Roman stared at the stump where his right hand had been.
He had coated his body in pure mana.
Layered it with magical runes. Built defenses upon defenses until his skin was nearly impenetrable a fortress of energy that should have stopped anything.
Should have slowed the side effects of the Fallen God's power. Should have kept him alive.
And that monster had severed his hand with a single clap.
The disbelief was suffocating.
His left hand shot to the wound, pressing hard against the stump, but blood poured between his fingers hot, relentless, pooling at his feet in a spreading crimson stain.
The severed hand itself lay on the ground a few feet away, blackening, rotting, crumbling into ash before his eyes.
First it turned pure black, then it disintegrated entirely, leaving nothing but a dark smudge on the blood-soaked earth.
Roman could feel something emanating from the dungeon boss.
Something ominous.
Something dangerous.
The word hello still echoed in his skull.
Such a simple word.
Such a casual greeting.
And yet it had carried enough weight to shatter his defenses like glass.
Word magic.
The boss had used word magic, and Roman hadn't even sensed it coming.
The knights saw it all.
A paladin dropped his shield with a clatter.
"His hand… the Warherald's hand…"
Another stumbled back, his face pale. "That thing it cut through his defenses like they were nothing. He had runes.
Layers of mana. How?"
Selena's face went pale.
Her sword trembled in her grip. "Roman…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "No… no, no, no"
Jacob's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together.
His knuckles went white around his sword. "Roman!" he shouted, his voice raw with desperation.
"Get back! Get away from that thing!"
But Roman couldn't move.
The dungeon boss stood before him tall, slender, its black robes moving like living shadows.
Its too-beautiful face smiled, its eyes of absolute darkness fixed on Roman with unholy amusement.
Its presence pressed down on everything heavy, ancient, overwhelming.
The air itself seemed to thicken, to choke, to suffocate.
The barriers holding the civilians flickered. Cracked.
Cracks spread across their golden surfaces like spiderwebs, light bleeding through the fractures.
The people inside screamed. Children cried. Mothers clutched their infants.
The barriers were on the point of breaking.
And it wasn't just here.
In the Holy Empire, a dungeon boss descended before Ezra Violet a winged abomination with six arms, each wielding a different elemental weapon.
Its wings cast shadows that turned the ground to ice. Ezra's Divine Fist flickered as the gravity pressed down on her.
In the Eastern Territories, another boss appeared before Gabriel and Chen Wuji a serpentine horror with coils of shadow, its eyes paralyzing all who met its gaze. The Murium warriors froze.
Their swords lowered.
Their courage shattered.
In the Spade Kingdom.
The Leaf Kingdom.
Every front.
Every battlefield across the world.
The dungeon bosses had arrived.
The boss before Roman slowly descended to the ground.
Its feet touched the blood-soaked earth without a sound.
Then it raised one slender hand and the gravity pressure increased.
It was like the world itself was pressing down on them.
Knights collapsed to their knees, their armor grinding against the earth.
Paladins fell flat, their divine shields shattering under the weight.
Even those in the bunkers felt it their bodies pinned against the floor, their breath squeezed from their lungs.
No one was safe.
Not even Roman.
He sank to his knees, his left hand still clutching the stump of his right.
Blood seeped between his fingers. His body screamed.
His core cracked further.
His vision blurred, doubled, then steadied.
The boss tilted its head, its smile widening.
"You are very weak, Warherald."
Its voice was silk wrapped around a blade soft, mocking, terrifying.
"I thought I could enjoy the fight. But it's pathetic."
The Shadow System's voice cut through Roman's mind, sharp and urgent.
Use the Fallen God's Blessing now, Warherald. We cannot afford to lose you.
You know the consequences.
This is not the time for your stubbornness.
Roman felt something different in the system's voice.
Not the usual cold calculation.
Not the detached observation.
Urgency. Fear.
The boss raised its hand, fingers curling into a fist.
The gravity pressure doubled.
Roman's body flattened against the ground, his cheek pressed into the blood soaked mud.
Blood poured from his mouth, his nose, his ears.
The barrier cracked further, a sound like breaking glass.
Civilians screamed.
Roman's vision dimmed.
The world grew dark at the edges.
No. Not like this. I won't die like this. I won't let them die.
He gritted his teeth.
His remaining hand clenched into a fist.
He pushed against the gravity, against the pain, against the impossible weight pressing down on him and got on his knees.
"Screw this shit," he snarled, his voice hoarse but defiant.
"Do it, Shadow System. Activate the Fallen God's Blessing. Now."
The system responded instantly.
Very well, Warherald.
A pause.
Hold on tight.