The world stank of oil and blood.
Ezra's boots sank into charred soil as he descended deeper into the corrupted valley beyond the Choir ambush. What should have been forest was now metallic rot—trees warped into antennae-like stalks, bark peeled away to reveal glistening wires. The ground pulsed with low vibrations, as though the land itself was breathing.
Behind him, the Bone March moved slower now—cautious, wounded but not broken.
"We shouldn't be here," Kael muttered, voice hushed as he adjusted the wrap around his burned forearm. "This place isn't natural. It's alive."
Ezra didn't respond immediately.
He stared at the ridge ahead—where molten orange light flickered behind a ridge of razored metal and fractured buildings. A low hum vibrated through the earth, a rhythm that tickled the back of his skull like a song he almost remembered.
"You hear that?" he finally asked.
Kael tensed. "The music?"
"No," Ezra said, narrowing his eyes. "The screaming."
Two Miles Ahead
Vesper and a pair of scouts flanked a shattered billboard as they approached what remained of an old fusion plant—once a landmark on the northern grid before the Surge. Now it stood as a shell of ruin and madness.
Half of it had been devoured by a rift in the world—twisted into a jagged cathedral of flesh-metal spires and blacklight flames. The other half pulsed with visible mana, pouring corrupted energy into the sky.
But the worst part wasn't the structure.
It was the sound.
A constant, bone-deep wail that resonated in the marrow—a cry not of pain or fear, but eternal hunger.
"Choir territory confirmed," Vesper whispered, activating her null-field lens. "Energy signatures consistent with… gods, I don't even know what to call this. It's not just a dungeon. It's a factory."
Ezra stepped up beside her, his gauntlet flexing.
"Producing what?"
"Anything it wants," she replied, frowning. "It's not stable. It's evolving itself. Like an AI building its own body from spare parts."
Ezra turned to the others.
"We burn it down."
The Plan Was Simple
Too simple, Kael thought bitterly.
Ezra and a strike team would infiltrate the Choir factory from the east flank, using the mana interference to mask their approach. Meanwhile, Vesper would deploy null bombs and arc-disruptors on the western side to stall any reinforcement waves.
The problem?
The Choir didn't play fair.
They anticipated them.
Inside the Factory
It was heat and horror.
The moment Ezra crossed the threshold, he felt it—pressure against his soul, like fingers clawing at his memories. His vision doubled. For a heartbeat, he saw himself standing in an orphanage hallway, watching a nurse scream as something monstrous dragged her into the dark.
It vanished.
He clenched his jaw and forced the feeling down.
Focus.
The interior of the factory pulsed with an unnatural rhythm. Steel ribs arched overhead. Corpses, some mechanical and some organic, lined the walls like decorative trophies.
The air reeked of ozone and old rot.
"Movement," Kael warned, blade drawn.
They rounded a corner—and froze.
Hanging from steel chains were dozens of bodies, suspended over a glowing core. Machines slowly harvested their limbs, organs, and mana.
Some were still alive.
Ezra's eyes went cold. "Free them."
Kael hesitated. "If we cut those cords, the core might—"
"I said free them."
Without another word, Ezra raised his gauntlet.
Gravecall: Sundered Chains.
A wave of shadow shot forth, slicing through the bindings with surgical precision. The bodies fell—some twitching, others motionless.
The factory screamed.
The response was instant.
Walls shifted. Ceilings peeled back like paper. From the metal, constructs burst forth—Choir elite units, unlike any they'd faced.
Tall, skeletal beasts with too many joints and glowing red wires woven through their skulls.
Floating torsos whose lower halves were replaced with turbine engines spewing black flame.
One massive creature, fused from the torsos of five different corpses, whose chorus of voices sang a death dirge that melted nearby flesh.
Ezra stepped forward.
He wasn't afraid.
He was the fear.
Battle Erupted
Ezra activated his second affinity—Strength—and his mana surged. Muscles tensed, enhanced by necromantic reinforcement. His first punch shattered a Choir soldier's chest cavity, bone and wire exploding outward.
Kael danced between enemies, his dual swords cutting crimson arcs.
The freed prisoners scrambled behind cover, too weak to help.
Ezra fought like a storm given form. Every motion was deliberate—crushing knees, breaking necks, ripping mana cores out with practiced efficiency. His undead burst from the floor in synchronized waves, ambushing from below and dragging enemies into the ground.
But it wasn't enough.
For every enemy they downed, three more emerged. The factory's defenses were endless, self-replicating through biomass and scrap.
Ezra felt it—the slow bleed of time, the price of attrition.
Then he saw it.
A central pillar. Pulsing. Rhythmic.
The heart of the factory.
He moved.
The Core
The pillar stood ten feet tall, forged from a blend of organic tissue and tech plating. Inside, something alive floated—a brain? A mana source?
It opened its eye and spoke.
Not in words—but images. Flashes of Ezra's failures. His parents' faces. A dead nurse. The Strays' corpses. Himself, standing over a ruined world.
"You will break," it said in his mind.
Ezra laughed.
Then he drove his hand through the core.
Gravecall: Requiem Pulse.
Every corpse he'd ever raised answered.
The pulse detonated outward in a sphere of bone and fury, vaporizing constructs and rupturing the walls. A shockwave cracked the foundation. The factory screamed louder than ever, but now it was dying.
Outside, Vesper's team detonated their arc-bombs.
The Choir's cathedral of flame collapsed in on itself.
Aftermath
Smoke clung to the earth. Ezra staggered out of the wreckage, coated in soot and blood. His gauntlet was cracked. His left shoulder smoked from mana backlash.
Kael emerged seconds later, dragging two survivors.
Vesper gave a low whistle. "That was messy."
Ezra didn't smile.
He looked back at the ruins.
"This was a seed."
Kael looked confused. "What?"
Ezra clenched his jaw. "This wasn't a base. It was planted here."
His mind reeled.
Veylin was further ahead than he'd feared.
[System Notification: Dungeon Seed Destroyed]⟢ +10,000 EXP⟢ +2 Necromantic Adaptation Points⟢ +1 Strength Affinity⟢ New Trait Acquired – Symphony of War
Trait: Symphony of WarAs you command in chaos, your undead adapt and evolve in real-time.⟢ +15% effectiveness to Bonewalker coordination⟢ Gravecall cooldowns reduced by 20% during large-scale combat⟢ Mental resistance to psychic attacks increased
That night, Ezra didn't rest.
He stood watch, staring at the valley's edge, where the dark horizon flickered with new lights.
There were more seeds.
The Choir was spreading.
And somewhere out there, Veylin watched.
Smiling.