Inside the mind, Haruki sat in the dark theater of his consciousness. On the screen of his perception, a war was being fought.
Sol and Rax were not just fighting; they were painting violence with his body.
*Left dodge. Mana hardening. Impact. Roll. Counter-strike.*
The world outside was a blur of silver light and crimson fire. Every time Rico moved, the dungeon screamed. Every time Haruki moved, the air shattered.
"Status report," Sol's voice echoed in the shared space, cold and devoid of the strain that the body was feeling.
"Synch rate 98%. Structural integrity of the left humerus is compromised. Micro-fractures detected in three ribs. We are hitting a wall, Sol."
"We don't hit walls," Sol corrected. "We break them."
Rico slammed into them. The Great Demon had stopped playing. His form flickered between his human shape and something eldritch—a mass of strings and shadow. He caught Haruki's fist, and the shockwave blew the pillars of the spire apart.
"You are spirited!" Rico laughed, his voice distorted. "But you are still wearing flesh! Flesh tears!"
He twisted Haruki's arm.
*SNAP.*
Haruki felt the pain even in the back seat—a sharp, blinding white flash.
"System override," Sol commanded instantly. "Pain blockers: Maximum. Repair protocols: Active."
"You broke my arm," Rax growled, his voice dripping with fury. "That's rude."
Haruki's right eye flared red. He didn't retreat. He stepped *into* the break, using the dislocation to twist his body at an impossible angle, driving his knee into Rico's chin.
The sun was setting over the border town, casting long, bloody shadows across the cobblestones. The guild hall was bustling with the afternoon crowd—porters hauling crates, low-rank adventurers boasting about slime kills.
Then the doors burst open.
Maren stumbled in.
She collapsed immediately, her legs giving out. She was covered in blood, her face pale as death, and her left arm... ended in a wet, bandaged stump.
"Help!" she gasped, her voice a hoarse croak. "Floor... Five... Monsters..."
The hall went silent.
People turned. They stared.
Laughter erupted from a corner table.
A group of rugged adventurers—Tier 3s, clearly drunk—looked at her.
"Did you see that?" one laughed. "She looks like she went through a meat grinder. Must have tripped over a slime."
"Lost a hand? On a standard run? Embarrassing."
"Maybe she should stick to sewing."
Maren curled into a ball, trembling. She wanted to scream at them. She wanted to tell them about the King, the Behemoth, the Great Demon. But her throat was closed, choked by tears and exhaustion.
She felt small. Pathetic. A leader who led her team to slaughter.
Then, a shadow fell over her.
The laughter died instantly.
Boots stopped just inches from her face. Heavy, reinforced steel boots.
She looked up.
Commander Vorian, the Chief of the Ashfen Guard and a renowned A-Rank adventurer, stood there. He was a mountain of a man, scarred and grim. He didn't laugh. He didn't look at her with pity.
He looked at her with calculation.
"Quiet," Vorian rumbled. His voice silenced the entire hall.
He knelt down, his armor creaking. He looked at the crude bandage on her arm.
"Who did this?" he asked.
"Rico," Maren sobbed. "Great Demon... Rico."
Vorian's eyes narrowed. He didn't dismiss it. He stood up.
"Secure her," he ordered. "Medics. Now."
The guild receptionist and two knights rushed forward, lifting Maren gently. They carried her toward the back room.
As they passed the mission board, the receptionist looked at the bloody trail Maren left. Her eyes caught the "Porter Request" flyer still pinned to the board.
*Porter: Haruki Sora.*
The receptionist felt a chill. She looked at Maren's devastated state.
*If the leader looks like this...* she thought, a lump forming in her throat. *The porter... the quiet boy... he must be dead by now.*
Vorian didn't follow them immediately.
He walked to the dungeon entrance.
The guards at the door were nervous.
"Sir? Is it true? A Great Demon?"
Vorian didn't answer. He stepped out into the twilight. He looked at the dungeon entrance in the distance.
He drew his sword.
He walked forward.
He entered the first floor.
The air changed.
It wasn't just the smell of dungeon moss. It was heavy. Thick.
He moved past the slime grounds. They were empty. The monsters were hiding.
He moved past the second-floor entrance.
Then, he felt it.
It started as a nausea.
Vorian paused, clutching his stomach.
"What in the..."
The mana density hit him.
It was like a physical wall. A crushing pressure of ancient, clashing energies. It was pure, unfiltered power bleeding down from the depths.
He gagged.
He vomited onto the stone floor, his A-Rank body struggling to process the aura of Gods fighting five floors below.
He wiped his mouth, his face pale. He looked down the stairwell to the second floor.
He saw the debris. He saw the shattered stone from the Golem fight.
He felt the tremors—faint, rhythmic *thuds* that shook the dust from the ceiling.
*This isn't a dungeon run,* he realized, his hand shaking on his sword hilt. *This is a war zone.*
Maren lay on the bed. The healers were working on her stump, their faces grim.
"Guildmaster Boros is on his way," the receptionist said, wringing her hands. "Maren, can you hear me? How many survived?"
Maren stared at the ceiling.
"Haruki..." she whispered.
"Haruki?" the receptionist asked.
"He's still there," Maren murmured, her eyes losing focus. "He has the stone... he has the fire..."
"Who is Haruki?" a medic asked.
"The porter," the receptionist said softly, looking down. "The boy who fixed the door."
They looked at each other. The silence was heavy.
A porter. Trapped in a floor with a Great Demon.
There was no hope.
"Poor kid," the medic muttered, wrapping the bandage. "He probably didn't even feel it."
Haruki's body slammed into the wall.
He coughed up blood.
"Structural failure imminent," Sol warned. "We have 15% mana reserves. Rax, we cannot sustain this form."
"One more hit," Rax snarled. "Just one more. Give me everything."
Rico stood in the center of the room. He was bleeding now. Black ichor dripped from a dozen wounds. His clothes were tatters. But he was smiling.
"Best fight in three hundred years," Rico panted, his eyes glowing with manic joy. "You are magnificent. Dad is going to *love* you."
He raised his hand.
"But playtime is over."
The shadows in the room surged. They condensed into a single point—a black hole of pure destruction aimed at Haruki.
"Dodge!" Sol screamed.
"Can't," Rax gritted. "Legs are broken."
Haruki, deep in the mind, watched the black hole charging.
*Move,* he thought. *Please. Move.*
"I'm sorry, Haruki," Sol whispered. "We failed."
The beam fired.
And the world went white.
TO BE CONTINUED...