Floor 12 was a canyon of rusted iron and jagged gears. The air was thick with the smell of hot oil and the screeching of metal on metal. Clara walked with her Crystal Staff held tight, her knuckles white. She hadn't slept well, but she wore her "Happy-go-lucky" mask like a shield, chirping about the loot they would find to drown out the sound of her own heartbeat.
"Keep your eyes up, Clara," Seraphina cautioned, her claymore unsheathed. "The Behemoth is a territorial beast. It won't like us being here."
The Steel-Shelled Behemoth
They found the beast in a massive circular chamber where four corridors met. The Steel-Shelled Behemoth looked like a cross between a rhinoceros and a tank, its body covered in overlapping plates of dungeon-grown iron.
As it spotted them, it let out a roar that vibrated through the floor. It charged, its heavy hooves sparking against the metal ground.
"Clara! Water the joints!" Seraphina shouted, bracing her shield.
Clara leaped to a high gear-platform. "Hydro-Forge: High-Pressure Stream!" She channeled water from her Reservoir Belt, blasting the Behemoth's rear legs. The cold water hit the friction-heated joints, creating a flash-freeze effect that slowed the beast down.
Seraphina moved in, her claymore glowing with a silver aura. She struck the gaps in the armor, the sound of steel on steel ringing like a bell. The fight was a brutal dance of evasion and impact.
Clara dived from the platform, creating a Water Greatsword mid-air. She slammed the blade down onto the Behemoth's head, the weight of the water dazing the creature just long enough for Seraphina to lunge forward and drive her blade into its exposed underbelly.
With a final, metallic groan, the Behemoth collapsed.
The Shadow Appears
The two girls stood over the carcass, panting, their mana and stamina nearly spent.
"Good... work..." Seraphina exhaled, wiping sweat and oil from her brow. "Let's harvest the core and get out of here."
Clap. Clap. Clap.
A slow, rhythmic applause echoed from the shadows of the northern corridor. Clara froze. That sound... it wasn't the clack of a machine. It was the sound of leather gloves hitting each other.
A man stepped into the dim amber light. He was exactly as Clara remembered, but older, his presence more suffocating. The scarred eye, the red armband, and the mocking smirk that suggested he had been watching them the entire time.
Marek Packwood.
"Well, well," Marek drawled, his voice like sandpaper on silk. "The little mouse from the well grew up and found herself a shiny tin can to hide behind."
Clara’s staff clattered to the floor. Her breath came in short, jagged gasps. "You..."
"Clara, get behind me!" Seraphina roared, stepping in front of her partner and leveling her sword at Marek. "Marek Packwood, you're under arrest by the authority of the Oakhaven Guild!"
Marek laughed, a low, cruel sound. He pulled a gold coin from his pocket—the village coin—and began to flip it. Clink. Clink. Clink.
"Arrest? From an Iron-rank and a traumatized brat?" Marek’s hand burst into a soft, flickering orange flame. He didn't throw it. He just let it pulse in a strange, rhythmic heartbeat. "I think you’ve misunderstood the situation, Knight. You aren't here to catch me."
He stepped forward, the flame in his hand growing brighter, casting long, hypnotic shadows against the iron walls.
"You're here to serve me."
Clara stared at the flame, her lakeside-blue eyes wide and vacant. The "Happy-go-lucky" mask shattered completely, leaving only the terrified ten-year-old girl behind.
ns216.73.216.1da2
and then Add to home screen.