Lucian’s lungs burned. His legs felt like lead. Every breath came in ragged gasps, each one feeling thinner than the last—but he couldn’t stop. Not even for a second.
His body screamed in protest, every muscle straining, his calves spasming from the relentless sprint. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the dungeon itself was swallowing him whole. His lungs weren’t just burning anymore—they were giving out.
He wanted to scream, to curse at the wolf behind him, but he couldn’t spare the breath.
Is this how I die? Running like a rat in a maze?
His vision swam. His fingers trembled. His body wasn’t just tired—it was breaking.
Behind him, the Abyssal Direwolf chased with effortless ease. Its massive paws slammed against the stone, claws gouging deep scars into the dungeon floor as it pursued him through the winding corridors.
Every time Lucian thought he had gained distance, he’d hear it again—that deafening scrape of claws against rock, sending a shower of sparks flying.
It was always close.
But it never quite caught him.
At first, Lucian thought it was luck. Maybe his Shadow Step skill was working overtime. Maybe the dungeon’s twisting halls were just barely saving him.
But then he noticed the wolf’s pace.
Lucian dared to believe. The tunnels twisted sharply, jagged pathways forcing the massive beast to slow. For the first time, it wasn’t closing the distance. His heart thumped wildly. If he could just keep running—
Then—
Silence.
No claws scraping. No heavy breathing behind him.
The flicker of hope bloomed too fast.
Did I lose it?
Lucian risked a glance over his shoulder.
Mistake.
The Direwolf wasn’t struggling. It wasn’t even trying. Its blood-red eyes locked onto him with almost human amusement, its lips curled into a grotesque snarl.
The beast wanted him to think he was escaping.
It wasn’t running at full speed.
A chill crawled up his spine.
The wolf was toying with him.
It wasn’t running at full speed—because it didn’t have to.
It wasn’t hunting him to kill.
It was herding him.
Lucian’s teeth clenched. He recognized this pattern—a predator’s game.
The Abyssal Direwolf let him think he was escaping. Just when he felt a sliver of hope, it would suddenly surge forward, closing the gap in a heartbeat.
It could have ended this whenever it wanted.
But it didn’t.
It was mocking him.
His heart hammered against his ribs. This wasn’t a battle. This wasn’t even a hunt.
It was a performance.
And Lucian was the entertainment.
Lucian’s eyes darted forward. The dungeon stretched ahead, a series of endless, twisting pathways of darkness and decay.
Then—movement.
The walls loomed impossibly high, uneven like they had been carved by something massive rather than built. Strange etchings—too faded to decipher—ran like scars along the jagged stone. They pulsed faintly under the fungi’s glow, like veins in a sleeping giant.
Was this place alive?
A gust of wind slithered through the tunnel. But there was no wind here. No openings. The air moved, shifting like something was breathing.
Then—
A shadow shifted. Another. Then another.
Huge, towering figures loomed just beyond the bioluminescent fungi’s glow.
Lucian’s stomach twisted. His breath caught in his throat.
He didn’t need a system message to tell him he had just stepped into something far worse than the Direwolf.
Then, the Appraisal screen flickered to life.
[Ding!] Titan Serpent (Rank A-Lv.534)]
[Ding!] Warlord Centaur (Rank S-Lv.108)]
[Ding!] Abyssal Devourer (S+-Rank Lv.199)]
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Lucian’s blood ran cold.
A-Rank. Lv.534
S-Rank. Lv.108
S+-Rank. Lv.199
Every single thing in this dungeon was monstrously powerful.
Lucian was already nothing compared to the Abyssal Direwolf. But these?
They were beyond comprehension.
The Titan Serpent’s coiled form stretched across the cavern, its massive body larger than a cathedral.
The Warlord Centaur’s armor-clad figure radiated sheer dominance, its presence commanding absolute silence.
And then… the Abyssal Devourer.
What… what even is that?!
A mass of shifting shadows. Dozens of mismatched eyes locked onto him, watching. Its body twisted and pulsed like a nightmare trying to take form.
"I… I don’t belong here."
His entire body screamed at him to run.
But even if he did, what was the point?
Lucian braced himself for death.
For the Serpent’s colossal tail to crush him.
For the Warlord Centaur’s spear to impale him.
For the Devourer to consume him whole.
But…
Nothing happened.
The monsters didn’t even look at him.
Lucian’s pulse pounded.
He slowed for a brief second, his legs trembling from exhaustion, and he realized—they weren’t reacting to him at all.
The only thing chasing him… was the Abyssal Direwolf.
His breath hitched.
"They’re ignoring me…?"
To these beasts, he was so weak, so insignificant… that he wasn’t even worth acknowledging.
For the first time since arriving in this nightmare of a dungeon…
Lucian felt relief in being insignificant.
But then—
The Direwolf snarled. But unlike Lucian, it felt no urgency—only amusement. For it, this wasn’t a struggle. This wasn’t even a challenge. It was a game.
—————
[Abyssal Direwolf’s POV]
Hunger.
Not the kind that gnawed at the belly—no, this was deeper. A craving beyond mere sustenance. A thrill that coiled in the bones, a hunger for the chase. For the fear. For the moment prey realized it had no hope.
And this one?
The two-legged thing ran.
Pathetic.
Every stagger, every desperate gasp, every ragged breath made it more entertaining. It had never seen something so weak before. How was this even alive? How had it survived this long?
No claws. No fangs. No armor.
Even its scent was pitiful—no killing intent, no natural defenses. Just raw, unfiltered panic.
A lesser creature would have crushed it instantly, bored of the chase. But the Direwolf was different. It was at the bottom of the dungeon’s hierarchy. Even the stone beneath its paws held more presence than it did.
But here? Here, it was the king.
It relished in these moments—the rare, fleeting times when it could be the predator. The Apex. The unstoppable force.
The runt of the dungeon had finally found something lesser than itself.
And it was beautiful.
It let the prey run. It gave it hope. That was the best part—watching the moment when it thought it had a chance. Watching as it dared to believe in survival.
That moment was coming.
Then, it would end it.
A flicker of amusement passed through the Direwolf’s mind as the prey turned, eyes wild, chest heaving. Did it actually think it was escaping?
A growl rumbled in its throat—not in anger, but in laughter.
And then—
A new scent.
A pressure unlike anything before.
Wrong.
The chase was its game. It was the predator. But suddenly, the air itself changed—crushing, oppressive, suffocating.
A warning older than thought curled deep in the Direwolf’s instincts.
The ground trembled beneath its paws.
It stopped.
The runt of the dungeon knew what it meant to be weak. And right now…
It wasn’t the predator anymore.
It was the prey.
And the real monster had arrived.
BOOM.