The descent into Tartarus was not a staircase.
It was a throat.
Cold, damp concrete walls closed in around Arthur, dripping with condensation and the metallic, unmistakable scent of old blood. The hum of heavy machinery vibrated through the floor, a constant, low-frequency thrum that set his teeth on edge.
But the hum wasn't mechanical anymore. It shifted, vibrating erratically, reacting to him. As if Tartarus itself had noticed an intruder it could not understand.
Shadows pooled in the corners like living things. A soft, wet rasp echoed through the dim hallway—voices trying to form words, but failing. They were alive. And dead. Both. Horribly.
He walked down the corridor, completely cloaked by the [Mantle of the Fallen Lord]. No cameras tracked him. No mana sensors flared. He was a ghost drifting into hell.
Level 1: The Holding Cells
Arthur paused before a thick, reinforced glass wall. Inside the cell, a man hung suspended by mana-infused chains. His right arm was grotesquely swollen, jagged gray scales eating into the shoulder, necrotizing the flesh around the joint. The man gasped raggedly, a living horror suspended in eternal pain.
Arthur's eyes flicked to the glowing bio-monitor beside the glass:
[Subject 042. Attempted Graft: Stone-Gargoyle DNA. Status: Rejection Phase 4. Disposal recommended.]
His gaze was cold. Empty. He felt no pity for the victim, nor any righteous anger toward the creators. Only disgust.
"Sloppy," he whispered.
Cell after cell revealed similar abominations. A wolf lay paralyzed on a steel table, metal plates brutally bolted directly to its spine. Further down, a goblin screamed soundlessly as artificial mana circuits violently seared its brain from the inside out.
"They tried to imitate evolution," Arthur murmured, his pitch-black eyes scanning the structural failures like a master architect evaluating a crumbling building. "Power without structure collapses. Structure without balance... explodes."
He stopped walking. The hall fell completely silent.
"This isn't science. This isn't magic." A heavy pause. "It's butchery."
Level 2: The Guard Barracks
Six Level 25 Elites from the Silver-Blood Guild lounged around a scratched metal table, their heavy armor resting on chairs and their weapons leaning against the wall. They played cards, laughing and passing a flask. They were safe. Or so they thought.
"I swear, if Subject 089 doesn't stop howling by midnight, I'll—" a guard grunted, tossing a card down.
"Let it howl," another laughed, taking a swig from his cup. "The Boss wants it alive for the auction. Insane regen on that thing."
Flicker.
The overhead fluorescent light buzzed and died briefly.
"Cheap wiring..." muttered the third guard, reaching for his drink. "Kael, pass—"
He looked up. The chair across from him was empty. The water in Kael's cup was still rippling, but the man was gone.
"Bathroom?" someone yawned, shuffling his deck.
Flicker.
The light went out for three full seconds.
When it returned, the first guard was gone. The cards were scattered across the table.
Kael, the second guard, froze. He felt a presence... watching him from everywhere and nowhere all at once. He turned wildly, his eyes darting around, but the room was empty. By the time he blinked, the next guard was gone.
Silence weighed on the room. Thick. Suffocating.
"Marcus? This isn't funny," Kael whispered, his trembling hand slowly drawing his sword from its scabbard.
A drop of liquid fell from the ceiling. Drip.
From the shadow directly beneath his boots, a jagged, toxic-green dagger quietly emerged.
Slash.
Ten seconds. The barracks fell completely silent.
But one man survived the initial ambush. The Captain, a Level 27 Defender, reacted with sheer veteran instinct, adrenaline instantly overriding his shock.
"Barrier—!" he roared, a brilliant, blinding flash of blue light erupting around him as he raised his enchanted shield.
Crack.
The blue shield shattered instantly under the concentrated, armor-piercing force of a pitch-black bone dagger.
Too slow. Too weak. Too human.
The Captain's head slid cleanly from his shoulders, dissolving into bubbling green sludge before it even hit the floor.
Arthur walked into the room, stepping casually past the dissolving bodies.
His shadow didn't just trail him. It opened like a massive, starving maw. The bodies didn't vanish; they were physically absorbed into the darkness, forming a writhing, silent mass beneath his control, whispering through the void of his [Domain of the Dead].
[Ding!]
[6 High-Quality Human Corpses added to Domain of the Dead.]
Arthur's eyes gleamed. A harvester walking through a field of wheat.
Level 4: The Abyss
This was the lowest level. The oppressive mana down here pressed physically against the skin. It felt dense. Ancient. Angry.
Arthur stood facing a massive adamantium vault, heavily locked with glowing, overlapping layers of high-tier defensive runes.
"System. Partial Synthesis. Break the runes."
Blood-red lightning danced across his pale fingers. As he touched the vault, the ancient runes hissed, corrupted instantly, and shattered into useless dust. The heavy adamantium doors groaned open.
Inside was a massive, circular cavern carved directly into the bedrock.
Center stage: a Troll King, pinned to the floor by thick, glowing chains of pure mana. Five meters of dense, gray-green muscle covered in horrific scars, burns, and missing chunks of flesh. Its legendary regeneration fought a constant, agonizing, losing battle against the mana drains.
It had been broken a hundred times. A hundred times it refused to die.
The Troll King slowly lifted its heavy head. Deep, glowing yellow eyes stared through the gloom. They were intelligent, and profoundly tortured.
But it did not kneel. It resisted.
The heavy mana chains rattled violently against the stone. Its massive body trembled—not from the agonizing pain—but from pure, primal defiance.
For a long moment... two monsters looked at each other.
One born of nature. One born of calamity.
Arthur's presence deepened.
The shadows thickened, aggressively creeping up the cavern walls. The air in the room physically collapsed under the suffocating weight of his Mythic Title.
At the same time, the green lightning of the [Corrupted Dragon Soul Shard] spiked violently in his pocket. A furious roar echoed faintly in the back of Arthur's skull.
The Dragon. Watching. Waiting.
A sharp pain drilled behind Arthur's eyes, a grim reminder that the parasite inside him was hungry.
Arthur ignored the pain. He poured his absolute, existential gravity directly onto the Troll, refusing to yield a single inch.
And slowly... painfully... the Troll King lowered its heavy, scarred head, touching its forehead to the cold stone floor.
Submission.
Suddenly, a blaring siren shattered the silence of the cavern. Red emergency lights began to spin, painting everything in the room the color of blood.
[WARNING. INTRUDER DETECTED IN SECTOR 4. INITIATING PURGE PROTOCOL.]
The heavy vault doors slammed shut behind Arthur, locking with a definitive thud. Toxic yellow gas began to pour aggressively from the ceiling vents—a military-grade neurotoxin designed to melt lungs in seconds. Hell Mode.
From the holding cells in the levels above, the failed monsters screamed, clawing frantically at the reinforced walls. The neurotoxin burned through their lungs and minds. The entire facility was eating itself alive in a desperate, automated attempt to purge the anomaly.
Yet Arthur walked unharmed. The deadly, yellow mist curled around his black coat harmlessly, like a playful toy.
[Passive Skill Activated: 100% Poison Immunity]
"Environmental hazards," he muttered, his voice cold and echoing in the chaos. "Irrelevant."
He stopped directly before the chained, bowed head of the dying Troll King. The beast opened one yellow eye, staring at the human who stood completely unaffected by the apocalypse raging around them.
A terrifying, blood-red light ignited in Arthur's palm. The exact same light that had unmade reality in the graveyard.
He did not look at the beast with pity. He looked at it like an artist evaluating a flawed, yet perfectly workable block of marble.
"They tried to remake you..." Arthur whispered, his voice dropping into a terrifying calm that cut through the blaring sirens.
A pause. Arthur's pitch-black eyes darkened.
"...I will complete you."
His glowing hand pressed firmly to the Troll King's massive forehead. The mana chains trembled violently.
The moment the energy surged, his vision fractured. The headache spiked sharply as the Dragon roared silently in the dark corners of his mind.
A pulse of dark, absolute energy coursed through bone, muscle, and mind.
It was no longer broken.
It was becoming... something else.