Denizens of the Labyrinth

DING!

YOU HAVE CROSSED THE THRESHOLD!

YOU HAVE MADE IT ACROSS THE EXPANDING EXPANSE!

The system screen flashed before him, and he bid Paldane descend while he got acquainted with the screen.

He was far ahead of the others, so once he stopped and Paldane landed. He waited for the others to catch up. He took the moment to consider what was next and what the gate had before him.

In less than an hour, the others had caught up to him and haggard and tired. But he was willing to let them rest. Until the system chimed in and changed.

DING!

AFTER CROSSING THE EXPANDING EXPANSE!!

YOU WILL GO BEFORE THE MAUSOLEUM OF IRIDIUM!

YOU WILL FIND MEANING WITHIN!!

…

"Well that sounds morbid." Katie uttered, Jazmel realising everyone had received the same system message.

As she said this, a gate portal appeared before them. larger than a set of two double doors. It was large swirling with system energy and Mana. It was both foreboding and beckoning.

"We are all Master tier now, so be prepared for what will likely be the tougher type of gate now." Baek warned, before leading and stepping through next.

They followed after that, Jazmel just ahead of Sadé and Paldane coiled around his neck. Stepping through the gate and into the unknown.

Jazmel emerged from the swirling portal, the shimmering light of the gateway fading behind him, leaving him standing in utter stillness. The air here was heavy, dense with the chill of forgotten centuries and the acrid tang of decay. Before him stretched an ancient city of graves, its heart dominated by an imposing mausoleum that rose like a monolithic sentinel against the night sky.

The ground beneath his boots was cobbled with cold, cracked stone, blackened with soot and moss that clung stubbornly to its surface. Faint echoes of his steps reverberated, as if the city itself were listening, its silence broken only by the occasional groan of the wind winding its way through shattered arches and crumbling walls. The craftsmanship of the city was a haunting marvel—old stone masonry etched with runes and sigils worn smooth by time, their meaning long lost to memory.

The walls of the buildings, if they could still be called such, were built of darkened stone, almost obsidian in colour, flecked with faint streaks of silver that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The stones radiated a coldness that seemed to seep into Jazmel's skin, their weight bearing the sorrow of countless generations. Vines, lifeless and brittle, twisted up broken columns, their skeletal remains curling around ornate carvings of long-dead kings, warriors, and beasts.

The night sky above was vast and consuming, an endless expanse of shadow punctuated only by a scattering of cold, silver stars. Wisps of cloud, tinged with an eerie violet glow, drifted lazily across the heavens, as if hesitant to disturb the darkness. The moon hung low and heavy, a pale orb whose light seemed to be swallowed by the oppressive gloom, casting elongated shadows that danced and shifted unnaturally across the city.

And then, at the heart of it all, the mausoleum revealed itself. It loomed in the distance, a towering structure of intricate and foreboding design. Its façade was carved with countless faces—anguished and mournful—each seemingly frozen mid-cry or prayer. Massive iron doors stood closed; their surface etched with jagged runes that seemed to pulse faintly with an inner, malevolent energy. A staircase of wide, worn stone steps led up to the mausoleum's entrance, the path flanked by weathered statues of cloaked figures holding swords pointed downward.

The mausoleum seemed less a building and more a monument to death itself, its presence an oppressive weight that bore down on the city and all within it. Jazmel's gaze lingered on it, his breath visible in the icy air. It wasn't just a resting place for the dead—it was a throne to silence and despair.

DING!

YOU HAVE ENTERED THE MAUSOLEUM OF IRIDIUM

YOU MUST CROSS THROUGH THE THREE LAYERS OF THE CITY TO ESCAPE!

YOU WILL BE ACCOSTED!

SURVIVE!

…

Well I am going to enjoy this! He thought to himself, and that was when he realised he was alone. He couldn't feel the presence of Paldane. He searched his rings and found Paldane had disappeared. At first his heart thumped with worry. But then he realised he was worrying about a dragon, with the strength of a tier IV monster.

He probably had to face the trials on his own. Jazmel summarised and focused on travelling alone. So he continued through the layer alone.

Jazmel moved forward cautiously, his footsteps echoing like whispered warnings against the cold stone of the mausoleum's floor. The iron doors groaned as he pushed them open, their weight resisting him as if they sought to keep their secrets locked away forever. A rush of stagnant, icy air greeted him, carrying the scent of ancient dust and decay.

Inside, the darkness was absolute. He clanked his vambraces together, the Mana trickled from his core as his armour flowed about his body. It was dark here, darker than night should be and yet, the black night was pierced only by the faint glow of Jazmel's enchanted armour and the dim light of flickering blue torches mounted on the walls. The flames seemed unnatural, their light cold and spectral, casting shifting, distorted shadows that writhed like living things. The walls of the mausoleum were lined with alcoves, each holding a sarcophagus or urn. The sarcophagi were massive, carved from black stone and adorned with faded reliefs of forgotten heroes and mournful angels. Time had worn away their features, leaving their faces hauntingly incomplete, as if the past itself sought to erase their memory.

The floor beneath Jazmel's boots was a mosaic of dark tiles, fractured and uneven, each step threatening to shatter the delicate silence that pervaded the space. The air was thick with the weight of centuries, oppressive and cold, as though the very stones of the mausoleum had absorbed the sorrow of the countless dead it housed.

As he ventured deeper, the halls grew narrower and more intricate. Arches of sharp, angular design stretched above him, their keystones engraved with runes that glowed faintly with an unsettling, pulsing rhythm, as if they were alive. The sound of dripping water echoed from somewhere unseen, its rhythm irregular and ominous.

Jazmel's eyes caught movement—a faint glimmer of silver in the shadows. His hand instinctively went to his sword, Black Fang, its dark blade whispering softly as he drew it. But the flicker of movement was gone, leaving only silence and the unsettling sensation of being watched.

Further in, he came to a wide chamber, the ceiling vaulted and held aloft by columns carved into the likenesses of sombre guardians. Each figure clutched a weapon, their heads bowed in eternal vigil. The centrepiece of the chamber was a massive stone coffin raised on a dais; its surface etched with ornate script too worn to decipher. Above it, a glowing crystal hung suspended in the air, its light casting a cold, ethereal glow that illuminated the room but offered no warmth.

Jazmel's breath fogged in the cold air as he approached the coffin, his every sense alert. The stillness of the mausoleum was unnatural, a silence so profound it seemed to press against his ears. Each step he took echoed endlessly, as if the mausoleum were alive, listening, waiting.

He ran a hand along the surface of the coffin, feeling the grooves of the carvings beneath his gloved fingers. The stone was colder than ice, sending a chill up his arm. A faint whisper seemed to emanate from the very walls, an indecipherable murmuring that prickled the back of his neck.

Jazmel's gaze shifted upward to the crystal above, its light pulsing faintly, casting jagged shadows across the room. Whatever lay here, it was not at rest. The mausoleum was not just a tomb—it was a boundary, a place where death and darkness converged, guarding something far greater than the remains of the dead.

His keen senses were his life line, not only that. But his eyes were blessed to see Mana of all types and kinds. This saved his life, because though he didn't see the sword. he saw the core of the undead revenant as it flared with power.

His sword flashed from its sheath, carving through the bony forearm and the sword fell. Skittering to the ground, with no slight in his movement. He spurred forward, driving his sword into and through the core of the revenant before it could move again.

DING!

TIER III REVENANT KILLED!

EXP SLIGHTLY ACCRUED!

…

He barely felt anything from that small trickle of exp. But he had gained some information, one. The revenant was tier III and not corrupt, so this gate was free of the corruption of the current labyrinth. two, the thing was a revenant and so this place would be filled with undead again. finally, and thirdly. Tier III did absolutely nothing for him, he needed stronger and hardier monsters now.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

He sheathed his sword, Daishinkan suddenly unfit for the dead. He pulled his other swords into his ring. Leaving his own creation, the sword made for him from both cold iron and grave iron. Yoru No Tsubasa was eerily cold, colder than the dead stone that held the faithful dead here.

Jazmel strode cautiously through the sprawling corridors of the ancient mausoleum, his senses sharp. His vambraces glinted faintly in the moonlight spilling through cracks in the towering stonework. The cold air bit at his skin, yet it was the oppressive stillness that unnerved him more. Each step echoed off the blackened stone walls, the sound reverberating as if swallowed by the very architecture.

Then, out of the shadows, a hiss.

Revenants. The skeletal forms emerged from alcoves and crypts lining the walls, their movements jerky yet unnervingly fast. Hollow eyes glowed with faint, sickly-green light, and their jagged claws scraped the ground as they surged forward. Tier III, Jazmel noted immediately, almost dismissively.

"Barely worth the effort," he muttered, more annoyed than concerned.

A revenant lunged for him, its claw swiping with unnatural force. Jazmel sidestepped with ease, his vambraces deflecting the attack. Channelling his energy, he swung his blade in a precise arc.

Black Dragon Talon!

The blade exuded a shadowy aura, and in one strike, three revenants disintegrated into ash, their remains scattering into the still air.

"Pathetic," Jazmel grumbled, dispatching another group with a quick follow-up.

Flaming Evisceration!

Flames erupted along the edge of his blade, sweeping outward and consuming the undead in a searing inferno. The heat lingered, warping the air, and briefly illuminating the dim corridor. Yet the system's rewards were paltry.

More revenants clawed their way forward, relentless but predictable. They were little more than fodder, their brittle bones shattering under his strikes. The few system notifications he received barely registered anymore—a testament to how far above these enemies he truly was.

As he pressed onward, the scene began to shift. The air grew colder, heavy with a palpable malevolence. The once-sparse corridors now featured intricate carvings etched into the walls, depictions of ancient battles and ominous rites. Statues of forgotten kings and knights lined the hallways, their faces worn and indistinguishable but their presence foreboding.

The stone underfoot became uneven, cracked, and jagged in places, as if something beneath the mausoleum had stirred and broken the foundation. Faint whispers began to seep through the stillness, indistinct yet haunting, as if the very walls carried the murmurs of the long dead.

Jazmel's hand tightened on his blade. The deeper he ventured, the more the air itself seemed to resist him. A thick fog began to rise from the floor, curling around his legs and obscuring his vision. The once-clear night sky visible through the occasional break in the ceiling was now completely dark, shrouded in oppressive clouds.

"This place is alive," Jazmel murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. And as he delved deeper into the first layer, the flickering green light of the revenants' hollow eyes grew fewer and farther between—replaced by an unsettling silence that promised far greater dangers yet to come.

DING!

YOU HAVE ENTERED THE FIRST LAYER!

YOU WILL BE ACCOSTED!

STAND UPRIGHT!!

As he read that, he felt another eruption of Mana from the corner of his sight. He saw Mana bursting forward and he rushed to block it, but the attack was heavy. His arms rocked with the exertion of blocking it.

"You blocked that well. Can you see my Mana?" he heard and looking around. Perched atop one of the stone death houses.

A long man stood atop the house; he was eerily pale skinned. His hair chalk white and cropped back. But his eyes were an angry red, they glinted in the dark and something. Something about that, told Jazmel to take note of that.

Dark swathe!

He slashed, a swathe of black Mana swished through the air. Towards Jazmel, but he blocked it with his own strike. Blue flames colliding with the black Mana and exploding together.

"So you are not weak." He hissed, his lips peeled back in a sneer.

Flaming evisceration!

He carved through the air, his katana slicing. The other man was carrying a katana too, Jazmel had seen few within his time in the labyrinth. Yet, he was not so shrewd to not know others would use it too. He himself, carried three.

The man leapt from his perch and rushed forward, darting towards Jazmel. Jazmel sprinted forward, pumping his leg muscles to rush in.

The rival's sword flicked up in a smooth motion, a silent challenge. Jazmel nodded, accepting with a slight shift of his stance.

The first strike came like lightning. The rival surged forward, his katana cutting through the air in a fluid arc. Jazmel deflected it with a precise parry, the clash of steel ringing out like a sharp note in the oppressive silence. Sparks flew as the blades slid against each other, their wielder's strength, and skill perfectly matched.

Jazmel countered with a sudden thrust, his blade moving with the speed of a striking serpent.

Black Dragon Talon!

Shadowy energy coiled along the edge of his katana as he swung, but his opponent twisted away just in time, the strike cutting harmlessly through empty air.

The rival retaliated with a sweeping horizontal slash. The blade hummed with power, and Jazmel barely avoided it, leaning back and feeling the sharp wind of its passage against his face. Without pause, the rival unleashed a rapid flurry of strikes, each one precise and lethal. Jazmel blocked and deflected with his own katana, their movements blurring together as the room filled with the sound of clashing steel.

They broke apart momentarily, circling each other. Both combatants breathed evenly, their focus unbroken. The rival smirked, raising his blade in a graceful flourish. "Not bad," he said, his voice low and edged with respect.

Jazmel didn't reply. Instead, he lunged forward, his katana igniting with fire.

Flaming Evisceration!

The flaming arc tore through the air, forcing the rival to leap back. The heat warped the air and singed the edges of his cloak, but he was quick, and his counterattack was immediate.

The rival's blade shimmered with a silver aura as he brought it down in a vertical slash, the force of it shaking the ground beneath them. Jazmel dodged to the side, using his momentum to pivot and deliver a swift horizontal strike aimed at the rival's midsection. The rival caught it on his blade, and for a moment, they were locked in place, their swords pressed together as both combatants pushed for dominance.

"You're good," the rival admitted through gritted teeth. "But not good enough."

Jazmel smirked. "We'll see about that."

With a burst of strength, he forced the rival back and immediately closed the distance, his katana a blur as he launched another assault. Their blades met again and again, the clangs echoing throughout the chamber. Each strike was calculated, each move deliberate—a battle of not just strength but skill and precision.

The chamber itself seemed to hold its breath, the ancient stone walls bearing silent witness to the clash of Master Tier warriors. Dust and debris shook loose with every powerful exchange, the air thick with energy and the promise of a victor yet to emerge.

Dark swathe!

Darkened energy skirted from the blade and Jazmel took the full force of the strike. The brunt force jarring his teeth, clenched in his jaw. But he was holding out.

Night of the fang!

Slashes rippled in the air, darkened but lighting the dark of the mausoleum like shooting stars before Jazmel's eyes. He parried and deflected each strike, just as the man darted in to try and catch him. but Jazmel was not off guard, no he was even waiting for this movement.

Shadowing Wraith!

Jazmel disappeared once more, vanishing into the void-like embrace of the shadows. His presence became a whisper, a fleeting ripple in the dark as he manoeuvred with lethal intent. Reappearing to the side of his opponent, his katana struck like a viper, slicing cleanly through the ribs with a stabbing thrust aimed straight for the chest.

The blade connected—

Wicker Man!

The man's body shimmered and dissolved, replaced by a smoky silhouette. Jazmel's blade struck nothing but shadow. The figure reformed several meters away, solidifying into the rival once more. He laughed, his grin sardonic and infuriating.

"That strike would've killed anyone else," the man sneered, his voice dripping with smugness. "But me? You'll need more than that, boy."

Jazmel cursed silently, reigning in his frustration. He calmed his breathing, drawing deep through his nose, steadying his resolve. His Mana swirled, pooling within him as he prepared for the next exchange.

The rival whispered under his breath, but Jazmel's heightened senses caught the faint utterance.

Black Cowl!

Dark Mana shrouded the rival, tendrils of shadow cloaking him in an almost impenetrable veil. His form flickered, becoming a blur as he darted through the air, his katana slashing in blinding arcs aimed at Jazmel.

Jazmel parried the first strike, sparks flaring as their blades met. The second slash grazed his vambrace, a jolt of pain rippling up his arm. The rival's movements were relentless, a storm of shadows and steel closing in on him.

Black Dragon Talon!

Jazmel's katana roared to life with shadowy energy, its edge pulsing with dark power. He countered with precision, deflecting an overhead slash and retaliating with a sweeping cut. The rival twisted away, narrowly avoiding the lethal strike.

The duel escalated into a furious exchange, the chamber filling with the sharp clang of metal and the hiss of Mana-infused strikes. Both combatants moved with the grace of seasoned warriors, their shadows dancing erratically on the cold stone walls.

The rival lunged; his blade aimed for Jazmel's neck. Jazmel sidestepped, his katana slicing upward to intercept the attack. The impact jolted through his arms, but he held firm, using the momentum to spin and deliver a devastating horizontal slash.

The rival blocked it, but the force pushed him back. He growled in frustration, his shadowy aura flaring with renewed intensity.

Flaming Evisceration!

Jazmel's katana ignited, fire bursting along its edge. He swung in a wide arc, the flames roaring to life and forcing the rival to retreat. The heat warped the air, singeing the edges of the rival's cloak as Jazmel pressed the attack.

The rival countered with a shadow-infused thrust aimed at Jazmel's torso. Jazmel twisted, the blade grazing his side, the pain sharp but not debilitating. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the searing sting as he launched his own assault.

The rival was fast, but Jazmel was faster. With a feint to the left, he baited the rival into overcommitting. The rival's blade swung wide, and Jazmel seized the opening.

Voided Reave!

Dark energy surged through Jazmel's katana as he struck with a downward slash. The blade cleaved through the rival's defences, cutting deep into his shoulder and chest. The rival staggered, his shadowy aura flickering erratically.

"You—" the rival gasped, blood spilling from his lips. His katana fell from his grasp, clattering to the ground as his knees buckled.

Jazmel stepped back, his katana held steady, its edge still glowing faintly with residual mana.

The rival's body trembled before collapsing, lifeless, onto the cold stone floor. The shadows around him dissipated, leaving only silence in their wake.

Jazmel exhaled heavily, his free hand pressing against the shallow wound on his side. It throbbed, but it was manageable—a mark of a hard-fought victory. He straightened, his gaze lingering on the rival's still form.

"I warned you," he murmured, sheathing his katana as he turned to continue his journey deeper into the labyrinth.

DING!

YOU HAVE DEFEATED THE FIRST EMBODIMENT OF JEALOUSY!

THE MAUSOLEUM HAS A GREAT DEAL OF EMOTIONS WRAPPED UP!

LOCKED IN HERE!

IN SOME INSTANCES, THEY WILL FORM AN EMOBODIMENT OF WARPED EMOTIONS!

…

DING!

TIER IV WRAITH OF JEALOUSY KILLED!

EXP GREATLY ACCRUED!

LEVEL UP!

+3 STR

+3 DEX

+3 INT

+4 WIL

+4 VIT

…

He sighed as the system stats melded into his body. He was about to leave, when he caught sight of the katana sheathed and left to him as a spoil of war. He picked it up and the system chimed.

DING!

TIER IV KATANA OF NIGHTSHADE GAINED! the katana has a dark Mana attribute, and all strikes will be mottled as such.