Lucien stepped into the dungeon and felt the difference immediately. The familiar sensation of being transported to a safe zone never came. Instead, he found himself in a narrow cave tunnel, rough stone walls stretching into darkness ahead.
This was new.
Every other dungeon had given him time to prepare before throwing him into combat. This one thrust him directly into the unknown.
He began walking forward, his footsteps echoing off in a pattern that seemed to grow louder with each step. The tunnel was narrow enough that he could touch both walls if he stretched out his arms.
Minutes passed in absolute silence.
His senses swept the area continuously, searching for any sign of life, any hint of the monsters. But there was nothing - just the endless tunnel stretching forward into blackness.
After what felt like an eternity of walking through the oppressive silence, he finally picked up something different. Light. Actual light coming from somewhere ahead.
A hundred meters forward, the tunnel ended in what appeared to be an exit.
Natural sunlight - or something that resembled it - was streaming through the opening, creating a stark contrast against the darkness he'd been walking through.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold into the light, death came for him.
A massive blade, easily six feet, came crashing down toward his skull with enough force to split a boulder in half. The attack was perfectly timed, designed to catch any intruder off guard the moment they stepped into the light.
Lucien's hand shot up without conscious thought, muscle memory, and reflexes taking over. His fingers closed around the blade just inches from his face, the impact sending shockwaves through the ground beneath his feet. Cracks spread out from where he stood in a spiderweb pattern.
The weapon's wielder was revealed - a massive red-skinned orc, easily eight feet tall and built like a living siege engine.
Intricate war paint covered its muscled form in patterns that seemed to writhe and shift in the strange light.
This was a warrior.
Lucien activated his status-viewing ability.
High Orc Berserker Champion
Strength: 189
Agility: 178
Health: 172
Perception: 195
Mana: 174
The orc's eyes widened in shock as it realized its killing blow had been stopped by bare fingers.
It tried to pull the weapon back, muscles straining with the effort that should have been enough to lift a building.
Lucien's grip tightened.
The sound of metal screaming filled the air as the blade began to buckle and twist under the pressure. Hairline fractures spread along the steel like lightning, growing wider with each passing second.
The sword exploded.
Fragments of metal sprayed in every direction, most of them embedding themselves deep into the stone walls. The orc staggered backward, still holding the now-useless hilt, its brain struggling to process what had just happened.
Lucien's other hand moved in a casual backhand motion. His knuckles connected with the orc's throat, and the creature launched backward like it had been fired from a cannon. It sailed through the air for nearly fifty feet before smashing into the far wall with a wet crunch that echoed throughout the space.
When the dust settled, Lucien could finally see where he was.
The hall was massive - easily large enough to hold a few thousand people.
Ancient pillars carved with runes supported a vaulted ceiling that disappeared into shadows above.
But what truly caught his attention were the inhabitants.
Hundreds of red-skinned High Orcs lined both sides of the hall, arranged in perfect military formation.
Each one was a warrior in its own right, covered in the same intricate war paint, armed with weapons that gleamed with both craftsmanship and bloodthirst.
A blood-red carpet ran down the center of the hall, leading to a raised dais where five thrones sat in careful arrangement.
Four smaller thrones flanked a massive central seat, clearly marking a hierarchy of power.
On the great throne sat the figure Lucien had been hoping to find.
Tusk.
Even seated, the orc mage's presence dominated the space. Mana radiated from his form like heat from a forge, making the air itself shimmer and dance.
His eyes held intelligence that was rare among his kind, and when those eyes met Lucien's, there was instant recognition of what was about to unfold.
This was different from every other dungeon.
No separate rooms. The boss and the mobs were all here together.
Lucien's lips curved into something that might have been a smile on anyone else. On him, it looked like a predator baring its teeth.
Tusk raised one massive hand, fingers adorned with rings that pulsed with their own inner light. The gesture was subtle, but its effect was immediate.
Twelve of the largest orcs in the hall stepped forward.
Each one was as powerful as the champion Lucien had just destroyed, their weapons drawn and gleaming in the torchlight.
They began advancing toward him like experienced killers, confident in their numbers.
Lucien didn't even slow his approach toward the throne. His hands remained casually tucked in his pockets as if he were taking a stroll through a park instead of facing down a dozen elite warriors.
"Arise," he murmured under his breath.
The shadows responded to his call like faithful hounds hearing their master's voice.
They erupted from the ground in every direction - not slowly, not gradually, but all at once in an explosion of darkness.
Shadow knights materialized by the dozens, each one an opponent he had fought and claimed for his own.
The twelve advancing orcs found themselves face-to-face with an army.
Lucien also activated the skill Gluttony.
What followed wasn't a battle. It was an execution.
Shadow blades met orcish steel in a symphony of sparks and screams. The High Orcs were skilled, experienced, powerful - but they were fighting opponents who had already died once and felt no pain, no fear, no hesitation, and no fatigue
One orc's axe cleaved through a shadow knight's torso, only for the wound to seal itself instantly, while the knight's counter-attack removed the orc's head from its shoulders.
Another tried to use its superior reach with a massive spear, but found itself facing three shadow knights who moved with perfect coordination.
Blood began to paint the ancient halls as the twelve elite guards were systematically dismantled.
The sight of their champions being slaughtered ignited something primal in the watching orcs.
Every warrior in the hall - hundreds of them - released a collective roar that shook dust from the ceiling. They leaped from their positions like a living avalanche of muscle and steel, all converging on the intruders who dared violate their sacred hall.
The sound was deafening. Hundreds of armored feet striking stone, weapons clashing against weapons, battle cries and death screams mixing into a cacophony of war.
Lucien kept walking.
His shadow army expanded to meet the threat, knights spreading out to engage the charging horde. Each shadow was outnumbered ten to one, but they still moved as if the numerical disadvantage meant nothing to them.
A shadow knight ducked under a massive war hammer, its own blade opening the wielder's throat in the same motion.
Another knight parried three attacks simultaneously before its counter-strike carved through two opponents at once.
The shadows fought with techniques and skills accumulated from a dozen different dungeons, each one representing a different style of combat mastery.
But even as his army engaged the bulk of the orcish forces, Lucien's attention remained fixed on the throne. Four figures had risen from the smaller seats - Tusk's personal guard, elite warriors whose power dwarfed even the champions that had just been destroyed.
They moved to intercept him. These weren't like the other orcs... they were all a step away from entering the Knight Rank.
Sukuna and Artorias materialized beside Lucien, the two most powerful shadows in his army taking their positions as his personal escort.
"Handle them," Lucien said simply.
The four-armed curse incarnate grinned with pleasure as his technique began to manifest.
The invisible slash carved through the air toward the first elite guard, who barely managed to deflect it with a shield wreathed in protective magic. The impact sent him skidding backward, his feet carving furrows in the stone.
Artorias moved like liquid moonlight, his blade trailing fire as it met the second guard's enchanted sword. The clash sent shockwaves rippling outward, cracking the stone beneath their feet.
The knight-commander's superior skill became evident as he began pressing his advantage, each strike perfectly placed to exploit gaps in his opponent's defense.
The third guard tried to flank Lucien, only to find Sukuna's technique waiting for him. "Dismantle." The cutting attack shredded through the orc's armor like paper, leaving deep gashes across his chest and arms. He staggered, green blood flowing freely, but managed to stay on his feet through sheer determination.
The fourth guard attempted to use magic, staff raised as arcane energy gathered around its tip. Artorias's throwing knife sprouted from his throat before the spell could complete.
In moments, all four elite guards lay dead or dying at the feet of Lucien's shadows.
Lucien reached the base of the dais and stopped, looking up at Tusk who remained seated on his throne. Around them, the battle raged on as his shadow army continued their systematic destruction of the orcish forces, but here in this small space between throne and challenger, there was an island of calm.
"Finally," Lucien said, his voice carrying clearly despite the chaos around them. "A real mage."
Tusk's eyes narrowed as he studied his opponent.
Sukuna started to move forward, ready to eliminate the threat to his master, but Lucien raised a hand to stop him.
"No. This one's mine."
The orc mage stood slowly, his massive frame unfolding to reveal the true extent of his power. Even without magic, he was imposing - nearly twenty feet tall.
But it was the mana radiating from him that truly commanded attention. The air itself seemed to thicken around him.
Tusk surveyed the battlefield around them. His proud army - hundreds of elite High Orc warriors who had never known defeat - was being killed by barely a hundred shadow knights. Bodies littered the floor, green blood pooling, and still the shadows pressed their advantage.
The orc mage's expression hardened. If brute force wouldn't work, then it was time to remind everyone why mages were feared.
He began to speak, words in the ancient orcish tongue.
The first spell hit without warning.
Gravitational magic slammed into Lucien like an invisible giant's fist. The force was enough to lift multiple buildings, designed to grab him and smash him around.
Lucien felt the magic take hold, felt his feet leave the ground as the spell tried to turn him into a projectile.
He activated Commander's Touch.
The gravitational field didn't just lessen - it shattered like glass meeting a sledgehammer. His skill overwrote Tusk's magical control so completely that the backlash sent visible ripples through the air around them.
Tusk's eyes widened for just a moment before narrowing in what might have been respect.
The mage's chanting resumed, but this time the words carried different power.
The Hymn of Giants activated.
Tusk's body began to expand, muscles swelling with magical enhancement. Twenty feet became thirty, then forty.
His already massive frame grew to truly gigantic proportions, each muscle group becoming more defined as mana flowed through his form. His equipment expanded with him, the staff in his hands growing into a weapon that could be used to level buildings.
The transformation complete, Tusk towered over the nearby surroundings. When he moved, the ground shook. When he breathed, the air moved in visible currents around him.
"Impressive," Lucien acknowledged, cracking his knuckles. "But size isn't everything."
The giant mage's response was immediate and devastating.
The Hymn of the Fire Dragon erupted from Tusk's mouth in a concentrated beam of pure destruction.
The flame was white-hot at its core, hot enough to melt anything instantly, wide enough to engulf a truck, and moving fast enough that most opponents wouldn't even see it coming.
The attack carved through the air with a sound like tearing silk, leaving a trail of superheated atmosphere in its wake. Stone glowed red where the beam passed, and the very air ignited from the thermal shock.
Lucien tilted his head six inches to the left.
The beam passed so close to his face that his hair should have ignited, so close that his skin should have been seared from his bones. Instead, he remained untouched, as if the apocalyptic attack was nothing more than a gentle breeze.
Tusk's roar of rage shook the entire hall.
The Hymn of the Blazing Fire followed immediately.
Where the previous attack had been focused and precise, this was area devastation. Dozens of fireballs, each one carrying enough explosive force to demolish a building, screamed through the air from every conceivable angle.
They came high and low, left and right, some curving through various trajectories as they homed in on their target. The space between Tusk and Lucien became a hellscape of flame and destruction, the air itself turning into a furnace that should have incinerated anything caught within.
Lucien walked through it.
Not around it. Not over it. Through it.
When the last fireball exploded harmlessly behind him, Lucien had closed half the distance to Tusk's throne.
The orc mage's breathing was becoming labored, the sustained magical assault taking its toll on even his considerable reserves. But there was no surrender in those eyes, only growing fury at an opponent who refused to die.
Tusk switched tactics. If he couldn't burn his enemy, perhaps he could blind him.
The Hymn of Blindness wrapped around Lucien like a living shadow, attempting to steal his sight and leave him vulnerable to follow-up attacks.
Darkness deeper than the deepest cave enveloped him, a magical blindness that should have left him helpless.
Lucien's senses immediately compensated. He could hear Tusk's massive heart beating like a war drum, could smell the ozone that preceded the next magical attack, could feel the vibrations through the stone as the giant mage shifted position.
Sight became irrelevant when every other sense that was beyond mortal limits.
He kept walking, his path as straight and sure as if he could see perfectly.
Tusk tried again. The Hymn of Lethargy reached out attempting to reduce Lucien's stats.
The spell was instantly nullified by Ashborn's blessings... this made him wonder why didn't they work against the blindness spell?
Shaking off the thought, he took another step forward.
Desperation was beginning to creep into Tusk's attacks now.
The Hymn of Rage followed immediately, Tusk boosting his own power to levels that should have been impossible. Mana flowed through the giant's form, enhancing every aspect of his being. His physical strength multiplied.
Still not enough.
That's when Tusk made his fatal error.
In his desperation and fury, the mage's attention wavered from his primary target. Perhaps he thought to eliminate Lucien's backup before finishing the fight. Perhaps he simply wanted to hurt something, anything, to make his opponent feel a fraction of the frustration he was experiencing.
The Hymn of the Fire Dragon erupted again, but this time it was aimed at Sukuna.
The four-armed shadow had been standing motionless, watching the battle with the patience of the grave. He moved to dodge the concentrated beam of destruction, but the attack was a wide area one.
The fire bored through Sukuna's chest like a drill, leaving a massive hole where his heart should have been. Dark energy scattered like blood as the shadow staggered, his form flickering and wavering as if he might dissipate entirely.
The temperature in the hall dropped ten degrees in an instant rather than increasing.
Every orc still fighting suddenly felt it - a presence so overwhelming, so absolutely dominant, that their primitive hindbrain screamed at them to run, to hide, to do anything but remain in the presence of the apex predator that had just been awakened.
Even Tusk's berserker rage faltered as he felt the change in the air.
When Lucien looked up, his eyes held no anger. They weren't even disappointed. They were the eyes of a force of nature that had been playing with a toy and decided playtime was over.
His aura exploded outward like a shockwave made of pure dominance.
The weaker orcs still fighting his shadow army simply collapsed where they stood, their minds unable to process the overwhelming killing intent that now filled the space.
Even the shadows paused momentarily, recognizing that their master was angry.
Tusk tried one last desperate gambit.
The Hymn of Protection wrapped around him in layers upon layers of magical shielding. Each layer was powerful enough to stop a nuke, and there were dozens of them, creating a defensive barrier that should have been impenetrable.
The Hymn of Combustion followed immediately, filling the space between them with carefully placed explosions designed to keep Lucien at bay while the mage prepared his most powerful attack.
Lucien disappeared.
One moment, he was thirty feet away, walking through the explosions. The next moment, his fist was buried in Tusk's layered shields.
The protective spells didn't crack. They didn't shatter. They simply ceased to exist, unraveling like smoke in a hurricane as Lucien's overwhelming strength made their very concept meaningless.
His punch continued through the space where the shields had been, connecting with Tusk's massive chest with a sound like thunder.
The impact sent shockwaves through the giant's body. His form began shrinking immediately as his magic failed, the carefully maintained spells collapsing as his concentration shattered.
The proud mage crashed to his knees, every enhancement stripped away, his magical reserves completely exhausted.
Around them, the battle was ending. The last of the High Orcs fell to shadow blades, their elite army reduced to corpses scattered across the ancient hall. The hall that had been filled with the sounds of war now held only the crackling of dying flames and Tusk's labored breathing.
The orc mage looked up at his conqueror, and there was no fear in his eyes. Only the recognition that passed between true warriors - acknowledgment of skill, respect for power, and acceptance of defeat at the hands of a superior opponent.
"You fought well," Lucien said quietly, his voice carrying clearly in the sudden silence. "Your magic is worthy... You will make an excellent addition to my army."
Tusk's eyes held a flicker of understanding.
The life faded from those ancient eyes with something that might have been acknowledgement.
Lucien stood in front of the fallen mage's still form, feeling the lingering traces of magical power that had made him such a formidable opponent.
"Arise."
.....
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