Latham’s fists were raw, knuckles split wide from repeatedly smashing them against the portal that had shimmered into being in front of Soar Museum. The pain didn’t register. At least, not anymore. In fact, he hadn’t felt anything from his hands for the last half a bell, not since the red mist descended and he’d started to launch blow after blow.

“Feeling better?”

Latham didn’t answer, throwing another massive punch against the glowing shield. However, just like all of those he’d landed earlier, it seemed to do nothing. Just like every other strike. The door to the Museum simply glowed a touch brighter, as if absorbing the huge amount of kinetic energy the had summoned and drinking it in.

Realising he’d reduced his left hand to mush, Latham tapped into the torrent of divine power surging through him, ignoring the ‘tut’ from some god or other as he – technically - misused one of his Skills to heal the injury, and then power up a punch again, energy thrumming along his veins. As soon as his first was full, he unleashed another earth-shattering blow, but the shell that encased the portal didn’t even tremble. It was unmovable. Untouchable.

To be honest, he sensed it was – if anything – getting stronger.

Hel sighed, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. She’d summoned a fairly impressive thunderstorm to drench the street around the museum entrance, and - thus far - no one had risked breaching the localised downpour yet. Even so, interested crowds were gathering just beyond her impromptu cordon, and she worried it wouldn’t be long before someone official took charge of the situation. “Yeah. You keep at it. I’m sure one more punch should do it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that esoteric magic responds really well to brute force.”

“At least I’m trying to get us in.”

“You’re trying something, certainly. And here was me thinking it was just my patience.”

Latham flexed his hand and wiped the pouring blood from his knuckles onto his tunic. “What would you have me do? Stand around and wait? That’s working out so well for you, isn’t it?”

Hel gave him a long look. “I didn’t say I had any answers. I’m just not sure that hammering your fists into dust is much of a net benefit.” Her eyes flicked to the gateway, its surface shining with a rainbow glow as if it was mocking them both. She didn’t like being kept away from the centre of the action any more than he did. And wasn’t that the worst part of it. Neither of them were used to this . . . this being shut out. Of all of the terrible situations in which they had found themselves over the years, being unable to act was not one of them.

Especially with Lowe was inside.

Neither Hel nor Latham were the type to sit outside and wait. They certainly didn’t let someone else take on all the risk. And yet this fucking Dungeon had separated them, locking Lowe inside the museum while they stood on the wrong side of a seemingly impervious wall.

Latham didn’t stop to think about how long Lowe had been in there. How long he’d been trapped. No point in dwelling on that. That was a path to panic, and panic wouldn’t help anyone. Especially not now. He had no idea why this strange little Classless man meant so much to him. But he did. Latham wasn’t the sort of person who had friends – terrified acquaintances, certainly – and he wasn’t prepared to countenance something bad happening to one of the few he had. “We need to get in there,” Latham said, more to himself than to Hel. His hands itched to punch the barrier again, even though he knew it wouldn’t make a difference.

Hel raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say. Care to share how you plan to do that? We’ve tried brute force, we’ve tried Skills—well, I’ve tried my Skills. You’ve been more focused on punching things—and still nothing. So, unless you’ve got a trick hidden up your sleeve, I suggest you take a breath and actually start thinking.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Latham turned away from her, staring at the entrance to the Dungeon that had taken over Soar Museum. His mind raced through options, strategies, anything that might explain what was happening. But every theory he came up with hit the same dead end. It didn’t add up. Dungeons didn’t just manifest out of thin air; they were ancient things. They certainly didn’t just casually spring up in the centre of cities and trap people inside them at random.

But this one had.

“Why this place?” he asked, something significant scratching just on the edge of conscious thought. “Why Soar museum? Why now?”

Hel pushed off the wall, her boots scraping against the stone as she walked up beside him. “No idea. But it’s here now, and it’s clearly not going away anytime soon.”

Latham clenched his jaw, fists still trembling. It wasn’t just the Dungeon that bothered him—it was the timing. The scale. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said, his voice low. “There’s always been rumours about Director Nuroon and Soar Museum, but nothing solid. Nothing that would explain a Dungeon just popping up out of nowhere.”

Hel’s lips tightened into a thin line. “You think it’s a coincidence Lowe was inside when it happened?”

“You think it’s not?”

Hel didn’t answer immediately. She stared at the entrance, her fingers twitching, lightning flickering beneath her skin. “I know you’ve been in a lot of Dungeons, Latham. But this—” She gestured at the barrier with a jerk of her head. “This feels like a trap. Not for everyone. For him.”

Latham’s gut twisted. It wasn’t the first time that thought had crossed his mind, but hearing Hel say it made it feel more real. He turned back to the museum, eyes narrowing. A trap. If this was targeted, then that meant someone—something—wanted Lowe in there. Alone.

And that made it worse.

Lowe was smart, and tougher than he looked, but he wasn’t built to do this sort of thing solo. He wasn’t supposed to be cut off from support, forced to face whatever was inside without backup. That wasn’t what he did best.

“We’ve got to find a way in,” Latham said, the words coming out harsher than he intended. “There’s got to be something we missed. Some trick, some backdoor we haven’t tried yet.”

Hel crossed her arms again, tapping her fingers against her elbow. “We’ve been here for nearly a bell. If there’s a backdoor, we would have found it by now. It’s a Dungeon, Latham. You know how these things work. One way in, one way out. And it’s not recognising either of us as having the requirements to enter.”

Latham’s mind raced, trying to ignore the creeping sense of helplessness that had been building since the moment they’d arrived. Hel was right—they’d tried everything they could think of. He’d pounded on the barrier until his fists were bloody. She’d tried every arcane trick in her book. And still, the portal stood between them and Lowe.

But there had to be something. Some angle they hadn’t considered. He refused to believe they were locked out.

“I’m a Level ??. There’s not a Dungeon on this continent I couldn’t solo if I put my mind to it!”

“Yeah, all hail you!” In a burst of frustration, Hel let a mini-tornado appear and then swirl forward to strike against the dungeon entrance. “I hate this,” Hel suddenly shouted, breaking the silence. She sounded angrier than he’d ever heard her, and that was saying something. “I hate that we’re just standing here while he’s in there, doing who knows what.”

Latham glanced at her. She was pacing now, her usual cool, detached demeanour cracking under the weight of their situation. He wasn’t used to seeing her like this—frustrated, anxious. But then again, none of this was normal. Not for them.

“We’ll get him out,” Latham said, though even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “He’s got to know we’re out here.”

Hel stopped pacing, her eyes locked on the portal. “Neither of us is used to being helpless, Latham. But, on this occasion, it might be Lowe needs to sort it out himself.”

Latham didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The idea of leaving Lowe behind, of not being able to reach him—it wasn’t something he could process. Not yet. Not until he’d exhausted every possible option. Until he’d thrown every punch, every spell, every damn thing he had at that portal.

Hel sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’ve been in a lot of shitty situations. But this is worse. Not being able to help is . . . Fuck. This sucks.”

Latham’s fists clenched again, his knuckles aching. “It won’t be for much longer. We’ll figure a way in.”

But even as he said it, he wasn’t sure if he believed it. The doorway shimmered again, its surface rippling as if smiling at their impotence. Look at me, it seemed to say. Still there. Still immovable. Still locking you out.

“Maybe,” Hel said quietly. “But right now, we’re on the wrong side.”

And for the first time in a long time, Latham had no idea how to fix that.