Zuka stood among the ruins of what was once the Duke's magnificent estate, now reduced to nothing more than a skeletal husk of its former grandeur. The battle between Noir and the Duke raged overhead—or whatever the Duke had become—their power shaking the very air around them. But Zuka was not concerned. He knew his brother could handle the situation. His focus now was on something else entirely—finding Elyndris and, perhaps, uncovering the truth behind what was really happening in this forsaken place.
His sharp eyes scanned the rubble, recalling the exact location where the soldiers had taken the high elf. But now, that place was nothing more than broken stones and dirt. There was no trace of an entrance, no hint of the chambers he had seen them disappear into. The ground looked as dead as the memories of this once-grand estate.
"Underground?" Zuka muttered, instincts stirring.
Dropping to one knee, he pressed his hand against the earth, his fingers digging slightly into the dirt. He expanded his senses outward, searching for any trace of movement, heat, or magic beneath the surface. Something was there—faint and hidden, but unmistakable. A presence below, veiled by powerful magic. His expression darkened in concentration. Elyndris had been taken beneath the surface, but the entrance was buried beneath layers of arcane concealment, likely warded against detection. His usual sharp senses weren't enough to find the hidden passage.
"Eye of the Fallen Aristocrat," Zuka whispered, activating his unique ability.
His right eye flickered with an eerie glow, and the world around him shifted into a landscape of color and light. Every presence, every source of magic, appeared as shimmering auras painted across his vision. He scanned the ground, searching for the one signature he knew would stand out—the distinct ethereal green hue of a high elf. After a moment of scanning, he spotted it, faint but present, buried beneath layers of black, ancient magic.
There he was, deep underground. The problem wasn't locating him—it was reaching him.
"No entrances," Zuka muttered, glancing around at the debris. The spatial magic surrounding Elyndris was thick, like a shroud, concealing the entrance to another dimension. There was no physical way in. He'd have to be precise, using what little mana signature he could detect from Elyndris to pull himself through.
There was no way for me to get down without magic. But still
Zuka closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and channeled his aura. His body became lighter as his energy began to weave into the surrounding air. "Light Magic: Grasp Mana. Teleportation."
The moment he uttered the incantation, the world around him cracked like glass. A force, unseen but undeniable, struck him with a crushing weight. The air split apart with a violent boom, and an invisible shockwave erupted from the ground, slamming into Zuka's chest with enough force to send him flying backward. He twisted midair, stabilizing himself just in time to land in a crouch, his boots skidding against the rubble-strewn ground.
His breathing was uneven for a moment, his chest tightening from the unexpected impact. He wiped the dust from his jaw, golden eyes narrowing.
So no magic, then. This seems like a magical barrier. And the tree at work to prevent intruders from coming in magically. I wonder if there are physical measures preventing intruders from entering physically. Since this place was so heavily guarded, maybe they reasoned that no one would be able to bypass the Duke and his forces.
Zuka clenched his fists. Fine. No magic?
He took a deep breath, then drove his fist into the earth. The ground cracked beneath the impact, a web of fractures splintering outward. He struck again. And again. Each punch sent tremors through the ruins, stone breaking apart under sheer force. Dust and debris lifted into the air, coating his skin in a fine layer of grit. He didn't stop. His strikes grew heavier, more precise, widening the crater with each impact.
Sweat trickled down his brow, mixing with the dust. His muscles burned, but he ignored it. Crack. The earth beneath his feet shifted, then caved in completely.
With one final, devastating punch, the ground collapsed.
The force of the cave-in dragged him down, the air roaring in his ears as he plummeted into darkness. He twisted his body mid-fall, his senses rapidly adjusting. Then—a sharp impact.
Zuka landed hard, his boots striking the cold stone floor with a dull thud. The shift in atmosphere was immediate, suffocating.
The air here was thick—stifling, choking. The scent of old blood clung to everything, damp and metallic, woven into the very foundation of the underground chamber. The weight of something oppressive pressed against his skin.
He straightened, his sharp gaze sweeping across his surroundings. Dim torchlight flickered weakly, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched unnaturally along the jagged stone walls. The chamber was lined with crude wooden tables, cluttered with rusted alchemical tools and brittle parchment. Old bloodstains smeared across the surfaces, dark and unclean.
The runes carved into the walls pulsed faintly, their jagged, chaotic script writhing as if alive. They were not human. Not elven. Not anything natural. The language was ancient, predating the kingdoms above, written in a dialect of magic long forbidden. The letters twisted as he tried to focus on them, shifting between meanings—one moment a name, the next a curse.
Scrolls of dried, flaking parchment lay scattered, filled with diagrams of the body—twisted, altered, dissected. Some were drawn in ink, others in something darker.
This wasn't just an underground prison. This was a place of experimentation.
A chill ran down Zuka's spine.
His fingers instinctively reached for his blade, his body tensing. His golden eyes swept the chamber once more, lingering on a nearby iron rack caked in something black and thick, its edges still wet.
The silence here is… Wrong—not empty… But waiting.
A drop of sweat rolled down his cheek.
Zuka exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
Elyndris is here, somewhere in this abyss of horrors. I'm going to find him.
Zuka walked in silence, his footsteps echoing faintly against the cold stone floor. The further he went, the more the oppressive atmosphere pressed in around him. The air was thick with the stench of damp stone, old blood, and something fouler—a decayed, unnatural energy that clung to the walls like a living thing. The faint glow of scattered torches barely pierced the darkness, their flickering light casting shifting shadows that crawled along the surfaces like grasping hands.
His gaze remained steady, scanning his surroundings with sharp precision. Crude iron cages lined the chamber's edges, their bars warped and rusted, stained with dark streaks that had long since dried. Broken shackles and scattered bones lay forgotten on the ground, remnants of those who had once been imprisoned here. Strange symbols, carved into the walls with jagged precision, pulsed intermittently with dull, crimson light—runes of suppression, binding whatever foul magic had been used in this place.
But when he finally laid eyes on the scene before him, his steps slowed, his expression hardening.
Elyndris hung against the far wall, his body slack, each limb bound by thick, rune-etched chains that pulsed with a sickly green light. His once-vibrant aura had withered to a mere flicker, fragile and unsteady, barely clinging to existence. The air itself felt heavier here—thick with the residual presence of drained mana, as though the very essence of life had been siphoned from him, leaving behind only an empty shell.
"Weakened… no, drained," Zuka muttered, stepping closer. "It's as if your mana has been completely erased."
His eyes traced the intricate runes carved into the metal, their patterns twisting unnaturally, shifting under his gaze. These weren't just ordinary restraints—they were crafted to suppress, to consume. Designed specifically to strip powerful beings like Elyndris of their essence, bleeding him dry bit by bit. The elf's breathing was shallow, each rise and fall of his chest unsteady, fragile.
"Elyndris, wake up." Zuka's voice cut through the oppressive silence, firm and unwavering.
The high elf stirred weakly, his eyelids barely parting. His lips moved, but his voice was barely more than a whisper. "I-It's… a trap… leave…"
Zuka's frown deepened. His sharp ears barely caught the words, but something about them sent a chill through him. A trap? His mind raced. If Elyndris' power has been drained, then what aura did I sense?
For a moment, his thoughts froze. That distinct, ethereal green glow—the signature of a high elf—he had followed it here,
I'm certain it was Elyndris. But if the his mana was gone…
Then what did I sense?