The moment their boots hit the stone of the fourth floor, the air vanished, replaced by a thick, suffocating fog. Visibility dropped to absolute zero. The unseen pressure began to gnaw at the edges of the top-tier party's sanity. Paranoia, a feeling long forgotten by S-Class Awakeners, started to seep into their bones.

  "Sarah, Mythy, clear our line of sight. Now," Mosin ordered, his voice cutting through the damp haze. "Meijin, secure a safe radius. Michael, Uncle, shields up. Brace for impact!"

  But before a single incantation could be completed, fifty to sixty dark silhouettes materialized from the mist. A massive pack of High Lone Wolves had already closed the perimeter, trapping them in a flawless encirclement.

  SHUK!

  A wolf’s severed head hit the floor, dark blood erupting from its neck before its body even realized it was dead. Meijinflicked his daggers, shouting over the growls, "Mosin! Orders!"

  "Combat formation! Break the line!" Mosin barked.

  The monster wave crashed into them. The S-Class vanguard took the brunt of the assault, but this dungeon was learning. Using the chaos and the dark fog to their advantage, a splinter group of wolves bypassed the frontline entirely, lunging for the weakest physical link—Sarah.

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  Mana-infused fangs opened wide, inches from the Support's throat. Sarah’s eyes went wide. Her instincts screamed, but her body couldn't react in time.

  BANG!

  The wolves' heads vaporized into red mist in the blink of an eye. Mythy stood there, a wisp of smoke rising from his pointed finger.

  "Stay close to me," the thirteen-year-old boy said, his voice terrifyingly calm.

  Before the party could regroup, heavy, thudding footsteps shook the floor. Hordes of High Orcs and High Goblins surged from every direction, joining the fray.

  "Are you kidding me?!" Uncle and Michael grunted through clenched teeth, their arms trembling slightly as they absorbed the crushing blows of giant iron clubs.

  The encirclement was tightening. The situation was spiraling out of control until the young mage's voice tore through the chaos.

  "Everyone, get down!"

  No one hesitated. The second the vanguard dropped to their knees, Mythy unleashed his mana.

  "Chains of Purification!"

  Pure S-Class mana erupted from the boy, transforming into hundreds of blinding, radiant chains. They pierced through every single monster in the vicinity. In exactly one second... the deafening roars ceased.

  Only the heavy stench of gore and the clatter of hundreds of mana stones hitting the floor remained.

  "Finally, it's over," Mythy sighed, casually dusting off his shirt.

  The adults slowly stood up. Michael gave the boy a heavy pat on the shoulder. "Good job, kid."

  The tension momentarily lifted from the group. Only Mosin remained completely still. His cold eyes stared at the carnage, refusing to join the lighthearted banter. Without a single word, the party leader turned and walked toward the entrance of the fifth floor, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence in his wake.

  High Lone Wolf or visualizing the S-Class party, drop a comment or hit me up in the DMs. Let’s build this dark fantasy IP together.