The white hall was packed.
Hunters gathered in clusters—some in gleaming armor that only the rich could afford, others in ragged gear held together by desperation and duct tape. Thousands of them. Preparing for their various hunts. Heading for Mystical Eraland in waves.
Some planned to fight together.
Some planned to betray each other.
It was just another day.
A group of seven hunters stood near the eastern arch.
Their leader was a tall man with a scarred jaw and cold eyes. His name was Graven. He carried himself like someone who had killed more things than he could count—and remembered every one.
"We'll be going toward the Serpent's Dungeon," he said, scanning the faces before him. "It's dangerous. So I advise—if you're weak, back off now."
No one moved.
Graven's eyes lingered on each hunter. He usually hunted with three—his core crew, the ones he trusted. But dungeons were always dangerous. Always unpredictable. He needed bodies. Warm bodies with weapons and no fear of death.
His gaze stopped on Kael.
Kael stood with his hands straight down. His face was blank. His eyes were distant.
"You say you're quite experienced," Graven said.
"Yes, sir."
Kael's voice was dutiful. Respectful. The voice of a determined young warrior.
Graven stared at him for a moment longer. Then he moved on.
They asked the same questions to the other hunters. Same answers. Same blank faces.
Then they left.
Mystical Eraland
The world twisted.
It always did—that sickening lurch behind the navel, the split second where gravity forgot which way was down. Then the portal spat them out, and the forest rose around them like a wall of black teeth.
They walked for three hours.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
The terrain shifted from forest to grassland to rocky hills. The sky burned its usual purple and blue—pulsing like a dying heart, throwing strange shadows across the path.
Finally, they stopped.
Kael stared at the giant cave that led to the dungeon.
It was massive—a wound in the earth, dark and wet and hungry. The entrance was jagged, like something had torn through the rock with claws instead of tools. Mist drifted out from the darkness, cold and smelling of old rot.
Creepy, Kael thought.
Most of the hunters summoned their soul weapons. Blades materialized. Maces glowed. Axes hummed. Shields crackled with stored energy.
Kael was the youngest among them.
His bone hammer manifested in his grip—white as snow, carved with symbols that seemed to shift when you weren't looking directly at them. He held it low. Ready.
Graven raised his long red glowing blade. A red wolf beast padded beside him—its eyes burning like embers, its teeth gleaming like daggers.
"Move," Graven said.
They entered the dark cave.
The air was thick inside.
Damp. Cold. Wrong.
Water dripped from the ceiling—drip, drip, drip—echoing off walls that seemed too close and too far at the same time.
"This place sure is creepy," one hunter muttered.
"Yeah. Never been in a cave before," another replied.
Kael was silent.
"Awwwww."
Crucify's voice echoed in his skull. Soft. Cooing.
"Such cute creatures."
Kael stopped.
His eyes searched the darkness.
His bone hammer tightened in his grip.
One of the hunters turned around. His name was Vex. He was broad-shouldered, slow-moving, the kind of man who relied on muscle instead of instinct.
His eyes caught something on the ground.
Purple liquid. Flowing beneath a rock. Glowing faintly in the dark.
"What is that?"
He bent low. His fingers brushed against the liquid—warm, thick, pulsing.
"It's a slime," he muttered. His eyes followed the trail to a small hole in the cave wall. The liquid seemed to be flowing from it. "Hey. What's wrong? It's just a purple slime."
He turned to the others.
"There's nothing—"
"You're leg."
Kael's voice was flat.
Vex looked down.
A purple tentacle wrapped around his ankle.
"What the—"
It dragged him.
Fast. Violent. He didn't even have time to scream. His body slammed against the cave floor, bounced once, then disappeared into the hole. Purple smoke shot up from the opening, thick and acrid.
"Shit," Kael muttered.
The ground cracked.
Small holes appeared behind him—one, two, three, four—racing toward the group like a line of gunpowder catching fire.
Purple tentacles shot up.
Thick. Muscular. Glowing with that same wrong light.
Kael ran.
The tentacles swirled, slamming against the cave floor with enough force to crack stone. They crawled with unnatural speed—not slithering like snakes, but striding like spiders, each movement deliberate and hungry.
The hunters boosted forward.
Soul weapons flashed in the darkness.
One of them—a woman with a curved blade—dove into the air. She rotated, spinning like a top, her weapon slicing through a tentacle. Purple blood sprayed.
Thud.
Half the tentacle fell twitching to the ground.
She landed.
Another tentacle pierced through her chest before she could blink.
She didn't scream. Didn't have time. Her body went limp, lifted off the ground, then tossed aside like garbage.
Kael dove.
He hit the ground rolling, came up behind a rock formation, pressed his back against the cold stone.
A tentacle shot from his side—fast, silent, aimed at his skull.
He ran.
Stayed close to the wall. The tentacle slammed into the rock behind him—crack—sending shards of stone flying.
He kept running.
His hammer swung.
He dove into the air, rotating, his body twisting like a corkscrew. The bone hammer came down.
Boom!
The tentacle crushed beneath it—exploding into purple liquid that splattered across his face, his chest, his arms.
Hot. Thick. Wrong.
"It works," he muttered.
More tentacles shot from every direction.
They came from the walls. From the floor. From the ceiling above. A forest of purple limbs, all reaching for him, all hungry.
Kael turned.
His hammer swung.
Smash!
A tentacle burst.
He spun. Swung again.
Smash!
Another.
Smash! Smash! Smash!
Each strike was brutal. Efficient. The hammer crushed through muscle and sinew like a fist through wet paper. Purple liquid sprayed in arcs, painting the cave walls, dripping from the ceiling.
"The beast must be incredibly large," he thought.
Graven moved through the chaos like a blade through flesh.
His red glowing sword hummed as it cut—each swing precise, each strike fatal. Tentacles fell around him in pieces, twitching, dying.
He spun in the air—a full rotation, his blade extended—and sliced through three tentacles at once. They flew like grass cut by a scythe.
His red wolf beast dove beside him. Its claws grabbed the smooth body of a tentacle. Its iron teeth tore into the flesh. Purple blood poured down its muzzle, but it didn't stop. Didn't slow. Didn't care.
Other hunters fought their way forward—some surviving, some falling, some screaming.
The cave echoed with the sounds of battle.
Metal on flesh.
Bones cracking.
Men and women dying in the dark.
Kael stood in the eye of the storm.
Tentacles writhed around him, but none touched him. His hammer was raised. His breathing was steady. His eyes were calm.
"More," Crucify whispered.
Not a request.
A hunger.
Kael's grip tightened on the hammer.
The cave rumbled beneath his feet.
Something was coming.
Something larger.
End of Chapter Seventeen.