The water was colder than Ethan expected.
It cut through the grime on his skin like a blade, sharp and clean, carrying away blood that had already dried dark against his arms and chest. He knelt at the river's edge at first, splashing water over his face, then finally stepped in up to his waist. The current was slow, almost gentle—too gentle for a Dungeon floor this deep. That alone kept his shoulders tense.
Dungeon rivers were never just rivers.
Still, he needed this. His muscles ached in that deep, gnawing way that came from days of constant movement—fighting, running, dodging traps that seemed designed to punish hesitation. His shirt lay discarded on a flat stone nearby, torn in places, stiff with dried monster ichor. Every breath he took smelled faintly of iron and damp stone.
As the water washed over him, Ethan closed his eyes for a brief second.
Hestia's face surfaced in his mind immediately.
She was probably pacing right now. Muttering. Blaming herself for something that wasn't her fault. And Lili… the thought tightened something in his chest. She always blamed herself first. Always carried more weight than she should.
"I'm still alive," he murmured under his breath, as if the Dungeon itself might carry the words to them. "I'll make it back."
The river rippled.
Not from the current.
Ethan's eyes snapped open.
The feeling hit him all at once—sharp, electric, crawling up his spine. The same instinct that had saved him more times than he could count since he'd been dragged into this twisted version of the Dungeon. It wasn't fear exactly. It was warning.
You're being watched.
Slowly, he turned his head.
The river stretched on ahead, curving out of sight between jagged stone banks. Pale blue luminescent moss clung to the walls, reflecting faintly off the water's surface. At first glance, nothing moved.
Too still.
Ethan exhaled quietly and shifted his stance, letting his weight settle, ready to spring. His hand dipped beneath the surface, fingers brushing against the dagger strapped to his thigh. He didn't draw it yet.
Then the water bulged.
Not splashed—bulged, as if something beneath it was breathing.
Ethan leapt back just as the surface exploded.
A long, slick shape burst upward, sending water spraying into the air. It wasn't large—not compared to some of the things he'd faced—but it was fast. Razor-edged fins lined its spine, translucent and glowing faintly, and its body twisted with an eel-like flexibility that made his eyes struggle to track it.
A River Skulker.
He recognized it instantly. A floor-native ambush predator. Low intelligence. High kill count.
The creature shrieked, a wet, grating sound, and lunged.
Ethan rolled to the side, water soaking into his trousers as snapping jaws closed where his neck had been a moment earlier. He came up on one knee, dagger finally flashing into his hand.
"Figures," he muttered.
The Skulker recoiled, then dove back into the river with a splash. The water settled unnaturally fast.
Ethan didn't relax.
Instead, he backed away from the river, eyes scanning the surface, counting his breaths. These monsters never hunted alone. They herded prey toward deeper water—or toward something worse.
A ripple formed to his left.
Then another to his right.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "That tracks."
Three of them burst from the river in near-perfect synchronization.
Ethan moved.
His body reacted before thought caught up—muscle memory honed from dozens of Dungeon fights. He sprinted forward instead of retreating, closing the distance on the nearest Skulker just as it lunged again. Its jaws snapped, grazing his shoulder, tearing cloth and skin alike.
Pain flared.
Ethan ignored it.
He drove his dagger upward, burying the blade beneath the creature's jaw, where the scales were soft. The Skulker convulsed, shrieked once more, then dissolved into ash mid-air, scattering motes of light over the riverbank.
Two left.
Ethan pivoted, barely avoiding a sweeping tail that cracked stone where his leg had been. He slid beneath it, came up inside the creature's reach, and slashed across its glowing fin. The Skulker howled, thrashing wildly.
The third one struck from behind.
Ethan felt it before he saw it—the displacement of air, the murderous intent. He dropped flat as jaws snapped shut above his head, then kicked backward with everything he had.
His heel connected with something solid.
The Skulker slammed into the riverbank, stunned just long enough.
Ethan didn't waste it.
He lunged, grabbed its head with both hands, and drove the dagger down through the top of its skull. Light erupted as it disintegrated, leaving only the last one—wounded, panicking.
It tried to flee.
Ethan hurled his dagger.
The blade spun once, twice, then punched cleanly through the monster's side. The Skulker let out a strangled cry before dissolving into dust mid-splash.
Silence returned.
Ethan stood there, chest heaving, water dripping from his hair and clothes. His shoulder burned where the bite had grazed him, but it wasn't deep. He'd had worse.
Much worse.
He retrieved his dagger, wiped it clean on the grass, then finally allowed himself a breath.
"That's my bath, I guess."
He glanced back at the river. The water flowed on, innocent again.
Too innocent.
Ethan dressed quickly, ignoring the sting of fabric against fresh cuts. As he adjusted his gear, his gaze drifted upstream—and that was when he saw it.
Carved into the stone, half-submerged and worn by time, were markings.
Not natural.
Runes.
They were faint, nearly erased, but unmistakable. Ethan crouched near the edge, careful now, and traced one with his fingers.
His breath caught.
They weren't part of the Dungeon's normal architecture. They were alterations. Interference. Someone—or something—had modified this floor.
"That explains a lot," he murmured.
The monster that hunted him earlier. The distorted layout. Floors not matching the Dungeon he knew from stories, anime, and games. This wasn't just divergence.
It was corruption.
Or design.
Ethan straightened slowly, eyes narrowing as he looked down the river's path. Whatever lay ahead wasn't just another stretch of the Dungeon. It was a junction. A choice point.
And whatever was watching him?
It hadn't attacked yet.
Which meant it was waiting.
Ethan tightened his grip on his dagger, every sense screaming now. His instinct—never wrong, not once—was at full alert.
"Alright," he said softly, to the darkness ahead. "I'm done running blind."
He stepped away from the river and into the shadows, moving low, quiet, alert.
Behind him, unseen, the water rippled once more.
And then went still.
---
Support me on P @t r e o n
join my patreon for more frequent upload.
P @t r e o n.com/Darking099
For 30+ Advance Chapters
Or
You can buy me a Coffee
ko-fi.com/darking099
For my motivation
---
For every 50 power stones= 1 extra chapter
And Support my Other Storie