Asher, watching from the side, felt amused. "He's using blood law manipulation to wrest control from her."
Valeris shook her head. "Won't work. Her foundation is now part Sanguine Supre. He'll only irritate her."
Veyra extended one hand and clenched it into a fist. The frozen patches of blood shattered, her own energy reclaiming dominance. With her other hand, she swept a crescent-shaped arc of blood and frost toward him, forcing him to leap back.
He landed in a crouch and slamd his blade into the floor. A ripple spread outward—crimson script ford across the stone, and dozens of skeletal figures burst from below, animated by blood magic. They screeched and sward toward Veyra.
She exhaled once, calm.
Then she moved.
Her vines burst from her back like thorns unleashed, slashing through multiple skeletons in one motion. With a flick of her wrist, she ford an ice spear and threw it straight through a line of charging undead, impaling four before exploding in a blast of frost.
Still more poured in.
Her left hand began glowing, forming a whip of blood that she snapped through the air. Every impact liquefied her enemies. Her right arm summoned blades from her shoulders—curved daggers of frozen blood she used to intercept the cult leader's attacks as he lunged forward once more.
Claws scraped against blades, blood magic clashing with cold precision. The cult leader roared, unleashing a pulse of blood energy ant to stagger her—but Veyra countered with her own, her aura flaring crimson and pale blue, pushing his back.
"You're strong," the cult leader spat. "But your blood lacks devotion!"
"My blood," Veyra replied, "is mine alone. Not for your god. Not for anyone."
'Only For Asher' She still had ti to add this inwardly.
She charged again, this ti fully committed. Her vines dug into the ground and launched her like a projectile. Her blades struck against his chest, opening deep slashes that froze instantly.
The cult leader stumbled, snarling. He brought his blade up and slashed wildly, but Veyra twisted and moved with the grace of a predator, sliding past him and cutting into the tendons of his arm. His blade fell from his grip.
Desperate, he opened his mouth—and from his throat ca a stream of blood curses, ancient syllables designed to unravel the soul. But Veyra gritted her teeth, focused, and ford a protective do of rotating blood blades around her. The words bounced off harmlessly.
"You… you will regret this!" he shrieked, trying to back away.
Veyra didn't answer. She stepped in and drove her blade straight into his chest. Ice crawled across his body instantly, spreading from the wound. His eyes—dozens of them—froze and cracked.
He let out a final wheeze as his body fell, stiff and lifeless, onto the blood-marked floor.
Asher walked over slowly and looked at the corpse. "Well done," he said. "Another one down." Saying so he turned this one into Reaper too and just stored it.
The wind grew heavier as they made their way toward the fourth mountain. Unlike the burning heat of the first or the chilling winds of the second, the Obsidian Echo Sinkhole mountain was still—unnaturally still. The air carried no sound. No birds. No insects. Even the rustling of cloaks seed swallowed by the silence.
Thick clouds lood above, and the summit was veiled in a grey mist that refused to clear. When they reached the ancient stone gate at the mountain's center, Veyra paused.
"This one feels... heavier."
Asher nodded and checked the dungeon map again. "This was once a kingdom," he said. "An empire built by shadow elves—an ancient people that worshipped darkness itself. When their kingdom fell, they left behind their mories, sealed into this place. The dungeon uses those mories to form the trial. Expect shadows, illusions, corrupted souls... things that want to be forgotten."
Veyra narrowed her eyes at the carved runes above the entrance. "I recognize the language. It's Old Umbral—used by the First Houses of the Underdark."
The massive gate slowly parted as they approached, revealing a vast stairway that spiraled downward. The walls were covered with faded murals, blackened with age, depicting the rise and fall of a once-grand civilization. Crowned shadow-elves riding spectral beasts, temples lit by moonless light, and finally, scenes of betrayal—of kingdoms torn by civil war, their cities swallowed by darkness.
Veyra stepped forward first.
"I'll handle this one," she said calmly.
Asher and Valeris nodded and stayed behind as she walked into the sinkhole's depths. The air grew colder as she descended, and the light dimd unnaturally until she was bathed only in the pale glow of the dark runes lining the walls. The spiral stairs opened into a massive underground throne chamber—cracked, ruined, and empty.
But not silent.
Dozens of whispers slithered through the air.
The shadows along the walls shifted unnaturally.
And then, from the throne, a figure rose.
The Umbral Monarch.
He was tall, his body wrapped in flowing robes that moved like living smoke. His face was covered by a porcelain-white mask, cracked down one side. His hands were long and thin, each finger ending in curved talons. He held no weapons—but the darkness around him rippled like a tide waiting to strike.
"You stand where kings once wept," the monarch said, voice both soft and thunderous. "Do you co to mourn with us... or to join us?"
Veyra drew her weapons slowly—ice-tipped blood daggers glowing in the gloom. "I ca to end what should have stayed buried."
The floor beneath her cracked.
Shadows burst upward in dozens of tendrils, writhing and lashing out. Veyra spun to dodge, slashing through the first wave with rapid strikes. Her blood vines erged again, tipped with frozen barbs, intercepting the ones behind her.
The Umbral Monarch didn't move—he simply gestured.
Her shadow twisted unnaturally beneath her and rose up—taking her form. A perfect mirror. The doppelganger lunged at her with identical movents.
Veyra grimaced. "Cheap trick."
She clashed with her own shadow, every strike countered with perfect symtry. But Veyra quickly adapted—her ice-elent blood surged, making her movents less predictable. Her clone couldn't mimic the cold's erratic nature. She broke the deadlock with a sudden feint and stabbed the shadow's chest. It shattered into black mist.
The Monarch hissed and finally moved.
In a blur, he stepped forward, cloaked in coiling darkness. He slashed with his claws—not directly, but through the shadows on the floor. His attack hit from below, forcing Veyra to leap back, narrowly avoiding being impaled by a spike that erupted from her own shadow.
She rolled and retaliated, sending a volley of blood needles toward him. The Monarch twisted, and his robe absorbed them—each one swallowed by the black fog.
He vanished, reappearing behind her in silence. His hand moved like a blade—but her blood vines reacted instantly, blocking and pushing him away.
They exchanged blows. Veyra's daggers struck with speed and precision, while the Monarch struck through darkness and illusions. At one point, he split into three shadow forms, attacking from different directions. Veyra focused, closed her eyes, and felt the cold presence of real blood. She dashed right and cut down the real body—banishing the illusions.
"You've touched sothing ancient," the Monarch muttered, backing up. "That blood… it's older than ."
"Get used to it," Veyra said, breath steady. "There's more coming."
She shifted into her empowered state—ice blooming across her back, forming thin, crystalline wings. Her blood coalesced into a long glaive of frost and crimson.
She charged.
The Monarch unleashed a wall of shadow—thick and tall—but her glaive cut straight through, freezing it into shards. He raised both arms, summoning the throne itself to crush her, but Veyra leapt, spun in mid-air, and drove the glaive through his chest as she landed behind him.
The Umbral Monarch froze.
Then cracked.
The darkness around him shattered like glass, and his form collapsed, silent and empty.
Veyra stood alone.
A mont later, Asher and Valeris descended the stairs behind her.
"Looks like you didn't need long," Asher said.
Veyra turned, breathing steady. "I'm getting used to this."
Valeris looked up at the crumbling throne. "That makes four. We're ahead of schedule."
Asher nodded. "Six left. Let's move."
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