Monarch Chapter 77

Chapter 77

Rayne cut an undead down in a single motion.

His blade took the creature’s head clean off before it could even raise its rusted dagger. The second lunged from the side, jaw unhinging in a silent scream, and Rayne stepped into it, shield smashing forward. Bone cracked. The monster slammed onto the ground, and he crushed its head with his boots before kicking it towards the wall.

The undead didn't even twitch as a notification confirmed the kill.

He didn’t slow.

A third clawed its way out from a side alcove, parts of the armor fused to rotting flesh, and Rayne shoulder-checked it mid-step, driving it back with brute force. He turned his body with the motion and slammed it again, pinning it against the stone. Its spine snapped with a wet crunch.

Rayne was already running by the time it hit the ground.

Behind him, Bran’s bowstring thrummed twice in quick succession. Two arrows punched into the corpse’s skull and chest, pinning it to the floor.

It wouldn’t get back up.

They kept running, aiming to reach the end of the hallway as soon as possible. The faster they reached it, the better the chances of the [Flesh Doctor] not finding out about Varrick and the rest of his party.

As Rayne sprinted, boots pounding against the stone, his mind flicked back to the brief glimpse he’d gotten earlier of the chamber.

The room’s ceiling hadn’t been smooth.

Protrusions jutted downward at irregular intervals, like malformed ribs of stone, and between them were clear gaps—wide enough for bodies to pass through. The walls too had breaks, uneven seams that weren’t natural erosion but deliberate carvings made by the dungeon itself.

He had realised that the other hallways weren't just for show. They led to those gaps in the walls. At least, he hoped so desperately.

It was the basis of his whole plan.

Varrick and the rest needed to act like the aggressors, while he and Bran would be waiting for a ripe opportunity to join the battle. He didn't believe the plan would work as it did in his mind, but then, no plan ever did.

A part of him hoped—really hoped—that Varrick was right. That they were really facing off against a level 49 [Flesh Doctor] and her chimera instead of something far more dangerous. That brute force and speed would end this before she could even land a proper attack.

But hope didn’t sit well with him.

“Out with it,” Bran said suddenly, breath steady despite the pace. “What are you thinking?”

Rayne didn’t look back. “What good will it do?”

“You can’t go into a fight with shit clogging your head,” Bran replied. “Say it.”

Rayne grimaced, then exhaled sharply. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Bran waited for him to continue.

“The necromancer is too low levelled,” Rayne said. “Back in the bug dungeon, that chimera was terrifying. It could have easily killed Casper. And if Varrick is right, she could easily deal with this fucking undead doctor. Things don't add up, and I'm worried it might bite us hard enough to send us to the Hall of Hathras.”

Silence stretched between them, broken only by their footfalls. The hallway slowly got narrower and sloped upwards.

Then Bran said quietly, “There could be two of them.”

Rayne grunted. “I’m thinking the same.” His jaw tightened. “I just hope we get out of here alive to confirm it.”

They said nothing more.

The slope got harder and harder to climb properly, and both of them held the walls to slowly climb up. The chamber was close, and he could hear no signs of fighting.

That was a positive.

They finally reached the gap after a minute.

Rayne slowed just enough to control his breathing and crouched beside the broken seam in the wall. The stone there had been deliberately hollowed out, widened just enough for someone to slip through. Cold air flowed from the opening, thick with the stench of rot and wet fur.

He looked back to nod to Bran before leaning forward and peering down.

The chamber opened beneath them like a wound.

The stonefur bear corpse lay on the ground, more of its flesh littered around it.

The [Flesh Doctor] stood over it.

She worked with calm, methodical movements, needle and thread moving through dead flesh as if she were mending cloth instead of a monster. The blade of dark mana sat at her side, and she was in the middle of stitching together pieces of the rock armour with the wolf hide in the gaps.

Rayne felt bile rise just at the sight of it, but the good thing was that she hadn’t noticed anything amiss yet.

He glanced sideways.

Varrick was already looking at him.

Their eyes met for half a breath, and the man gave a single, sharp nod, then leaned back slightly and murmured something over his shoulder—orders, most likely. Rayne couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He already knew what was going to happen.

A sense of dread settled into his gut.

This was it.

There was no more planning. In the next few moments, the fight would start, and he would need to make sure he did everything for him and his party to make it out alive.

He clenched his hand before checking his gear one last time.

Below them, the [Flesh Doctor] pressed both palms against the bear’s back, necrotic mana flaring brighter as the stitching began to sink into the corpse. The air hummed.

And just then, Varrick moved.

His sword ignited in a sharp burst of light, mana surging along the blade in violent waves as he launched himself forward. He didn’t shout. Didn’t hesitate. He burst from cover like a falling star, boots slamming into stone as he dropped straight into the chamber.

Rayne’s breath caught.

A heartbeat before Varrick even landed, the necromancer's head snapped up.

Her eyes locked onto him with both panic and fear, but she didn't try to move.

Varrick cleared the stonefur bear’s corpse in a single bound, greatsword raised high as he brought it down toward her in a killing arc—

And a dark shield bloomed into existence between them.

It materialized without warning, a curved slab of darkened mana that rippled like liquid glass. One of the rings on her finger flared bright, pulsing once as the blade crashed into the barrier.

The impact rang through the chamber like a struck bell.

She muttered something under her breath as Varrick stabbed into the shield again, but it didn't even crack.

And the next second, the chamber came alive.

All around the floor, the undead twitched.

Their eyes snapped open, and a cold light flared in them as they picked themselves up, raising the rusted weapons they held in their hands.

A few of them shrieked.

The sound scraped across Rayne’s nerves, and then the undead surged upward in a wave. Not at Varrick, but at his party that had revealed themselves.

“Kill these dead bastards!” Nate shouted.

They waited for the undead to charge at them and slammed their shields into place. Surprisingly, Kesh maneuvered through one attack and stabbed his blade through an undead’s face in an impressive display of speed. Nate and John took on the undead that tried to flank and stayed close to make sure the monsters couldn't overwhelm them.

Rayne's eyes didn't stay on them for long. He focused on the centre of the chamber.

On Varrick.

He was relentless.

The greatsword crashed into the dark shield again and again, each strike heavier than the last, mana flaring bright enough to cast sharp shadows across the walls. The barrier rippled violently, but no cracks appeared on its surface.

The [Flesh Doctor] laughed in a grating voice.

“I don’t know how you managed to find me,” she said loudly, her voice cutting cleanly through the chaos, “but none of you are making it back alive. A spellsword like you would make for a great servant… I’m going to have so much fun with you once you’re dead.”

“Shut up!” Varrick roared, slamming his blade down again, mana flaring violently as he poured more strength into the strike.

Her grin only widened.

Then, she stepped back.

A spell matrix bloomed into existence between her fingertips.

Another strike struck the centre of her shield.

“I'm going to enjoy your expression a lot when you see my toy,” she whispered.

The chamber shook the very next second.

A deep, guttural roar thundered out from behind her, so loud it rattled bone and stone alike. The dungeon core room at the far end of the chamber burst open in an explosion of splintered wood.

Something massive pushed its way through.

It stood as tall as the undead lord Rayne had fought before, its body an obscene fusion of bone, muscle, and stitched flesh. But where arms or weapons should have been, four tendrils jutted from its back—long, whip-like growths lined with jagged, razor-sharp edges that scraped against the walls as it moved.

Its chest rose and fell, though it no longer breathed, and it only had one big eye in the centre of its rotten face.

Rayne had only seen two chimeras in his life, but this one was far uglier than the last one.

More undead poured into the chamber behind it, charging straight at his party. If he had to guess, the spell matrix was controlling all of them, as none of the undead even struck Varrick.

That job was given to the chimera.

It surged forward in a lunge, straight at Varrick. Its massive body cracked the stone on impact, and all the tendrils on its back snapped forward in unison, whips of bone and flesh screaming through the air as they struck at Varrick from different angles.

Varrick reacted instantly. He dodged the first few attacks and jumped back.

His [Force shield] flared up at once, the translucent barrier snapping into a full dome as the tendrils crashed into it. The impact boomed through the chamber, stone dust raining from the ceiling as the chimera hammered him again and again.

Rayne’s eyes widened in horror.

Throughout the dungeon, that shield had been untouchable. Dungeon wolves, undead soldiers—all of them had struck it, but it had never so much as flickered.

Now, under the chimera’s assault, cracks spiderwebbed across its surface. They were small and thin, but they were there.

“That’s bad,” Rayne muttered under his breath.

The chimera recoiled only to strike again, tendrils slamming from above and the sides, testing the barrier with brutal intelligence. Each impact made the cracks spread a fraction wider, mana flaring violently as Varrick was forced to brace.

It was certainly stronger than they’d expected.

Rayne’s gaze flicked around the chamber. Undead pressed in from all sides, their numbers growing by the second. Nate and the others were holding—for now—but they were already being pushed back.

This wasn’t a fight they could sustain.

Sooner or later, someone would fall. And once that happened, the rest would follow.

Rayne’s eyes slid to the back of the chamber.

The [Flesh Doctor] stood there, her shield protecting her as she controlled everything with the spell matrix in her palm. A smile graced her ugly face.

She was enjoying this.

And as long as she stood there, the chimera would keep moving like she wished.

A puppet with its strings intact.

Rayne didn’t hesitate.

He turned sharply, locking eyes with Bran, who watched everything through a narrow gap in the wall. The veteran had already nocked an arrow, his expression grim as he took in the battlefield.

“It’s time,” Rayne whispered.

Bran’s brows drew together. “You sure you can handle her?”

Rayne exhaled once, steadying himself. “I don’t know. But that shield doesn’t cover her completely. Only the front.” His eyes never left the necromancer as he spoke. “If I’m fast enough, I can land a hit. At least distract her. That should give Varrick the opening he needs to bring the chimera down.”

Bran was quiet for half a second.

Then he nodded. “Alright. I’ll keep the dead off your back and help the rest. Puncture as many as I can.”

Rayne nodded. “Run if it looks like we won't win.”

Bran snorted. “Don't die out there and we’ll be fine.”

Rayne didn’t reply.

He turned back toward the chamber, eyes burning as he studied the [Flesh Doctor]. If he played it right, he would be able to land a hit, and as soon as the spell matrix flickered, the battle would shift in their favour.

Without wasting another second, Rayne stepped out from cover, sword and shield in his hands, and jumped.

He hit the ground a few paces away from her, knocking down one of the charging undead before stabbing into its skull, then looking up.

For a split second, the [Flesh Doctor] simply stared—eyes widening as if he’d crawled out of thin air.

“How many pests are there?” she hissed.

“Only you,” he replied calmly.

Then, he charged.

She didn’t move at first and simply stared with the calm certainty of someone who knew her mana shield would protect her.

Rayne never intended to clash with it.

At the last moment, he veered sharply, boots slamming onto the mangled corpse of the stonefur bear. The stitched flesh gave under his weight, but it was enough. He pushed off hard, launching himself upward and over the arc of the shield in a single fluid motion.

The necromancer gasped.

Rayne came down behind her, blade already moving. His blade bit into flesh, but she reacted before he could push deeper.

She screamed, spinning as the dark shield flared violently, slamming into Rayne like a wall. The force threw him back, boots skidding across the stone as he barely managed to keep his footing.

Blood dripped onto the ground behind the necromancer. She touched her side, fingers coming away red.

Her face twisted. The grin was gone now, replaced by pure, seething hatred.

“You will regret this,” she spat.

Rayne straightened, sword steady in his grip. “I don’t think so. You can’t do anything while your chimera’s occupied. I’m going to kill—”

The sentence never finished.

Another ring on her hand flared to life.

Dark energy screamed into existence.

Rayne’s eyes widened as a blast of condensed necrotic force tore toward his face.

“Fuck,” he muttered.