They darted through the cave like twin comets, Caroline's fox tails flaring and weaving behind her, Jonathan's red-and-black Ryun crackling faintly at his feet with each bounding step.

"She didn't even call it out," Jonathan muttered under his breath, ducking low as they zipped beneath a jagged outcropping.

"What?" Caroline shouted over the rushing wind of their sprint.

"You got a whole UI, fox girl—least you could do is yell 'I found the trail!' or 'Umbra scent acquired!' or whatever you people do!"

Caroline didn't even turn. "You're fast enough to keep up, aren't you?"

Jonathan grumbled something about "ungrateful emote addicts" as he picked up the pace, still managing to close the gap between them. The timer floated faintly in front of Caroline's UI display: 1:37. Its countdown pulsed with increasing intensity, adding a low thrum to the ambient tension.

She hated how immersive this world was sometimes.

Jonathan, meanwhile, was still adjusting to how absurd everything had become. He was racing through pitch-black caves with a girl turned fox mage chasing wolves made of shadow and iron.

And somehow, he could see perfectly.

It bothered Caroline. Just a little. "Cheap," she muttered, her golden pupils scanning for the flickering remnants of the clairvoyant trail. "Friggin' plot-armor eyeballs…"

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Your highness. Just keep up. The last pack's gotta be close. Timer wouldn't be this low otherwise."

"Great," Jonathan said. "Let's beat the hell out of some oversized furry cosplayers."

She smirked. "You're finally getting into the spirit of things."

0:58.

Ahead, three figures rose from the shadows like statues blinking into existence—taller, broader, and snarling louder than the others before them.

Jonathan cracked his knuckles. "Let's get this over with."

Level 250. These wolves were strong— Caroline barely finished the thought before one appeared in front of her like it had blinked through the cave.

BOOM! Her auto-shield flared to life just in time, a rippling dome of crimson Ryun sparking with static as claws raked across it.

"Shit—" Caroline hissed.

Jonathan reacted instantly, hurling a spear of red-black Ryun across the battlefield. Mid-air, he bent it, curving the weapon unnaturally toward a second wolf rushing in from the side. The spear struck, cracking through its shoulder.

The wolf above Caroline hesitated, confused by the sudden shift. But confusion became agony as she unleashed one of her signature spells—"Crimson Tether!"

It looked like a mess of molten silly string, until it wrapped around the wolf and began to burn through its soul. The smell of burning flesh seared the air.

The wolf struck by the spear let out a guttural howl, blasting a wave of dark Ryun that hit Jonathan dead-on.

He dug in, throwing up a jagged Ryun barrier that crackled with unstable force. "Come on—come on—"

Then another wolf—coated in pulsing dark Ryun like armor—charged through the smoke like a wrecking ball.

BOOM.

Jonathan's eyes snapped wide. The barrier shattered.

Too fast—

A tail wrapped around his waist and yanked him sideways just as the beast barreled through, slamming into the stone behind where he'd just stood.

"Good shit! Mag!" he yelled at Caroline mid-flight.

She was already casting—her fingers moved in sharp motions, tails spiraling behind her. "Solar Sigil: Vulpine Inferno!"

A storm of hellfire rained down from her tails, engulfing the battering ram wolf in a sea of twisting flame.

Jonathan roared and surged forward, Ryun sparking along his body. He used the residual fire like cover and punched straight through, slamming his fist into the wolf's snout with enough force to cave in a wall behind it as it flew.

Only one remained.

They looked at each other. No words.

Jonathan raised his hand, lightning coiling in his palm.

Caroline channeled a beam between her fingers, sigils burning along her wrist.

They both fired—two beams spiraling into each other like DNA strands. They intersected in mid-air and cut the last wolf in half.

Its corpse hit the stone in two twitching pieces.

Caroline calmly walked over to the wolf still writhing from her earlier spell. "Tsk." She drove a burst of Ryun into its skull. It stopped moving.

Silence.

Jonathan stared at her. "That was… kind of insane."

Caroline looked at him, sweat clinging to her brows, hair disheveled but proud. "Good chemistry, I guess."

He grinned.

She laughed and then exhaled, the heat of the battle still lingering on her skin. Her system pinged softly—three new entries, the Ashes of Umbra-Wolves—each one delicately labeled and tagged with her flaming Ryun signature. Auto-pickup, baby. She couldn't help but smile.

In Arc Sigil Unite 4, it was just a fun convenience—a quality-of-life perk that saved you time from looting. Here in Requiem, it was borderline overpowered. Most players, even her old clanmates, didn't get features like this when they crossed over. But the system granted her little gifts—maybe because of her build, or maybe it just liked her. Either way, she wasn't complaining.

She glanced sideways at Jonathan, expecting him to be catching his breath.

Nope.

He was grinning like a maniac. Black and red lightning still fizzled around him like a storm that hadn't decided to leave yet. His bare arm was smoking. His breathing was heavy. But his eyes were lit with the thrill of it.

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Still ???, she whispered. Even now, after all this, she had no read on him. But the wolves were level 250. She was 255. And he… was keeping up. No fancy UI. No floating stat wheels. No auto-pickup, no quest compendium. Just raw, escalating skill.

She thought back to that moment—when he used her as a feint. Her shield saved her, barely, and part of her was pissed. But looking at him now… that grin, that messy hair, the soot on his cheek. His aura cracking like embers off a wildfire.

Caroline bit her lip and glanced away, trying not to grin herself.

"What was that look?" Jonathan asked, squinting at Caroline as they crouched behind the jagged lip of an obsidian cliff overlooking the clearing below.

She didn't answer. Just tilted her head slightly and pretended to study the wolves. Her red fox sigil tails flicked in amusement.

"Don't ignore me, Mag," he said, nudging her with his elbow.

"I'm concentrating," she said in a tone that tried to sound serious—but her smile betrayed her. He rolled his eyes.

A few hours passed. Caroline's system counted ninety kills—just nine more to go before her quest completed. Though it was strange, most of the wolves were in groups of three and didn't really coordinate. But these last wolves? They were the smart ones. All grouped together in a tightly coordinated cluster. Seven stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons gleaming. Two perched atop stone spires like sentries. All of them scanned the terrain, their ears twitching every few seconds. It was almost like they knew.

Jonathan stared at them. "Okay, so… I charge in, punch the middle one so hard his armor becomes a hat, and then you nuke the rest."

"No."

"Come on. What if I wrap Ryun around my feet and slide in like a bowling ball? It could work."

"No."

"What if I pretend to be a lost child and—"

"North." She looked at him, deadpan. "This is why I call the plays."

He held his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. General Fox. What's your grand plan?"

She pointed at the outer wolves. One was a buffer she assumed. It was skinnier compared to the rest and was trying to mess with her perception. It was failing though so it was probably her level or slightly lower. "You charge your Ryun in a wide arc, hit them from the sides. I'll drop a sigil array from above and force them to stay in place. We time it—boom. One synchronized AOE. Then we mop up."

He nodded, more seriously this time. "Deal."

Caroline cracked her knuckles and summoned her red sigils, tails whipping into formation.

Jonathan grinned as his red and black lightning began to crawl across his skin. "Let's wrap this up and get back to our elf before she gets jealous."

"She is probably worried sick," Caroline muttered, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"She's so fragile," Jonathan added with a mock sniffle.

"Uh huh. On three?"

"One—"

"Two—"

They moved.

Jonathan surged forward, black and red Ryun pulsing from his limbs in jagged arcs. The wolves didn't even register him until it was too late. His lightning lanced into the flanks of the pack, frying armor and turning one wolf's shoulder guard into molten slag. At the same time, Caroline leapt from the ledge, her sigils flaring with crimson brilliance. Fox-like arrays of light slammed into the ground beneath the wolves, locking them in place with magnetic-like resistance.

For a second, the cave lit up like a warzone—the detonation of their combo echoed for miles. Flames roared upward. Stone fractured.

But then…

Caroline's eyes snapped to the left.

Her heart dropped.

"Jonathan—!"

The skinner wolf perched on the upper ledge hadn't moved during the blast. It raised a staff from under its cloak, gnarled and carved from some bone-like material, pulsed with blue light. It wasn't a scout. It was a caster. And in that instant, the staff pulsed—twice. An ancient symbol carved into the rockface lit up and then inverted their explosion.

The energy they had unleashed was reflected back at them.

The shockwave slammed into Caroline first. It tore through her shields and sent her crashing into a pillar of crystal, shattering it on impact. Jonathan was thrown like a ragdoll, bouncing across the jagged floor and slamming into a wall with a sickening crunch. He rolled and coughed—his aura flickering wildly around him.

Then the wolves advanced.

The caster howled, and Ryun-infused chants rippled through the cavern. Dark winds twisted like chains, wrapping around the wolves and buffing them. Speed. Strength. Resistance. Everything they needed to tear through the wounded duo.

Jonathan gritted his teeth, wiping blood from his mouth. One of the wolves charged, and he ducked under the first strike, slamming an elbow into its gut and throwing it back with a pulse of lightning. The second and third pounced. He twisted, grabbing the throat of one and using its body as a shield while the other bit into its ally.

He surged lightning down both arms, slamming a knee into the fourth and detonating his aura point-blank. The floor cratered.

But the buffs were taking effect.

Their strength was increasing.

They moved faster. Hit harder.

Jonathan managed to keep up—barely. But his Ryun was burning out. One claw slash opened a cut above his eye. Another cracked a rib. The caster above rained more Ryun down—crushing gravity, wave after wave of distortion pulses.

Caroline leapt back into the fray, having shaken off her daze. Two sigils flashed out, impaling one wolf and exploding the head of another. She dove to cover Jonathan's flank—only to be struck from behind by a ricocheted spell, sending her sliding across the dirt, coughing blood.

Both of them now lay on the defensive, panting, bruised, and bloodied.

The wolves didn't fight like monsters.

One darted low, snarling, its claws glowing with dark Ryun, dragging a trench across the stone as it lunged. Another came from above, flipping off the wall and crashing down with a two-handed slam of its crude—but effective—club. Jonathan went to raise a barrier, but the first wolf redirected mid-lunge and kicked him into the air, where the second followed through and spiked him into the ground like a meteor.

The floor cracked. His back screamed.

Caroline had it no better.

Three wolves coordinated a perfect pincer—one struck with a spiraling tail-whip of Ryun, which forced her to sidestep directly into a second's sweeping leg strike. The third was waiting with its serrated blade, slashing downward across her side and sending sparks and blood flying.

She bounced, caught herself mid-air, twisted, and flung a sigil net—only for it to be shredded by a coordinated howl-wave that disoriented her balance. A club followed. Straight to the chest.

She wheezed. Vision blurred.

Jonathan, staggering upright, felt the rage boil in his chest. This wasn't just a pack. This was a drilled unit. The caster above glowed brighter now, the staff in its hand emitting a cold, pale light. With a single motion, it thrust the staff down—

—and the two wolves Caroline had killed rose again.

Their corpses twitched, then straightened. Eyes hollow. Ryun trailing like black smoke from their joints.

Shadow puppets.

"Caroline!" Jonathan shouted, barely dodging a stone-cracking kick.

"I see it!" she snapped, wiping blood from her lip. "That bastard's a Necrotic Tactician. But how—its class title was scrambled! I thought it was a Ryun-buffer!"

The realization struck hard.

The first waves had all been bait. Disposable pawns to get them comfortable. To pull their attacks and waste their energy. The whole encounter was a trap. The wolves weren't desperate—they were prepared.

Caroline didn't get to process further. A shadow-wolf blurred in front of her and cracked a club straight into her face.

CRACK.

She flew upward, slammed into the ceiling, dented the rock, and dropped down in a heap of motionless limbs.

Jonathan roared—actually roared—before the three wolves dogpiled him. One grabbed his arms. Another tackled his legs. The third mounted his chest and rained down punches, black Ryun igniting around its fists. Each blow shattered the ground beneath. Every impact sent cracks deeper through the rock.

He couldn't breathe.

Couldn't think.

But the rage didn't let him black out.

It seethed.

The caster had watched it all unfold with precision—glee, even.

His trap had worked.

Countless outlanders and rank-chasers had come into these caves before, drawn by something outlanders called a quest or the natives wanting the myth of elite-grade Ryun techniques hidden in the dark. But none had lasted past the first waves. He and his wolves had turned this cavern into a feeding ground—a crucible for his own evolution. His Ryun manipulation had sharpened into cruelty. His puppeteering, now an art. His title as Necrotic Tactician wasn't earned. It was taken.

And then this man came.

Wild. Inexperienced. Erratic. But strong.

Still, strength meant little against tactics. The wolves had torn him apart—until…

The caster's eyes flicked down as the ground shook. A black-red aura flared to life—sick, dripping, violent. Not a shield. Not a weapon. An eruption of intent. The boy's blood was everywhere… and he was using it. The air sizzled as dark crimson veins of power webbed outward.

One of the wolves reeled back, mouth open, as the man—no, the beast—grabbed its head and tore it in half. Like wet paper. No roar. No scream.

The other two looked in fear as the blood covering them began to sink into their skin and bones. They boiled down into the ground not by magic or ryun.

Just pure, surgical rage.

Then he moved.

The caster barely had time to register it. No charge-up. No fancy sigils. Just movement.

It was wrong. Too fast. Too unnatural.

He tried to move, to slide back and unleash a command to the undead and living wolves—but the world had already shrunk down to a single image:

That.

That thing coming at him.

The man was gone. What hurtled toward him was a demon of Ryun and blood. Its arms pulled by tendrils of red lightning, a manic, curved mouth splitting through a shadow-masked face. Behind it, like a storm of locusts and hatred, the air peeled into the red-black terror the caster had never once seen in this world.

He thought he was the monster.

But what he saw charging toward him—

—was the end.

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