"...That's it, right?"

Ethan landed softly. No more vibrations came from the floor. He squinted, scanning the surroundings. The ground was pockmarked with fresh craters, a stark testament to his impromptu demolition.

"Leo... I take it back. You're not EOD. He is," Williams breathed out, utterly stunned by the display. His voice held a note of raw, unvarnished respect.

The others offered faint, solemn nods in agreement.

"Don't rub it in!" Leo flushed, genuinely embarrassed this time. He wasn't EOD. He was the guy who tripped the mines, brute-forcing a path through sheer healing spam. Watching Ethan—the fluid, almost dismissive grace, the effortless precision—was a different league entirely. He noticed Lyla's eyes were practically sparkling with that impressed gleam. He was suddenly, fiercely grateful Celeste wasn't in the party to witness his comparison.

Ethan was equally annoyed. He'd never actually made it to the seventh layer in his past life; this was uncharted territory. The sheer, stupid danger of it grated on him. He hadn't known the entrance would be a damn minefield. If he had, he'd have left every last one for the idiots following them. Now the place looked like a warzone, courtesy of his own paws. And his so-called friends hadn't thought to warn him? How profoundly helpful.

Sighing internally, he extended a cautious paw, testing the ground. Then he began to hop carefully, landing only in the craters left by his triggered mines. Who knew if the pristine-looking patches were still armed? Trust, here, was a fool's bet.

As he rejoined the group, they all wore slightly guilty, nose-touching expressions—a chorus of silent whoops.

"How'd you get across?" Ethan asked flatly, already dreading the answer.

"Leo tanked the path," Victor answered bluntly, gesturing to the soot-strewn monk.

"...."

Ethan shot a deadpan look at Leo, then at the others' carefully blank faces. He pieced it together instantly. They'd let him walk in blind, hoping for a show. Well... he'd given them one. At least he looked competent doing it. He glanced at Leo—covered head-to-toe in dirt and soot like a chimney sweep—and felt a small, undeniable surge of pride.

THUD.

A heavy impact echoed from the darkness, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the bones. Ethan and Leo both flinched. But the sound was wrong—deeper, heavier, freighted with a metallic finality.

"Ethan... over there!" Lyla pointed, her voice tight. She was decked out in Dark Vision gear and saw clearest in the gloom, her body already tense.

Ethan shifted back to Panther Form and followed her gesture, the shadows clinging to his fur.

The seventh layer's cavern opened up before him, revealing a sight he'd never seen. It resembled a forgotten prison, a nightmare of industry. In the distance, row upon row of thick, rusted metal bars formed a grim wall. Behind them, hulking shapes shifted in the deeper dark. Their bodies were massive, patches of rotting flesh clinging to exposed bone like wet parchment. The bars shuddered violently as something threw itself against them with mindless force.

CRACK.

A bar splintered. Age and relentless corrosion had made the metal brittle. It wasn't just one or two creatures in there—it was a packed, seething line of them, trapped behind the bars sealing a tunnel-like side cavern. A holding pen built for horrors.

With a rending shriek of tortured metal, the bar gave way. A semi-decayed, zombie-like monster, all fury and festering muscle, squeezed through the gap. More followed, tearing themselves on the jagged broken ends, spilling foul, viscous viscera. The structural integrity failed catastrophically. Bars bent, snapped.

Then, the tide broke.

A flood of rotting behemoths burst from their prison. One dragged a twisted section of grating along with it, the metal screeching a protest against the stone.

"What the hell are these things? So gross!" Leo cursed, but his hands were already moving with practiced ease—one gripping his staff, the other hefting his ale cask. He settled into a ready stance, his earlier embarrassment burned away by focus.

Ethan raised a paw, instinct taking over.

'Advanced Analysis'

[Ding… Your Analysis skill experience is full. Upgraded to Expert Analysis.]

The notification flashed, bright and intrusive. His skill leveled up mid-cast. No time to check it now. The horde was almost on top of Leo, their stench preceding them. The new, clearer information streamed back.

[The Eternally Caged – Soul-Reaver]

Level: 63

Rarity: Rare Elite

Health: 6,300,000 / 6,300,000

Attack Power: 13,000

Defense: 26,000

Skills: Bloodlust, Enrage, Frenzied Assault, Execute.

Ethan's mind raced. These things were brutal. Their stats screamed pure, undiluted aggression.

"Leo, don't just stand there and eat it. Check their skills," Ethan warned, though he knew any competent tank would have already done so. It was a leader's habit, a need to voice the precaution.

"I got it, boss. Just keep me above 20%. Don't let 'em land an Execute," Leo shot back with surprising confidence, facing down twenty of these monstrosities without an inch of give in his voice.

Ethan held his tongue. Leo had tanked for years; his instincts were sharper than any theory. But he still called out orders, weaving their efforts into a plan. "Kiara, focus on his healing ticks. Evelyn, keep your spell on him. Victor, hold your heals for burst recovery when needed. Do not let his health dip below twenty percent. If all of them get an Execute chance at once, one will connect, and he's gone. Everyone else—except Ryan and Leeroy—focus fire with me, single target. Ryan, you two brothers take one target on your own. Otherwise, we'll kill ours before your cast times finish."

Nods all around. The plan was set. Leo moved.

He singled out a leading Soul-Reaver, raised a middle finger, and bellowed with theatrical contempt, "Hey ugly! Over here!"

Ethan blinked. The taunt phrase had changed. It used to be 'Come at me, punk!' Leo was refining his insults, apparently.

Shockingly, it worked. One monster broke formation, accelerating with a sudden Charge-like lunge straight at Leo, its maw gaping.

"Whoa, it actually works! Back off—Drunken Sphere!"

Leo, seemingly trying the skill for the first time in real combat, pointed his staff. A shimmering, circular force field appeared on the ground. The charging monster hit it and was flung backwards as if from a trampoline, limbs flailing. It mindlessly charged again, only to be repelled once more, trapped in a frustrating loop.

By then, the rest of the pack arrived, a wall of decay and rage. Leo finally lobbed a Keg Toss into the center, the explosion solidifying his threat across the entire seething group.

The moment he had solid aggro, Ethan Stealthed, the world melting into shades of gray. He circled behind a Soul-Reaver and opened with a deep, tearing Rake.

"Damn, they hit hard!" Leo's earlier confidence wavered as the first wave of damage landed, his voice straining. Ethan saw Leo's Stagger meter flash a severe, dangerous red—Severe Stagger. The health drain ticked up ominously: over 6,000 every half-second, a ruthless clock counting down.

"You guys handle this. I'm scouting ahead. Keep him alive!" Ethan called out, already melting back into the deeper shadows of the unexplored prison-cavern. The fight here was a containment; he needed to know what else this place held.

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