Chapter 3: The First Fight

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Abel stepped cautiously into the next room, the faint metallic hum of the dungeon thrumming in his ears. His hand tightened around the sword’s hilt, the weight still unfamiliar but comforting. The blade was plain, its surface unadorned except for its unnaturally sharp edge. He hadn’t tested it yet, but the balance alone told him it was a weapon meant for precision, not brute strength.

The chamber was smaller than the previous one, its walls lined with faintly glowing grooves that resembled veins. In the center stood a low, mechanical structure—a nest-like tangle of wires, metal, and faintly pulsing light. The air felt charged, static crackling faintly with every step.

Abel stopped, his instincts prickling. The nest’s glow intensified as he approached, and the static in the air became a shrill hum. He froze as the structure twitched, the metal coils shifting and unfurling like the legs of a waking spider.

Then they emerged.

Small constructs, no larger than a dog, skittered out from the nest on spindly, bladed legs. Their bodies were spherical, covered in segmented metal plates that glinted in the dim light. At their centers, faintly glowing cores pulsed in rhythm with the nest.

Abel’s breath caught in his throat. He took a step back, the sword trembling in his grip. The constructs moved with eerie precision, their blades clicking softly as they spread out, encircling him. One of them paused, tilting its body as if studying him.

“What the hell is this?” Abel muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His pulse pounded in his ears as he tried to think. The constructs weren’t attacking—yet—but their movements were deliberate, their blades scraping faintly against the floor.

The first one struck.

It lunged forward with startling speed, its bladed legs slicing through the air. Abel barely reacted in time, raising the sword clumsily to deflect the strike. The impact jarred his arms, sending a shock up to his shoulders. He stumbled back, his grip tightening as the construct skittered away, recalibrating.

Another construct darted forward, its legs clattering against the floor. This time, Abel sidestepped, the blade moving instinctively. The sword’s edge cut through the construct’s leg, the metal splitting cleanly with a sharp hiss. The construct faltered, its body tilting awkwardly as it retreated.

Abel’s breathing was ragged. His strikes were untrained, driven more by panic than skill, but the sword… It moved as if it knew what he wanted. Each swing felt precise, the blade adjusting slightly in his grip to meet the angles of his movements.

Two more constructs advanced, their cores glowing brighter. Abel ducked as one swiped at his head, his knees buckling as he rolled to the side. He swung upward as he rose, the blade slicing cleanly through the construct’s core. Sparks erupted as the machine collapsed, its parts clattering to the floor.

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The remaining constructs paused, their movements hesitant. Abel adjusted his grip, his muscles trembling from the effort. He couldn’t let them surround him again. His eyes darted to the nest, its glow pulsing erratically. The constructs weren’t just mindless—they were defending it.

His jaw tightened. “Fine. Let’s finish this.”

The constructs surged forward in unison, forcing Abel into a frantic series of dodges and counterattacks. Each swing of the sword felt more natural, the blade cutting through metal like cloth. Sparks flew with every strike, the room echoing with the clash of steel and the sharp hiss of severed circuits.

One by one, the constructs fell. Their shattered remains littered the floor, their cores dimming to lifeless gray. Abel’s breaths came in heaving gasps as he staggered back, the sword dragging slightly in his grip.

The nest’s glow flickered violently, its structure collapsing inward. Abel flinched as the chamber trembled, the hum rising to a deafening pitch. Then, with a sharp crack, the nest disintegrated, leaving only silence in its wake.

A faint light drew his gaze. At the center of the room, a small chest rose from the floor, its surface pristine despite the chaos. Abel approached cautiously, his legs shaky. The lid opened as he touched it, revealing a set of metallic bracers inside.

The bracers were plain, their surface smooth and unmarked. Abel hesitated before sliding them onto his forearms. They fit snugly, their weight negligible, but as they settled into place, he felt a faint warmth spreading through his arms. He raised the sword experimentally, and for a moment, the blade seemed lighter, his movements smoother.

“Okay,” he muttered. “I’ll take it.”

The walls ahead shifted, revealing another corridor. Abel moved forward slowly, his steps unsteady. The chamber he entered next was different—larger, quieter, and strangely still. The air smelled faintly of rust and decay, and the dim light revealed scattered remains.

Bones.

Abel stopped, his chest tightening. Skeletons lay strewn across the floor, some in twisted, unnatural poses. Rusted weapons and shattered armor lay beside them, their surfaces dulled by time. It was clear a battle had taken place here, though against what, Abel couldn’t say.

He knelt by one of the skeletons, his fingers brushing against a broken blade. The craftsmanship was fine, even in its damaged state. He set it aside, his gaze sweeping the room. The remains weren’t just of one side. Among the bones were different styles of armor and weapons, suggesting opposing forces had fought—and died—here.

Abel’s hand closed around a small pouch near one of the skeletons. He opened it carefully, revealing several strips of dried meat. They smelled faintly rancid, but hunger gnawed at him, and he tucked them away for later.

Another skeleton bore a dented canteen, its metal scuffed but intact. Abel shook it gently, hearing the slosh of liquid inside. Water, maybe. He pocketed it and moved on, his eyes scanning for anything else of use.

As he rummaged, his mind raced. This wasn’t just a random dungeon. It had history—layers of stories that had ended in death. The thought made his stomach churn, but it also sparked a faint hope. If others had been here, they might have left more than bones behind.

He sat against the wall, the sword resting across his lap, and closed his eyes for a moment. His body ached, his muscles trembling with exhaustion, but he couldn’t stop. Not yet.

The room was quiet, but its silence was heavy, as if it remembered the chaos that had come before.

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To be continued...