"Power is nothing without control. And control is earned."
Kael slid the ring onto his finger first, feeling the cold metal press against his skin. A sharp pulse of mana surged through his body, like ice water pouring into his veins.
His breathing hitched. The sensation was foreign yet exhilarating. It was as if his mana, once sluggish and heavy, now flowed like a river after a storm. Faster. Smoother. More responsive.
His eyes flickered to the necklace, an obsidian pendant carved into the shape of an open eye. He fastened it around his neck, and another rush followed, different but complementary. His perception sharpened, an awareness creeping into the edges of his mind.
He could feel the flow of mana around him—not just his own, but the ambient energy within the dungeon itself. The air itself seemed to ripple with unseen threads of power.
A thought struck him. These relics—no, these treasures—were linked.
The Tyrant's Ring and The Watcher's Eye.The former enhanced the output of his mana, making it easier to channel and manipulate. The latter refined his control, allowing him to wield his power with precision. Together, they formed a set that strengthened the wielder's mastery over magic. It was no wonder they had been hidden.
And then his eyes landed on the final item: the potion.
A single glass vial. A liquid shimmering within, shifting colours under the faint light. Blue one moment. Gold the next. A roulette of fate.
Dungeon found potions were a gamble. Some granted incredible powers—enhanced mana, improved physical attributes, even unique abilities. But others? Others killed those who dared drink them, their bodies unable to handle the unknown alchemy within.
Kael exhaled sharply. He wasn't foolish enough to risk it.
Not yet. His survival was already hanging by a thread.
He tucked the vial into his gear and leaned back against the cold stone wall, letting his body finally give in to exhaustion. Every inch of him ached, his muscles screaming in protest.
His mana reserves were drained. His wounds, though scabbed over, still burned. But he was alive.
He needed time. Time to recover. Time to regain his strength.
Sleep came fitfully, his mind restless, replaying every battle, every mistake. He saw Nora's lifeless eyes, Sara's bloodied hands reaching out, Alan's broken body. And Allen.
Allen, who had left him.
Kael's fingers curled into a fist. He shoved the anger down. Emotion wouldn't help him here. Only survival mattered.
When he opened his eyes, hours later, his mana was partially restored. His body felt stiff but still functional. That would have to be enough. He couldn't wait too much longer. These monsters in this dungeon were relentless, and he was still trapped.
It was time to fight back.
Not recklessly. Not head-on. He wasn't an idiot.
One by one.
Kael pressed his palm against the earth, and mana stirred to life. He controlled gravity. This was his power. And with it, he would make this hell his hunting ground.
He pictured the battle. The creatures roamed in packs, but if he could separate them—isolate one of them, then drag it into a trap and overwhelm it before it could even call for reinforcement—then perhaps he had an opportunity.
A grim smile tweaked his lips.
Time to hunt.
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AN: Thank you guys for the power stone. Really appreciate it.