NOVPUB
Chapter 135: The Dungeon Break
Ragnar shot his fist into the air.
Boom.
In a blink, constructs of raw soul energy erupted like jagged spears, racing skyward before suddenly pausing mid-air — twisting, turning, and then redirecting straight at him.
Dozens of them. Razor-sharp, fast, and precise.
"— How the hell did he do that?" Zayn muttered, spinning in the air with the agility of a born warrior.
His boots slammed into the ground, dust scattering. His eyes gleamed, adrenaline pumping.
Zayn didn’t wait.
He twirled his fingers, channeling a thin, shimmering soul thread from his palm.
A heartbeat later, he was weaving — zigzagging between the speeding constructs like a dancer between falling blades.
Every dodge was inches from death, every move calculated chaos. If he lost here... well, that went a huge chunk of his ego.
And besides Seren was watching, what kind of big brother would he be if he couldn’t win against Ragnar?
Flick. Snap.
The soul thread looped around one construct — then another — then five.
Zayn moved like a spider in fast-forward, roping the soul constructs together mid-air into a tangled, pulsing mass.
With a grunt, he gave a mighty tug — swinging the soul-woven mass back toward its original owner.
"Catch!"
The glowing bundle hurtled toward Ragnar.
For a split second, Ragnar’s eyes widened. Then —
Fwoosh.
The constructs blinked out of existence.
"Of course," Zayn muttered, just before Ragnar launched forward, closing the distance in an instant.
No time to think.
The first punch was a blur. Zayn barely dodged, air hissing past his cheek.
He twisted — too slow.
The second strike connected.
Crack!
His ribs screamed.
Zayn grunted and stumbled sideways, momentum dragging him to the ground.
But he planted his palms fast, flipping backward. As Ragnar advanced for the finisher —
Both of Zayn’s legs shot out.
Wham!
Ragnar took the full force under his chin, his head jerking back. He staggered.
Zayn didn’t waste it.
He shot forward like a bullet, ramming an elbow into Ragnar’s gut with everything he had.
The Hero of Power grunted, doubling over slightly.
Zayn drew back a fist, aiming to end it with one clean punch.
’Too slow.’
Ragnar’s hand caught his wrist.
"Fuck!"
CRACK.
The uppercut sent him flying.
His vision exploded into white sparks, and his groan came out in a gurgle.
Everything flipped upside-down, then sideways, and then...
Darkness.
...
Zayn groaned softly.
His head hurt. His ribs hurt.
His soul thread might’ve been trying to re-stitch itself back into his spine.
The world smelled like lavender and spice. Also... something soft?
He blinked awake — then blinked again, slower this time, as the first thing he saw was —
Cleavage.
Not just any cleavage.
Warm, familiar, Elisse-style cleavage, with her soft hands brushing his hair back gently like she was tending a sleepy cat instead of a half-dead warrior.
His head was nestled squarely between her breasts.
He groaned again, this time more dramatically. "...This heaven or hell?"
Elisse looked down at him, face bright pink, clearly torn between flustered panic and amusement. "Neither. You passed out mid-punch again, idiot."
Zayn shifted, trying to sit up. "Ragnar?"
"Gone. After knocking you out, he picked up his cape like some dramatic theater guy and said you’ve ’got potential’ or whatever before heading for the Break." She gently cupped his cheeks, inspecting for bruises. "Also you drooled on me a little."
"I regret nothing."
She laughed, brushing his hair again. "You really need to stop using your ribs as shock absorbers."
Zayn sighed, finally sitting upright and groaning as his back cracked. "Not like I had a choice. Guy’s built like a war god and moves like a cat." n𝚘𝚟𝚙u𝚋.co𝚖
"You are a war god," Elisse said with a small smile. "Or close enough. You fought him to a standstill."
He blinked at her. "I lost."
"You fought a hero and survived. That is a win."
He paused, then smirked. "...Bet he felt that double kick to the chin, though."
"Oh, he totally did," she giggled. "Might’ve made his soul energy drop a few shades."
He chuckled but winced. "Okay, maybe no laughing. Definitely something cracked."
"Mm. You need rest. And food."
"Are you offering both?"
"I’m offering soup and snuggles. Take it or leave it."
Zayn slowly laid back down — right back between her breasts.
"I choose snuggles."
Elisse shook her head, cheeks burning. "Hopeless."
...
It had barely been thirty minutes since Zayn woke up with his face buried in Elisse’s chest, and already, Tobias was leading them to the front lines like a man on a schedule.
No breaks. No naps. No time to recover.
Just: "Get up, there’s a dungeon break, we move north."
And now here they were, hiking through uneven terrain, the ground gradually shifting from grassy fields to cracked, scorched dirt.
The trees were thinner. The air smelled like smoke and blood. And Zayn?
His head still hurt like hell.
Apparently, healing magic and high-grade potions did wonders for broken ribs and soul bruises — but when it came to good ol’ blunt force headaches?
Absolutely useless.
But he supposed there were worse things than a throbbing skull.
Like, for example, not holding hands with Seren.
Zayn glanced sideways, mildly surprised by how naturally their fingers stayed intertwined.
The venom-spitting girl wasn’t glaring or biting. She wasn’t twitching or threatening to melt his spine.
She was just... walking. Calmly.
That alone made him narrow his eyes suspiciously.
Still, the rest of the group was a few paces ahead — Tobias taking point, Bran scouting the path, Kara quietly checking her gear, and Elisse humming a soft tune under her breath — so Zayn took the opportunity to lean in.
"What’s up with you?" he asked.
Seren turned her head slightly, her hair catching the light.
"You’re strong," she said simply.
Zayn smirked, tapping his chest with his free hand. "I’m really really strong."
Her eyes went blank for a moment — like she just flatlined emotionally — and then her lips curled into a sly grin. "You still got your ass beat."
Zayn’s jaw dropped in mock offense. "I did not!"
"I watched you face-plant into the dirt like a sack of flour."
"That was strategy. It’s called tactical flopping."
"You were unconscious."
"Details!"
They bickered for a minute, trading snarky jabs and smug grins.
Zayn felt the headache ease slightly — not from magic, but from how natural this all felt.
How strange that a girl who once tried to melt him earlier now walked beside him like she belonged there.
Maybe she did.
Seren slowed a little, casting him a curious glance. "You already introduced me to your friends."
Zayn nodded. "Yeah?"
"Does that mean I’m not leaving?"
He blinked, caught off guard by the softness in her voice.
"...Yeah. Probably so," he said. "It’s not so bad here, though. Definitely better than the streets."
There was a pause. A breeze tugged at their cloaks.
"...Thanks," she muttered.
It was so quiet he almost missed it. Almost.
"What’d you say?"
Seren’s hand suddenly let go of his — only to pinch his side.
"Nothing."
"Ow — okay, violent again, good to know."
Up ahead, Tobias raised a hand.
"Eyes forward."
Everyone stilled.
They looked up.
And all that lay ahead was destruction.
