"Dungeon Boss break! Dungeon Boss break! All hunters, secure the perimeter!"
The words hit Leon like a punch to the gut. Emergency speakers wail across the plaza, and every hunter within earshot turns pale.
Dungeon Boss break. Three words every hunter dreads to hear.
The dungeon gate doesn’t just open—it explodes.
Metal and stone erupt outward like the world’s largest bomb. Concrete chunks the size of an house rain down like meteors. Steam billows from the smoking crater where the gate once stood.
Then something emerges from the wreckage.
Leon’s blood turns to ice.
Nine feet of living nightmare in black armor pulses with sickly green veins. The Lord’s Champion moves with the inevitability of death itself. Its bull-like head, crowned with horns capable of piercing tank armor, bears yellow eyes that glint with cruel intelligence—eyes that relish the slow demise of victims.
In its massive claws, a spear materializes from thin air—six feet of twisted metal humming with barely contained power.
The E-rank hunters take one look and flee.
A wise choice.
Those who stay soon learn why boss breaks carry a ninety percent casualty rate.
One hunter, a kid with an enhanced blade charges the Champion head-on. His sword shatters like glass against the creature’s armor. The backhand that follows sends him thirty feet into a wall.
Leon hears every bone in the kid’s body snap.
Two more hunters attempt flanking maneuvers. The Champion’s hoof comes down like a collapsing building. Their screams end in an instant.
Blood pools across cracked pavement.
An Association officer steps forward, radio crackling. "All available S-ranks to Sector Nine! Priority Alpha emergency! We need ..."
The spear impales him before he can finish. Blood sprays, and his body crumples like wet cardboard.
Leon steps forward.
His zombies materialize beside him like shadows given form: Warrior. Assassin. Mage. They stand in perfect formation, a reflection of battles fought and survived. The crowd parts around them, a tide making way for something inevitable.
The Champion’s burning gaze locks onto Leon.
Those alien eyes narrow.
This one is different. Dangerous. Worth killing personally.
The spear launches, faster than thought.
Leon’s warrior zombie intercepts, spectral arms locking in a perfect block. The impact shakes the entire plaza. Sparks shower like stars. The zombie slides backward, boots carving trenches into concrete as spiderweb cracks spread from the point of impact.
The assassin zombie flows like liquid shadow, weaving through the chaos. Her twin knives find every microscopic gap in the Champion’s armor, drawing precise lines of black blood.
The creature’s roar shatters every window within three blocks.
The Champion retrieves its spear like a toy. It spins the weapon with casual grace, and Leon’s skin crawls.
Steel clashes with alien metal. The Champion lunges like a striking viper. The warrior zombie deflects by millimeters, sparks flaring.
Leon circles, Void-reaper barking precision shots. Each round chips away at armor, exposing vulnerable joints.
But it barely slows.
His assassin strikes again, blades cutting behind the Champion’s knee. The creature staggers, bulk swaying like a felled colossus.
Then it spins, faster than physics allows.
The backhand catches the assassin mid-strike. She crashes through a car windshield, the hood crumpling around her like a coffin.
Leon’s chest tightens.
One zombie down. Two left.
The Champion presses its advantage. The spear sweeps in a wide arc. Leon dives, concrete exploding beside him.
The warrior zombie takes the opening. The mantis blade flashes, slipping between gauntlet and bracer.
The Champion’s left hand separates, blood gushing like oil.
It rears back, bellowing, but doesn’t retreat.
Power surges through its form. Muscles swell. Armor glows with dark energy. Flesh sears closed at the stump.
Phase Two begins.
The remaining fist smashes into the warrior zombie’s chest. Ribs explode. Blood sprays.
But it doesn’t fall.
The Champion’s eyes blaze crimson. Armor reshapes, sprouting spikes. It’s not just stronger—it’s evolving.
The warrior zombie drips blood, unmoving. Ready. Waiting.
Leon checks his manna ammo. Half left.
His assassin is down. His mage lurks, waiting.
Around them, the plaza resembles a war zone—cracked concrete, shattered glass, alien and human blood mingling.
Sirens wail in the distance. S-rank hunters race toward the chaos.
But it might already be too late.
The Champion’s gaze fixes on Leon.
Steam rises from its armor.
The real fight is only just beginning.