"Ha!" laughed one of the bandits, watching the blast. "After that, they’re not getting up!"

  "Easiest money I’ve ever made!" shouted another, turning to his comrades. Raising his hands high, he yelled cheerfully: "Tonight we’re drinking so much the whole continent…"

  His words were cut short. In the next instant, a magical projectile of light pierced straight through his chest, easily passing through his body. A hole the size of a fist appeared in his ribcage. The man looked down at it, watching the blood already flowing out, and collapsed to the floor without a sound.

  Several bandits stared at the body in shock. Others, suddenly turning pale, shifted their gaze forward again. The dust began to settle, revealing the silhouettes of two figures. Alex and the Jester stood in the middle of the corridor completely unharmed. There wasn’t a single trace of the magical strike on their skin.

  Suddenly, some of the mages, regaining their senses, began gathering mana again, preparing for another volley. But they never got the chance.

  The attack was instantaneous.

  The darkness beneath the bandits’ feet suddenly trembled, and in the next moment, spikes burst from the ground—black, sharpened, with curved blades like the claws of a demon. Among them appeared blindingly white, almost transparent spears of light, emitting a piercing sound like the whistle of death itself.

  The first of them impaled entire bodies, driving through groins, stomachs, chests, throats, tearing flesh and breaking bones with a sickening crunch. Several men were hurled meters into the air, then slammed against the ceiling with such force that their brains and bones splattered across the walls. One mage managed to scream before his head cracked open with a disgusting snap, crushed between two spikes.

  Another was ripped in half—a dark spike shattered his spine, after which a light one shot up from the ground and split him from pelvis to chest. Internal organs spilled onto the floor, drenching everything around in a bloody rain.

  One of the bandits fell to his knees and tried to beg for mercy, stretching his hand forward, but his palm was instantly pierced by a thin, needle-like spike. A second later, another—thicker and wider—drove through his face from chin to back of skull, leaving nothing but a mangled piece of flesh where his head had been.

  Someone tried to run, but the spikes chased after them like living things. One mage cast a protective spell, but a blade of darkness tore through the barrier like paper and skewered his chest, dragging his insides out with it.

  In just a few seconds, the entire group was reduced to bloody pulp. Flesh, bones, shattered skulls—everything turned the corridor floor into a true slaughterhouse. The walls and ceiling were splattered with crimson, and the air was heavy with the hellish stench of death.

  When the last body fell to the stone floor with a wet splat, the darkness and light faded. The spikes slowly vanished in flashes of light and shadow, as if they had never existed. Silence once again filled the corridor.

  And through that silence, like ghosts, Alex and the Jester walked calmly forward. No survivors. No witnesses. Only death—and the two who had brought it.

  The Jester’s gaze slid over the blood-soaked corridor. His eyes lingered on the mutilated corpses, the severed limbs, the scattered organs and broken bones. He froze for a moment, then calmly turned to Alex and, almost playfully, said:

  "I dare say… remind me, how old are you again?"

  Alex raised an eyebrow slightly, but replied without emotion:

  "Fifenteen."

  "Fifenteen," the Jester repeated thoughtfully, an easy smile spreading across his face. "Just curious. I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve met in my life… And honestly, this is the first time I’ve seen a teenager handle human corpses so calmly. And even… create them with such bloodthirsty enjoyment."

  "I don’t care whether the one in front of me is a monster or a human," Alex answered just as calmly. "If it’s an enemy, I’ll kill them. Without a shred of mercy or doubt."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  The Jester laughed softly, lightly, but with a hint of genuine surprise.

  "You never stop surprising me," he said, then turned, motioning for them to move on. "Well… I suggest we pick up the pace. I’m getting tired of this damn corridor. The path ahead is straight, so we can just run—without getting distracted by side tunnels."

  Alex nodded, but immediately added:

  "According to the man you interrogated, there could still be bandits hiding in the tunnels. It would be better to finish them off now, before they come to the surface once all this is over."

  The Jester grew serious for a moment and nodded.

  "I was thinking the same thing. And I have a solution. We simply stop hiding our magical aura. Even these weaklings will feel that kind of power and crawl out on their own—like rats from their holes. And then we’ll be there to greet them."

  Alex narrowed his eyes slightly.

  "And you’re sure they’ll all come out? After feeling your monstrous aura on top of mine?"

  The Jester spread his hands in mock innocence.

  "Well, if you sense even one left, you can just collapse the tunnel. I doubt any of them know teleportation magic. They’ll die in the dark, and that will be that."

  "No further questions," Alex replied shortly.

  The dark scythe vanished from his hands, dissolving into the air. Alex and the Jester exchanged a glance, and in the next moment, as if on cue, they surged forward down the corridor. Their auras flared to full strength, like two colliding hurricanes: Alex’s deep, dense darkness and the Jester’s cold, destructive light.

  The rest of the dungeon didn’t yet know what was coming for it. But it would soon find out.

  Alex and the Jester raced through the corridor. The air around them trembled with the density of their mana, and the atmosphere grew heavier with each step.

  Within a minute, a new group of bandits appeared ahead—men who had just stepped out of a side tunnel and didn’t even have time to react before the Jester’s palm lit up with a bright magic circle.

  "Catch," he said coldly.

  Hundreds of sharpened light spears shot forward instantly, like a rain of arrows. They whistled through the air, tearing through the silence—and through flesh. The first row of bandits didn’t even have time to raise their hands before the spears pierced their chests, throats, and heads. One man on the edge screamed as dozens of spears tore through his body at once, sinking into his soft ribs and exiting the other side. Another’s leg was torn off, and as he fell and tried to crawl away, the next wave of spears drove through his back, pinning his body to the stone floor.

  When the last flash of light faded, nothing remained of the bandits but mutilated corpses bleeding onto the stone floor.

  Meanwhile, Alex slowed slightly, focusing. He sensed weak magical auras pulsing in a side tunnel several dozen meters away. Raising his hand, several dense projectiles of darkness shot upward like hungry predators, striking the tunnel’s ceiling. The explosion brought the rocks down, blocking the only passage.

  But a moment later, Alex stopped abruptly. The Jester, who had taken several more steps ahead, also stopped and glanced back with feigned impatience.

  "Don’t tell me you’re already tired?"

  Alex didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the blocked passage.

  "There’s one thing we might not have considered," he said calmly. "If there’s even one earth mage in there, they’ll get out easily."

  The Jester opened his mouth to object, but stopped himself just in time. He rubbed the back of his head and muttered with a carefree, almost childlike expression:

  "Ah… right. Didn’t think about that."

  Suddenly—dull thuds came from within the blockage. Screams. Men’s voices merging into panic.

  "Ideal," the Jester whispered, smiling wickedly. A magic circle flared to life once more on his palm.

  From the stone trap beyond the wall came piercing cries, quickly escalating into agony. Men screamed, fought, begged. Then—silence. Only dead quiet remained.

  "Done," the Jester sighed. "I can’t sense a single aura anymore."

  Alex nodded, smiling faintly. The two of them moved forward again.

  A few more minutes of running passed before the narrow corridor suddenly opened into a vast cavern. It was almost perfectly round, with a high stone dome and well-organized lighting—dozens of crystals and torches skillfully placed along the walls, spilling soft light over the space.

  At its center, slightly lower down, lay a large arena with a stone floor covered in the traces of old battles. High, tiered seating surrounded it on three sides. It was here, on the upper platform, that Alex and the Jester emerged.

  To the right, in the arena wall, a narrow passage led into another tunnel. From it drifted a faint, barely perceptible magical aura—even weaker than those the bandits had carried.

  Alex swept his eyes over the place and, frowning slightly, asked,

  "What is this place?"

  The Jester stopped at the edge of the platform, glancing down indifferently.

  "An arena. This is where Lorenzo holds fights between slaves. And auctions. It’s where he amuses himself with everyone he considers ‘property.’"

  Alex lowered his eyes. His voice carried neither anger nor emotion—only a hollow, dim sigh.

  "So that weak magical aura I sensed…"

  "…Slaves," the Jester confirmed softly, gazing toward the tunnel. "Mask your aura."

  Alex nodded silently. His dark mana slowly faded, as did the light around the Jester. Their silhouettes became ordinary—indistinguishable from the stone walls. Both dropped easily down into the arena and headed for the tunnel in the wall. It led deeper, further into the bowels of this cursed place.