? They always rush…"
"Because something is making them smarter," Adam murmured. His face was calm, but his knuckles were white around his pistol. "Something stronger."
Roegan turned to Bright. "Your talent—is it telling you anything useful?"
Bright hesitated. He had never spoken much of it before. Always cautious. Always quiet. But lives depended on it now.
"There's something out there," he whispered. "Not close… but it wants us afraid. It's watching through them."
Roegan nodded once — accepting without question. "Understood."
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The Crawlers pressed in — tapping claws against walls, dragging along the doors, circling like hyenas.
Silas Drey's group — those still alive — arrived at that moment, clambering in through the smashed windows. Bessia followed behind him, bloodied but sharp-eyed.
"You all look like you missed me," Silas said with a smile too thin to trust.
"We hold together," Roegan snapped. "Unless you'd rather die outside?"
Silas shrugged. "I'm not planning to die today."
A shatter.
A crack.
The main doors collapsed inwards, blown apart by sheer weight.
Night Crawlers poured through — dozens of them, skittering over pews and walls. The soldiers opened fire with rifles and crossbows. Duncan charged in with a snarl, Bone Guard hardening across his skin.
Roegan met them head-on — strength multiplied, each strike sending bodies flying like sacks of meat. Link danced between them, blade flashing.
Bright fought near Duncan, using a single sword. His sprained wrist screamed in protest, but his footwork saved him — he dodged attacks seconds before they happened, guided by that throbbing sixth sense.
But for every monster they killed, three more crawled in.
"We're getting swarmed!" someone shouted.
No — Bright realized — herded.
"Captain!" Bright yelled. "It's pushing us back on purpose!"
"What?" Roegan grunted, crushing a crawler skull.
"It wants us together — cornered!"
Roegan glanced toward the back of the cathedral — the collapsed hallway. They were being funneled toward a dead end.
"Fall back!" he commanded. "Retreat to the flank corridor — now!"
The formation shifted — controlled, disciplined. Bodies retrieved quickly, wounded carried, Duncan shielding the rear.
Silas stayed to fight a second longer — his illusions flickering, shadows bending around him as he slew a crawler silently.
Show-off, Bright thought bitterly.
But when Silas withdrew, so did Bessia — and she nodded once to Bright in a silent truce.
The Crawlers surged again — and this time, something bigger came with them.
A towering silhouette — dragging chains. Its jaws split vertically, glowing with the same crimson energy as before. Its mere presence warped the air.
A Projection.
The same elite intelligence as the creature they fought before — but fresher, more stable. More hungry.
Bright froze in primal horror.
Danger Sense screamed — Too strong!
Run!
Roegan stood between it and the soldiers.
His voice roared like thunder:
"GO! Move your asses!"
The Projection lunged, shattering the marble with a single step. Roegan intercepted — a fist like a comet cracking against the beast's skull. The shockwave rattled teeth.
It wasn't enough.
The monster recovered instantly — grabbing Roegan and hurling him through a column. The Captain vanished in a cloud of dust.
"Captain!" Duncan cried.
The Projection swept its claws again — cleaving three soldiers at once. Bodies broke like twigs.
The cathedral was collapsing — roof caving inward.
Bright grabbed Duncan's arm. "We need to go!"
Link yelled from the corridor. "Bright! Come on!"
Duncan hesitated — torn between loyalty and survival — then followed. Adam covered the retreat, firing precise shots that made the Projection snarl in irritation.
Adam's voice stayed cold and steady:
"Pull back. Pull back. Don't waste bullets on the thick-skinned one."
They ran through the narrow passage as the ceiling fell behind them. Silas's group merged with theirs, sprinting for the exit.
Dust. Screams. Choking heat.
They burst into the icy fog outside — stumbling into a street of cracked stone.
Behind them, the cathedral collapsed in full, sealing the Projection beneath — temporarily.
Everyone gasped for breath. Some vomited. Others cried. No one spoke.
Bright looked at the ruins.
"That wasn't an attack," he whispered. "That was a message."
Silas wiped blood from his cheek. "A very loud one."
Adam stared hungrily at the remains — at the bodies buried under rubble, unseen by others.
More meat.
He swallowed the thought. Pragmatism wasn't a sin. Survival wasn't shameful.
His voice remained steady as he spoke: "We need a new shelter."
Roegan stumbled forward, limping — alive but badly injured. He spat blood and glared at his men.
"Nobody breaks. Nobody splits. We move… together."
Bright's Danger Sense pulsed once more — but softer now. Order returning. Fear settling.
He looked into the fog… and felt eyes looking back.
Somewhere deeper in the Shroud, the real Dungeon Boss smiled.
They would run.
They would struggle.
They would bleed
And when hope flickered brightest—
It would devour them whole.