You’d think something that size would move slow.
Heavy. Predictable. Easy to see coming.
You’d be wrong.
The Guardian of the Deep surged from the lake like a nightmare set loose—towering, coiled, impossibly fast. One second it was rising, shadows twisting around stone like living armor. The next, it was attacking.
Massive jaws opened wide, wide enough to swallow us whole.
Garrick moved first.
He planted his shield, boots skidding on the slick stone as the creature’s head came crashing down. The impact hit like a siege engine, sending a shockwave through the flooded chamber, causing water to explode in a tidal spray.
But Garrick didn’t budge.
“Go!” he roared, digging in. “Find a way to hurt it! I’ll keep its attention on me!”
Thorne was already gone—circling wide, her blade gleaming as she dashed in and slashed deep into the Guardian’s hide. Her strike hit true, cutting through the jagged stone armor.
But the Guardian barely noticed.
“That’s not good,” Thorne growled, retreating just in time as a tendril of shadow lashed out with a hiss, slicing the air where her head had been a second earlier.
Calla planted her staff with both hands, her voice rising into a chant that vibrated with raw power. Arcane runes flared beneath her feet—sharp, white-blue lines burning against the flooded stone like lightning trapped in glass. A surge of fire roared from her hands and arced across the chamber, slamming into one of the glowing sigils embedded along the Guardian’s massive spine.
The sigil sparked.
Then flared.
The Guardian screamed.
It wasn’t a roar. It was something deeper—wet and gurgling and warped by centuries underwater. The sound cracked through the flooded chamber like a submerged avalanche, vibrating through my bones until I thought my ribs might splinter.
“That did something!” Calla shouted, already preparing her next spell.
“Then we hit those,” I muttered, breath short, eyes narrowing on the flickering runes running down its back.
I drew my daggers in one smooth motion, the steel whispering free of the sheaths, already humming with tension in my grip.
“All right, big guy,” I muttered, tightening my hold. “Let’s see how you like Echoing Blades.”
Then I vanished into shadow.
My body slipped through the veil with practiced ease, reappearing mid-sprint as I curved wide along the platform’s edge. Just ahead, the Guardian roared—one last guttural bellow—before its massive form crashed back into the lake like a collapsing mountain. Water surged and frothed violently in its wake.
Then—sudden stillness.
No movement. No sound. The entire chamber froze, silent and tense, like the dungeon itself was holding its breath.
I stopped cold. Everyone did.
“…That’s not good,” I whispered, daggers clenched so tight they trembled in my hands.
Garrick’s voice sliced through the silence like a warning bell. “It’s coming from below! MOVE!”
We scattered.
A dark, massive shape twisted beneath the lake’s surface—fast and coiled—then exploded upward with earth-shaking force. The Guardian erupted in a spiraling surge of liquid shadow, tentacles whipping outward in every direction like a kraken gone berserk.
One lashed out straight at me.
I dove hard to the left as the tendril sliced through the space I’d just occupied—close enough to feel the air warp from its speed. Another tendril struck from behind, silent and fast, wrapping around my ankle like a vice.
“Shit—!”
It yanked me off my feet.
I hit the slick stone hard, sliding across the platform as the tendril dragged me toward the edge. I stabbed one dagger into the floor, the impact jarring all the way up my arm, but it held. I skidded to a stop, barely a breath away from being pulled into the depths.
Across the platform, Thorne leapt and twisted mid-air, her blade arcing through two tendrils in a clean sweep that left both falling in pieces. Garrick drove his warhammer into a third tendril trying to snatch him, the impact exploding in a burst of black mist and steam. Calla stood firm near the back, staff raised high as a bolt of fire erupted from her palm, searing through another tendril before it could reach her.
“The sigils!” Calla shouted, pointing at the Guardian as it reared back. “They’re still glowing!”
That was our target. Our only shot at ending this.
“On it!” I growled, yanking my leg free from the tendril’s grip and bolting toward the heart of the chaos.
The Guardian erupted from the water again—towering, coiled, and monstrous. Its massive form twisted through the air like a tidal serpent, too big and too fast to keep up with.
Garrick held the front line, his shield braced and hammer smashing into the beast’s maw every time it emerged, each blow buying us seconds. Thorne darted between platforms and jutting stone ridges, her blade flashing as she carved into exposed seams in the creature’s hide. Calla rained spells from above, fire and lightning slamming into the glowing runes embedded in the Guardian’s body—causing them to flicker, but not break.
Not yet.
We needed to hit harder. Hit smarter.
I had an idea.
A dumb, reckless, obviously terrible idea.
“Cover me!” I yelled.
Thorne snapped toward me. “Felix—”
Too late.
I Shadow Stepped.
Darkness wrapped around me—cold, fast—and I blinked back into reality standing atop the Guardian’s back.
The surface was a nightmare: slick with moss, scaled like obsidian, shifting constantly as the beast thrashed beneath me. It wanted me off, but I wasn’t giving it the satisfaction.
I surged forward—daggers out, boots skidding for traction along its spine. I activated Specter’s Rend, my blades igniting with shadowlight. Dark energy spiraled behind me like an echo.
I drove both daggers into the nearest sigil and ripped them outward in a wide X. Echoing Blades triggered instantly—afterimages following my cuts, striking the same lines in delayed tandem.
The rune cracked.
Then shattered like glass.
The Guardian screamed—a horrible, echoing roar—and its body convulsed, hurling me into the air. But I managed to land on its back again.
“Keep going!” Calla shouted.
No argument here.
Garrick roared, smashing his hammer into the creature’s skull, stunning it for a heartbeat. That was all Thorne needed.
She launched off a ledge, blade reversed in her grip, and plunged it straight into the second sigil. The rune detonated with a deafening crack, sending shockwaves through the chamber.
Calla raised both hands skyward. Magic surged—her eyes lit with white-hot power as a blazing sphere of fire and force formed above her head. She hurled it like a comet.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
It struck the third rune dead-on.
BOOM.
The explosion rattled the entire dungeon. I stumbled, barely staying upright.
Only one left.
I sprinted along the Guardian’s spine, stone and spray flying in every direction. The water below raged in a churning vortex, swallowing chunks of debris.
The final sigil glowed just ahead—flickering, unstable.
I jumped.
Blades flipped in my hands.
A whirlpool below waited like a hungry mouth.
I struck.
Both daggers plunged into the last rune just as it flared with energy—
BOOM.
The detonation launched me skyward in a storm of shadow and magic. I twisted midair, completely weightless, falling to the ground below.
No way I could land safely.
Shadow Step.
Darkness wrapped around me again—cold and familiar—and I reappeared on a nearby ledge, slamming hard into a cracked pillar.
I collapsed against the stone, coughing, soaked to the bone, heart pounding like a war drum.
But below me, the Guardian shrieked in agony.
All four sigils were gone.
Its form twisted erratically, the magic that had protected and sustained it was now unraveling like thread in a fire. The lake below churned, waves crashing against the walls as the beast began to come apart.
“NOW!” Thorne shouted from across the chamber.
 
Garrick roared and slammed his warhammer into the stone beneath us.
The platform cracked under the impact—fractures spiderwebbing out in every direction. The force rippled through the ground like a shockwave, slamming into the Guardian mid-lunge.
It froze, twitching as the blow stunned it in place. Its roar was low and guttural—not pain, but warning. Defiance.
Thorne sprinted forward, using the tremor’s momentum to launch herself into the air. Her sword caught the light mid-leap, flashing silver for a split second before she twisted and brought it down in a clean arc—driving the blade between two exposed plates of the Guardian’s armor.
A perfect strike.
Calla followed suit, lifting her staff overhead as glowing runes spiraled up her arms and across the stone. Her voice rose into a steady, focused chant.
Magic surged.
Then she unleashed a brilliant spear of arcane energy, it tore through the air, streaking straight toward the Guardian’s chest. It struck with a deafening impact, the force rippling through the monster’s body and pushing it back a full step.
That was my cue.
I didn’t have time to overthink.
I Shadow Stepped—one final time—blinking out from the fractured edge of the platform and reappearing above the Guardian’s head, suspended in midair, both daggers drawn.
For a single, breathless moment, time stood still.
Just me.
Just the fall.
Just the final strike.
Then gravity kicked in.
I dropped fast—blades first—and slammed both daggers down into the glowing core embedded in the Guardian’s back.
A violent burst of energy tore through the chamber.
The creature let out a monstrous, guttural shriek—louder than anything we’d heard before. The monstrous beast began to unravel, the bulk of it dissolving into steam and crumbling fragments of dark matter.
In the space of a heartbeat, the Guardian went from an unstoppable force of nature… to nothing.
No roar.
No more surging waves.
Just the echo of its death cry, the hiss of boiling water, and the slow drip of silence returning.
 
Then, across my vision, a single notification pulsed to life:
[Dungeon Cleared: The Sunken Sanctum]
 
My breath was ragged. My heart thudded in my ears. Every muscle felt like it had been wrung dry and then set on fire.
I finally looked up.
Thorne stood panting, one hand on her knee, soaked to the bone, her sword still clenched tight.
Garrick leaned on his hammer, nodding slowly like he was already mentally checking out.
Calla exhaled in a shaky huff and holstered her staff, her eyes wide with disbelief and exhaustion.
And me?
I just lay there, blinking, soaked and sore and very, very alive.
“…So,” I croaked. “That was awful.”
Thorne let out a ragged, disbelieving laugh, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face. “Yeah. It was.”
Garrick grunted, shrugging like this kind of thing happened all the time. “Not the worst I’ve fought.”
Calla groaned, shaking water from her sleeve. “That was absolutely the worst I’ve fought.”
I laughed too. Because if I didn’t, I might’ve just passed out right there.
“Glad we’re all on the same page.”
 
As the last echoes of the Guardian’s death throes faded, something shifted.
The water—once black, endless, and aggressively unpleasant—began to drain. Slowly at first, then faster, spiraling down into unseen cracks below. It sounded like the temple was finally at peace, like the whole place had been holding its breath and just now remembered how to let go.
And there, right at the center where the Guardian had collapsed?
A shimmer.
A treasure chest.
“Now that’s what I like to see,” Garrick muttered, already heading toward it. “Let’s find out what this thing was hoarding.”
We all followed, boots scraping against wet stone as we crossed the newly revealed path. The water kept draining, revealing more of the submerged floor, along with something else—an ornate doorway tucked just behind the collapsed debris. It was half-buried, but definitely there. And definitely not just decoration.
“Well, well,” Thorne murmured. “Looks like there’s more than just a chest.”
The chamber beyond wasn’t huge, but it was packed—neatly stacked piles of gold, a few enchanted weapons resting in display racks, and that unmistakable flicker of faint magical glow that meant loot worth caring about.
Calla made a beeline for a long dagger with a pale blue shimmer, turning it over in her hands. “Water enchantment,” she said, eyes scanning the runes. “Good against fire elementals.”
Garrick hefted a massive two-handed axe, tested its balance, then grunted. “Too slow.” He set it back down like it was a piece of garbage.
Thorne found a short sword etched in deep red, and the moment she gave it a test swing, it left a trail of flames in the air. She nodded like it had confirmed something she already knew.
“Yep. This one’s mine,” she said with a smile.
While they picked through the weapons, something else drew me in.
At the very back of the room, resting on a lonely stone pedestal, was a book. A tome, really. Old as sin and twice as suspicious. The leather cover was cracked and weathered, bound shut by a type of lock I didn’t recognize—no keyhole, no latches. Just sealing magic. Ancient. Intricate. And definitely not standard issue.
I reached out and picked it up.
The moment my fingers touched the cover, a system message flashed across my vision.
 
[New Quest Acquired: The Keeper’s Lost Tome]
Objective: Deliver the Sealed Tome to its rightful owner in Maldon.
Reward: Unknown.
Failure Consequence: Unknown.
 
I blinked.
Then behind me, three identical chimes rang out in quick succession.
“…Did we all just get that quest?” Calla asked, brow furrowing.
Thorne sighed. “Looks like it.”
Garrick grunted. “Great. The creepy book just volunteered us for a side quest.”
I turned the tome over in my hands, scanning the faint, unreadable inscriptions curling around its edges like vines. I had no idea what language it was written in, but it felt old. Important. Dangerous, maybe.
“Whatever this thing is,” I muttered, “it’s been sitting here a long time. And now someone in Maldon wants it back.”
We all fell quiet for a beat, each of us thinking through what that meant. Then Garrick shrugged.
“We were heading there anyway.”
“Yeah,” Thorne added, rolling her shoulders. “Might as well get paid for it.”
I smirked. “And here I thought we were just going for the sightseeing.”
Thorne clapped me on the back—hard. Hard enough to almost knock me into a pile of gold.
“See? Told you you weren’t dead weight.”
I snorted, brushing her hand off. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
She grinned. Calla stretched, tucking her new dagger into her belt with a tired sigh.
“Let’s split the loot before something decides to respawn and ruin our day.”
 
Before we stepped through the still-sparking dungeon portal, we did what any group of half-dead adventurers should do after almost getting eaten by a temple-sized water snake:
We divvied up the loot.
Garrick counted the coins like a grizzled accountant, splitting everything four ways. We each walked away with five hundred gold—a solid haul by any standard.
I slipped my share into my void pouch, resisting the urge to kiss the pouch dramatically. Barely a week ago, I was scraping together enough coin to afford basic supplies.
Now?
Now I had real gold. Real gear. A growing arsenal of terrifyingly effective talents. And a party that didn’t just tolerate me—they trusted me.
 
“Alright, potions,” Calla said, pulling out a handful of healing vials. She tossed one to each of us, keeping one for herself.
I caught mine easily, turning it over between my fingers before tucking it into my belt. “Pretty sure we’ve earned this.”
“Pretty sure we’ve earned about ten more,” Thorne muttered, rubbing a nasty-looking bruise on her arm.
“Then don’t get hit,” Garrick said without missing a beat.
She shot him a look sharp enough to shave stone. “Tell that to the giant monster that body-slammed me.”
Calla cleared her throat loudly before that could spiral into an actual argument. “Weapons next,” she said, nodding toward the pile.
Garrick picked up a battered greataxe, running a hand along the edge. “Reinforced steel,” he muttered. “Not bad.”
Thorne already had her flame-etched blade practically glued to her side, so I let my gaze wander—and that’s when I saw them.
A pair of daggers.
I moved without thinking, drawn to them like they were calling my name.
The hilts were wrapped in black leather, the blades themselves an unsettling pair—one a deep, ruby crimson, the other a sickly, metallic green. They gave off a faint aura, almost like the air around them didn’t want to get too close.
The second I picked them up, a notification flashed across my vision.
 
[Venomfang Twins] Rank: A
A paired set of daggers, each coated with a regenerating poison that never runs out.
Left Fang (Crimson Blade)
Coated in a toxin that causes instant infection, searing pain, and damage over time.
Right Fang (Green Blade)
Laced with a venom that causes temporary paralysis, slowing the target’s movement by 50%.
 
I let out a slow, slightly unhinged breath, turning them over in my hands.
This… was insane.
Having a poisoned blade was already terrifying. But two different poisons? One that burned and one that slowed?
I grinned.
“Okay,” I said, giving them a few lazy spins. “Now this I like.”
Thorne arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “Poisons that never run out?”
“Apparently,” I said, slipping them into my belt like I’d just been handed the keys to the kingdom. “I stab someone, and they either melt from the inside out or get stuck moving like they’re covered in honey.”
Calla raised an eyebrow. “That seems… wildly overpowered.”
“Yeah,” I agreed easily. “And I’m not complaining.”
Garrick huffed a low laugh. “Great. Now we’ve got an assassin with magic daggers.”
“Excuse you,” I corrected. “A Shadowborn with magic daggers. Please respect the brand.”
Thorne snorted. “More like a problem with magic daggers.”
I shrugged, completely unbothered. “Same thing, really.”
Calla slung her new dagger onto her belt and stretched. “Alright. We good?”
“Yeah,” I said, rolling my shoulders. “Let’s hurry before the dungeon decides to get rid of our portal out of here”
Garrick adjusted his hammer, casting one last glance at the ruined temple. “Not bad,” he muttered. “Could’ve gone worse.”
“Could’ve gone much worse,” Calla agreed, her voice dry.
I took one last look at the crumbling wreckage—and then at the tome secured carefully in my bag.
Whatever was waiting in Maldon… whatever this tome meant, or who it belonged to—it wasn’t random.
I rolled my shoulders, the weight of that realization settling deep in my bones.
“Alright,” I said, a slow grin pulling at the edge of my mouth. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
We turned as one and stepped into the portal.
And just like that—
The Sunken Sanctum vanished behind us.