CHAPTER 47: CHAPTER 47: DUNGEON BREAK, THE ASH WARDEN WAR (7)

We stepped through the cracked foyer and into light that was too white, too quiet. Someone had jammed alarms into the walls, all flickering like nervous eyes. The air smelled of disinfectant, ozone, and burned mana. Command Row’s heart — once where the best hunters in Arcadia strutted — had turned into a field hospital pretending to be strategy central.

We followed the signs for Command Level. Jax’s limp was louder than our boots. Hana’s shawl whispered as she walked, threads pulsing faint blue each time someone screamed from another room. I didn’t talk. I’d already used up my brave-sounding words for the day.

At the top of the stairwell, two guards stood beside a half-melted checkpoint gate. Their armor was ash-stained, faces hollow. One raised a scanner, its crystal dim. The other’s badge hung on by one pin.

"Identify," the first said. His voice cracked halfway through.

"Ethan Cross. Independent." I lifted my wrist. The band pulsed forge-blue. "These two are with me."

He squinted at the readout, frowning. "Your clearance says F-rank."

"Temporarily," I said. "We’re seeing Darius."

He hesitated — like he wanted to say something human — then just nodded. "Good luck."

Didn’t sound like a blessing. More like an obituary waiting to file itself.

The command hall used to be a ballroom. I remembered coming here once, back when I was still the guy who carried gear for real hunters — F-rank, background noise, invisible. The chandeliers had been clean, the floors perfect enough to shame reflections.

Now, marble tiles were cracked and blood-darkened. The chandelier lay on its side in a pile of dust, glass like crushed stars. The air buzzed with heat and tired magic.

Guildmaster Darius Vale stood at the center table — or what was left of it. Something hummed weakly under his hands, half its rune circuits dead. Selene Veyra leaned against a cracked pillar near him, arms folded, armor streaked with dust and burn marks. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week and didn’t plan to start now.

Darius looked worse — coat torn at one shoulder, collar half open, voice sandpaper rough — but the weight of command was still there, heavy enough to quiet a room.

"Cross," he said.

"Sir." My throat came out dry.

His eyes flicked toward Jax and Hana, but only for a second — strangers to him. "Who are they?"

"Survivors," I said. "From the outer line."

He gave a faint nod, then turned back to me — and for the first time, his composure cracked. "You’re supposed to be dead."

Selene straightened from the wall. Darius’s hands were still on the table, but his knuckles whitened. "The Crimson Verge collapsed this evening. We lost contact with the entire strike team. Elise Renard. Lucien Vale. Varga Keene." His gaze sharpened. "You were part of that team."

"Yeah," I said quietly.

"I saw the feed myself," he went on. "The boss entity breached containment, the readings went red, and then nothing. No vitals. No signals. We wrote your names on the wall an hour before the Gate detonated."

"Guess you’ll need to paint over one," I said.

Darius didn’t smile. He stepped closer, eyes flicking over me like he was checking if I was even real. "How the hell did you survive that, Cross?"

"The Hierophant didn’t just break the gate," I said quietly. "It unmade everything inside it."

Darius frowned. "Explain."

"Elise went first," I said. "She tried to reverse the mana flow—turned her own fire inward. It swallowed her. One second she was there, all light and noise, and then she wasn’t. Just ash."

Selene’s jaw tightened.

"Lucien didn’t run," I went on. "He tried to hold the field long enough to drag her back. Pushed everything through his regen core until it burned him from the inside out. He smiled before it took him." My voice cracked once. "Like he knew."

The room stayed still.

"And Varga?" Darius asked.

"He bought me seconds," I said. "Charged the thing straight on. Shield split. Body too. He was still standing when he died."

No one moved. Even the rune hum under the table went thin.

"That’s how it went," I said, forcing air back into my lungs. "No heroic music. No miracle. Just three people better than me dying in the dark while I crawled toward a hole in the wall."

Darius’s hands clenched once on the table. "And the Hierophant?"

"Still in there when I blacked out," I said. "Six meters tall. Cloak like a storm. Eyes like holes in reality. It watched me leave."

His expression hardened. "So it let you go."

"Or it didn’t care enough to finish the job."

The silence afterward hurt worse than the memory.

His jaw worked, the muscle twitching once. "So you’re telling me three of the best hunters in Arcadia are gone, and the only one who walked out alive is an F-rank that shouldn’t have been there in the first place."

"Pretty much."

"Don’t," he said sharply. "Don’t turn this into one of your jokes."

Selene’s voice cut in, low. "He’s not lying. I checked his ID myself. He came through the outer barricade an hour ago."

Darius’s stare didn’t ease. "You crawled out of a level-S collapse, Cross. You’re wearing armor I’ve never seen. You shouldn’t even be standing. So before I decide whether to thank you or lock you in a lab, you’re going to tell me how you’re still breathing."

I exhaled through my teeth. "You really want the long version? Because, far as I remember, you’re the one who asked me to walk into that hellhole in the first place."

His brow furrowed. "You volunteered."

"You called it an assignment," I said. "I called it suicide with paperwork. And I told you before I went in—I’ve got an A-rank crafting skill. ’Smelt Sight,’ remember? You said, and I quote, ’use whatever you have to keep people alive.’ So I did."

Selene’s eyes flicked between us, the tension sharpening.

Darius’s tone cooled. "You expect me to believe this—armor—came from that?"

"My forge," I said. "Just... upgraded mid-apocalypse."

He gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head. "Don’t lie to me, Cross. That’s not normal. The resonance off that thing reads higher than anything short of a divine-grade artifact."

"It’s bonded. Won’t come off."

"Convenient."

Selene’s eyes narrowed. "He’s not bluffing. I can feel the feedback from here."

Darius’s gaze flicked to her, then back to me. "You realize what you’re wearing is worth more than this tower?"

"Yeah," I said. "Figured I’d accessorize for the apocalypse."

His hand slammed the table hard enough to make the map flicker. "You think this is funny? We just lost half our upper ranks, the Gate’s still active, and you’re cracking jokes?"

I stared back. "If I stop joking, I’ll remember the screaming. Trust me, the jokes are better."

That earned a beat of silence. Then Darius exhaled, the fight bleeding out of his shoulders. "Fine. You’re alive. Somehow. And I’ll take that miracle for what it’s worth."

He looked past me to Jax and Hana again, tone softening by a fraction. "You two—stay close to him. Whatever got him out of that hell might be the only thing that keeps you alive in what’s coming."

He turned back to the ruined table, voice heavy. "Elise, Lucien, Varga... they’re gone. The Gate didn’t close. The breach evolved. Arcadia’s dying by the hour."

He turned back to the flickering projection table. The city map bloomed across its cracked surface — Arcadia stretched along the river like a patient on life support. Half the districts pulsed red. A few blinked yellow. Only Command Row still clung to green.

"Situation," he said flatly.

A lieutenant with shaking hands read from a tablet: "Western Sector collapsed. Market Block compromised. Civilian evac at sixty percent. No contact with Guild detachments in the South Ring."

"Casualties?" Darius asked.

"Unknown. Estimates above 40 thousand."

Hana’s shawl dimmed to gray. Jax’s jaw clicked. "That’s 1 procent of the damn city."

"Worse," Darius said. "The Hierophant’s still around the Gate. Energy levels spiking every hour. We believe it’s building for another surge."

"The orc shaman," I said. "Big, ugly, smarter than it should be. It also has generals with him."

Selene’s gaze flicked toward the map. "We’ve confirmed that," she said. "Names came through from the last recon unit—one of the appraisers, Miera Kael, managed to transmit a partial log before her feed cut out. She tagged three unique mana signatures operating under the Hierophant’s command."

Darius adjusted the rune dial, the hologram flickering as he spoke. "They called them the Butcher of Brass, the Grief-Singer, and the Iron Warden. Each one commanding a legion of orcs and bonded summons. The Gate’s not a dungeon anymore—it’s a warfront."

"Perfect," I muttered. "Three nightmares for the price of one."

Darius zoomed the map again. Three red zones pulsed across Arcadia’s layout—each one like a wound.

"The Butcher holds the East Canal," he said. "The Grief-Singer’s entrenched near the Cathedral ruins. The Iron Warden’s fortifying around the Gate crater itself. Every team sent near them went dark within the hour."

Jax exhaled through his teeth. "And what about the S-ranks? You telling me nobody’s left to clean this up?"

"Half were deployed off-shore to complete a secret mission," Darius said. "The rest are missing or confirmed dead."

"Off-shore?" Hana asked.

He tapped the edge of the map. A faint chain of islands glowed pale blue, their outlines fractured. "The Fallen Continent. Edras."

I frowned. "That place’s real?"

"It was," Darius said. "Trade hub. Mana mines. Then the Gates came—one after another until the whole landmass fractured. Every city, every guild—gone. It’s a graveyard now. One long dungeon that never closes."

Jax frowned. "Wasn’t that where Galen’s team went?"

The room fell quiet. Darius’s eyes stayed on the blue outline for too long before he finally spoke. "Yes. We lost contact two days after deployment."

Something cold settled in my chest. "Wait—Galen Thorne? The strongest hunter in Arcadia?"

"Was," he said simply.

The word hit harder than it should’ve. "What do you mean, was?"

Selene’s tone softened. "He disappeared during the Edras mission. No signal since. Whatever swallowed that continent might’ve taken them too."

I didn’t say it out loud, but the thought hit fast—the guy on the way here mentioned Galen vanished three weeks ago. Same time the System woke up in me. Coincidence? Or connection? Didn’t like either answer.

Darius turned back to the map. "We can’t count on outside help. Helion’s forces are pinned by another Gate. Arcadia stands alone."

Hana swallowed hard. "So... what do we even have left?"

"Us," Darius said. "And what we can build."

He looked at me. "Your craft—it adapts in real time?"

"Yeah. The harness reads neural feedback. I can reforge if we find the right materials."

"Good," he said. "Do it. If those weapons can push past S-rank, make it happen."

"Sure," I said. "Just add a wish and three miracles."

He ignored me. "You’ll have temporary A-rank clearance. Access to our foundries, archives, and tactical networks."

[ Clearance Updated — Temporary A-Rank Status Granted ]

Jax whistled. "A-rank, huh? So we finally get parking spots?"

"Try not to die before you enjoy them," Darius said.

Selene leaned forward, pointing at the red zone near the Canal. "Your first target should be the Butcher. He’s brute-force incarnate, and his presence disrupts mana flow along the river grid. Take him out, we stabilize half the city’s barrier network."

"And if we don’t?" I asked.

"Then we drown in ash," she said simply.

Hana stared at the map. "That zone covers three districts. That’s a battlefield, not a fight."

Jax rolled his shoulder. "We’ve done worse."

"Not like this," she said quietly.

Darius’s voice broke the pause. "You three aren’t enough to win this war, but you can give Arcadia a chance. Every minute you hold, we pull another evacuation convoy out of the south."

"So we’re the distraction," I said.

"You’re the point," he corrected. "Everyone else follows where you cut."

I almost laughed. "Fantastic. Human scalpels."

He almost smiled. "Sharp ones, I hope."

The screen flickered again. A comms officer shouted from the side table, "Confirmed Deathspace sighting near the western edge! Extraction teams report hostiles marked with their mark."

Selene’s eyes snapped up. "You’re sure?"

"Yes ma’am. there insignia confirmed, ."

Darius swore under his breath. "Of course. Scavengers never miss a disaster."

Jax frowned. "We heard chatter too. South Ring merchants saying they saw their mark on shipment crates."

"Believe it," Darius said. "They’re here to harvest — cores, relics, maybe bodies. If they find a live hunter with unique abilities, they recruit or dissect. Sometimes both."

"Recruiters, huh?" I muttered. "Guess they’re expanding the customer base."

His gaze hardened. "If you see any of them, don’t reason. Don’t hesitate. Take them down."

"Clear," I said.

"Good." He turned back to the map. "We’ll monitor your movement from here. Radio silence unless critical. Every signal attracts the Hierophant’s attention."

The room hummed — machines, mana, fear. Outside, thunder growled low, mixing with distant explosions. Arcadia’s dying heartbeat.

Finally Darius said, "You’ll move at dawn. Prep, rest, forge if you must. The longer we wait, the stronger he gets."

We didn’t move at first. Nobody wanted to break the thin moment that still felt like control.

Then Jax said quietly, "So that’s it? Three half-broken hunters and a dying city?"

"That’s it," I said. "But we’ve done more with less."

He smirked. "You got something cooking in that forge brain of yours?"

"Always," I said. "If we’re going to fight gods, we might as well look the part."

Darius raised a brow. "You’re planning to craft again?"

"Yeah," I said. Better gear for them. Stronger connections. If we’re taking on the generals, they’ll need it.

Hana blinked. "Ethan—"

"Don’t argue," I said. "I owe you both that much."

Darius looked over the three of us one last time. "You remind me what the Guild used to mean," he said.

"That we don’t know when to quit?" I asked.

"That we don’t have to," he said.

He reached down, pressed a rune, and the city map zoomed in — Market, Gate, river. The pulse lines looked like veins. "Arcadia’s on borrowed time," he said. "Make sure it spends it well."

The rune dimmed.

We left the hall in silence. The stairwell was cracked, rain leaking in from somewhere far above. The air felt heavier now, like the tower itself knew how bad the odds were.

Jax broke it first. "A-rank clearance. That mean hazard pay?"

"Sure," I said. "If we live long enough to file the form."

Hana walked beside me, voice small. "You really think we can win this?"

"No," I said. "But we can make it cost them everything."

She nodded, no smile, just acceptance.

Outside, the rain finally came — not clean, but gray, oily, metallic. It hissed when it hit the hot stone.I tilted my face up and let a few drops burn. It smelled like the forge before ignition — like something ready to start again.

Somewhere behind us, the Guild horn blew three times. The sound rolled through the ruins and didn’t echo back.

The System pinged softly in my vision.

[ Quest Updated — Retake Arcadia ]

[ Objective: Eliminate the Three Generals of the Hierophant ]

[ Secondary: Contain Deathspace Activity in Arcadia ]

I looked at Jax and Hana. "We move at dawn. I’ll work tonight."

"Work?" Jax asked.

"I’m making us better gear."

He groaned. "You ever sleep?"

"Rarely," I said. "Consistency’s important."

We walked back into the rain — three sparks in a city too stubborn to die — and for the first time since the Verge, I wasn’t surviving out of luck.I was choosing to stand.

Because if Arcadia was going to burn, I’d damn well make sure we burned brighter.