Chapter 4

Avan slumped against the cool stone under the overhang at the bottom of the spiral staircase, his chest heaving, every breath a sharp jab from the gashes across his ribs and side. Blood trickled from his leg, back, and arm, soaking through his torn jacket and staining the bandages he’d rigged from his shirt. The dungeon’s low hum thrummed through the rock, a steady buzz that felt like the place was alive, its purple torchlight casting jagged shadows over his battered form. He gripped his dulled penknife, its handle slick with sweat and blood, its edge too worn from the goblin fight upstairs. His body screamed for a break, but the faint skittering from deeper in the cavern kept him on edge—goblins, or worse, were still out there.

He wasn’t stupid enough to push forward like this. The fight on the stairs had wrecked him—leg bruised and bleeding, chest sliced open, back scratched raw, arm grazed by a spear. He could barely stand, let alone take on whatever that massive thing was ahead. Identification had buzzed in his head as he descended, a quick flash of something big, stronger than the goblins—Dungeon Guardian, armored, slow but deadly, with glowing red eyes and a bone club. No way he’d survive it now, half-dead and exhausted. Survival meant playing smart, not tough, and his sharp, practical mind kicked in: retreat, heal, gear up. He glanced back at the staircase’s moss-slick steps, spotting the narrow ledge under the overhang—a hidden spot, safe enough to crash and recover. With a groan, he dragged himself deeper into the shadow, the stone’s chill a relief against his feverish skin, penknife still in hand, ready for anything.

Closing his eyes, Avan focused on the warm buzz in his chest—the Origin Energy, gold and silver with purple flickers, stronger since hitting Level 2. It felt like a battery charging up, and he needed every bit of it. He channeled it into his injuries, willing it to fix the mess—leg first, then ribs, arm, back. Origin Healing kicked in, sharper now at Level 2, its glow threading through his skin, stitching cuts and soothing bruises. Pain dulled, replaced by a tingling heat as scars formed, thin and pale where blood had soaked. It sucked his energy dry, leaving him dizzy, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through, grabbing handfuls of metallic-tasting moss from the overhang’s edge. The stuff tasted awful, like battery acid, but it gave him a tiny energy boost—practical, not desperate, just enough to keep going until his body felt solid again. The only problem would be water, even with the moss providing some, too. It wouldn´t be enough in the long term.

Time blurred under the overhang, hours or minutes lost in the dungeon’s endless buzz, its purple light a constant flicker on the stone. Origin Healing leveled up fully, faster and less draining, patching him up until his leg held steady, his ribs stopped stinging, and his arm moved without pain. Scars remained, faint reminders of the goblins, but he was back in one piece, though wiped out. Still, he couldn’t stop there. That Dungeon Guardian loomed ahead, its red eyes and club a nightmare in his head, and he needed more than luck to take it down. He shifted, sitting up straighter, and zoned in on the Origin Energy again, remembering that shaky shield he’d thrown up in a panic on the stairs—a weak glow, but a start.

He raised his hand, pushing the energy out, shaping it into a barrier over his forearm. Gold and silver swirled, speckled with purple, crackling as a translucent shield formed, shimmering like a thin layer of glass. He tapped it with the penknife—the blade bounced off, a faint hum echoing. “Origin Energy Shield,” he muttered, half to himself, a tired grin tugging at his lips. It held better than before, solid enough to stop a hit, but holding it drained him fast. He tweaked it, tightening the shape, making it denser, driven by the need to block that Guardian’s club—not out of some big dream, but the simple fact it’d smash him otherwise. A quiet rush hit him, a practical satisfaction in figuring this out, no deep thoughts, just relief it worked.

But a shield wouldn’t win this fight—the Guardian was huge, its reach too long for close quarters. He needed to hit it from afar, stay out of its way. He focused again, picturing the energy as a weapon, a shot he could fire. He thrust his palm out, and a jagged bolt of gold and silver, laced with purple, shot out, slamming into the cavern wall with a crack. Dust puffed up, leaving a glowing mark that faded fast. “Origin Energy Projectiles,” he said under his breath, wiped out but stoked. The first try wobbled, fizzling out too soon, but he kept going, firing more bolts, each one sharper, straighter, hitting stalactites with solid thuds. It sucked his energy hard, sweat dripping down his face, but he pushed on, driven by the need to nail that thing from a distance—close up would get him killed, plain and simple. A small thrill buzzed through him, a practical high from nailing this skill.

The dungeon’s hum droned on, its purple light weaving shadows over the stone as time slipped by. Avan crashed between tries, munching more moss, its bitter bite keeping him sharp. He worked Origin Healing harder, tweaking its flow until it ran smooth, a quick fix for the fight ahead. The Origin Energy Shield firmed up, now Origin Energy Shield (Lv. 1), tough enough to take a hit, its shimmer a steady guard in the dark. His Origin Energy Projectiles tightened, now Origin Energy Projectiles (Lv. 1), precise and strong, slamming targets across the cavern with clean shots. Each skill drained him, but he kept at it, driven by the need to take on the Dungeon Guardian—not some epic quest, just staying alive. Hiding here made sense; rushing that thing would end him, and his mind screamed prep, not panic. A faint unease hit him—could this power mess him up, make him too hard?—but he shook it off.

He stood, testing his leg—solid now—and stretched his arm, the shield flickering briefly, projectiles crackling at his fingers. He was fixed, armed, ready to roll, not some hero, just a guy set on making it out. The cavern’s hum grew louder, the Dungeon Guardian’s presence a heavy shadow in his gut, and he edged toward the staircase’s edge, penknife in one hand, energy humming in the other, eyes locked on the path ahead. Doubt flickered—could this energy change him, turn him into something cold?—but he buried it. This power was his tool, not his boss.

Avan stood at the edge of the staircase, his legs steady now, the faint scars from the goblin fight itching faintly under his jacket. The dungeon’s hum pulsed louder here, its purple light casting jagged patterns across the moss-slick steps leading upward. He gripped his dulled penknife, its handle worn but familiar, while Origin Energy Shield shimmered briefly at his forearm, and Origin Energy Projectiles crackled softly at his fingertips, ready to fire. He’d healed, leveled up his skills, and felt stronger than ever, but charging straight into the Dungeon Guardian’s lair felt reckless—too big a jump, too high a risk. He wasn’t some action-movie hero; he was just a guy trying to make it out alive. Stronger, yes. But alive. Testing his new moves on something smaller, like the goblins upstairs, made sense—practice before the big showdown, a smart move to avoid getting smashed by that massive thing waiting below.

With a nod to himself, he started up the stairs, his boots quiet but sure, the overhang’s shadow falling away behind him. The climb stung a little, his muscles still sore from healing, but Origin Healing (Lv. 2) held steady, a warm buzz keeping the ache at bay. The upper floor loomed ahead, its tunnel stretching into darkness, the same purple glow lighting the way. Skittering echoed faintly—goblins, no doubt, those little creeps always lurking. His gut tightened, but excitement buzzed too, a sharp, practical thrill at trying out his new tricks. He wasn’t about to rush in blind, though; he paused at the tunnel’s mouth, Identification flaring to scan ahead. Three goblins, he caught—small, green, wiry, armed with bone spears, their yellow eyes glinting in the shadows. Scouts, fast but weak, the skill whispered, a familiar nudge in his mind. Perfect targets to test his range and shield, not some suicide run.

Avan crouched, channeling Origin Energy Projectiles, the gold and silver bolt forming in his palm, purple sparks dancing around it. He aimed, exhaled, and fired—a clean shot arcing through the tunnel, striking the lead goblin square in the chest. It shrieked, black ichor spraying as it crumpled, the bolt leaving a glowing mark on the stone behind. The other two froze, their chittering rising in panic, but Avan didn’t hesitate. Another projectile zipped out, hitting the second goblin in the leg, sending it tumbling with a howl. The third charged, spear raised, and Avan raised his Origin Energy Shield, its translucent barrier catching the spear’s thrust with a sharp hum. The impact jolted him, the shield flickering but holding, and he grinned—gritty, tired, but pleased it worked. He fired a final bolt, nailing the goblin’s throat, and it fell, silent, black blood pooling on the stone.

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Breathing hard, Avan lowered his shield, the energy draining him, sweat beading on his forehead. The fight was quick, clean, but it showed him something—his projectiles hit hard, his shield blocked well, but sustaining both together would wear him out fast. He needed to pace himself, save juice for the big guy downstairs. Satisfaction hit, a practical buzz at nailing this, no big deal, just solid prep. But his arm ached where the goblin’s spear had grazed it earlier, a shallow cut reopening under the strain. He pressed his hand to it, Origin Healing kicking in, the warmth sealing the skin, leaving a faint scar. “Good enough,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, his voice low but steady. The fight felt good, a test run that proved he wasn’t just surviving—he was getting better, sharper, ready.

But he wasn’t stupid; he knew he couldn’t push too hard yet. His energy reserves were low, and that Dungeon Guardian wasn’t going anywhere. He remembered the glowing purple pool from earlier—back near where he’d first stumbled into this mess, in Chapter 2. It had perked him up before, its metallic taste giving him a boost, and a quick drink might top him off, just in case. With a glance at the quiet tunnel, he retraced his steps, moving fast but careful, the dungeon’s hum a constant background beat. The pool shimmered ahead, its purple glow steady, and he knelt, cupping water in his hands. It tasted sharp, metallic, but it hit him like a shot of espresso, the Origin Energy in his core buzzing stronger, sharper. He drank deeply, wiping his mouth, feeling steadier, more alert. “Can’t hurt,” he said, standing, his voice gruff but focused. It was practical, not some magic fix, just a smart move to stay in the game.

Back on the upper floor, Avan tested his skills again, spotting two more goblins skulking near a collapsed pillar. He crouched, fired a Origin Energy Projectile, the bolt zipping through the dark, catching one in the shoulder, spinning it back with a scream. The second lunged, spear thrusting, but Avan’s Origin Energy Shield caught it, the hum louder, the barrier holding firm. He sidestepped, firing another bolt, nailing the goblin’s chest, and it fell, silent. He panted, the effort draining, but satisfaction settled in—his shield and projectiles worked, syncing better now, a solid setup for the Guardian. His arm stung again, a minor cut from the first fight, and he healed it quickly with Origin Healing, the warmth familiar, efficient.

Hours passed, or maybe minutes—the dungeon’s hum blurred time, but Avan kept at it, facing four more goblins in pairs, refining his aim, timing his shield. Each fight drained him, but Origin Healing kept him going, and the pool’s water topped him off twice more, its metallic bite grounding him. His projectiles grew sharper, his shield steadier, and a quiet thrill built—a practical rush at mastering this, no big speech, just relief it clicked. He wasn’t invincible, but he was ready, or close enough, his energy reserves holding, his body healed, his mind clear. The Dungeon Guardian loomed below, its red eyes and club a shadow in his head, but he wasn’t rushing yet. He’d head back to the overhang, crash hard, save his strength for the real fight. The cavern’s purple glow felt less threatening now, a familiar backdrop to his growing power. “One step at a time,” he muttered, turning back down the stairs, penknife in hand, Origin Energy humming.

Avan trudged back down the spiral staircase, his boots scuffing against the moss-slick stone, the dungeon’s hum growing louder with each step. The purple glow from the torches above bathed the cavern in shifting shadows, and his penknife felt heavier in his hand, its dulled edge a quiet reminder of the goblins upstairs. Origin Energy Shield shimmered faintly at his forearm, while Origin Energy Projectiles crackled softly at his fingertips, primed and ready. He was healed, his energy topped off from the purple pool, his skills sharp from the upper-floor tests, but the Dungeon Guardian still loomed ahead, a shadow he couldn’t shake. Rushing in felt wrong—too risky, too final—so he decided to check it out, scope the place, and figure out his next move. Smart, not stupid, he told himself, wiping sweat from his brow, his voice a low mutter in the silence.

The cavern stretched out below, its ceiling lost in darkness, the air thick with that metallic tang he’d grown used to. He moved slowly, sticking to the shadows near the wall, his steps cautious but steady. The golden runes on the archway pulsed brighter as he approached, their light syncing with the Origin Energy in his chest, a weird, electric buzz that made his skin tingle. He crouched behind a jagged outcrop, peering into the Boss Room. The space was massive, its floor littered with shattered stone and bones, the purple torchlight flickering off the walls’ rune-carved surfaces. A damp, heavy mist hung low, curling around the debris, and the hum here was deeper, almost alive, like the dungeon itself was holding its breath.

At the room’s center stood the Dungeon Guardian, and Avan’s gut clenched at the sight. It was huge—eight feet tall, its gray, cracked skin like weathered stone, fissures leaking faint purple mist that shimmered in the light. Red eyes burned like hot coals, scanning the shadows, and its massive club, carved from twisted bone, rested against the ground, its jagged edges glinting dangerously. Identification flared, sharp and clear: Dungeon Guardian—strong, slow, brutal, armored hide, relentless, vulnerable to ranged attacks, resistant to physical strikes. Its movements were deliberate, pacing like a caged animal, each step shaking the floor, its claws scraping stone. Avan’s heart thudded, but he stayed low, analyzing, not panicking. It wasn’t just big—it was a tank, built to crush anything that got close, but its plodding pace suggested it couldn’t dodge fast. That’s where his Origin Energy Projectiles came in, he thought, a practical spark lighting up his mind. He could hit it from afar, stay out of reach, wear it down with shots while his Origin Energy Shield blocked any wild swings if necessary.

He studied the room more, mapping it out. The archway offered a choke point, narrow enough to limit the Guardian’s movements, but he’d need cover—those shattered pillars and jagged rocks could work, giving him spots to duck and weave. The mist might hide him, but it could also screw with his aim, so he’d have to stay sharp, keep his projectiles tight. The runes on the walls pulsed, their golden glow syncing with his energy—maybe they could boost him, amplify his shots, but he wasn’t sure how, not yet. Risky, but worth a try if things got ugly. His leg ached faintly, a ghost of the goblin wounds, and he pressed a hand to it, Origin Healing (Lv. 2) kicking in, the warmth sealing any lingering soreness, leaving him steady. “Okay,” he muttered, voice low, focused, “hit it from range, use the pillars, watch the mist. Don’t get crushed.” It was simple, direct, a plan that fit his style—practical, not flashy.

The Dungeon Guardian roared suddenly, a deep, guttural bellow that rattled the cavern, its red eyes locking onto the shadows near the arch. Avan froze, heart pounding, but it didn’t charge—too far, too slow. Its club slammed into the ground, sending shards of stone flying, and he ducked lower, the debris skittering past. That swing was massive, a one-hit kill if it connected, but its reach was predictable, its speed sluggish. He could dodge, he figured, using the room’s layout, popping out to fire projectiles, then ducking back. His shield could handle a glancing blow, maybe, but getting hit head-on would end him. He’d need to time his shots, conserve energy, and keep moving—stay alive long enough to wear it down. A quiet thrill hit, a practical rush at cracking this puzzle, no big drama, just relief it wasn’t hopeless.

But he wasn’t ready to dive in yet. His energy reserves were solid, thanks to the pool, but testing his skills upstairs had drained him more than he liked. He needed rest, a final top-up, to make sure he didn’t crash mid-fight. He backed away from the arch, slipping into the shadows, the Dungeon Guardian’s roars fading as he retraced his steps to the overhang. “Can’t be too careful,” he said, standing, his voice gruff but calm.

Back under the overhang, Avan sat, closing his eyes, letting the Origin Energy settle. His shield shimmered faintly, projectiles crackled at his fingers, Origin Healing pulsed strong. He was healed, armed, prepped, and only some rest needed now. The Dungeon Guardian waited, its presence a heavy shadow in his mind, but he wasn’t rushing. He’d face it soon, with a plan, not blind luck. The dungeon’s hum droned on, its purple glow a familiar backdrop, and Avan leaned backward into the narrow space to close his eyes and rest while he still could.