The higher they climbed, the heavier the air became.
At first, it was subtle—just a faint pressure, like the feeling before a storm. But with every step deeper into the upper levels of the castle, it grew thicker, darker… almost suffocating.
Even the torches lining the walls seemed weaker here. Their flames flickered unevenly, as if struggling to stay alive.
Benson walked at the front, his hand resting firmly on the hilt of his sword. His posture was steady, but his eyes never stopped moving—watching every corner, every shadow.
Behind him, John followed closely, silent as ever.
Lily, Kane, and Christina stayed toward the middle, while Michael trailed just slightly behind them all.
Or rather—
The puppet did.
Because even now, Lily couldn't fully convince herself that what they were traveling with was truly "Michael."
Another turn.
Another corridor.
And then—
Movement.
A group of dark elves emerged from the shadows ahead, their pale eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
"Contact," Benson muttered.
The elves didn't hesitate.
They lunged forward.
The clash was immediate.
Steel met steel with a sharp, ringing cry. John stepped forward, blocking the first strike before countering with a precise slash that forced his opponent back.
Benson charged straight into the center, his blade cutting through the air with raw strength. One elf tried to block—
Too slow.
The impact sent them crashing into the wall.
Lily raised her hand, mana gathering at her fingertips.
"Fireball."
A burst of flame shot forward, slamming into one of the elves and forcing the rest to scatter.
Kane followed up, his movements swift and controlled, striking at openings the others created.
Within moments—
It was over.
The hallway fell silent again.
Only the faint crackle of fading flames and the sound of something dripping onto the stone floor remained.
Lily exhaled slowly, lowering her hand.
"We're getting close," she said.
No one disagreed.
The resistance was growing stronger.
More organized.
More desperate.
Then—
As always—
Michael moved.
The puppet stepped past them without a word and knelt beside one of the fallen elves.
Lily watched.
She had been watching every time now.
Michael raised a hand.
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Then—
A faint, dim light began to seep out of the corpse.
It wasn't bright. It wasn't even obvious unless you were looking for it.
Thin strands of violet energy drifted upward, like smoke, curling and twisting as they gathered into Michael's hand.
Then—
They disappeared.
Absorbed.
"…You're doing it again," Kane said, his voice low.
Michael didn't look up.
"Of course I am," he replied casually. "It would be wasteful not to."
Benson frowned. "You said it's absorbing mana."
"That's exactly what it is."
Michael stood up, dusting off the puppet's sleeve as if nothing had happened.
"Think of it as… recycling."
No one laughed.
They continued forward.
But this time—
The silence felt heavier.
Lily glanced at Michael.
Or rather, the puppet.
Something about it unsettled her.
Not just the mana absorption.
Not just the way he spoke.
The way he always seemed… all knowing
Telepathy, she thought.
He had said he was connected to their minds.
Not fully reading them.
Just sensing intentions.
But still—
That meant he was always there.
Watching.
Listening.
Feeling.
Without realizing it, Lily tightened her grip on her staff.
More enemies came.
And more fell.
The higher they climbed, the stronger the dark elves became. Their spells were sharper, their coordination tighter.
But still—
They weren't enough.
Not against this group.
Not against Benson's strength.
Not against John's precision.
Not against Lily's growing control over her magic.
And certainly—
Not against whatever Michael was becoming.
Finally—
They reached it.
A massive door stood before them.
It towered over them, easily three times Benson's height, its surface carved with intricate, twisted patterns.
Faces.
Dozens of them.
Stretched, distorted, frozen in expressions of agony.
The longer Lily looked at it, the more it felt like they were watching her back.
"…This is it," Benson said quietly.
No one spoke.
They didn't need to.
Everyone could feel it.
Beyond this door—
Was the end.
Benson stepped forward.
Placing both hands against the cold surface, he turned slightly.
"Are you ready?"
John nodded.
Kane gave a short, firm "Yeah."
Christina hesitated for just a second before nodding as well.
Lily swallowed.
Then nodded.
Benson took a breath.
Then—
He pushed.
At first, the door didn't move.
Then—
With a deep, echoing groan—
It began to open.
Darkness greeted them first.
Then—
Light.
The doors fully parted.
And what lay beyond—
Was not what any of them expected.
A grand hall stretched before them.
Vast.
Silent.
Oppressive.
Tall pillars lined the sides, disappearing into shadows above. Dim, purple flames burned in braziers along the walls, casting an eerie glow across the room.
And there—
Standing in perfect formation along both sides—
Were dark elves.
Dozens of them.
Each one stood still, their weapons already in hand, their eyes fixed forward.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Just waiting.
Lily felt a chill run down her spine.
"This isn't right…" she whispered.
At the far end of the hall—
A long staircase rose upward.
And at the top—
Sat a throne.
And on that throne—
Was him.
The Dark Elf King.
Even from a distance, his presence was overwhelming.
He wasn't just sitting.
He was commanding the space itself.
His figure was tall and unnaturally slender, his limbs long in a way that felt almost unnatural. His skin was a deep shade of gray, almost blending into the shadows around him.
But it was his clothing—
That made him stand out.
He wore layered robes of black and deep violet, the fabric shifting constantly, as if it were made of living shadow. Patterns moved across it—subtle, writhing shapes that never stayed still long enough to fully understand.
Around his shoulders, the shadows thickened, forming something like a cloak—
But it wasn't fabric.
It moved on its own.
And then—
There was the crown.
It did not rest on his head like a normal crown.
It floated.
A ring of pure darkness hovered just above his hair, twisting and curling into jagged, ever-changing shapes. Occasionally, thin tendrils would drift downward, dissolving before they could touch him.
It wasn't an object.
It was a manifestation.
Of power.
His face—
Was wrong.
At first glance, it appeared calm.
Elegant, even.
Sharp features, high cheekbones, long silver-white hair cascading down his back.
But his eyes—
They were not normal.
They were completely black.
No whites.
No pupils.
Just endless darkness.
And within that darkness—
Something moved.
Lily froze.
For a brief moment—
She felt like something was staring back at her.
Not just looking.
But seeing.
Then—
The king moved.
His head tilted slightly.
And he let out a sharp, piercing shriek.
The sound tore through the hall.
High-pitched.
Inhuman.
Filled with something between rage and… amusement.
Everyone tensed.
Weapons lifted.
Mana surged.
Then—
Michael spoke.
"You intruders… how dare you covet my treasure!"
Benson's head snapped toward him.
"What?!"
Michael raised both hands quickly.
"No, no—that wasn't me! That's what he said! I'm translating!"
Another shriek echoed.
Longer this time.
Sharper.
Michael didn't hesitate.
"Filthy humans. Leave now… or I will eradicate you."
Benson narrowed his eyes.
"…You sure about that?"
"Very sure," Michael said quickly. "Extremely sure."
Kane frowned.
"How do you even understand it?"
For a moment—
Michael paused.
Then—
The puppet's expression shifted.
A grin spread across its face.
"Well," he said, almost proudly, "that's simple."
"The telepathy I used on you all—it connects me to your minds. Not directly, of course. I don't hear your thoughts word for word."
"Just… intentions."
"What you mean to say."
He gestured toward the hall.
"I can interpret others too."
Silence.
Lily's eyes widened slightly.
"That's… amazing," she said without thinking.
But the others—
Didn't react the same way.
Benson's grip on his sword tightened.
Kane took a subtle step back.
Even John's expression hardened slightly.
Christina looked uneasy.
Because they all realized the same thing.
He was listening.
Not just now.
But this entire time.
Another shriek.
This one—
Short.
Sharp.
Commanding.
And suddenly—
The entire hall moved.
In perfect unison—
Every dark elf raised their weapon.
Blades pointed forward.
Bows drawn.
Magic gathering.
A silent army.
Waiting for a signal.
Benson didn't look away from the throne.
"So…" he said slowly.
"What did it say this time?"
Michael didn't turn.
His voice came out calm.
Cold.
"So…"
"You've chosen death."
At the far end of the hall—
The Dark Elf King rose from his throne.
The shadows around him surged.
He smiled.
Not like a person.
Not like anything human.