CHAPTER 587: THE SHATTERED DREAM GATE

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

The battlefield shook as Elira and Ataneya launched into full combat against Dungeon Overlord Sycus. The clash of three Tier 15 SSS-rank powerhouses lit up the space like a storm of gods.

It was two against one.

And yet... they still couldn’t gain the upper hand.

Not because they were weaker—but because of that damn gate.

Every time their attacks landed, the massive, eerie gate would appear out of nowhere, absorbing the impact like it was nothing. No cracks, no damage, not even a scratch. It was like trying to punch through a dream.

And that was the problem.

They had power—plenty of it—but nowhere to land it.

"My Lord, what do we do?" Feylora asked, tension in her voice as she watched the deadlock unfold. "Should we jump in?"

Ethan hesitated, eyes narrowing. He glanced at Namyanna.

But she shook her head. "Not yet. I see it... but I don’t have a solution. Not yet. We need to wait. Watch."

Ethan nodded. "Hold position."

The good news was, even if Elira and Ataneya couldn’t break through, they weren’t in danger either. That gate—whatever it was—seemed purely defensive. Sycus’s own attacks, while powerful, weren’t enough to overwhelm two SSS-rank heroes.

So the fight dragged on—locked in a frustrating stalemate.

Until—

Namyanna’s eyes suddenly lit up.

She raised her staff, and without warning, summoned a massive tidal wave—an enormous Tsunami that surged forward and crashed down on the spot where the gate had first appeared.

BOOOOOOM!

"What?!" Sycus’s eyes widened in shock. "You—!"

He moved instantly, trying to rush toward the wave, panic flashing across his monstrous face.

But Elira and Ataneya were already there.

CLANG!

They intercepted him mid-charge, blades and spells slamming into his path, forcing him back.

And then—

CRACK!

The Tsunami hit.

The gate—once untouchable, unbreakable—shuddered violently. Cracks spidered across its surface. It trembled like a mirror about to shatter.

"I knew it..." Namyanna’s voice was calm, but her eyes burned with clarity.

"What is it?" Ethan asked quickly. "What did you figure out?"

"It’s illusion magic," she said, her voice sharp. "That gate—it’s not real. It’s a projection. A trick."

"A trick?!"

"Yes. The gate’s sudden appearances, its impossible defenses—it’s all fake. Elira and Ataneya weren’t being blocked. They were just hitting the wrong targets. The real gate never moved. It was always in the same place."

She didn’t wait for a response.

With a flick of her staff, she unleashed a barrage of spells—lightning, fire, arcane blasts—all aimed at the original location of the gate.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The illusion shattered.

Like glass breaking in midair, the false gate cracked and fell apart, revealing a completely different structure behind it—a twisted, grotesque castle, pulsing with dark energy.

"NO!" Sycus roared, his voice full of rage and disbelief. "You destroyed my Dream Gate!"

His eyes burned with fury. He hadn’t expected anyone to see through it—let alone tear it down.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

The illusion was gone.

And now, there was nothing left to hide behind.

Elira and Ataneya stepped forward, their expressions cold and focused.

No more tricks.

No more illusions.

Just raw, brutal combat.

ROOOOAAARRR!

Sycus exploded into a frenzy, his body swelling with power. His muscles bulged, his aura flared like a black sun, and his cleaver pulsed with death energy. He’d entered full berserk mode—his strength skyrocketing, his sanity slipping.

But Elira and Ataneya didn’t back down.

They unleashed their own power, divine and devastating, their auras flaring to match his.

And then—

BOOM!

The battlefield erupted again.

No more illusions. No more games.

Just a savage, all-out war.

A fight to the death.

BOOM... BOOM... BOOM...

As the brutal battle raged on, Ethan stood back, eyes sharp, calmly assessing the flow of combat. Then, without a word, he gave a subtle hand signal to Seraphina, Andona, and Feylora.

They understood immediately.

Silently, like shadows slipping through the cracks of reality, they moved—circling wide, cutting off every possible escape route. No alarms, no flashy moves. Just quiet, calculated positioning.

And it worked.

Soon, Dungeon Overlord Sycus, now clearly on the losing end of the fight, began to panic. His attacks grew sloppy, his movements desperate. Then, in a flash of dark energy, he made a break for it—trying to flee through a gap in the battlefield.

But that gap wasn’t real.

It was a trap.

BOOM!

Feylora, Seraphina, and Namyanna struck all at once—three devastating attacks slamming into Sycus’s exposed flank.

"AAARGH!"

His scream tore through the air, raw and guttural. He hadn’t seen it coming. Not even close.

The ambush left him mangled—his body torn open, blood and corrupted energy spilling out in waves.

BOOM!

BOOM!

Elira and Ataneya didn’t hesitate. They dove in like hawks, unleashing a relentless barrage of divine and elemental fury. Sycus, already crippled, couldn’t defend himself.

Couldn’t even scream.

Within seconds, his massive body was ripped apart—shredded into chunks of flesh and bone, scattered across the battlefield.

It was over.

"Finally," Ethan exhaled, his voice low. "That one was way more trouble than the last."

He wasn’t exaggerating.

In terms of raw power, Sycus was easily on par with the Venomous High King Gilrox. Maybe even stronger. And with that illusion-based Dream Gate as a trump card? If Namyanna hadn’t figured it out...

This fight could’ve gone very differently.

But they’d won.

They’d earned it.

And then—

WHOOOOM!

The air twisted.

A massive spatial vortex tore open in front of them, swirling like a black hole made of bone and shadow. From within it, a skeletal arm reached out—long, pale, and unmistakable.

Ethan’s expression darkened instantly.

Everyone froze.

They knew that arm.

They knew exactly who it belonged to.

"The Bone Sovereign..." Ethan muttered, his voice cold. "So you finally decided to show yourself. Good. We were getting tired of waiting."

The vortex pulsed again—and then, with a graceful leap, a familiar figure emerged.

The Bonefiend Maiden.

She landed lightly, her feet barely touching the ground, her long white hair flowing like silk, her eyes glowing with eerie, undead light.

"Well, well," she said, her voice like a child’s—but laced with venom. "It’s you. I should’ve known."

She looked around at the battlefield, at the remains of Sycus, and her smile twisted into something cruel.

"You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. Coming here, killing Sycus like it’s nothing? You must really be in a hurry to die."

...