As soon as we stepped through the portal, I knew we’d made a huge mistake.
Because instead of solid ground, my boots plunged into knee-high, freezing water.
I hissed, staggering forward as the cold knifed straight through me, my entire body immediately regretting every life choice that led me here.
“Are you kidding me?” I groaned, looking down at the murky black water swirling around my legs. “We couldn’t get, I don’t know, a dry cave? Some scenic ruins? A nice sunlit battlefield? Nope. We get this. Swamp Dungeon.”
“Technically, it’s a sunken temple,” Calla said, stepping beside me like the water didn’t even bother her. Somehow, her robes stayed miraculously dry.
Garrick grunted, shaking a wet boot. “Doesn’t matter what you call it. It’s still a pain in the ass.”
Thorne just sighed, rolling her eyes, already looking far too used to our collective whining. “We’ve been here for two minutes. Try holding off the complaints for at least five.”
“Listen,” I said, kicking at the water—and producing a sound that could only be described as aggressively moist—“when I signed up for this, nobody mentioned I’d be starting my day wading through a flooded corpse temple.”
“Would it have changed your mind?” Thorne asked dryly.
I opened my mouth, paused, then muttered, “…Probably not.”
She smirked. Clearly enjoying herself.
“Enough standing around,” Garrick said, boots sloshing loudly as he forged ahead. “We’ve got a dungeon to clear.”
 
Torches lining the walls flickered to life as we moved, casting uneven, shifting light over damp stone pillars and ancient murals half-drowned by the flood.
The air was thick with moisture—and something else.
Something older. Forgotten.
Ahead, the temple stretched into half-submerged corridors, some twisting away into darkness, others disappearing completely beneath the black water. The surface was unnervingly still, so dark it was impossible to tell what lay beneath.
Which, of course, meant something horrible was definitely waiting down there.
I narrowed my eyes, letting Night Vision kick in, sharpening the gloom around me.
And I still coudn’t see shit.
The water stayed stubbornly opaque—but there, faintly, I heard it.
Movement.
Something slithering just out of sight.
Because of course there were.
Calla caught my hesitation. “Something down there?”
“Probably,” I muttered, squinting into the depths. “And knowing my luck? It’ll have way too many teeth.”
“Great,” Garrick said, hefting his warhammer like he was already done with this place.
I took a steadying breath. “Alright. Let’s get moving before whatever’s down there gets curious.”
Thorne smirked. “Oh, I’m sure it already knows we’re here.”
I steadied myself and moved forward, boots dragging through the cold sludge.
Because as much as I already hated this, I had the sinking feeling we were just getting started.
We pushed deeper into the temple, our footsteps muted by the sucking grip of the water. The walls around us were etched with carvings—faded and worn, barely visible beneath the grime—but even decayed, they told a story of a place once alive with purpose.
Now?
It was just another grave.
 
Garrick led the way, stomping ahead like a man on a mission. The guy barely noticed the water dragging at him, swiping aside chunks of fallen stone like they were pebbles in his path.
“Strong guy privilege,” I muttered under my breath.
Thorne caught it and smirked. “Jealous?”
“Of being built like a battering ram? No thanks.”
Garrick snorted. “Sounds like something a guy without muscles would say.”
I rolled my eyes, wisely deciding not to pick a fight with the walking battering ram.
Calla barely reacted to our banter. She traced the carvings with quick, precise fingers, her eyes flicking from symbol to symbol with focused curiosity.
“Anything useful?” Thorne asked, keeping her voice low.
“Maybe,” Calla said, brushing grime from an inscription. “There’s mention of an artifact at the heart of the temple.
Our pace slowed as the corridors grew deeper. The water was swirling around our thighs now, making each step heavier. Darkened archways yawned open to either side, and the temple swallowed the light in crooked, unnatural angles.
Then Garrick suddenly stopped.
His posture shifted—weight braced, hammer tight in his grip.
“The floor’s not solid here,” he muttered.
I blinked. “Sorry, what?”
He pressed down experimentally with his boot—and the water shifted. Not gently.
It rolled, a deep, slow current coiling beneath us.
The floor wasn’t stone anymore.
It was something else.
A cold sweat prickled at the back of my neck.
I didn’t move.
None of us did.
Then—barely audible—a deep, wet shift echoed beneath the surface.
Not a rock.
Something alive.
“…I hate everything about this,” I said flatly.
Thorne stepped carefully to Garrick’s side, peering into the water’s depths. “Could just be loose rubble—”
Another ripple.
Slower this time. Stronger.
Like a massive body turning lazily beneath us.
Nobody breathed.
“Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. “New rule. No stepping without checking first.”
Thorne let out a slow, careful breath. “Agreed.”
Calla’s knuckles whitened around her staff. “Let’s find a path that doesn’t involve poking whatever the hell that is.”
Garrick eased a step back, movements slow and deliberate. “Yeah. No arguments from me.”
For once, none of us had anything else to say.
Because whatever was lurking down there?
It wasn’t just curious.
It was waiting.
 
The drop in temperature should have been enough warning.
One second, the corridor was just another miserable stretch of waterlogged ruins—
The next, the air turned cold. Frosty.
Like stepping into a blade.
Then the shadows moved.The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Shapes flickered into view—barely more than whispers of form, a ripple of something not quite there.
Wraiths.
They drifted above the water, cloaked in torn, spectral robes that fluttered without wind. Their faces were horrifying, glimpses of skulls behind veils of darkness, shifting like stretched silk with every flicker of torchlight.
Then, from below—
A different sound.
A deep, wet clank echoed through the temple like a warning bell rung underwater.
The black surface churned violently—
And something rose.
Figures armored in rotting plate, algae dripping from their joints, water gushing from ancient, rusted seams. Their visors were empty.
Their blades were already drawn.
Drowned Knights.
Fantastic.
“Really wish we landed in a dry dungeon,” I groaned, flipping my daggers into my hands.
“Less talking, more fighting,” Thorne called, already shifting into position.
The first Wraith lunged.
It moved like a shadow cast in the wrong direction—jerking, twisting, snapping through space.
I went to dodge—
And nearly ate it.
Something in the water dragged me down, every step slower, heavier, like moving through glue. I barely managed to pivot as claws lashed past, raking the air inches from my face.
Then—crackling energy split the air beside me.
Calla’s staff flared with light as a bolt of magic seared into the Wraith’s chest mid-lunge.
The creature screeched, its form flaring violently as the flames latched on—forcing it solid.
“Calla!” I shouted. “I owe you one!”
“Don’t get distracted!” she yelled back. “Because there are more!”
And there were.
Dozens of Wraiths surged toward us, trailing black tendrils as they twisted through the air, phasing in and out of existence like broken reflections.
And at the same time—
The Drowned Knights began their slow, relentless march.
Water sloshed around them, armor groaning with every movement, blades dragging through the flooded stone.
The first one charged Garrick.
It brought down its greatsword in a brutal arc, wide enough to cut a man in two—
But Garrick didn’t flinch.
He stepped into it.
His warhammer met the blade with a bone-jarring clang, absorbing the force, then slammed his shield forward in one brutal shove.
The Knight staggered back, crashing into the water like a sack of potatoes.
“Nice work!” I called.
“That was the easy part,” he grunted.
Another Knight swung for Thorne.
She didn’t block.
She ducked low beneath the strike, her blade already carving a shallow line across its hip. One step. Two.
Then she drove her sword straight through the Knight’s neck.
Its head toppled and the body collapsed.
Thorne cursed, barely glancing my way. “Keep up, Shadowborn.”
I smirked. “Gladly.”
Another Wraith shot toward me.
Echoing Blades.
I slashed.
My dagger cut clean through—
Then a shimmering afterimage followed, striking again, deeper, in the same spot.
The Wraith let out a strangled screech, its form warping—
Then shattered into vapor.
One down.
Another flanked me, claws flashing.
I felt it behind me—too close.
Shadow Step.
I blinked out of existence and reappeared behind it, my daggers already driving forward.
The Wraith spasmed violently, flickered once—then disintegrated as I tore my blades free.
Around me, the battle raged.
Garrick’s hammer smashed through another Knight’s helm, splintering rusted bone.
Calla ignited another Wraith mid-charge, pinning it in place with a glowing arc of flame.
Thorne moved like death incarnate, her sword dancing through the shadows, cutting down enemies before they could react.
And me?
I was moving.
Striking.
Vanishing.
Reappearing.
Unlike my first time in a group dungeon, I wasn’t just surviving.
I wasn’t being carried.
I wasn’t dead weight.
I was part of this.
I was contributing.
And I was going to make damn sure we all made it out.
 
The battle was chaos—shadows twisting, water churning, steel ringing against rusted armor.
But somehow, we were winning.
Garrick stood firm like a wall of iron and will, his warhammer crushing Drowned Knights like their bones were made of wet wood.
Thorne was all blade and momentum, cutting through enemies with brutal, practiced grace, her strikes clean, her footwork lethal.
Calla didn’t stop moving, her hands alive with arcane fire, burning Wraiths into full visibility just long enough for them to die screaming.
And me?
I was everywhere.
Shadow Stepping through the battlefield, daggers flashing, Echoing Blades doubling every strike. I carved through armor seams and flickering Wraiths, moving before they could fade fully back into the ether.
I was in it.
I was part of it.
And I wasn’t just keeping up. I was leading.
But just as I surged toward the last two enemies, something caught my eye.
High above—
A cracked stone column, swaying slightly with each tremor. Barely hanging on by a single support beam.
My gaze dropped to the cluster of undead directly below it.
A stupid, brilliant idea slammed into my brain.
“Hey!” I called, stepping back. “Everyone, brace for impact!”
Garrick turned, frowning. “What are you—?”
I didn’t answer.
I threw a dagger.
The blade spun once—twice—
Then hit the support beam with a sharp crack.
The sound that followed was deep and wrong. A groaning, splintering quake that echoed through the room like the ceiling itself was holding its breath.
Then—
The column fell.
Stone and shadow crashed into the water like a titan’s fist, sending a wave barreling outward like a ripple in a Giant’s pond. The last of the Drowned Knights were swept beneath it, crushed under the collapsing weight, limbs vanishing into the churn.
Then silence.
The water stilled.
The torches flickered.
And the room was quiet once more.
I let out a slow, victorious breath, rolling my shoulders. “Well. That worked.”
Thorne arched a brow. “That was reckless.”
“That was efficient,” I corrected. “Big difference.”
Garrick chuckled, shaking his head. “Remind me never to stand under anything unstable when you’re around.”
Calla grinned, flicking water off her sleeve. “Reckless or not, it was impressive.”
I offered a bow so dramatic it would’ve made a bard jealous. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week. Unless, you know, the dungeon kills us.”
Thorne rubbed her temples. “Alright, comedian. Let’s regroup.”
I slid my daggers back into my belt and fell in step as we moved forward, deeper into the temple.
We’d won that fight.
But I had the distinct feeling the dungeon wasn’t done with us yet.
 
The next chamber, at least, wasn’t immediately trying to kill us.
Which was a nice change of pace.
The room was massive and circular, the kind of grand architecture that screamed final boss, ancient secret, or both. Glowing runes ran along the walls, pulsing gently like the temple was still alive—like it was watching.
Overhead, the ceiling arched high, cracked with age, but the inscriptions glowed bright and untouched by time.
And at the far end?
A monolithic stone door.
Tall. Ominous. Covered in twisting carvings that pulsed faintly.
Clearly our way forward.
Clearly also locked.
“So,” Garrick muttered, giving the door a light tap with the butt of his hammer. “I’m guessing we can’t just break this down?”
“By all means, give it a go,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’ll give you fifty gold if you can break through.”
He gave me a flat look but moved on.
Calla was already inspecting the room, eyes scanning the glowing runes. Her eyes moved to the four raised pedestals in the center—each inscribed with ancient script.
“I think this is a puzzle,” she said softly.
“Oh great,” I muttered. “Love puzzles. I’m not very good at figuring them out, but at least they usually don’t have a blade to my throat.”
Calla gave me a warning glance. I ignored it with practiced maturity.
Thorne stepped up to one of the pedestals, brushing dust off its face. “There are four. All different symbols.”
Calla nodded, thinking aloud. “They’re elemental. Earth, Water, Fire… and Shadow.”
I raised a brow. “Shadow’s an element now?”
“In old magic, yeah,” she said. “And I think we each have to activate them using our abilities.”
I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. “Of course we do.”
“Messing it up will probably spawn enemies,” she added, like that was just a fun side note.
Garrick cracked his knuckles. “Then we just get it right the first time.”
“Simple enough,” Thorne said. “Calla, you’re up. What’s the order?”
Calla ran her fingers across the inscriptions, her lips moving silently as she deciphered the faded text.
After a moment, she nodded. “Earth. Then Fire. Then Water. Shadow last.”
I pointed at myself. “I get to go last?”
She nodded again.
I grinned. “Saving the best for the finale. I respect that.”
 
Garrick was up.
He stepped onto his pedestal with the confidence of a guy who looked at problems and solved them by smashing them flat. Gripping his warhammer in both hands, he raised it high—then brought it crashing down onto the stone.
The impact echoed through the chamber. The floor trembled beneath us as a deep, rumbling pulse of energy surged outward.
The Earth rune ignited in a burst of golden light.
“That did something,” he grunted, stepping back like it was just another day.
Thorne didn’t waste a second. She moved like she already knew exactly how this was going to play out. With one smooth, almost lazy motion, she raised her blade and slashed down across her pedestal.
Flames erupted from the stone, curling upward in bright, dancing ribbons. The Fire rune ignited in full.
“Nice,” she smiled, already turning away like it was no big deal.
Calla was next. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, lips moving in a language I didn’t recognize. Then she placed her hand on the Water pedestal.
Soft light pulsed from her fingertips—and streams of water coiled up around the stone in graceful spirals, swirling like they had minds of their own before settling.
The Water rune glowed bright blue.
Which left me.
Shadow.
I stepped onto my pedestal and immediately felt the air shift—cooler, quieter, like the dungeon itself was holding its breath.
No fire. No tremor. No swirling magic.
Just… darkness.
The light around me dimmed, and the rune beneath my feet pulsed faintly, like it was waiting for something only I could give.
Then—
I vanished.
For a split second, I wasn’t anywhere. No ground beneath my feet. No air in my lungs. Just shadows curling around me, wrapping tight like a second skin.
Then I was back—standing right where I’d been—and the Shadow rune flared to life.
I blinked. “Okay,” I said, shaking off the creeping chill. “That was unsettling.”
Before anyone could reply, the chamber trembled again.
The runes pulsed one last time—then the massive stone door across the room swung open.
All four of us turned toward it as the path beyond revealed itself—
And something growled.
Low. Deep. Ancient.
It echoed through the stones like a warning. Like a promise.
I gripped my daggers tighter. “That’s probably not good.”
The final chamber was massive.
Not “big.” Not “roomy.” Massive.
The kind of space that made you feel small and watched—even when you were armed to the teeth and flanked by a badass fire mage, a sword-wielding whirlwind, and a barbarian with a hammer.
 
The air was heavier in here. Thick with magic and pressure. Like the temple itself was breathing, waiting.
And then there was the lake.
A wide, still expanse of dark water filled the center of the room, stretching into the shadows where the torchlight couldn’t reach. Its surface was perfectly still, like black glass—reflecting crumbling stone pillars and faded murals that lined the chamber walls.
At the heart of the lake stood a statue.
Monstrous. Jagged. Carved into a shape vaguely serpentine but deeply wrong. Its features weren’t like anything I recognized—too many angles, not enough symmetry, like it had been sculpted by a madman.
Its eyes were black.
And the second we stepped forward—
They lit up.
A deep, thrumming pulse rolled through the chamber, low and ancient, vibrating through my ribs like a second heartbeat.
 
Then the water exploded outward, crashing against the stone steps as something massive stirred beneath the surface. A shadow uncoiled—long, snakelike—sliding through the black water like it had always owned this place.
The lake heaved—
And the Guardian of the Deep rose.
It erupted from the water in a towering spiral of stone and living shadow, its sheer size blotting out the torchlight, swallowing the room in darkness. A tidal wave slammed against the platform, nearly knocking us off our feet.
That statue we’d passed?
It wasn’t a tribute.
It was a warning.
The real thing was so much worse.
The Guardian’s body twisted higher, massive and unnatural—half jagged stone, half writhing shadow—fused together in ways that made my stomach knot. It had no eyes. Just a gaping maw lined with jagged, broken teeth, each one the size of a short sword.
Along its back, four sigils pulsed weakly, flickering like dying stars swallowed by night.
I froze, breath catching in my throat.
This wasn’t just a dungeon boss.
This was survival.