Incubus Ascension

The third layer stretched before them like the maw of some ancient beast, its walls alive with crisscrossing beams of lethal light that sliced through the air in unpredictable, chaotic patterns. Liam’s pulse hammered in his ears as he crouched at the threshold, sweat stinging his eyes. One wrong step here and it wouldn’t just hurt—it would end them.

’Stay sharp. No room for mistakes.’

He glanced at the girls—Citra’s determined face, the others tense but ready—and felt that familiar knot of protectiveness tighten in his chest. These women had followed him into hell more than once. He wouldn’t lose them here.

"Together, but on your own feet," he said, voice low and steady. "Run like your lives depend on it. Because they do."

They exploded forward.

Lasers screamed past Liam’s shoulder, singing the edge of his cloak. He twisted mid-stride, boots skidding on stone as another beam lanced toward his chest. Pure reflex carried him through—duck, leap, roll—his enhanced body pushing every muscle to its limit. Behind him, he heard the girls’ sharp breaths and the scuff of their feet, each fighting their own deadly dance. A cry of effort from one of them made his stomach clench, but he couldn’t look back. Not yet.

Somehow, they burst through the final gauntlet and spilled into the quiet gloom of the elven hero’s grave chamber, chests heaving, skin marked by near-misses.

Liam straightened, eyes locking on the massive gate ahead. He reached out, fingers brushing ancient runes that pulsed with faint power. Nothing. He shoved harder, then slammed his shoulder against it. The gate didn’t budge.

Gritting his teeth, he drew his sword and poured everything he had into a single, thunderous strike. The impact rang through the chamber like a struck bell, but when the dust settled, the gate remained pristine. Not even a scratch.

He stepped closer, scanning the floating system text that appeared at his touch.

*Sealed by royal elven blood. Only the true lineage may pass.*

Liam slapped a hand to his forehead, frustration boiling over. "Damn it. We need the blood of elven royalty—the hero’s line. Citra." The words tasted bitter. "Which means we’re crossing all three layers again. Back to the surface."

The girls exchanged grim looks, but no one argued. The thought of those lasers, the traps, the constant edge of death made his jaw ache from clenching. ’We just got through once. Now we do it twice more. For her. For all of us.’

They made the harrowing return in tense silence, reactions sharper this time from fresh memory. When they finally emerged into daylight near the royal palace, Liam’s legs burned and his mind felt frayed, but relief flooded him at the sight of familiar elven spires.

He found Citra in the royal chambers, her presence alone easing some of the weight on his shoulders. She turned at his approach, concern flickering across her elegant features. Without a word, he drew her close and kissed her—deep, grounding, the kind of kiss that reminded him why he fought so hard.

"I need your blood," he said softly against her lips, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. "For the gate in the hero’s yard. There’s... more. A dark elf down there. She made it clear she plans to kill me and claim the hero’s belongings for herself."

Citra’s face hardened, the queenly steel rising in her gaze. For a moment, Liam saw the depth of her worry—the fear for him, for their future together—but she mastered it quickly. "We will speak of this threat when you return. For now, your priority is securing those relics. Nothing else matters until you do."

He nodded, grateful for her clarity. It steadied him. With a small vial of her blood secured, he and the girls turned back toward the dungeon, the journey down feeling heavier with purpose.

The lasers still danced their deadly ballet, but determination carried them through faster this time. Back in the grave chamber, Liam uncorked the vial and splashed Citra’s blood across the sealed gate. Power flared, runes igniting in brilliant gold. With a deep groan, the gate swung open.

Inside, the sight stopped Liam cold. A skeleton stood motionless in the center of the chamber, ancient armor clinging to its bones, a gleaming sword held ready in one bony grip. Its empty eye sockets seemed to burn with awareness.

*Elven Hero Skeleton – Zallard.*

A new system window bloomed before Liam’s eyes.

**Quest: Worthy of Legacy**

Zallard will not surrender his belongings without proof of strength. Defeat him to earn acknowledgment.

**Failure:** Death for you and your companions.

**Rewards:** Zallard’s personal belongings and the secrets of his swordsmanship.

Liam’s blood surged with adrenaline. He lunged without hesitation, sword raised for a decisive strike.

The skeleton moved like liquid shadow. It sidestepped with blinding footwork, then countered with a precise blow to Liam’s chest that sent him crashing into the far wall. Pain exploded through his ribs as he gasped for air.

The skeleton returned calmly to the center, lifting its sword once more. A dry, ancient voice echoed from its jaw. "You didn’t let me explain, boy. I would have, had you not attacked so rashly. Here are my rules: I remain standing here. Each of you may attempt three strikes. I will not kill on the first two. On the third... your head will fly."

Its gaze fixed on Liam. "Two chances remain for you."

Liam’s blood ran cold. ’This isn’t some mindless undead. He’s testing us—playing by honor, but deadly serious.’ Death for all of them if they failed. The weight of it pressed on him like never before. He had dragged the girls into this. He had to be the one to carry the risk.

"Corner," he ordered, voice tight. The girls obeyed, following him to the edge of the chamber where they huddled close.

"I’ll be the only one attacking," Liam said firmly, meeting each of their eyes. "No one else risks it."

They erupted in protest. "Liam, no—" one began, while another insisted, "If we all strike, our chances—"

"I checked his level," Liam cut in, keeping his tone even but unyielding. "Two thousand five hundred. Even if you hit him, you wouldn’t scratch that kind of power. He’s not simple. We can’t gamble all our lives. I go alone."

The girls fell silent, expressions torn between fear and trust. Finally, they sighed. "Alright," one murmured. "We’ll follow your lead."

"Thank you," he said softly, meaning it. Their faith in him anchored him more than any power boost ever could.

Liam rose and walked to the opposite side of the chamber, facing Zallard. He activated **Devil King Diablos Mode**. Dark energy surged through him, his level spiking to two thousand as the nullification skill bloomed in his status—**Nullification of Blessings**.

The skeleton’s eye sockets flared with murderous intent. "Hmm. Devil energy."

’Great. Just made him hate me more.’ Liam cursed inwardly. ’But he was planning to kill me anyway. Screw it.’

He tensed his legs and launched forward with everything he had. This time, the strike connected. His sword, empowered by nullification, carved deep into Zallard’s chest with a critical burst of power. The ancient hero staggered, bones cracking, before the force hurled him backward.

**Quest Completed.**

The skeleton collapsed into a pile of glowing ashes that scattered on an unseen wind, leaving only silence and the sword resting on the stone.

Liam approached the grave site on unsteady legs, heart still racing. He claimed the belongings—armor pieces, artifacts, the hero’s blade—and began draining them one by one. Power flooded into him, each item yielding far more than anything before. Lia’s mother and Liz had given around fifty Origin Points at best. These... each one poured in at least a hundred.

His eyes widened as the total climbed. **580 Origin Points.**

’This changes everything,’ he thought, a fierce spark of hope igniting. ’Strong otherworldly beings—they’ll give even more. I need to hunt them next.’

They left the hero’s yard in weary triumph, retracing their path to the royal palace. Liam found Citra waiting. He pulled her into another kiss, the warmth of her grounding him after the brush with death.

"I learned something important," he told her, voice laced with quiet excitement. "The stronger the source, the more Origin Points I gain. It’s going to accelerate everything."

Citra’s expression brightened with genuine relief and pride. "That is excellent news." She summoned a fresh parchment, her fingers moving with practiced grace as she compiled a new ranked list based on known power levels.

Liam took the list from her, scanning the names. His eyes widened. The elven hero ranked twenty-third.

And at the very top was Ellara.

"Who is Ellara?" he asked.

Citra’s face twisted into a troubled expression.