About twenty minutes had passed since the dust of battle finally settled. The ruined chamber had grown quieter, though the air remained thick and stuffy, heavy with the scent of cooled lava rock, ozone, and faint metallic tang from Bulk's launcher components. The few surviving lights cast long, uneven shadows across the devastated floor, turning the golem's colossal corpse into a jagged mountain range of black stone and dead emerald veins.
Rate stood attentively near the entrance that led to the next floor. He hadn't moved much, arms loosely crossed, eyes sharp and patient as he studied the dark archway ahead. The hovering orb beside him bobbed gently, bathing him in a clean sphere of light that made him look almost statuesque against the surrounding ruin.
A short distance away, Bulk lay sprawled casually across the floor, completely surrendered to rest. His head rested on the sturdy item box like a makeshift pillow, the heavy projectile launcher propped beside him within easy reach. Deep, rumbling snores rolled out of him, stress-laden and guttural echoing faintly off the broken walls. The man had earned the sleep; his prosthetic leg occasionally twitched with phantom tension even in unconsciousness.
Meanwhile, Quinn had turned the aftermath into his personal training ground. He had positioned a massive boulder easily weighing over two thousand pounds, across his broad back and was driving through push-ups with relentless focus. His arms flexed powerfully with each repetition, aura subtly reinforcing his muscles and joints so the crushing weight didn't simply snap his spine.
"Four hundred twenty-three… four hundred twenty-four… four hundred twenty-five… four hundred twenty-six… four hundred twenty-seven…"
Each number left his lips in a smooth, rhythmic cadence. Sweat carved clean trails down his dust-covered face and neck. The burn in his chest and shoulders felt good, grounding. It helped him process the fight, burn off the leftover adrenaline, and reclaim control after the chaos. His mind narrowed to the count, the pressure, and the steady rhythm of breath.
From somewhere toward the midpoint of the chamber, a dull hammering sound intruded. Low, repetitive, muffled. Quinn's brow furrowed slightly, but he kept going, refusing to let it break his focus.
"…Four hundred fifty-one… four hundred fifty-two… four hundred fifty-three… four hundred fifty-four…"
The noise returned, more insistent this time. He paused mid-push, muscles locked, and listened. The dull thudding repeated five times in quick succession, steady, almost mechanical. With a grunt, Quinn finally slid the enormous boulder off his back. It hit the ground with a heavy crunch. He rose to his full height, brushing dust and grit from his palms, rolling his shoulders to loosen them.
"What is that sound?" he muttered.
He took a few cautious steps, head tilted, tracing the direction. The noise had gone quiet again. He glanced sideways and spotted Bulk still fast asleep, sweat glistening on his brow even in rest. For a moment Quinn considered waking him so they could investigate together, but the man looked too worn out. He decided to let him sleep and moved on alone.
"This can't be the golem, right?" he whispered to himself. "The captain confirmed it was finished."
Quinn swept his gaze across the open space above the stupendous corpse that dominated the floor. The fallen titan lay like a fallen monument, ribs and shattered armor plates jutting upward like broken siege towers. The dull hammering returned, clearer now. It was definitely coming from beneath the golem.
He paused, doubt flickering through his mind, but pushed forward anyway. His steps were careful as he traced the sound to its source, standing at the left side of the golem's massive ribcage. The noise seemed to originate roughly six meters ahead, muffled by tons of inert volcanic stone.
It better not be some kind of explosion trap, he thought warily. Wait… I can take it. And we've got the captain here this time, so I shouldn't worry about that.
He crept closer, every sense alert. Another intrusive thought surfaced.
What if it's something planted at this stage of the dungeon? If I lift this section of the corpse and reveal it… it might spread and eat us from the inside?
Quinn stared at the rib section for a long moment. Then, abruptly, the hammering stopped.
I don't know what's more twisted, either this dungeon or my brain. He exhaled slowly. I had this sensation of peace ever since the golem's defeat. I don't know why or what brought this feeling, but I'm loving it. It seems like something doesn't feel right.
He glanced ahead toward Rate, who still stood vigil near the far entrance.
Everyone's here. The captain, Bulk, me. All counted and accounted for.
Quinn returned his attention to the ribcage. His curiosity and sense of responsibility won out.
I'll just quickly check what's causing the noise and get back to my exercises and my peace. It might even be something valuable we can take back.
Bracing himself, he gripped the edge of the massive rib section. With a surge of aura into his arms and back, he heaved upward. The thick slab of stone groaned and lifted, revealing a vertical gap beneath it.
What he saw made him freeze.
Camilla lay trapped vertically in the narrow space, her molten greaves still emitting faint wisps of smoke that curled upward through the opening. She looked dusty, slightly singed, but very much alive and clearly annoyed.
"What took you so long, numbskull!" Camilla snapped.
Quinn let out a long, weary sigh. "Great. You're still alive."
"Why are you saying it like that?" she demanded, glaring up at him. "Do you know how long I've been stuck here waiting for you to lift this up?"
"Why should I care?" Quinn shot back. "Shouldn't you have just broken through yourself?"
"Of course I can do that," she replied, flashing a bright smile despite her position. "But I wanted you to do it."
"Ah, the gods…" Quinn muttered, shaking his head. "I still can't believe you survived a golem fall. That's insa—" He paused, then finished under his breath, "I forgot you were a psychopath."
"Stop daydreaming and focus, metal head!" Camilla said, snapping her right fingers twice with sharp, authoritative clicks.
"Just come out of there already. You're starting to get on my nerves," Quinn growled, irritation rising.
Now I see, he thought bitterly. Her disappearance was the source of the relaxing sweetness I've been enjoying for the past minutes. Goodbye peace and quiet. Hello despair!
"I just thought of something fun we could do!" Camilla announced, her cheeky smile widening while she remained pinned vertically under the stone.
"Don't push it. I don't take things so lightly!" Quinn replied, his tone flat.
"Come on, you'll find it fun afterwards," she coaxed.
"At this moment, you want to play games?" Quinn asked, incredulous.
"Say you'll play. It's interesting. I'm sure everyone has dreamed of it. Say you'll play?" she pressed, adopting a soft, forcibly sweet tone.
"Nothing good ever comes from the game ideas that come out of your twisted skull," Quinn answered.
"COME ON! SAY YOU'LL PLAY!" she demanded.
"Alright, psycho!" Quinn relented with an exasperated sigh.
Camilla's face lit up. "Here's how it goes. You'll redo this scene, but in a chivalrous, poetic, and elegant silhouette. You'll lift up the rock and say 'My dear, I came to rescue you, my love!' Then you'll pull me out and carry me in a heroic manner." She clasped both hands together and rested them over her chest, beaming like a princess in a storybook.
Quinn stared at her in complete stoic silence for several long seconds, his expression unreadable. "Okay!"
Without another word, he released his grip. The massive rib section slammed back down with a heavy, resounding thud. A muffled, hollow scream echoed from beneath the stone as Camilla disappeared from view again. Quinn turned on his heel and began walking away toward Rate's position.
He had taken twelve steps forward when Rate, still far ahead near the entrance, turned his head sharply.
"Was that Camilla?"
"Y… Yes," Quinn stuttered, caught off guard.
"Pull her out!" Rate ordered, voice firm.
"Seriously, she's not necessarily needed," Quinn muttered under his breath. Reluctantly, he turned back and trudged toward the golem's ribcage once more. With another grunt of effort, he lifted the heavy slab again and reached inside.
"What the hell, man! That's not how you're supposed to do it. And what took you so long—" Camilla started, but her complaint was cut short as Quinn grabbed the top of her right greave, yanked her upward with brute force, and hauled her completely out of the gap. He dragged her clear onto the safe ground and let the rib section crash back down behind them.
Quinn immediately started walking off again in a grumpy silence.
"Least you could have carried me back, you numbskull!" Camilla called out, still seated on the bare floor behind him.
Quinn dropped back into his spot with a heavy exhale. The massive boulder waited exactly where he'd left it, a silent, immovable companion. He placed his right hand on its rough surface, fingers tracing the cold, jagged edges. For a moment the world narrowed to this single point of resistance. Just the clean burn he could control.
He stared deep into the stone, letting his aura coil quietly through his shoulders and back. The count was already reforming in his mind, four hundred fifty-eight, when a sharp metallic clink cut through the silence from behind.
Then another. And another.
The rhythmic clinking of buckles and greaves grew louder with every step. Quinn's jaw tightened. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
"Queeeen?" Camilla dragged the nickname out in that singsong, deliberately irritating tone she reserved only for him. "Oh, Queen?"
He kept his hand on the boulder, refusing to acknowledge her.
"Are you going to marry the rock after giving it those flirting eyes of yours?" she asked, voice dripping with cheeky delight.
Quinn finally glanced sideways. Camilla strolled closer, armor still dusty from her time under the golem, molten greaves leaving faint warm trails in the air. Her grin was pure trouble.
"I don't see how it concerns you," he replied flatly. "Why don't you go do something useful with yourself and stop bothering me?"
"I'm trying to be open, and for once be grateful, idiot!" She flashed a bright smile, folding her arms beneath her chest.
Quinn let out a low, humorless chuckle. "You must be speaking of the habits you adopted during clinical recovery, which ultimately overwhelmed your psychiatric provider."
"Yeah!" Camilla answered boldly, tilting her chin up as if he'd paid her a compliment.
"No." Quinn shook his head. "I refuse to have a sane conversation with you. It won't end well, and I'll probably go insane." The last part slipped out under his breath.
Camilla's expression shifted into an exaggerated frown. For half a second she actually looked disappointed. Then her eyes lit up like she'd just been handed a new weapon.
"Alright," she said, the frown vanishing instantly. "Let's spar then!"
"Hell no!"
"Don't be like that." She took five deliberate steps closer, boots clinking. "You were attending to your daily physical routine earlier. When I was absent."
"No. That's private business," Quinn growled.
"Come on…" She closed the distance until her arm brushed against his pauldron, looking up at him with a mischievous grin. "It'll just be a warm-up spar. Nothing serious."
Quinn shifted sideways and gently but firmly pushed her back with his left arm. "I would appreciate your discretion."
"Come on, Queen, don't be like that." She persisted, bouncing lightly on her toes. His annoyance was starting to show in the set of his shoulders and the deepening crease between his brows.
Camilla leaned in again, clearly enjoying every second of his irritation. "Just a quick one. I'll even let you throw the first punch this time."
Before Quinn could fire back, Rate's calm but commanding voice cut across the chamber.
"That's enough out of you two. We're moving on to the next floor. Wake up Bulk."
"Captain!" Camilla called out immediately, spinning toward him. "Queen declined to engage in a practice bout."
Rate didn't even turn around. He simply walked toward the dark archway leading to the next floor, his hovering orb bathing the passage in steady light. His silence was louder than any order.
Quinn exhaled through his nose and headed toward Bulk. The big man was still sprawled out, snoring like a broken engine. Quinn gave the sturdy item box under his head a firm kick. Bulk jolted awake with a startled grunt, sweat already beading on his forehead as his hand instinctively shot toward his launcher.
"Get up," Quinn said. "We're proceeding onward."
Bulk blinked a few times, rubbing his face. "Already…? Feels like I just closed my eyes." He stretched with a deep groan, joints popping, then hauled his heavy projectile launcher over one shoulder and slung the item box onto his back with a grumpy huff. "This dungeon doesn't believe in breaks, huh?"
Quinn offered no reply. He was already moving.
Camilla fell into step right behind him. "Queen, it will just be a light confrontation."
"No, Camilla."
"Is it because I always come out on top?" She spread her hands forward in a mock fighting stance, then relaxed them again. "I'll hold back this time. Promise."
"What?" Quinn's voice cracked slightly at the start. He cleared his throat. "I let you win, that's all."
"Nine in a row?" Camilla raised an eyebrow, clearly savoring the moment.
"Nine?" He stopped for a second, genuinely shocked. "That's not right. I'd say five. And I let you have those spars." He continued walking, confidence returning. "If I'd actually tried to win those five, you'd always be crying your eyes out."
Camilla stopped dead in her tracks, arms folding tightly across her chest. She gave him a long, skeptical stare. "My grandma could make better jokes than that!" She turned her head slightly to the left as Bulk trudged past. "Fake claims, right old man?"
"Not right now, Camilla," Bulk muttered, rubbing his forehead with his left hand. He kept walking behind Quinn into the entrance.
"You guys are no fun." Camilla planted her hands on her waist and sighed theatrically. "I'll go meet with the Captain then. I bet he'll have a better response, like always." She hurried ahead, entering the passage last.
The transition between floors felt heavier than usual.
As they stepped through the archway, the air changed. The lingering scent of cooled lava and ozone gave way to something colder stone, old incense, and the faint metallic sweetness of aged blood. The fifth floor opened up into a vast chamber, every bit as spacious as the previous one but far more oppressive in its architecture.
Four enormous pillars dominated the space, each carved with graven statues of different species, twisted humanoid figures, winged horrors, and snarling beasts frozen mid-roar. Two pillars stood near the far walls while the others rose closer to the entrance, creating a deliberate path down the center. Skulls and gargoyles leered from every cornice and ledge. There were no floodlights here. Instead, clusters of colored candles, deep crimson, violet, and midnight blue, hung from iron sconces along the walls and pillars. Mana-infused lamps added a colder, steadier glow, their light struggling against the heavy shadows.
At the far end of the chamber stood a grand Ciborium Pavilion, its drapery dyed in blood-wine and rich violet hues. The entire floor carried a dreadful, ecclesiastical silence, as if the stones themselves were holding their breath.
Bulk's voice came low and cautious. "What in the gods' name is this place?"
Rate scanned the features carefully, orb hovering steadily beside him. He said nothing, but his posture had shifted into full vigilance.
"This place gives me the creeps," Quinn muttered, rolling his shoulders. "I want to tear it all down."
Camilla, walking just ahead now, spun around with wide, sparkling eyes. "This is cool as hell, you guys!" Her voice echoed off the pillars, sounding far too cheerful for the setting.
Their footsteps rang unnaturally loud in the quiet. The group advanced slowly down the central path, eyes sweeping across the grotesque carvings and flickering candlelight. The air felt thicker here, almost reverent in its stillness.
Then, from the far end of the chamber, new footsteps echoed—slow, measured, deliberate.
A figure emerged from the deep shadows beneath the pavilion.
She was dressed in flowing violet, the fabric rich and theatrical. Oversized bell sleeves draped elegantly from her arms, while a corset-like bodice with a deep V-neckline framed her figure, accented by intricate lace appliqués. The A-line floor-length dress flowed into a dramatic train that whispered across the stone behind her, the lightweight fabric catching the colored candlelight like liquid shadow and wine. It was pure Victorian silhouette, both regal and slightly funereal.
Her silk-dark hair fell in soft, wavy curls past her shoulders, reaching mid-back to waist length. Her face was elegant, porcelain-light skin, and a knowing smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
She came to a stop beneath the grand pavilion, spreading her arms open in a graceful, welcoming gesture.
Agatha.
Rate's stoic expression fractured the instant he recognized her. His eyes widened, body locking up mid-step as genuine shock rippled across his face.
For several heartbeats, no one spoke. The colored candles flickered. The gargoyles watched in silent judgment.
Agatha's smile deepened, soft and dangerous, as she regarded the party with open arms.