To Derek, Flora wasn’t just his sister; she was the embodiment of their parents’ final wish and the fragile thread that had kept him anchored to hope.
They had been so young when tragedy struck.
A dungeon break had shattered their family, claiming their parents in a brutal onslaught.
As his mother lay dying, her trembling hand clasped Derek’s tiny fingers.
"Protect your sister," she had whispered, her voice weak but resolute. "Promise me, Derek."
That promise had become Derek’s guiding star.
From that moment, he lived for Flora.
They were taken in by the Lionheart Guild, which cared for orphans of dungeon-related disasters.
The guild provided them shelter, but Derek provided Flora everything else—love, protection, and a determination to keep her safe from the cruel world that had taken their parents.
Derek poured himself into training, driven by a singular purpose: to become strong enough to shield his sister from harm.
Luck favored him when he awakened early, his talent for combat quickly setting him apart.
Every battle he fought was for Flora.
Every scar he earned was a testament to his unyielding promise.
Havard had noticed his fiery determination and raw talent, taking him under his wing.
Derek rose through the ranks with astonishing speed, earning respect and admiration from those around him.
His strength became a beacon of hope for others, but for him, it was merely a tool to protect Flora.
Flora, too, blossomed into a skilled hunter. Despite his protests, she followed in his footsteps, determined to prove herself.
Derek begged her to stop.
He wanted her to live a safe, comfortable life, free from the dangers of dungeons.
"Stop this madness, Flora!" he had pleaded countless times.
But Flora was as stubborn as she was brave.
"I can’t live in your shadow forever, Derek. I need to prove that I’m strong too."
Her words haunted him.
He couldn’t protect her from her own choices, and one day, those choices led her into a dungeon she never returned from—Cyrus’s dungeon.
When Derek learned of her disappearance, he was inconsolable.
He spent weeks searching for any trace of her, clinging to the hope that she might still be alive.
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
But as the grim reality set in, his heart shattered.
He had failed.
He had failed his parents. He had failed Flora.
Now, standing amidst the shifting sands of the desert within Cyrus’s dungeon, Derek felt the weight of that failure pressing on him.
But this time, it didn’t paralyze him. It ignited a fire in his soul.
Before him stood the man who had taken everything from him.
Cyrus, the dungeon boss, with his crow perched ominously on his shoulder, watched them with an unsettling calmness.
The small golem at his feet exuded an air of silent menace, while an army of sand golems stretched out behind him like a tidal wave waiting to crash.
Derek’s grip tightened on his greatsword, the blade trembling not from fear but from the overwhelming aura of his battle intent.
He cast a glance at his team, his voice steady but charged with emotion.
"Everyone, get ready!"
Shaun, his staff glowing with swirling energy, took a step forward.
The normally playful young mage now wore a determined expression, his jaw set and his eyes sharp.
Beside him, Cecilia, her bow strung and ready, narrowed her gaze at Cyrus.
Her hands were steady, but her breathing betrayed her nerves.
Victor, the spear wielder, let out a slow breath, adjusting his stance.
The light glinted off his polished spear, his knuckles white as he tightened his grip.
The other hunters followed suit, their weapons drawn and their postures tense.
Though fear flickered in their eyes, it was drowned out by resolve.
Each of them carried their own wounds, their own losses, and they channeled that pain into their readiness for battle.
Derek stepped forward, his body glowing with the faint, fiery aura of his power.
His greatsword hummed with energy, as though resonating with his emotions.
He fixed his gaze on Cyrus, the figure responsible for Flora’s death, and the dungeon that had caused so much suffering.
In this moment, the memories of his parents, of Flora, and of every promise he had ever made surged through him.
He hadn’t been able to save her, but he could avenge her.
----
I watched them from a distance, my eyes tracing the determined figures of the hunters as they prepared for the impending clash.
Among them, four stood out, their presence radiating something beyond ordinary courage—a sharpened edge honed by experience, loss, and purpose.
The man with the spear moved with the practiced elegance of someone who had danced on countless battlefields.
Every movement, even in preparation, was precise and deliberate, his weapon an extension of his will.
Then there were the twins.
Their identical silver hair shimmered faintly in the desert sun, but it wasn’t just their appearance that marked them as extraordinary.
The hunter with the golden bow stood poised, her sharp eyes scanning every detail, while her brother, gripping his odd staff, exuded an aura of focused power.
He had been the one to disperse the sand golems earlier, his magic precise and commanding.
They moved in unison, as if connected by an invisible thread.
And then there was him.
The one with the greatsword.
He stood apart from the rest, his body enveloped in an untamed energy that swirled around him like an armor forged from pure will.
His stance spoke of power barely contained, a storm waiting to be unleashed.
His eyes burned with an intensity that seemed to sear through the very air, and for a fleeting moment, I felt a pang of recognition.
He looked familiar, but the memory escaped me, lost in the haze of what I had become.
But I had no time for such thoughts.
The hunters were charging, and I had my own role to play.
"Krothe! Little golem!" I commanded, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
The little golem sprang into action, moving with an agility that belied its size.
It began to orchestrate the horde of golems, each one falling into formation with uncanny precision.
The ground trembled beneath their synchronized movements, a testament to the unity the little golem brought to my army.
Then it was Krothe’s turn.
Selven had told me about Krothe’s most unique ability—a gift inherited from his ancestors.
Host Sharing.
With a deep, guttural hum, Krothe began the process.
His body shimmered faintly, a dark aura radiating outward.
The light intensified until his form seemed to dissolve into pure energy.
I felt it before I saw it—a pull, a connection, a merging.
The energy surged into me, flooding every corner of my being.
My body felt as if it were being remade, torn apart and rebuilt in the same breath.
Pain coursed through me, sharp and overwhelming, but beneath it was a power I had never known.
Dark, feathered wings erupted from my back, unfurling with a grace and menace that made the air tremble.
My eyes burned as they became shrouded in feathers, their vision splitting into two distinct realms—one seeing the physical, the other perceiving the unseen.
Every shadow, every flicker of movement, came alive in my heightened senses.
Black lines carved themselves across my skin, intricate and pulsating with a dark light, as if the very essence of Krothe had etched itself into my flesh.
My green gem, once a source of calm and balance, blazed red with raw, volatile energy.
The transformation ended with an audible crack, the air around me shimmering as the power settled.
I flexed my hands, now talon-like, and felt an overwhelming surge of strength.
My hearing sharpened, catching even the faintest rustle of the hunters' boots on the sand.
My heartbeat synchronized with Krothe's, a dual rhythm of man and creature.
I glanced at the hunters.
Their advance faltered as they saw me, their expressions shifting from resolve to uncertainty.
For a brief moment, there was silence—an uneasy pause in the chaos.
"What are you all waiting for? Charge!" I roared, my voice booming across the battlefield, commanding the golems forward.
The horde surged ahead, a wave of unrelenting force.
I didn’t stay behind to watch.
I moved through the air with a speed and grace I hadn’t possessed before, my wings cutting through the sky as I descended upon the hunters like a shadow of death.
This was no longer a simple battle.
This was my domain, and I intended to make it their grave.