SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign

Chapter 31: Decent Team (4)

The stairwell started shallow. Then dropped hard.

Lucen kept one hand on the stone wall. It was cold. Slick. Like water had seeped through the stone a hundred years ago and decided to stay.

Senna walked first. Her boots were light but sharp against the steps, like precise rhythm, blade still drawn.

Mira followed next. She’d tied a flickering light crystal to the front of her bow, and the glow made the walls look damp. Wrong. Almost alive.

Lucen came third.

Callen limped in the rear, slower than before. He didn’t complain. Just kept a hand on the railing and muttered under his breath every few steps.

No one asked what he was saying.

Lucen didn’t want to know.

The deeper they went, the more the light crystal seemed to lose color. It still lit the space around them, but everything it touched turned pale. Bleached.

’This is fine,’ Lucen thought. ’Not haunted at all. Definitely not walking into some cursed hero’s tomb with a grudge against light and teenagers.’

The stairwell curved after fifty steps. Then opened slightly.

Not wide. Not relief. Just a change in shape.

The stone turned older. Less uniform. The bricks looked hand-cut, and every fifth or sixth one had a faint symbol etched into it. Most were faded. A few still glowed if you stared long enough.

Lucen stared.

Then blinked.

One of them blinked back.

He looked away fast.

’Nope. We’re not doing that today. Don’t care how much mana I’ve got. No blinking bricks.’

Senna slowed.

Lucen almost ran into her.

She held up one hand. No words. Just fingers tensed like she’d smelled something off.

Lucen listened.

Nothing.

Then, soft, rhythmic dragging. Like something metal being pulled across stone.

Mira stepped forward, bow already raised.

Senna crouched low, peering around the edge of the next arch.

Lucen peeked too.

The hallway beyond looked like it belonged to a dead god. High arched ceilings. Massive black chains hung from rusted hooks in the stone, looped over carved stone rings and half-collapsed pillars.

Dust didn’t fall here. It just hovered.

Like the air wasn’t sure if gravity applied.

At the far end of the corridor, something moved.

Not walked. Not crawled.

Dragged.

A pair of gauntlets, massive, spiked and pulled themselves across the ground toward a rusted helmet still half-embedded in the wall.

No body.

Just armor.

Moving.

Mira whispered, "Unbound?"

Senna nodded once. "Looks like."

Lucen exhaled slowly.

Unbound meant no soul. No will. Just the memory of violence and a binding glyph still clinging to an echo.

It also meant no pain. No fear. No rules.

Callen caught up, his shield already raised again.

Lucen said, "I’ve got mana back. I can hold something if it charges."

Senna murmured, "We wait. See if it reacts."

Lucen waited.

The armor dragged itself another meter.

Then stopped.

Just froze.

Not even a twitch.

Mira shifted her stance.

The helmet snapped toward her.

Lucen flinched.

"Okay," he said. "So it can see."

The gauntlets clenched, metal groaning like dying lungs.

Senna whispered, "Positions."

They moved fast.

Callen stepped forward, shield up.

Mira took a knee, arrow drawn.

Lucen dropped to one knee, glyph forming between his fingers.

The air tightened.

The chains on the ceiling swayed.

Lucen’s system pinged.

[Drift Signature Detected – Passive Anchor Rejection Imminent]

He didn’t have time to think about what that meant.

The helmet launched forward—faster than something without legs should move. The gauntlets followed, dragging the rest of the armor behind it like a puppet missing half its strings.

Lucen slammed his hand down.

[Hold Point – Activated]

The glyph lit the floor with a static glow.

The armor hit it like a drunk car crash. Stumbled. Slammed against the invisible tether. One gauntlet snapped sideways and scraped a trench into the wall.

Mira loosed an arrow.

It struck the helmet clean.

Then melted.

Lucen blinked.

"What the hell?"

Senna moved.

One step. Two.

Her sword arced down hard and fast into the gap between pauldron and chestplate.

It didn’t hit anything.

The sword passed straight through like air.

Lucen stared.

’It’s not here. Not fully. Half-phased?’

The armor twitched again.

Then shifted.

Not physically. Just... shimmered.

And it was behind Callen.

Lucen’s breath caught.

"Behind you!"

Callen turned too slow.

The gauntlet slammed into his side and launched him into the wall again.

Mira screamed.

Senna swore.

Lucen’s hand burned.

The glyph cracked.

[Hold Duration: Failed]

The armor shimmered again.

Reappeared mid-air.

It was learning.

Lucen stood fast.

Mana: 37/61

’Fine. You want cursed chess pieces? Let’s play.’

He planted both hands.

Two glyphs. Simultaneous cast.

[Tension Mark] left.

[Gravitic Snap] right.

The floor cracked.

The walls shook.

The armor paused.

Then it split.

Not broke. Not shattered.

Just... came apart.

Helmet. Chestplate. Gauntlets. All suspended in the air, scattered across the corridor like they’d forgotten what gravity was.

Mira’s eyes widened.

Senna stepped forward.

Lucen whispered, "Now."

And the fight began again.

—

The chestplate spun once.

Then launched.

Senna ducked. Barely.

It slammed into the wall behind her with enough force to split the brick. Dust exploded out in a thick wave. Mira coughed once but didn’t lower her bow.

Lucen moved left. Fast. Not a full sprint. Just out of the direct line of fire.

’It’s using its pieces like missiles. That’s not fair. Armor’s not supposed to have tactics.’

The helmet floated higher.

Then pivoted slowly toward Mira.

She didn’t flinch.

Just breathed out, one sharp exhale.

Her next arrow flared with a violet tracer. Lucen saw the sigil twist on the shaft mid-flight.

’Seeking glyph. Not standard issue. She made that herself.’

It hit the helmet clean.

And stuck.

The light pulsed once.

Twice.

Then fizzled.

The helmet turned again. Unbothered.

Lucen muttered, "Of course it’s immune to glyph trackers. Why not. Let’s just give the undead armor a goddamn firewall."

Callen groaned from the floor behind him.

Lucen glanced back.

Still breathing.

Still conscious.

But staying down.

’Okay. So that’s three of us left. One is half-dead, one is stabbing ghosts, and I’m running on twenty mana and sarcasm.’