The silence before a dungeon run was always heavier than the silence after.
One was full of tension. The other, of ghosts.
Today, I stood at the edge of Dungeon AX-33, the same unstable C-Class rift where everything had begun—where Darrin had died, where Ashbourne had risen, and where my soul had cracked wide open. The dungeon was still under reconstruction, its outer perimeter cordoned off and reinforced by the World Association's infrastructure team.
Except now, it was mine.
[DUNGEON OWNERSHIP: CONFIRMED]
Dungeon: AX-33 (Volatile C-Class, Shadow-Touched Variant)
Owner: Elijah Voss (F-Rank, Special Condition)
Effect: 12% increased mana regeneration within dungeon bounds; 10% decreased mana cost for summoning actions; revenue share from sanctioned guild clearances; limited priority in loot distribution.
I exhaled, letting the stats settle into my head. Not massive perks, but they meant something.
Owning a dungeon was rare. Doing it at my rank? Unheard of.
It meant the Association was watching. So were the guilds.
Especially the ones who'd tried to take it from me last week.
They failed.
Ashbourne made sure of that.
But I wasn't going to lean on him forever.
Today's run was mine. Mine alone.
He'd follow. He'd intervene only if I was on the verge of dying.
A failsafe.
But this time, I needed to be more than a necromancer with a shortcut. I had to be the Scion of Bone—and that meant understanding what I commanded.
Status Window – Accessed
[Name]: Elijah Voss
[Rank]: F (Awakened)
[Class]: Necromancer – Ancient Variant
[Title]: Scion of Bone
[HP]: 270
[Mana]: 550 / 550
[STR]: 13
[AGI]: 14
[INT]: 28
[WIS]: 34
[CHA]: 9
[Summon Slots]: 10 (3 Reserved for Triad)
[Sacred Ground]: Purgatory – Level 2
[Dungeon Ownership]: AX-33
Active Spells:
– [Bonebind]: Immobilize a single enemy using spectral marrow chains
– [Graveflare]: Short-range bone spike burst; pierces armor, causes bleed
– [Mark of Command]: Instantly seizes control of low-level undead or weak-willed entities
– [Recall: Ashbourne]
– [Command Channel: Purgatory]
Triad Roster:
– [Ashbourne, The Severed Warden] – Active
— Rank: Unique
— Level: 14
— Type: Scythe bearer / Death Marshal
— Subordinates: 7 (including 2 Gravewalkers, 3 Husks, 1 Risen Archer, 1 Bonewolf)
— Passive Ability: Authority of the Severed Legion – His subordinates grow stronger with each battlefield death
— Leadership Class: Commander
Ashbourne's control over his seven subordinates functioned like a micro-guild. A squad. The higher his level, the more complex orders he could give them without my intervention.
But that was only one part of the system.
Each undead had its own level and growth trajectory.
— Gravewalker #1
— Level: 7
— Skills: Shadow Ambush, Corpsebite
— Potential Evolution: Wightblade / Shade Reaver / Boneknight
Summon evolution wasn't linear—it was responsive. Some grew from experience. Others from battlefield trauma. Others still from my own power deepening.
That scared me more than it should have.
I stepped through the dungeon gate.
The shift was immediate—air pressure dropped, color shifted to muted hues, and the faint scent of rot coiled around my spine.
This dungeon was adapting. Reacting to my ownership. I could feel it—like it knew I was the new god of its soil.
"Perimeter scan."
Four flickers rose from the air around me—minor summons. Bone Jackals, summoned from memory and ash. Level 3 each. Weak, fast, and silent. Their bodies twitched with hunger as they loped ahead into the first corridor.
"Stay in pairs. Scout. Avoid engagement unless I direct it."
They obeyed without hesitation.
I moved forward, maintaining distance, spellbook open in my left hand, ready to summon with my right.
My first enemy appeared five minutes later.
It was an Ash Wailer—tall, humanoid, with melted flesh and hollowed-out lungs that it used to scream curses into your mind. Classed as a mid-tier dungeon guardian.
I let it come.
It wailed.
Pain hit the edges of my skull—but this time, I pushed back.
"Graveflare."
A burst of bone erupted from beneath the Wailer, launching it upward.
"Bonebind."
Chains locked it mid-air.
"Summon: Gravewalker #2."
Space distorted.
One of Ashbourne's faster subordinates—reformed and bone-armored since last I saw him—ripped through the tear, dragging a rusted saber.
The Wailer shrieked again.
The Gravewalker didn't flinch. It lunged forward and gutted the thing like it was nothing but wet paper.
Fast. Surgical. Unemotional.
After it killed, it turned its head to me.
Not to wait for orders—but to ask what next.
[Subordinate Level Increased: Gravewalker #2 → Level 8]
[New Skill Unlocked: Spectral Rend]
That, I realized, was power.
Not just mine.
Theirs.
And how they grew… it would affect me more than I understood.
Deeper in the dungeon, I encountered a shift. The terrain changed. The stained cathedral walls gave way to something newer—blacker. Carved obsidian and red veins that glowed faintly with mana.
Not normal. Not part of the dungeon's original design.
And yet—
"Ashbourne," I called, aloud this time.
He arrived like a shadow being drawn across silk.
"This wasn't here before," I said.
"No," he replied through thought. "But you were not the master before either."
We moved as one.
In the heart of the dungeon, we found it.
A mirror. Floating.
Circular. Ringed with bone.
But instead of reflecting my face, it showed… a city. New York.
But different.
Burned. Collapsed. Covered in black vines and towering undead.
And at the center… a figure in white.
Holding a staff made of twisted ivory.
A man who looked like me.
But wasn't.
[New Quest Unlocked: Echo of the Future – Delayed Trigger]
"What the hell is this?" I asked Ashbourne.
"A warning."
"Of what?"
"Of what you could become."
The mirror shattered.
When we emerged from the dungeon two hours later, my summons had grown.
Of the ten slots I possessed, six were now active.
Ashbourne and five lesser undead.
The Gravewalkers now led their own ranks of two apiece. Forming mini-platoons. Unofficial. But functional.
I had only directed three fights.
They had fought twelve.
Efficient. Ruthless. Adaptive.
The Triad weren't just powerful—they were commanders. Generals of their own undead legions. Once all three were active, I could field armies. Literal ones.
But the thought came with weight.
Because with armies… came wars.
And if the mirror's vision was true, then one of those wars… would be against me.
Back in Purgatory, I sat down near the chasm where the Deep Crypt continued to unfold itself.
The Ossuary was no longer the only room. A second chamber had formed—spiral-shaped, lined with obelisks of bone.
[Archive of the Chained Past]
Scion Memory Fragment Access Available
But I ignored it for now.
Instead, I focused on strategy. On leadership.
And on what Ashbourne had said two days ago:
"One of mine has grown too strong. You must judge him… or replace me."
I hadn't forgotten.
Because if one of his could grow beyond his leash…
Then what happens when I do?