The wings abruptly snapped open with a sharp, audible crack. From the circular spots along their membranes, beams of concentrated dark affinity erupted in all directions simultaneously, dozens at once.

There was no discernible pattern, just pure rage manifesting as force, crisscrossing the space in a chaotic mosaic. It was as if the being responsible didn’t care where its energy landed, emphasizing destructive intent over aim.

Theresa’s hands were already moving with deliberate precision before the first blinding beam of light reached them, her fingers flicking instinctively. Layered shields snapped into place around Dominic in rapid succession, five, six, seven, each a shimmering, translucent barrier meticulously tuned to absorb dark affinity energies. The amplification behind each layer pressed against the limits of the base spell’s capacity, creating a near-impenetrable wall of magical defense.

Meanwhile, Florence was already a blur in motion. Her halberd spun swiftly through her hands, its blade flashing as she moved between the beams with unwavering confidence, trusting entirely in her own speed and agility. Her focused determination and quick reflexes defined her response, committing fully to evasion rather than confrontation.

Dominic ducked expertly beneath the attack. He felt the searing heat of another blast pass dangerously close, its intense warmth causing the fabric of his sleeve to smolder at the edge. A third projectile targeted his chest; Theresa’s protective outer shield intercepted it, shattering into sparks. The second shield cracked under the force, but the third held firm.

He maintained his movement, despite the pain from his ribs protesting each sharp change of direction. His shoulder space vocally complained every time he raised his sword in a defensive stance. The piercing shriek echoed loudly within his chest, lingering even after the attack had technically ceased. His heart pounded fiercely, a rhythm driven not by exertion but by the terror of being amidst such lethal chaos.

He pressed on, knowing that halting would mean death, and he understood what death looked like from the inside of a dungeon, a shadowy, suffocating silence that beckoned endlessly.

***

There was no opportunity for speech or explanation.

Theresa’s focus turned to Florence, amplification kept at maximum output as Florence exerted herself to her full forty percent, fighting against an external force that regarded forty percent as merely a starting point. The Bond level 2 deep power share with Dominic was maintained consistently, sustaining his S-rank functional level, which was crucial for his survival within this environment.

Multiple-layered shields were deployed, rotating in sequence as they shattered upon impact. These shields were recast immediately and automatically, as any delay in their regeneration would have been disastrous for Dominic, who was constantly under attack from relentless beams of destructive energy.

The detection ward in Astrielle’s Promise mapped beam trajectories half a second ahead of arrival. The gold trim moved with her as she worked. Counter-fire in the gaps between everything else, amplified force needles aimed at the angel’s wing joints, trying to ground it, trying to reduce the beam coverage. Each needle cost mana she was burning through faster than the fight had any right to demand.

Her face was pale.

Her hands were steady.

She kept working.

***

Florence was gradually losing ground in the intense confrontation. Slowly and methodically, the angel at SSS+++ rank regarded her with a level of respect rather than fear. The difference was the line between a fight Florence could potentially win and one she might only survive, requiring her to leverage every inch of her skill and resourcefulness.

She harnessed the momentum of her halberd, using it to maintain her offensive momentum. When closing the gap, she deftly redirected incoming beams with the flat of her blade, using its surface to deflect and control their trajectory. On her third pass, she aimed for the membrane of the lowest wing, striking precisely and tearing a gash that oozed the same dark, viscous substance as the face above it, indicating critical damage.

The angel shrieked.

A wing descended swiftly like a razor-edged blade, slicing through the air with lethal precision. Florence plungered beneath it just in time, but the follow-up strike caught her across the ribs. It wasn’t a clean hit, more of a grazing blow, yet powerful enough to send her skidding backward across the polished floor, as if the blow didn’t comprehend the concept of a glancing strike.

She recovered instantly, rising to her feet before her body even finished registering the impact.

Blood blurred her lip as she spat sharply, a rogue droplet staining her chin. A dangerous grin curled beneath the blood and bruises, a relentless expression she’d worn since arriving, signaling that she had carefully assessed the chaos and found it just enough to be compelling.

Without hesitation, she charged back into the fray, her resolve evident in every determined step.

***

Dominic watched intently, his eyes tracking every shift in the angel’s posture.

He couldn’t replicate Florence’s movements. He knew this with the precise clarity of someone who had exhausted all self-deception about what was happening before him. What he could do was what Florence had spent two weeks drilling into him: how to read the space between them, to identify the pattern.

The universal truth about opponents, regardless of their rank or power, was that they acted for reasons, and these reasons had distinct rhythms.

He slowed his racing mind, fighting against the rising terror, the sensation of ribs and shoulder muscles tensing, the shriek trapped somewhere deep in his chest. He watched the angel move between his own hesitant actions. The tantrum-like rhythm of its flapping wings. The way its wings are angled defensively before launching a volley. The crying intensified right before the larger, more destructive attacks. He noted the specific spasms along the wing joints that always preceded a frantic melee lunge.

The sobbing intensified.

"Shriek coming," he warned, his voice carrying clearly. "Shields!"

Theresa’s detection ward immediately confirmed the threat. She quickly reinforced the defenses just in time, preventing the shriek from catching them off guard. The powerful sound struck the shields first, causing two of the outer layers to crack from the sheer force of the frequency.

The beams that followed found their mark in the prepared ground.

It wasn’t much, but it was something, a start. And sometimes, that’s all you need to keep moving forward.

***

The tantrum abruptly ceased, as if a switch had been flipped. It stopped suddenly, not out of exhaustion, but because it had resolved itself, shifting from raw rage to quiet determination.

The sobbing immediately cut off. The hiccuping tears that had been echoing in its chest since it arrived faded into complete silence. The circular opening on its face widened, deepened, broadened, creating an absence so profound that the colorless light of the dark sun seemed to be drawn into it rather than illuminating it. The dark substance that had been flowing from its form halted completely. For a single heartbeat, the entire floor remained unnervingly silent.

Then it fired, not a volley, a solitary, focused column of energy. Pure, concentrated, and deliberately aimed with precision, not at Florence or Theresa.

But at Dominic.

The weak link. The one the dungeon’s calibration had been reading since they stepped through the shimmering portal. The E-ranked body, barely able to sustain itself, running on borrowed power combined with an ill-fitting trait, that had fought and killed opponents he should have died to, which on its own had already taken a heavy toll on him.

The beam was as wide as a skyscraper, a blazing column of pure, unfiltered light that seemed to distort the air around it.

There was no direction to move that wasn’t engulfed inside it, no safe haven, only the relentless surge of destruction.

Theresa’s voice cut through the chaos, raw and desperate, a sound he hadn’t heard before, full of strain and resolve. "Down!"

He threw himself flat against the cold, uneven floor, instinct overriding everything.

The shields materialized around him, layer upon layer of protective energy she had managed to conjure. Every shield formed a barrier between him and the towering column of light that devoured everything in its path. He felt the weight of them landing above him like physical blows, one after another, rapid and deliberate, each one a herculean effort draining Theresa’s remaining strength, forcing her to her limits as she fought to hold back the destructive force.

The beam struck the first shield with a searing hiss. It didn’t shatter into fragments; instead, it vaporized completely, leaving no debris behind, as if it had been erased from existence. The second shield evaporated in a similar flash, vanishing without a trace. The third shield started cracking within half a second, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface, weakness spreading rapidly until the beam reached its core.

Then, the shield disintegrated entirely, crumbling into nothingness. The fourth shield simply disintegrated under the relentless assault, dissolving into dust and sparks. The fifth shield, overwhelmed, collapsed in a cloud of dust and shattered energy. Dominic pressed himself flat against the cold, rough surface of the stone floor, the chill seeping through his clothing as he steadied his breathing.

The beam grazed the sixth shield, the one positioned directly against his bare skin, causing a faint, tingling sensation.

The light engulfed everything around him. A cracking sound, as if something essential was breaking, filled the air. The shield on his back trembled and cracked, spiderwebbing across its surface, then it finally hit hard and suddenly, all sound ceased, leaving behind only an intense, white-hot pressure.