“Well, this is different,” I said into the empty tunnel leading to the final room on the seventh floor a few hours later. The tunnel had widened into a small room, and a gigantic set of double doors was set into the center of the far wall. It was interesting that the dungeon would theme this part when the rest had been a hodgepodge. By the system, the sixth floor had probably been the most egregious example, starting with Vampiric Wolves, only for the next room to be Poison Vines, followed by Frost Wolves, and finally Earth Elementals before the boss, which was a bog standard Panther with no elemental affinity. The seventh floor had probably the most cohesive teaming, mainly because all the monsters with an elemental affinity were fire-aligned. Of course, that could all change since I hadn't actually fought the last boss yet. For all I knew, it probably had a water affinity or something.

Taking an hour to rest, I pushed open the massive stone doors to reveal a pitch-black room. As I cleared the entrance, the stone doors closed with a bang, and fire sprang to life in large stone bowl-like objects on pedestals around the room, one by one, illuminating the space. Running the entire length of the room down the center was a large torn carpet. To either side of the carpet was a row of enormous stone columns, any intricate carvings long since vanished. Hanging from each column were large torn tapestries. A large dias with an equally sizeable wooden throne was at the other end of the room. The dungeon’s final boss sat on the throne, a Level 22 Fallen Kight (Corruption).

I suppressed a slight shudder. Not only was it a Corruption Elemental Variant, but it was also a leadership Variant. I wasn’t sure which Element Variant was the worst between Corruption and Death. In a sense, both were, at their core, very similar: dealing with dark and destructive forces. It was in the execution that they differed; corruption is like a plague contaminating and perverting the natural order of everything it touches, while death simply tries to eliminate everything. While that would have been bad enough, it was also a leadership variant, which meant that while I would get a one percent bonus for defeating it, it also strengthened any subordinates in its vicinity.

Usually, the boss represented the dungeon, so to have a corruption variant as the Boss of a dungeon that didn't have any other monsters with that affinity was unusual—deciding to table the question for the latter, I focused on the boss. It was humanoid, with dark armor that seemed to swallow the light, some type of emblem barely visible on the armor's chest plate. The armor was rusted with chunks missing. A large, jagged-edged broadsword was plunged into the ground before it. Its hands clasped around the sword’s hilt, its head bowed as if in prayer or, more likely, waiting for someone powerful enough to challenge it to come forward.

As I make my way cautiously down the center of the room toward the dias, my sword in hand, two Level 21 Fallen Soldiers in the same dark armor as the Dungeon Boss emerge from behind the first set of columns. Their eyes glow faintly beneath their helmets, radiating an eerie, spectral light. I shift my grip on the hilt of my sword, readying myself as they step forward in perfect unison. Their movements are unnervingly smooth for soldiers clad in such heavy armor. The dull clang of their armored boots echoes in the vast chamber as they close the distance.

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The first soldier lunges without warning, faster than I expected. I sidestep, barely avoiding the sweep of his massive sword as it slices through the air where my head had been a heartbeat earlier. I retaliate with a swift horizontal slash aimed at his side, but his shield is already there, meeting my blade with a resonant clang. Sparks fly from the impact, and the shockwave ripples up my arm. I grit my teeth and push back.

Before I can recover, the second soldier charges from my flank. I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye and instinctively roll to the side, his sword narrowly missing my leg. I come up in a crouch, heart pounding, and swing upward in a wide arc. This time, my blade catches the first soldier’s leg as he attempts to close in, the force of the strike denting his armor and causing him to stagger. The second soldier doesn’t give me time to capitalize on the opening. His sword comes crashing down in a powerful overhead strike. I barely bring my sword up in time to block, the impact driving me to one knee. The ground cracks beneath me, and my muscles strain under the pressure. His strength is monstrous and unnatural.

With a grunt, I push upward, throwing his blade off and springing backward to regain some distance. The Fallen Soldiers regroup quickly, moving as if they share a single mind. Their glowing eyes never leave me as they press forward again, methodical and unyielding. I steady my breathing, forcing myself to focus. These are no ordinary foes; their movements are coordinated, almost mechanical, and every strike is designed to wear me down. I can’t win by trading blows.

As the first soldier lunges again, I parry, guiding his sword wide, and duck low. I thrust my blade forward, aiming for the gap in his armor at the joint of his arm. The tip of my sword bites into the exposed flesh, and a gush of dark, corrupted energy spills out like blood. He lets out a hollow, guttural sound and recoils, his arm hanging useless at his side. But there’s no time to celebrate: the second soldier charges, shield raised to bash me. I brace myself, pivoting to absorb the blow with my shoulder, but it still sends me sprawling backward. I hit the stone floor hard, my sword slipping from my hand. Pain lances through my side, and I roll to avoid the killing blow that follows, his sword smashing into the ground where I lay.

I scramble to my feet, ignoring the pain, and sprint toward my sword. The soldier is already closing in, but as he lifts his weapon for another strike, I twist mid-run and, with a desperate leap, grab my blade, spinning to meet him. I swing my sword low, catching his exposed ankle with a single motion. The impact knocks him off balance, and he stumbles forward, crashing to one knee. Seizing the moment, I rush him, driving my sword through the narrow opening between his helmet and chest plate. The glow in his eyes flickered before dimming entirely. He slumps forward, collapsing into a heap.

I turn, panting, just in time to see the first soldier dragging himself toward me. His arm still hangs limp, but his sword is ready in the other hand. His will to fight remains undeterred. He moves slower now, each step labored but still dangerous. I take a deep breath and charge, putting everything I have into one final assault. My sword arcs down, and with all the force I can muster, I bring it crashing into the weakened soldier’s chestplate. His armor shatters under the strike, and he crumples to the ground. Both soldiers lie motionless at my feet. But the victory feels fleeting—the Dungeon Boss awaits on the dais, and I know this was only the beginning. I steady my breath, raise my sword, and march forward, ready to face the true terror that waits ahead.