His mana senses pulsed out instinctively, reading the flow of magical energy around him. The illusion was impressive, masterfully woven, and flawless to ordinary perception. But Jack had evolved. His senses had grown keener. He could feel the truth humming beneath the surface. He wasn’t standing in a grand arena anymore. He was confined—trapped in a small space.
An eight-by-eight room more cell than chamber.
He hadn't even felt the transition. That unsettled him more than he liked to admit.
He could try to break free—the urge to tear down the walls and find his companions burned hot in his chest. But there was no need. He reached outward with his spirit and found them—alive, whole, and not in immediate danger. That was enough for now.
Instead, Jack did what few others in his position would consider: he sat down.
Dropping into the lotus position, he inhaled slowly and closed his eyes. His breathing steadied. His heartbeat slowed. Pain still throbbed in his ribs and joints, evidence of the brutal battle he’d survived. In the real world, he would be hospitalized—or worse. But here, he felt his body healing itself. Slowly. Relentlessly. Bones knitting. Muscle stitching. Vital essence being restored.
Jack chuckled dryly. "Guess being a magical badass has its perks."
He sank deeper into the trance, and soon, his consciousness slipped free.
His spirit drifted into his inner world, his mana realm. A dark, vast cavern stretched endlessly in every direction, still and quiet, like a primordial void awaiting creation. In the distance, like a distant star, pulsed the faint glow of his mana tree.
He smiled. The distance was meaningless. In this place, thought dictated proximity. He could reach it instantly if he wished.
Instead, he turned to his right and conjured an illusionary representation of the room he was sitting in—an open model with two missing walls, giving him visual access to his physical self. His meditating form was there, steady and silent.
It was a trick, but an effective one. It was a monitor of sorts. He would keep an eye on his body while he delved deeper into his spirit.
With another thought, Jack summoned his journal. It appeared instantly in his hand—cool, leatherbound, humming faintly with energy.
He tilted his head. “Huh. I never even considered accessing my journal here.”
Curious, he flipped through the pages.
Confusion quickly turned to concern.
These entries… they were different. There were discrepancies—skill descriptions rewritten, stats altered, and entire abilities added. The more he flipped, the more the truth sank in.
This wasn’t a copy.
This was the original.
The real journal.
Everything else he’d used until now? A heavily redacted facsimile. Someone—or something—had been limiting his access to his true potential.
He flipped back to the beginning. Pages glowed softly, the writing alive with flowing mana. He read every line with renewed clarity, recognizing abilities and levels he had never seen before.
"Well, shit," Jack muttered. "My level is actually way—"
Suddenly, his mana tree flared.
The dim blue spark he’d seen in the distance appeared instantly before him, towering into the darkness. The sheer scale of it took his breath away. The trunk was as wide as an apartment complex, its radiant branches threading out into the void.
But something was wrong.
Dark tendrils, oily and dense, pulsed like veins through the roots. They spread upward from a fist-sized crystal embedded deep within the bark—its surface black as ink and jagged like obsidian.
Jack approached slowly.
“The dark mana crystal,” he murmured, recognizing the corrupted jewel.
Up close, he saw the battle within. The tree fought the corruption, diluting the black mana with pure essence—transforming it into a deep, glowing azure that radiated outward. The struggle was delicate, but fierce.
He summoned the journal again and turned to the crystal’s page. This time, the text was readable in its entirety.
He read the truth—the unfiltered truth. What the crystal was. What it had done. The irreversible bond. And then something else.
Something terrifying.
The journal spoke of betrayal.
Someone close to him would turn against him.
Jack’s eyes hardened. He slammed the journal shut and reached for the crystal, intent on yanking it free.
The moment his fingers touched its surface, a blast of dark mana surged through him like a current. His spirit realm shook. His vision blurred.
And then—
He woke.
Jack’s eyes flew open as the illusion of the arena shimmered once again into place around him.
He gasped, blinking away the lingering energy. The revelation, the betrayal, the crystal—all of it—
Gone.
Faded like a dream.
He glanced around, dazed, his heart pounding.
"This… uh," Jack muttered, rubbing his forehead, “something about the journal?”
But the memory was gone.
Whatever clarity he’d found had been ripped from him like a dream at dawn, and all that remained was a feeling—sharp and uncertain.
Something was coming.
And Jack would need to be ready.
Petros and Raven stood back-to-back in the center of the arena, their breath ragged, weapons raised, and dripping with sweat and blood. The coliseum around them shimmered with distorted light, the walls echoing the distant rumble of the expectant crowd.
Two massive shapes darted just outside their peripheral vision—lightning-quick, darting in and out of view. Their scaled bodies shimmered with a faint sheen of arcane energy, their wings ragged but deadly, and their claws capable of tearing through steel.
Saul bounded between them, snarling and snapping, his silver coat streaked with blood. But despite the wolf's ferocity, the creatures ignored him, intent only on the two humans in the center.
"Damn, these giant chickens!" Petros shouted, blocking a slashing talon with his spectral scimitars. His Warden’s Embrace shimmered with each hit, faltering with every blow.
“They’re not chickens!” Raven growled in frustration, deflecting a whip-like tail with her sword. “They’re cockatrices! Look at the—”
The shimmering wards surrounding them vanished.
Petros felt it first—his last defensive barrier cracking and shattering like glass. A heartbeat later, Raven’s totem of healing flickered and fizzled out. The comforting glow faded from her skin.
“By the gods,” Raven hissed, diving into a roll as a cockatrice lunged, narrowly avoiding its dagger-like beak.
Petros grunted as his arms buckled under the weight of a talon strike. If not for Raven’s strength totem still lingering in his limbs, he would have been torn apart.
Raven staggered upright, pain burning in her side. Her hand brushed against her satchel—and vibrated.
She turned, saw the beast charging, and grinned.
Mana surged.
In a blink, her body twisted and morphed, flesh becoming fur and muscle. She towered over the creature, a massive bear, and caught the charging cockatrice by the throat mid-leap. The form’s cooldown was completed in time.
With a roar that rivaled Saul’s own, she slammed the beast into the ground once, twice, three times until the bloodied ruin of its skull finally gave way with a sickening crunch.
Chest heaving, she turned.
The second cockatrice had pinned Petros. The teen was sprawled on the ground, barely fending off the snapping beak. He screamed, his legs kicking as he tried to gain leverage.
Raven roared again, louder, deeper, more primal.
The beast looked up, distracted—and enraged.
It lunged faster than its companion. It slammed into Raven full force, and this time, she went down. She growled, rolling with the impact, doing everything she could to keep the beak away from her face. But the talons slashed mercilessly into her thighs and flanks, leaving trails of crimson.
She bellowed in pain, trying to rise.
Suddenly, the cockatrice shrieked.
Raven looked up in time to see Petros—bloodied, breathless—on its back, both scimitars buried in its neck.
“So… not a chicken,” he gasped. “This is a giant co—”
The beast let out a horrific screech, interrupted by a brutal cross-slash as Petros yanked the blades in opposite directions.
Its head toppled to the side. The body convulsed, then bolted across the arena like a beheaded marionette.
Raven, now back in human form, watched in stunned silence as the headless cockatrice flailed, spraying ichor across the sand.
“Like a chicken without—”
“Enough!” Raven snapped, mock-furious.
They collapsed beside each other, laughter breaking through the adrenaline.
The crowd exploded in cheers.
The celebration was short-lived.
A pulse of darkness swept over them like a crashing wave. When it receded, only Petros and Raven remained. The creature's bodies are gone, and Saul is nowhere to be seen.
The noise died.
The cheering crowd stilled into a deathly hush. Petros looked up and scanned the faces—thousands of eyes watched silently, intensely.
He helped Raven to her feet as she shifted entirely back, both confused. Petros’s Life Surge refilled their health bars, and their wounds vanished, but the pressure in the air thickened like a gathering storm.
Then came the vibration.
Their journals buzzed. And the sky above burned with flaming words:
1v1
The two stared at it in silence.
Without a word, Petros summoned his scimitars.
Her face tightened, and Raven dropped two totems—Strength and Healing—before her form shimmered again, wings spreading as she shifted into a hawk.
“One monster,” Petros said quietly. “It’s going to be huge.”
They stood back-to-back once more.
But no monster came.
Seconds passed. Then more. The air was still.
“Uh… Petros?” Raven said softly.
He turned.
She was standing across from him, back in human form. Her sword was lowered. Her eyes were brimming with tears.
“Gods—Raven?” he stammered, looking around frantically. “What happened?”
She shook her head. “One versus one,” she said, motioning toward the burning sky.
Then it hit him.
It wasn’t one monster.
It was one survivor.
The crowd erupted in cheers again, this time louder than ever. The sound shook the ground and reverberated in Petros’s bones.
“I—” he tried to speak.
“I YIELD!” Raven shouted, her voice cracking with emotion.
A storm of shadow swallowed her.
She vanished.
“No…” Petros whispered. “No, I…”
He dropped to his knees.
“I yield,” he whispered hopelessly, knowing it was too late.
Boos rained down from every direction. The crowd roared its disapproval. The cheers had turned to scorn.
He didn’t hear it.
He knelt alone in the sand, shoulders trembling, tears falling freely.
Then the mist came for him, and he was gone.
Jack paced his confined space, attempting to remember what he had learned from his meditative state. It clung to him like a half-remembered dream. He knew he wasn't in the arena. His mana senses had evolved beyond these tricks—they told him the truth: he was in a small, stone-walled cell no more than eight feet across.
"Something about the journal," Jack muttered to himself, summoning it again with a flick of his fingers. The tome materialized in his hands, its familiar weight grounding him. He flipped through the pages, hoping something would spark a memory from his recent meditation.
The page on the Dark Mana crystal caught his attention again. The runes still shimmered in Shadow Tongue—illegible but insistent. He remembered Petros's rough translation, something about being bound to the Demon God, about unlocking power at a cost. But there was more. Something his spirit had recognized but his waking mind couldn’t hold onto.
He froze.
A whisper of mana, something familiar, brushed against his awareness. Extending his senses, Jack found it—not a spell, not a message. A connection.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Do you want to accept a voice chat from Petros Levine?
Yes / No
Jack smiled. “Clever kid.” He circled Yes with the tip of his finger inside the journal.
Petros: Jack?
Jack: Kid, is that you?
Petros: Holy shit, I can’t believe this worked!
Jack: Language. [he said with a touch of humor]
Petros: Whatever. Listen—we need to talk. Raven and I... we were forced into a one-on-one fight. She yielded.
Jack: Whoa, slow down. Breathe.
Petros: [takes a breath] We finished a couple of rounds of 2v2 combat. Then came the 1v1. I swear, I tried to yield first. But Raven—she beat me to it. They took her, Jack like the alpha goblin in the earlier battle. I—I can’t sense her anymore.
Jack: [closed his eyes] She’s okay, kid. Everyone is—for now. She’s alive, unhurt... just pissed. And scared. But mostly pissed.
Petros: [a short laugh of relief] That sounds like her. Look, I think I’m trapped in a small room too. They're trying to convince me I’m still in the arena, but I can sense past the illusion.
Jack: Same here. I think I could break out, but I don’t know what that would mean for the rest of you. So I’ve been using the time to recover. I meditated—went into my spirit realm. I learned something, but it’s like... it’s gone. Blocked.
Petros: That’s right! I learned something too—about the Source and how magic works here. It’s—
The connection was severed.
Shadow mist coalesced around Jack. When it cleared, he stood alone in the real arena this time. The crowd was back, a low hum of anticipation rippling through the air.
Jack sighed. “Damn it.” He tried to reach Petros again, but the connection was blocked. He can still sense the kid but cannot reach out to him again as he did in his cell.
He squared his shoulders. “Still... big leap forward.”
He wasn’t going to let this rattle him. If someone wanted to keep him in the dark, that meant he was getting close. That meant the truth was dangerous.
Above him, letters of flame erupted in the sky:
1v1
Shadow mist thickened twenty feet in front of him. Jack braced himself. If they make me fight Petros...
But when the mist cleared, it wasn’t Petros.
A tall figure stood cloaked in shadows so absolute they devoured the light around them. A hood obscured the figure’s face, though twin pinpricks of starlight glowed where its eyes should be. Its hands, long and gaunt, stretched from the sleeves of its cloak—six fingers on each, the extra digit sprouting opposite the pinky like a second thumb. Black mist curled around it like smoke that never dissipated.
“Jack Hart,” the creature rasped.
Jack didn’t waste time. He conjured Chain Lightning—or tried to. The shadows around the figure surged forward, lashing around his arms and yanking them backward at a painful angle. Another tendril wrapped around his legs, hoisting him off the ground.
Pain tore through his limbs.
The creature floated forward, reducing the distance between them.
“Jack Hart,” it said again, voice a whisper full of broken glass. “Give me what I want, and this will be painless.”
Jack bared his teeth in a grin. “The only thing I’m giving you is a good kick in your overgrown bathrobe.”
The thing made a small gesture.
A spear of dark mana impaled Jack’s shoulder. He screamed as the shadowy bolt passed through his spirit, not flesh. His HP dropped sharply.
“Give me the key,” it hissed.
“The... monkey statue?” Jack winced, panting.
“Yes.”
Jack willed his journal to identify the creature. A flicker of text appeared in his mind’s eye:
??? Level: ???
Another bolt—this one to his opposite shoulder.
Jack bit down on his cry. He could feel his health bar flickering low.
“—No,” he choked out.
A dozen tiny spears of shadow struck his arms, legs, and feet. His whole body felt like it was on fire.
Pain Resistance increased to Level 2
Jack blinked. Wait... what happened to Level 1?
No time. “Why not just kill me and take it?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Because this,” the figure said with a rasping laugh, “is more fun.”
A final bolt struck his neck. Jack’s eyes widened as agony flared, a white-hot spike through his soul.
“You can’t take it from me,” he whispered as darkness closed in.
“True,” the creature said calmly. “But I can hurt it out of you.”
Jack passed out.
Jack came to with a cry stifled by pain, his eyes blinking rapidly as the world came back into focus. The nightmare stood before him once again—its long blade twisted cruelly into his shoulder.
"Oh goody, you're awake," the creature rasped, its voice like gravel dragged across glass. The sound of amusement in its tone made Jack's skin crawl. "Where is my key?"
Jack winced but mustered a smirk. “Really? ‘Hurt it out of you’? That’s the best you’ve got?”
The figure responded not with words but with action. It stabbed Jack again. And again. And again. Each strike was cold, precise, and unrelenting.
Pain Resistance increased to Level 3
Pain Resistance increased to Level 4
Jack gritted his teeth and smiled through the pain, his breaths ragged. His jaw ached from clenching, but still, he held the defiance in his eyes.
“I expected more creativity from a cosmic horror,” he muttered, unable to stop the quip from slipping past bloody lips.
“Oh Jack,” the creature purred, the sound utterly wrong, “do you think this is all I have?”
The entity drifted backward, shadow swirling at its feet. It gestured with one long-fingered hand, and suddenly, the arena shimmered and twisted. Between them, an illusion formed—a corridor lined with familiar doors. Jack’s stomach dropped.
The gauntlet.
He knew this place. He had walked its halls with Petros and Saul during the first trial of the dungeon.
But this time… this time there were two figures walking its dim corridors.
Jack's breath caught in his throat. Though the illusion obscured their faces, he recognized the gait, the posture, the presence of the woman leading the way.
“Asil!” he shouted, even knowing she couldn’t hear him.
“Yes, Jack Hart,” the creature hissed. “Your wife.”
“No,” Jack whispered. “This isn’t real.”
“Oh, it’s very real,” the creature said, snapping its fingers and dispersing the image in smoke. “She’s walking into a trap. My servant will lead her to me. And when I capture her… well, I can make her life very comfortable as a slave. Or I can hand her over to my lieutenants. Let them… enjoy their reward.”
Jack’s fists clenched in fury, every muscle in his body trembling with rage.
“Please,” he said, voice cracking. “No. Not her. Don’t touch her. Please, not Asil.”
“Then give me the key!”
Silence.
Jack stared into the glowing pinpricks that passed for the creature’s eyes. His shoulders sagged—then began to shake.
He laughed.
At first it was low, breathless, like he had finally snapped. Then it grew louder. Stronger. Defiant.
“What’s so funny?” the creature demanded.
“You actually think you can handle her,” Jack wheezed, laughing harder now. “You’re deluded.”
The creature cocked its head, confused.
“My wife,” Jack said, fire flaring behind his eyes, “will destroy you. She will gut your forces. And when she finds you—and she will—she’ll end you. Not for me. Not even for the world. But for what you just suggested.”
Before the creature could respond, Jack’s staff materialized in the air between them, spinning violently. Its runes glowed wildly—red, blue, and white. Sparks flew as Electric, Air, and Spirit flared at once. The weapon whirled faster and faster, the runes flashing in a dizzying pattern like a furious storm about to break.
Then it stopped mid-air.
It slammed into the ground like a divine strike, and the runes fired.
Three elemental blasts shot forward, a triad of wrath and arcane power, all aimed at the heart of the creature.
But before the strike landed, the mist erupted around the shadowed figure. It was gone in an instant, the bonds around Jack vanishing with it.
Jack fell, landing in a crouch, every fiber of his body aching.
1v1 ended in a draw.
The words hovered in the air.
“No!” Jack roared. “Gods dammit—I had him!”
The crowd murmured in shock and frustration, a thousand voices trying to understand what they had seen.
Jack didn’t hear them. He was already rising to his feet, fists trembling with fury.
“You better run,” he muttered, staring at the space where the creature had stood. “Because next time... there won’t be a draw.”
The mist coalesced once more, and Jack braced himself. His muscles tensed, lightning already crackling in one palm and his staff manifesting in the other. After everything—the pain, the shadowy figure, and the torment—he wasn’t about to be caught off guard again.
But what appeared this time brought his guard down entirely, and a grin broke across his bruised face.
Petros. And bounding beside him—Saul, their ever-faithful wolf companion.
“Finally,” Jack muttered, just as Saul let out a joyful bark and leaped over Petros, tackling Jack to the ground. The huge wolf’s tail wagged wildly as he licked Jack’s face like a dog reunited with his human after years apart.
“Alright, alright, down boy!” Jack laughed, staggering to stay on his feet. But the grin remained.
Petros slid between them and threw his arms around Jack, squeezing tight. The boy trembled slightly as if the weight of survival finally had a moment to settle.
Saul, unwilling to choose between them, continued giving equal attention to both men, his massive form bouncing with joy. They were just a trio of survivors sharing warmth and reunion for one precious moment.
But then—the mist thickened again.
Jack’s instincts flared. He gently but firmly peeled away from the embrace, and Petros and Saul fell into formation without a word. The boy’s spectral scimitars shimmered into existence, and Saul crouched low, growling—a deep, guttural warning to what was coming.
The shadows parted.
The cloaked figure returned.
But this time… he wasn’t alone.
Two towering stone constructs emerged behind him, their feet slamming into the ground with a tremor that shook the arena.
Stone Guardian – Level 41 (x2)
??? – Level ???
One guardian carried a colossal greatsword that hummed with dark energy; the other twirled a cruel spear with a jagged edge like a butcher’s hook. Though still, their presence screamed violence, like a held breath before the slaughter.
But worse—far worse—were the cages suspended in the air above the arena.
Jack’s breath caught.
Inside one cage—Henry, bloodied but upright, his expression stern, his nod full of silent pride.
In the other—Raven, thrashing against the bars, mouthing words that didn’t carry in the airless silence.
Jack’s heart clenched.
He didn’t wait. Lightning surged in one hand, and his staff appeared in the other.
But before the incantation could finish, the sword guardian moved—an impossibly fast blur—and, with one fluid stroke, severed Jack’s right arm at the elbow.
Blood exploded into the air.
Jack stared at the stump in stunned silence, the lightning flickering and dying. His staff clattered uselessly to the ground as pain overtook every nerve.
“Son of a—!”
He never finished the curse. Saul barreled into him, knocking him down just in time to dodge a second swing that would’ve cleaved Jack’s head in two.
Delirium threatened. The world spun.
Petros’s voice cut through the haze. “I got you!”
Warden’s Embrace flared around them—a glowing dome of protective mana—as the boy knelt over Jack, glowing hands pressed against the severed limb. Jack’s arm was still there—clutched in Petros’s grip—and the kid was trying to reattach it, pouring healing mana and stabilization into the wound.
Saul moved like a phantom around them, weaving in and out of the guardians’ strikes, drawing their attention, buying time.
Above, the cloaked figure’s voice echoed, furious.
“Fools! I need him alive!”
Jack barely registered the rest.
Everything faded… until nothing remained.
He stood once more in the chamber of his spirit realm.
The silence was deep and calming. But his memories came rushing back this time, flooding his mind with clarity.
“No,” Jack muttered. “I’m not forgetting this again.”
He turned toward the shimmering horizon and instantly appeared at the base of his mana tree—a towering colossus of energy, a force both living and ancient. Its bark glowed with radiant azure veins, but now… something new crept along its base.
The crystal was still embedded within, and the black tendrils of Dark Mana pulsed outward from it. The tree resisted, fighting to purify the darkness… but Jack didn’t want that.
“You’re part of me now,” he whispered.
He reached out and placed his hand on the crystal—not to remove it, but to embrace it. The tree resisted at first, flaring with intense light. But Jack poured his will into it. He didn’t command. He persuaded.
We’re stronger together.
The glow of the tree dimmed… and then returned—brighter, but now striped with deep black woven in harmony with the blue.
No longer enemies.
Now, balance.
Jack stepped back, arms crossed, watching the fusion of forces within himself. He smiled—not with arrogance, but with purpose.
The enemy had no idea what was coming. And neither, perhaps, did Jack.
The mist had barely finished dissipating before Petros dropped to his knees beside Jack, healing magic already pouring into the severed limb. Sweat beaded on the boy’s brow as he channeled raw mana into reconnecting tissue, tendons, and bone. The flesh knitted together with trembling urgency—but not fast enough.
The cloaked figure moved with terrifying purpose, his eyes like twin pinpricks of starlight beneath the hood. With a flick of his finger, a volley of dark mana spears shattered against Petros’s Warden’s Embrace, each one whittling away the shimmering shield.
Across the arena, Saul danced between the blows of the two massive stone guardians, his Wolfhide active glowing faintly as it absorbed damage—but the timer on that blessing was nearly up.
Petros grunted as his shield gave way, the last blow cracking it apart like glass. He spun, just in time to deflect a spear that would’ve pierced the back of his skull.
“No more mistakes,” he hissed under his breath, his scimitars flaring as he parried another strike.
But the figure was done toying with him.
Another gesture—so small, so effortless—and Petros’s limbs snapped to attention, locked in invisible bonds. The boy froze mid-motion, his blades clattering to the ground.
At the same time, the spear guardian delivered a brutal kick to Saul’s ribs. The massive wolf let out a pained yelp as he was launched across the field, slamming into the far wall with a sickening crunch. He hit the ground hard—and didn’t rise.
Petros screamed, powerless to help, as the guardians advanced.
“No. Not yet,” said the cloaked figure in its raspy voice, raising a hand to halt them. “We’ll need the boy alive to… convince our friend.”
He moved toward Jack, who still lay prone, the healing nearly complete.
Shadow tendrils slithered from the man’s sleeves, writhing like living chains as they snaked toward Jack’s unconscious form.
But then—Jack’s eyes snapped open.
The cloaked figure recoiled a step—but then sneered and extended both arms, binding tendrils coiling again around Jack’s wrists, ankles, neck—
Snap.
Jack stood.
He shattered the bonds like brittle paper with an effortless flick of his wrist. His eyes burned, glowing faintly with an unnatural mix of azure and inky black.
“Shield them,” Jack said calmly to Petros, indicating Saul and the still-suspended cages of Henry and Raven.
Petros hit the ground running.
The cloaked figure floated backward, snarling.
“Do you think—”
He never finished.
Dark mana bloomed around Jack like a detonation. It surged from his body in a wave so forceful the stone guardians raised their weapons in instinctive defense—and were instantly obliterated, crushed to dust in the shockwave.
Then came the storm.
Black lightning, framed with azure arcs, tore through the battlefield. It didn’t stop at the edges. It surged outward, expanding like a sentient tempest. Spectators in the stands screamed as the storm cracked against an invisible barrier meant to contain the chaos.
For a moment—it held.
Then it shattered.
Panic erupted. The crowd trampled each other, trying to flee. Lightning splintered the walls, reducing sections of the coliseum to rubble. Shadow and light collided in a chaotic ballet, rending stone, air, and sky.
But in the eye of the storm, Jack and his allies stood untouched—shielded by Petros’s powerful Warden’s Embrace, which crackled and shimmered, barely absorbing the pressure of stray bolts.
Then—silence.
The storm vanished.
The only things left of their enemies were a pile of dust, an obsidian cloak, and the faint stench of something ancient that had just died again.
[Journal Entry – You Have Defeated:]
Stone Guardian (x2) – Level 41 — XP Gained
??? — Level ??? — XP Gained
[Level Up!]
Level 32
Level 33
Level 34
Level 35
??????????
??????????
Jack didn’t even conjure his journal. He circled Yes mentally as his journal prompted him to loot.
[Loot Acquired:]
3 Rare Alpha Cores
Obsidian Cloak of the Vanquished
Ruby Monkey Idol – “Hear No Evil”
He dismissed the prompts and turned to Petros—who had already dropped his shield and was rushing to Saul’s side. The boy’s hands were aglow with Soul Mend, pouring warmth into the wolf’s broken body.
Jack could feel it too—the spark of life still in Saul’s core. He would live. Petros would see to it.
Above them, the two cages lowered gently to the ground. The locking mechanisms faded into shadow and vanished.
Raven bolted across the distance, throwing her arms around Jack in a tight, grateful hug—then sprinted to Petros and Saul, her eyes wet with relief.
Henry strode up slower, surveying the ruin of the coliseum.
“Aye,” the blacksmith said, gripping Jack’s forearm. “You really know how to put on a show, lad.”
Jack laughed, hugging the man briefly.
“We don’t have time to waste,” he said, sobering. “I just got the second key… and we need to pay Gondel a visit.”
He said the name like a curse.
Henry nodded solemnly. “Aye. And it looks like your exit door just arrived.”
He pointed to a single wooden door standing freely at the far end of the field—untouched by the carnage.
They regrouped, the five of them standing once more together.
Saul stirred, letting out a soft, weak woof as he tried to rise.
Jack knelt beside him and scratched behind his ears. “You good to go, boy?”
Saul thumped his tail once.
Just as they turned toward the door, Petros spoke up, his voice low but clear.
“Jack… we need to talk. About the Source.”
Jack turned, raising an eyebrow. “What about it?”
Petros looked him dead in the eye.
“The Source doesn’t exist.”