It started with a pulse.

  A low, guttural thrum that rolled through the obsidian floor like a breath from something buried far too deep, for far too long.

  We stood in the remains of the Elven King’s throne room—its once-regal architecture now groaning under invisible pressure. The king’s ashes were still falling, like dust refusing to settle, while the World Tree’s roots above began to shimmer an unnatural shade of red.

  And then the floor cracked.

  A single fracture, running through the polished bck stone beneath the throne. A split that widened with every second, hissing like it bled steam instead of dust.

  “Get back!” Sylvaria barked.

  But it was too te.

  The roots twisted, snapped inward like reverse vines, and the throne shattered—not from pressure, but from something pushing up through it.

  First came the horns. Jagged, obsidian bck, curved like a predator’s bdes. Then the shoulders, hunched, armored in natural shell, glowing with veins of spirit-light siphoned directly from the corrupted root system.

  And then eyes—six of them, vertical slits gleaming in the void.

  The thing climbed out, step by step, rising to its full height of nearly four meters. Humanoid, vaguely. But wrong. Like a statue carved by someone who had only heard rumors of what a body should be.

  It grinned with too many teeth and stretched.

  “Ahhh... finally.”

  Its voice was oily silk, smooth and toxic.

  “I was getting tired of sitting in that throne like a parasite. But you humans… you’ve made quite a mess on the lower floors. All that chaos. All that... fvor.”

  Sylvaria’s sword was already drawn, glowing gold with a runic sheen.

  “Identify yourself,” she demanded.

  The creature tilted its head, mock-thoughtful.

  “I don’t remember. It's been… centuries? Maybe more. Crawled up here from… somewhere. Deeper. Much deeper. Might’ve been Floor 47? Or 62? Who counts anymore?”

  It stepped forward. The entire room seemed to recoil.

  “You killed my meat puppet. My little wine barrel of spirit juice. So I suppose I should be mad. But… I’m not.”

  Its grin widened.

  “I’m hungry.”

  And then it lunged.

  The Battle for the TreeThe demon moved like shadow given flesh—twisting, blinking, warping space with Spirit Magic corrupted by darkness. Its attacks weren’t just force—they were reality bends, moments breaking physics.

  Sylvaria cshed with it first, bde-to-cw, light vs. void. Her sword screamed on contact, spirit magic fizzing in unstable conflict.

  “Squad 7! Engage!” she roared, already bleeding from a gncing blow.

  We didn’t need the order.

  Gram hurled a destabilizer potion that detonated in the air and warped gravity in a ten-meter radius. Veyna released all three summons—each taking up position like a choreographed ballet of teeth and cw.

  Cassandra activated her artifacts, firing energy bursts, deflecting tendrils of root-like appendages the demon shed at us like whips.

  Rielle and Eli blurred into motion, swords charged with aura now that their cores had awakened. Rielle dove for the legs, Eli for the side.

  But the demon adapted.

  Too fast.

  Too powerful.

  “It's siphoning the World Tree!” Cassandra shouted. “The entire root system—it’s alive!”

  Above us, the massive ceiling—once a calm tangle of nature—was now pulsating, bleeding light, and vomiting corrupted leaves like raining embers. The roots twisted downward to strike at us like serpents.

  One root smmed down where I’d just been, missing my skull by centimeters.

  I was breathing hard. Sweating. My mana was surging from within, raging to be used.

  This was it.

  There was no more holding back.

  No more hiding.

  I could die here. Again. And frankly, dying a virgin twice sounded like a cosmic joke.

  Not today.

  I clenched my wand. Ember screamed beside me, already superheated. Fmes licked her scaled wings.

  I let go.

  My mana snapped.

  There was no build-up. No gentle unlocking.

  Just—

  Crystallization Stage 1-C → Manifestation Stage 3-A

  The world exploded in color.

  My body felt like it had been plugged into the pnet. My veins burned. My mind expanded. Ember screamed in joy—and I realized I could hear her thoughts.

  Finally, you idiot.

  I didn’t ugh. I roared.

  Quadra-Casting: Initiate.

  I raised my wand. Left hand out.

  Fme Lance.

  Gcial Spear.

  Storm Surge.

  Stone Bind.

  All at once.

  Not sequentially. Not yered.

  Simultaneously.

  The spells snapped into being like weapons from a god’s armory.

  The demon paused—its attention locking onto me. For the first time, I saw confusion. Even a flicker of arm.

  I fired.

  The world lit up.

  Fmes exploded across its chest. Ice speared into its gut. Electricity crackled, slowing its limbs. Earth magic erupted beneath its feet, trapping it for a split second—

  Just enough.

  “EMBER!” I roared.

  She surged upward, wings wide, inhaling—and then exhaled fire.

  Not ordinary fire.

  This was World Fme—fed by my breakthrough, her bond to me, and the corrupted mana of the World Tree we now stood inside.

  The roots caught fire.

  The ceiling ignited.

  Above us, the Elven capital screamed.

  The Rescue and the RevetionFar below, the Student Council emerged from the dungeon tunnels with the Elven Princess, bruised but alive, dressed in ceremonial green silks. Her spirit aura was radiant—but her eyes went wide with horror.

  “What… what have you done?”

  Behind her, the Elf Elder who had made the deal stepped forward, then dropped to his knees.

  “No… it was already too te.”

  The alliance troops gathered outside the dungeon looked up—and saw a pilr of fire rising from the pace.

  Ash rained like snow.

  Roots thrashed in the air like serpents trying to escape the bze.

  Inside – The End BeginsThe demon wasn’t dead.

  Wounded, yes. Parts of it now smoked, burning.

  But its grin remained.

  “So… you really are interesting.”

  It flexed a cw, and for a moment—just a sliver—I saw the outline of something deeper inside it.

  Another shape.

  Another… presence.

  This thing wasn’t the final threat.

  It was the doorman.

  But for now, it was dying.

  And we?

  We had survived.

  I dropped to my knees, panting, Ember curled around me, licking fme over her wounds. Rielle grabbed me by the colr, pulling me up, eyes wide.

  “Don’t you dare pass out now!”

  I coughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m too high on magic and trauma.”

  Sylvaria stood nearby, sword down, watching the thing burn.

  “We’ll seal this floor,” she said finally. “The Elven Princess will take the throne. The King is dead.”

  And I looked at the fmes and knew—

  The King was just the start.