Warlock of Oceans: My Poseidon System

"Back off!" one of the knights barked, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

Another knight swung his arm in a wide arc, pushing a few adventurers stumbling backward as he glared at the crowd. "You're not them, and you sure as hell aren't getting through here!"

The sheer force and discipline with which the knights moved caused the crowd to hesitate. It quickly became clear that while Cyrus and Athena might have been able to slip by with their power and presence, the average adventurer stood no chance against the church's well-trained soldiers.

Seeing the cold resolve in the knights' eyes, the crowd began to quiet, murmurs of frustration replacing the earlier shouting. No one dared step forward again. The knights had made their point clear—Cyrus and Athena were in a different league entirely, and there would be no more exceptions.

Without even needing to explain themselves, the knights restored order, standing tall and motionless as if nothing had happened. They held their ground, guarding the entrance with renewed vigilance, while the adventurers, now cowed and subdued, begrudgingly returned to their previous places, still muttering amongst themselves but no longer daring to challenge the church's authority.

As Cyrus and Athena descended into the dungeon, the first layer was eerily quiet and serene. The usually aggressive crane-like monsters wandered about with a peaceful air, their long legs stepping gracefully over the mossy terrain. The creatures barely acknowledged the presence of the two imposing figures, continuing their day as if nothing had changed. Cyrus and Athena exchanged curious glances but kept moving, not wishing to disturb the calm.

After a while, they reached the teleportation point to the second floor. The instant they arrived, the atmosphere shifted. Two knights of the church, stationed at the entrance, immediately tensed up at the sudden appearance of the towering duo. Their eyes widened at the sight of Cyrus and Athena, both massive and imposing, clearly out of place in the chaos that had erupted within the dungeon.

"Identify yourselves," one knight stammered, though his voice lacked any real authority. The other knight shot a quick glance at his partner, clearly uneasy.

But neither Cyrus nor Athena bothered with a reply. Instead, they moved forward, their mere presence enough to send the knights into a state of quiet submission. Their harsh, intimidating glares silenced any further attempts at questioning. The two knights exchanged nervous looks before stepping aside, helpless to stop them. As they watched the two disappear deeper into the dungeon, they could only sulk in quiet resignation, knowing they were far too weak to interfere.

Just as they reached the heart of the second floor, a familiar presence stopped Cyrus in his tracks. He felt the unmistakable weight of powerful mana approaching, something that immediately put both him and Athena on edge.

Then, stepping into view, a tall figure emerged, eye to eye with Cyrus. His long, flowing golden hair shimmered like spun sunlight, cascading over a suit of gleaming silver armor adorned with intricate golden jewelry. His pale skin gave him an ethereal, almost divine appearance, and his golden eyes, burning like twin suns, radiated both beauty and power.

Athena tensed beside Cyrus, her hand instinctively twitching toward her weapon as she recognized the figure at the same time he did.

"It seems we've crossed paths again, Sylus," Cyrus smiled, the tension easing ever so slightly from his posture.

Sylus—just as regal and imposing as the last time they'd met—smiled back, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Indeed, Cyrus. Fate has a strange way of bringing us back together." His voice was smooth, deep, and filled with an unshakable confidence.

The air between them buzzed with unspoken history and a sense that whatever had brought them here wasn't mere coincidence. Athena stood beside Cyrus, watching the exchange with cautious curiosity, knowing that whoever Sylus was, he wasn't someone to be taken lightly.

Cyrus, maintaining his calm exterior as he greeted Sylus, couldn't help but glance over his shoulder at the dungeon that stretched behind them. What he saw was far from the peaceful first floor they had passed through earlier.

The dungeon had become a place of grotesque horror, as if the very structure was being eaten away from the inside. The once-smooth stone walls, which had once provided a sense of order and stability, were now warped and twisted as if they had been corrupted by a dark, malevolent force. Long, dark, jagged vines had erupted from the dungeon floor, snaking their way up the walls like parasitic tendrils, wrapping around ancient stone pillars with the suffocating grip of strangling weeds. Some of these vines glowed faintly, their cores pulsing with a sickly green light, as if imbued with some sort of corrupted energy. The light flickered unevenly, casting eerie, dancing shadows across the dungeon's ruined interior, making it seem as though the walls themselves were alive, writhing and twisting in torment.

The air was thick with a rancid stench, the scent of decay and rot so overpowering it made every breath feel like an assault on the senses. It was as though the very dungeon was rotting from within, its stone walls crumbling into dust, the foul air sticking to Cyrus's lungs like wet tar. Every inhalation was laced with the stinging, acrid smell of something ancient, something long since dead, coming back to life in a grotesque and unnatural way. The foul miasma hanging in the air made the dungeon feel like a tomb, a place abandoned by life, its dark corners holding only sickness and despair.

Beneath their feet, the stone floor was no longer solid. Deep cracks had formed, splitting the ground into uneven, jagged edges. Pools of murky, viscous water had collected in the sunken crevices, bubbling and festering like wounds left to fester. Occasionally, something would ripple just beneath the surface—distorted, misshapen creatures swimming in the dark waters. Their forms were grotesque and unrecognizable, with too many limbs, oversized eyes, and twisted faces that briefly broke the water's surface before vanishing into the murky depths again. The water itself seemed alive, reacting to the dungeon's corruption, filled with toxins and decay, threatening to poison anyone who ventured too close.

Strange, disfigured growths clung to the stone like tumors. Mushrooms, blackened and swollen, erupted from every crack and crevice. Their caps oozed a thick, poisonous liquid that dripped down in slow, rhythmic patterns, hissing as it hit the floor, leaving deep burns in the stone. The fungi glowed faintly, emitting a pale, toxic light that gave the dungeon an otherworldly glow. Touching them would mean instant corruption, a slow death by the dungeon's miasma.

The air was alive with the sound of faint groans and hissing whispers that seemed to come from the dungeon itself, as though it were breathing, watching, waiting. The atmosphere was suffocating, a weight pressing down on anyone who dared to enter, as though the dungeon had become sentient, aware of their presence, and eager to consume them.

The ground beneath their feet had become treacherous, no longer the solid, reliable stone of the dungeon's original design. Cracks ran like veins through the floor, splitting it into jagged, uneven patches. In some places, the earth had completely given way, revealing gaping holes that descended into seemingly bottomless chasms. From these dark abysses, strange, eerie lights flickered erratically—pale greens and sickly purples—casting long, ominous shadows that danced along the dungeon walls as if alive. The lights seemed to pulse in time with the miasma swirling in the air, a rhythmic, malignant heartbeat that echoed through the chamber.

The shadows themselves twisted and contorted grotesquely, growing long and exaggerated before snapping back as the flickering lights surged and dimmed. Each pulse of light was accompanied by faint whispers rising from the depths, unintelligible and haunting, like the voices of long-dead souls trapped beneath the dungeon's surface. The floor quaked occasionally, as though something massive and unseen was shifting far below, shaking the stone above as it stirred.

Clusters of deformed mushrooms and fungi had overtaken nearly every crack and crevice, their grotesque forms looming over the ruined floor. These fungal growths were bloated and misshapen, their thick caps bulging unnaturally, as if filled with venomous pus. They oozed a viscous, glowing substance, which dripped slowly down their stems, creating toxic puddles on the ground. The liquid hissed and bubbled as it touched the stone, emitting a noxious steam that filled the air with a sharp, acrid smell. The glow from the fungi was sickly, casting an unsettling green hue over everything it touched, bathing the dungeon in a ghostly, poisonous light.

Some of the mushrooms were so large and mutated that they seemed almost like tumors, swelling grotesquely from the stone walls and ceilings, their caps hanging heavy and swollen. Thin, tendril-like roots dangled from the fungi, swaying with a strange, unnatural rhythm, as though they were reaching out, searching for something to latch onto. Occasionally, the thick, oozing liquid from the mushrooms would fall into one of the gaping chasms, and for a brief moment, the flickering lights below would intensify, as if the dungeon itself was feeding on the poison.