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The ancient citadel looms—a jagged scar tearing through the sky, its spires clawing at blood-red clouds. Your boots sink into ash as you advance, the air crackling with raw magic. No warning. No mercy. A guttural roar shakes the earth as the first beast erupts from the ground—tusks like rusted iron, eyes burning with primordial hunger. You duck, your blade singing as it carves through tendon and bone. The horde descends: a writhing storm of fangs and scales. No time to think. No room to breathe. Each parry ignites sparks against the gloom; each strike paints the walls in arcs of molten gold. Somewhere in the chaos, a laugh escapes you—wild, unshackled. This isn’t survival. It’s a dance. And the rhythm? Oh, it’s *beautiful*. Deeper into the labyrinth, the walls pulse like a living heart. Traps detonate in your wake, flames licking at your heels. A shadow detaches itself—a knight clad in shattered armor, sword humming with cursed energy. You meet its charge midair, weapons colliding in a shockwave that tears stone from stone. No quarter given. None taken. When the final blow lands, the citadel itself screams. The vault door crumbles, revealing not treasure, but a pulsing star—a fragment of the cosmos chained here millennia ago. It sears your palm, floods your veins with supernova fire. The ceiling collapses. You run. Not from the crumbling fortress. *With* the star’s power, you *become* the collapse. The world fractures behind you in a wake of starlight and ruin. Somewhere beyond the smoke, dawn breaks. You don’t look back.
