The dungeon trembled behind them, the echo of the summoning gate still hissing in the air. Kian and Arlen moved through the labyrinthine hallways, their steps echoing in unison. The runes on the walls now pulsed with faint green light, as if responding to Kian's presence. Dust hung in the air like falling snow, stirred by some invisible breath exhaled by the dungeon itself.
"What he said," Arlen murmured, "about your sister... and you helping them willingly, what do you think it means?"
Kian's jaw clenched. "It means they think they know me. But they don't. I'll burn this entire dungeon before I let them touch Nyla."
They descended a spiraling stair carved directly into black stone. The deeper they went, the colder the air became. It wasn't just the temperature; it was a spiritual chill, a weight pressing down on their souls.
At the bottom lay a colossal chamber, the dungeon's heart. In its center pulsed a throne of bones, blackened and alive with writhing green light. Runes danced along the floor like fireflies, forming a circle of death magic.
Arlen stopped dead. "This... this is a Necra Throne. It's a conduit for death magic. Forbidden class stuff."
Kian stared, heart pounding. The throne pulled at him like a magnet to the very essence of his being. "My mother always told me to fear what lived beneath the soul."
Before Arlen could respond, the room howled. A violent, soul-shaking scream echoed from the throne. It exploded in spectral flame. Ghostly figures surged out, warriors, mages, beasts—all howling in agony.
Kian stumbled forward, eyes wide. "What is this!?"
A voice echoed from the throne. Familiar. Feminine. Soft but commanding.
"My son... do not fear it. Become what they feared. Become what they could never control."
His mother's voice. It wasn't memory. It was a soul echo, her final protection. A sliver of her lingered inside the dungeon's heart.
Kian fell to his knees as agony wracked his body. His soul core shattered, then reformed, spiraling inward like a black hole. The temperature dropped further, and Arlen backed away, her breath steaming in the air.
Shadows surged around him. Chains of spectral iron erupted from the floor and wrapped around his arms. His eyes flared green with a supernatural light. His veins pulsed black, glowing beneath his skin like cursed roots.
Arlen shouted, "Kian! Your soul, what's happening?!"
The ghostly warriors turned, kneeling. To him.
Kian's voice trembled. "I... I see them. I feel them. I know their names. They're mine."
A system prompt appeared before his eyes, burning in midair:
[Class Acquired: Necromancer — SS-Rank Variant: Soulbinder] Trait Gained: Soul Command (Unique) Trait Gained: Deathborn Memory Limiters: Removed. You are now marked as Anathema-Class.
Kian stood slowly. The throne dimmed, the spirits retreating behind him like a cape of shadows. His body had changed. Taller. Sharper. He emanated a cold dominance that made Arlen flinch.
Arlen stepped back. "You... you're SS-Class. That's impossible. That's illegal."
"I didn't choose this," he said. "But I'll use it."
A screech cut through the air. The gate opened again. A massive creature, a bone wyrm, stitched from dungeon fragments, slithered out. It roared, its segmented body snapping walls and collapsing pillars.
Arlen raised her daggers. "We can't fight that. Not without a raid team."
Kian stepped forward. "We don't need one."
He raised a hand. Soulfire burned along his palm. "Rise."
From the shadows, twelve specters emerged, knights in faded armor, their eyes burning like stars. They knelt and then drew spectral blades. The spectral chains coiled from Kian's arms, wrapping the creatures and binding their essence to his will.
"Protect Arlen. Destroy the beast."
They moved as one. The battle erupted with force. The bone wyrm thrashed and spewed necrotic fire. The spectral warriors dodged effortlessly, cutting through it with ghostly steel. Kian moved his fingers like a puppeteer, directing the combat in real time. Each gesture summoned new attacks, chains of binding, cursed spikes, and soul-shattering roars.
The wyrm screeched, coiling around the throne, its wounds mending unnaturally. Kian narrowed his eyes.
"Time to end this."
He raised both arms. The chains flared with dark light, and a colossal soul construct rose, a spectral dragon made of lost spirits. It collided with the wyrm mid-air, crushing it beneath a tidal wave of death energy.
The wyrm let out one last shriek before collapsing into a heap, its bones turning to ash. The throne glowed faintly in approval.
Arlen stared. "That... wasn't summoning. That was domination."
Kian turned, his voice cold and distant. "This power is a curse. But it's mine now. And I'll use every inch of it to find who did this to my family."
He walked back to the throne. It was fading, but a mark remained on the ground, three serpents entwined.
The same sigil on the man's chest who orchestrated his mother's capture.
"We start with the Order of the Coil."
Arlen nodded. "Then let's burn them down."
As they left the chamber, the dungeon's walls trembled, not in decay, but in submission. The spirits no longer fought. They watched. Followed. Awaited command.
An alarm flared outside the dungeon, far away in a high tower laced with red glass and obsidian veins.
A robed figure turned from the window, pale eyes widening.
"He's awakened. The Anathema-Class has emerged."
Another voice behind him whispered, "Should we strike?"
"No," the first said, a smile on his lips. "Let him grow. The higher he rises, the deeper he'll fall. And when he does... We'll be there to carve the truth from his bones."
Back in the dungeon, Kian stood on the stone path leading out, cloaked in the ethereal fire of the dead.
The Necromancer had risen.
And the world would tremble in his shadow.
End of Chapter 9