A soft echo of dripping water and distant rattling chains guided Noah’s party deeper into Medusa’s labyrinth. Torchlight illuminated a long corridor where serpent carvings rippled across the walls as though alive, a silent testament that they neared the core of her domain.

  Suddenly, a lone figure appeared, trembling with terror. Curly orange hair framed uneasy crimson eyes, and a butler’s uniform clung to his slim frame. Black shackles bit into his wrists, where jagged blades jutted from broken chains. A collar of serpent design circled his neck.

  “P-please,” he stammered. “Leave now, or… or Lady Medusa will kill me.” His red eyes burned with desperation.

  Noah raised a calming hand. “You don’t want to fight. Step aside—we won’t harm you.”

  A flicker of hope crossed the butler’s face, then vanished. “I can’t. The collar floods me with black mist if I disobey. I’d die instantly.” His voice shook. “If you won’t leave… then you have to die instead.” Agony choked his words. “Ability activate: Jazz King.”

  A murky aura pulsed, and a hulking creature manifested behind him. Light-purple flesh bore a tarnished crown, its yawning mouth an eyeless void. Mechanical fingers ended in chained nails, while a twisted record player churned in its rib-like chest. Slime fused the monster’s tail to the butler’s spine, binding them.

  The nameplate on the collar read Rio. He swallowed hard. “I… I’m sorry. I won’t let you pass.”

  A discordant music hissed through the hallway—an ominous buildup emanating from the record player. Noah and his companions tensed, hearts pounding at the oppressive atmosphere.

  “Let us listen,” Rio murmured. “To the music of the dead.”

  A dreadful shriek erupted from the Jazz King’s mouth, needles of sound piercing the party’s ears. Three ghostly flames—violet, cyan, and orange—drifted in, coalescing into discs the monster devoured. The record player spat out a macabre tune of static and tortured screams. Without warning, the Jazz King drove its long nails into its own head, greenish fluid oozing down to the floor.

  From that thick goo, three shapes emerged: Azio, Celeste, and Evander—Medusa’s previously slain servants—reborn in grotesque mimicry of their final moments. They stared with glazed eyes, moaning in unison with the warped melody.

  “As long as the Jazz King plays,” Rio whispered brokenly, “they can’t die again… not unless you destroy it first.”

  Noah’s party stood horrified, each reanimated foe lurching forward to the sickening notes. “We’ll have to split up,” Noah shouted over the monstrous music. “Ava, Cyrus, and I will handle these music zombies. Lucy, Adam—take out Jazz King!”

  “Music zombies? Seriously?” Rio blurted.

  “Unless you’ve got a better name,” Noah snapped back, eyes locked on the new threats. Rio just flushed in silence.

  Quickly, the group divided. Ava, Cyrus, and Noah moved to engage Azio, Celeste, and Evander’s shambling echoes. Lucy and Adam turned to face Rio and his towering abomination.

  Lucy tightened her grip on her greatsword, a faint green aura flickering at her fingertips. Adam hefted his crimson spear, faint energy shimmering about its tip. Rio, trembling with dread, braced himself behind the Jazz King. The record spun faster in the creature’s chest, screeching with every rotation.

  “Please… just leave,” Rio said, sorrowful but resolved. The Jazz King’s mouth opened, launching compressed sound bullets that whistled through the corridor with a high-pitched shriek. Lucy ducked behind her sword, while Adam twisted aside, grimly noting each bullet’s explosive impact on stone.

  “We can’t hold back,” Adam muttered, hurling his spear forward. Its crimson glow curved midair with lethal accuracy toward the Jazz King’s core. In a startlingly quick move, the Jazz King lurched aside—only to have Rio’s chain-blade intercept the spear with a resounding clang. Sparks flew, and the unstoppable spear embedded itself in the far wall before returning to Adam’s hand.

  Seizing this moment, Lucy dashed closer, whispering “Decay.” Vines erupted from cracks in the floor, entangling the Jazz King’s ankles. These living tendrils swiftly rotted away, leaving a sticky black residue that weighed down the monster’s movements. Letting out a roar, the Jazz King swung at Lucy with rapid punches that shook her arms to the bone, forcing her back. Adam darted in from the side, spear at the ready, but again Rio’s rattling chains whirled in defense.

  The Jazz King unleashed another barrage of screeching bullets from its grotesque record player. Lucy called forth more decaying vines, each bullet’s impact tearing them apart in bursts of shredded leaves and twisted roots.

  “It can’t do that forever!” Lucy breathed, heart pounding. “We just have to break that record.”

  Adam nodded, scanning for an opening as the tail-like lower body of the Jazz King thrashed behind it. Summoning red energy at his spear’s tip, he launched the weapon again. Rio’s expression flared with panic, but he refused to relent. The chain-blade soared, clashing again in a frantic storm of sparks. The corridor echoed with the monstrous tune, that dreadful record spinning faster, threatening to conjure new horrors with each scratch.

  Adam’s patience snapped. He gripped his crimson-tipped spear, eyes narrowing in fierce determination. “I’m sick of this,” he snarled. “Let’s end it. Soul Release.”

  In one brutal motion, he stabbed himself through the chest with his own spear. A flash of crimson light erupted, and in that instant, the spear melded into him. A deep, feral transformation tore through his body. Sleek, bone-white armor coiled over his limbs, its surface glimmering like polished ivory. A dark, tattered cloak materialized around his shoulders and back, rippling with a life of its own—almost as though it were woven of living shadow and flames.

  Black, razor-sharp claws sprouted from the fingertips of his gauntlets, their edges faintly smoking with the residual heat of his unleashed power. The green in his hair was streaked with a sinuous crimson that snaked through each strand, and his pupils burned with predatory glee. Even his ears elongated into wolfish points, completing his animalistic visage. The very ground quaked in response, pebbles rattling across the floor as waves of primal power rolled off him in sickening pulses.

  “However,” Adam hissed, voice echoing with newly mingled ferocity, “I’m not done—Trumpeter!”

  He manifested a large, spectral trumpet in his hands, its metallic gleam eerily mottled as if tarnished by centuries of decay. With a swift motion, he brought it to his newly fanged lips and played. A ghastly chord flooded the corridor, an unholy harmony akin to cracked bells and weeping violins.

  Across from him, Rio clutched at his ears as blood seeped through his fingers, the vile music competing with his own Jazz King’s cacophony. Each warbling note echoed like a funeral dirge, stirring the air with a dreadful promise. Beneath everyone’s feet, the floor seemed to shiver, as if anticipating an otherworldly horror.

  “Awaken, the Fourth Horseman—Death,” Adam intoned, a manic laugh escaping him.

  Though no physical shape materialized for the others to see, something profoundly cold descended upon the hallway. The temperature plummeted, and an indefinable dread slithered into everyone’s minds, as though their souls had briefly glimpsed the finality of the grave. The scuffle of footsteps and ragged breathing fell into a tense hush, overshadowed by the intangible sense of mortality creeping in.

  A ragged scream tore through the air—only Adam seemed capable of conjuring it. He thrust a clawed hand skyward, and moments later, his newly manifested summon, Death, contorted and took shape as a spear in his grip. It was long and curved, fashioned from a single spine, the bone glistening with a diseased sheen. At the sharpened tip, the vertebrae flared into a wicked, blade, and a small scrap of black cloth hung off it, fluttering with a silent, mournful sway.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Lucy took an involuntary step back, her greatsword lowered for just a heartbeat. She could sense the potency of Adam’s creation—a savage aura that roiled around him, making it feel like the corridor had grown smaller and more suffocating.

  Rio gulped, tears of both pain and fear dotting his cheeks. His own summon, the Jazz King, let out a harsh mechanical whine, mouth parted as if preparing another volley of compressed sound bullets. Lucy and Adam locked eyes briefly, each resolved to push through the dread choking the hallway.

  With a guttural growl, Adam spun this new spear—Death—in a swift, fluid motion. Even the slight turn of its blade carved fissures into the stone beneath him, a testament to the power now thrumming in his limbs. His feral gaze fixed on Rio and the Jazz King, while Lucy channeled her plant magic into her free palm, vines creeping up the surrounding walls.

  The Jazz King raised its hideous mouth, unleashing a barrage of shrieking sound bullets, each trailing arcs of sonic distortion. Lucy slammed her gauntleted fist into the ground, summoning thick vines from below at her command to create a jagged labyrinth for cover. Adam, undeterred by the noise, hurled himself forward—his new spear scraping the ground, leaving blazing streaks of necrotic energy.

  Rio, forced to stand his ground to avoid the collar’s lethal curse, clutched the shackles on his wrists. Their blades jutted out, chain links rattling, as he prepared to intercept Adam’s unstoppable charge. Yet terror bled through his red eyes, betraying the knowledge that one misstep could end his life.

  The beast’s tail-like lower body tensed, and its jaw gaped in a silent, menacing threat. The next barrage of sound bullets rocketed forth—shrill bursts of compressed noise tearing the air. Lucy thrust her free palm forward, chanting a low command to the plants. In response, sturdy vines—thicker and denser than before—erupted from the cracks in the floor. They twisted into a protective lattice, absorbing the brunt of the shrieking bullets with a thunderous series of impacts. Though some vines blackened under the sonic pressure, they were not fully destroyed.

  “Get ready!” Lucy shouted, hoisting her greatsword. “I’ll bind him—just find an opening!”

  Adam bared his sharpened teeth, bounding ahead with uncanny speed. Death’s curved tip left a trail of frigid energy behind him, chilling the very air. Each footstep thundered against the corridor’s floor, echoing above the vile melody from the Jazz King’s record player.

  Rio stood firm, forced to engage or face the collar’s punishment. His chain-blades whipped up with startling reflexes, meeting Adam’s spear with sparks of black mist and shimmering frost. Yet with each clash, Adam pressed harder, the unstoppable nature of his spears weaving around Rio’s frantic defense. He advanced one measured step at a time, like an executioner closing in on his target.

  “No—no more!” Rio’s voice trembled, but his eyes were fierce. The Jazz King roared in tandem, launching a savage rapid-fire punch aimed at Adam’s flank. Lucy intercepted, her greatsword flashing as she parried the monstrous fist. The recoil jarred her arms, but she held her ground, vines lashing from her back like serpents. One vine snapped around the Jazz King’s mechanical wrist, forcing it to swerve off course.

  Adam seized the moment. With a howl, he whirled Death in a tight arc. A biting chill erupted from the spear’s tip, forming a swirling vortex of subzero wind. The corridor’s temperature plummeted instantly, frost crackling over the shattered stone tiles.

  “This ends now,” he growled, driving the spear forward—not at Rio himself, but at the swirling black mist that bound his wrists and neck. The moment Death’s icy aura connected with the black shackles, the cursed substance began to crystallize in a spiral of frost, turning from a writhing shadow into brittle, glassy shards.

  A shocked gasp tore from Rio’s lungs. He saw the black mist around his wrists freeze solid. The intangible doom threatening him seemed to waver, turning fragile. Lucy dashed in, capitalizing on the fleeting opportunity. She summoned a final surge of her plant manipulation, she channeled new growth laced with resilience. Thick, emerald-green vines unfurled from her palms, wrapping around the now-frozen black mist like a cocoon. The vines glowed with a soft, internal luminescence.

  Rio’s collar hissed, trying to release more black mist, but it seeped only into the ice, becoming trapped. For a breathless second, the entire hallway fell silent—only the low static hiss from the Jazz King lingered, as though confused by the shifting tides of power.

  “Ngh—!” Rio’s eyes flicked wide, realization, and relief coursing through him. The chain-blades at his wrists hung uselessly, their connection to the cursed collar severed. Panic coursed through him, but so did an overwhelming sense of freedom. He staggered backward, uncertain.

  Adam exhaled a triumphant snarl, stepping away as Lucy tightened her vines around the newly frozen shackles. With the black mist locked in place, the collar’s lethal function was interrupted—Rio’s life was no longer forfeit to Medusa’s whim.

  “I—I’m free,” Rio whispered, almost dazed. He glanced between Lucy and Adam, then at the Jazz King still looming nearby. A surge of conflicting emotions tore across his face—terror, relief, gratitude, and lingering dread. Without a word, he spun on his heel and tore off down the corridor, footsteps pounding in frantic retreat.

  Lucy frowned, watching Rio’s figure disappear down the corridor. “He’s… gone. Guess he chose survival over obedience.”

  “Let him run,” Adam rumbled, voice still tinged with the animalistic edge of his Soul Release. Vaguely luminescent steam curled from the white armor encasing him. “It saves us from dealing with him further. The main threat’s still around.”

  As Rio vanished from sight, his Jazz King melted into a swirl of faded notes and purple haze, snapping free of this plane in an instant. At the same time, the grotesque shadows of Azio, Celeste, and Evander—his resurrected minions—dissolved like fog, their remnants trailing thin wisps of flames.

  “Good work, you two,” Noah said, stepping forward. He looked to Adam, an eyebrow raised. “Though, I have to ask—why didn’t you tell us you had that ice ability in the first place?”

  Adam let out a low, raspy chuckle, the last embers of his transformation dimming. “Ah, my ability’s complicated. I can summon one of four invisible creatures, each representing an apocalyptic force. It takes a lot of focus just to pick which one appears. Got lucky it was the right one this time.”

  “Well, you definitely came in handy,” Ava remarked, her face brightening with relief. She clapped her hands together. “Now come on, we’re close to the throne room!”

  Before they could move on, Cyrus stiffened. A visible tremor ran through his fingers as he closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses. “Wait. Hold up,” he said, a quiver of tension in his voice. “I can sense something incredibly powerful up ahead. Almost familiar.”

  Lucy pivoted, concern etched across her features. “Cyrus… is it her?”

  He swallowed, flicking a nervous glance in her direction. “Yes. She was never titled a witch, but she’s far scarier than some who were.”

  Adam pulled back the last glowing shards of his Soul Release, stepping toward the group. “Let’s not get cold feet. We’ve handled everything up to now.” His gaze slid from Ava to Noah, studying their resolves.

  Noah offered a steady nod. “We’ve come too far to back down, no matter who or what waits for us.”

  “That’s absolutely right.” Ava’s tone turned playful as she looped an arm around Noah’s shoulder, hugging him warmly. “We can handle anything if we stick together.”

  Noah’s cheeks colored, and he gave a flustered cough. “Y-yeah,” he managed, trying to slip free of Ava’s embrace. Adam, still half in his fearsome armor, quirked a faint grin.

  “All right, lovebirds,” he drawled, “I’m sure I’ve said this before, but keep the public displays of affection on hold ‘til this whole mission is done.”

  Ava patted Noah’s shoulder with a good-natured laugh, releasing him. “Fine, fine. But once we’re outta here, we have plenty of time to… catch up.”

  Noah smiled sheepishly, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “R-right. Anyway, let’s keep going.”

  They ascended a short flight of stairs and entered a dimly lit antechamber just outside Medusa’s throne room. Snake symbols wound across the walls, and an oppressive hush clung to the air, as though the ancient stone itself was holding its breath in anticipation. At the center of this waiting area stood Clementine, Medusa’s head maid, face partially concealed by the gentle glow of flickering sconces.

  The moment her orange gaze settled on them, a crackle of tension spread through the hall. “Hello, brother… what took you so long, dumbass?” she said, her tone edged with a mocking chuckle.

  Cyrus’s shoulders sagged with exasperation. “Cynthia,” he muttered. “Still as mean as ever, I see.”

  Noah, blinking in surprise, cast a quick look between the two. “Wait—brother? You two know each other?”

  A short, loaded pause followed. Then Cyrus gave a tight nod. “I sent my sister to infiltrate Medusa’s castle a few years ago. You may know her as Clementine, but her real name is Cynthia.” His gaze drifted toward the arched door behind her. “So… is the throne room in there?”

  Cynthia let out a tired sigh, shrugging off the pretense of her maidly demeanor. “Of course,” she said coolly. “You took longer getting here than I expected. But look at you, dear brother—finally managing to scrape together some friends.”

  As she spoke, her appearance shifted, the magic sustaining her disguise unwinding like loose threads. Her orange locks elongated and bled into a vivid purple, neatly gathered into a ponytail. Her eyes darkened to a regal violet, and she slipped the thick goggles from her face, swapping them for slender glasses. Even in the dim corridor, the power, and confidence radiating from her was unmistakable.

  “Just so you’re aware,” Cynthia continued calmly, “Medusa’s not alone. She’s gained a few more… associates. Both the leader of the Crows and one of his Seven Sins—the Wing of Envy, Jackpot—stand at her side.”

  At those words, Noah’s eyes narrowed with grim fury. Memories of the Crows’ violent assault on his home flared in his mind, fueling every clench of his fists. This was his chance to confront the one behind his family’s suffering—a chance he refused to squander.