The Architect awakened.

  Sitting on a throne at the end of the final room of his own dungeon, his gaze rising on the entrance.

  A challenger?

  He sat upright, fixing his posture as his mind was coming back to the surface.

  Something flashed through that very surface.

  Inconsistent memories from past fights in this very room, moments… No. Seconds, sporadically spread through his mind.

  “My past lives?… But how?” he whispered.

  He grabbed his head, a sudden headache overtaking him.

  He rose from his throne, a perfect structure that blended with the wall.

  It wasn’t intertwined or grotesquely mixed; it was instead precisely segmented, with clean geometric prisms partitioning the wall and the throne, making it impossible to know where one began and the other ended.

  This dungeon's final room was colossal; its arched ceilings rose 50 meters, supported by a dozen pillars.

  It was well lit by a handful of massive wooden torches, their dancing flames flickering through the room.

  They fluttered once more as the heavy doors creaked open, the architect’s gaze set on whoever had decided to challenge him.

  His eyes featured irises composed of glowing golden rings, fully fixated on the shadowy figure entering his domain with an unnaturally calm demeanor.

  The outlines depicted a man wearing a thick, layered black cloak, his face shrouded in dense magical shadows that continually collapsed inward.

  It was simply impossible to see their face.

  Another adventurer…?

  The Architect raised his hand, and a disassembled staff restructured itself in it. It was large; at its end, a segmented cube kept collapsing into itself before expanding outward in a continuous cycle.

  The shadowed figure was in the middle of the room, no weapons drawn and no magic yet uttered, the Architect could feel the challenger’s attention directed straight at him.

  Waiting for me to make the first move?

  He was the dungeon’s final boss, the fiercest challenge any adventurer would ever fight in their journey through this domain, yet this one gave him the advantage of the first move?

  Some adventurers prefer studying attack patterns, which makes waiting a valid strategy. I’m a caster, which means I’ll likely be casting spells requiring time and preparation; giving me time to do so would be a mistake… Unless he believes he has me beat despite that?

  His gaze remained on the challenger, slowly shaking his head as he took a few steps forward, leaving his throne behind.

  “Foolish,” said the Architect under his breath.

  The boss’s voice was low-pitched, slightly broken. Yet it commanded authority as it reverberated on the tall walls.

  Not an ounce of resolve. If you want to wait for me to make the first move, then my first move shall be the strongest one I have.

  Perfectly still, he watched as the cube at the end of his staff pulsated rhythmically; the reverberation it caused was visible to the naked eye, like a faint wave of light.

  The cloaked figure stayed calm despite the magical shockwave, not even adopting a fighting stance.

  The cube folded in on itself.

  Throughout the room, razor-thin lines sectioned the walls, ceilings, pillars, and floor, slits of light pushing through each created prism.

  The shadowed figure jumped, holding their knees to dodge those lines as they split everything around them.

  Walls, pillars, floor, and ceiling all segmented into geometric shapes, light pouring through the emptiness between them.

  Beyond the room should’ve been stone and dirt, yet the disassembled final room chaotically floated outward as if there had been nothing behind.

  The background wasn’t one of a void.

  It was a soft blue hue, emitted from an expanding infinity. White outlines crossed through that blueish space, almost as if they stood inside a tesseract, an infinitely recurving space that a normal brain could barely process.

  Pieces of the final room were already too far to even discern properly, the challenger’s floating tile slowly drifting further away as the boss’s staff rose once more.

  Cubes of light appeared behind the Architect, converging and merging into a single structure that slowly took on the shape of a cannon.

  Its size was gigantic, the barrel itself accounting for 90% of its length. Yet despite how big it was, it resembled nothing the world had ever seen: the barrel was one solid rectangular block with no holes from which a cannonball could be expelled.

  The boss’s eyes remained on the challenger; no move had been made yet, but no matter.

  What would they do?

  The cannon’s soft glow increasingly got brighter as its base slowly adjusted its position, locked on the target, guided by the architect’s staff.

  Yet still nothing.

  What was it?

  That… feeling?

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The architect’s golden eyes hadn’t left the unassuming person standing in the domain he had formed.

  Something felt different this time.

  This time?

  How many times had it actually been?

  …What’s happening? Is it a poison…? No, I didn’t look away for a single moment. Any spells affecting the mind wouldn’t work as I’m immune, unless he’s capable of going through my immunity?…

  The architect’s staff was still pointed at the hooded figure, the cannon completely still as it had perfectly adjusted the trajectory for the opponent.

  For the first time, the challenger’s voice echoed through the expanding space, his tone low and deep, yet as commanding as the architect’s.

  “You don’t know what’s happening, do you?” he asked.

  The golden rings in the architect’s eyes began to rotate, each layer spinning in a different direction.

  “That,” continued the shadowed figure, “…is fear.”

  …Fear?

  The challenger’s somber chuckles reverberated through the bluish void as he pushed his hand through the darkness serving as his face, reaching so deeply that his elbow disappeared completely.

  In one swift move he pulled out a blade made of the same dark foggy cloud of darkness as his face, and deep purple glitter flickered through those clouds like a thunderstorm.

  The Architect had never seen a blade like that. How would it even cut?

  Then he saw it.

  Through that fog.

  Every time purple lightning coursed through the glitter in the mist, veiled shapes that he couldn’t comprehend flashed through.

  “What…” started the Architect.

  “Your mind is one of the greatest this world has known. The things you create, I couldn’t even dream of. Yet I can withstand the sight of The Others, and you can’t fathom what you’re seeing,” replied the challenger.

  Lightning streaked more rapidly through the misty sword, causing the chaotic, eldritch shapes within to become increasingly restless and agitated.

  “You wonder wh—” the challenger was abruptly stopped.

  The Architect’s golden eyes brightened as the cannon fired without warning.

  A shockwave emanated from it and reverberated through the infinite expanse, while a ray of the purest white and blue raced forward.

  The challenger, caught off guard, raised their sword to block the ray.

  The architect’s eyebrows shot up as the magical beam, rather than being stopped or deflected, passed through the sword without emerging on the other side.

  That sword… The attack didn’t go through the mist; it was absorbed… Is it another dimension?

  The architect hurriedly raised his staff, memories of past fights storming through his mind as partitioned cubes assembled into various structures around them.

  The speed at which they created the structures was nothing like before.

  Each object required a precise mental image, something he excelled at.

  Cannons, teleporters, shields, traps, magical and physical spears…—

  The architect’s concentration fluttered, the cubes disassembling for a short moment.

  The adventurer advanced slowly, walking off the floating tile as if an invisible floor remained.

  He raised his sword then quickly struck before him, a whistling sound following the blade as it cut through the air.

  The architect blinked twice. The cannon that was being built further away had been struck with the same motion the challenger had made, despite how far away he stood.

  How does this work?… Is it a projectile? Or is it projection? Or perhaps he linked the space in front of him to the cannon? It could also be space manipulation…

  The adventurer raised his sword, the final boss’s attention turning back to his opponent.

  “You like this,” said the man with a chuckle. “You’re smiling, right now.”

  The Architect reached up, feeling his own face at the tip of his fingers. He could feel the creases caused by what must have been his own smile.

  “You’re wondering how?” asked the challenger.

  The cubes had stopped moving, the space they occupied still infinitely expanding, yet not a sound could be heard as they each stared at the other.

  “You’re wondering why you feel fear and excitement. By now, you must also be remembering past battles.”

  “How?…” asked the Architect. “I shouldn’t…”

  He shook his head, frowning while looking at the palm of his hand.

  Thoughts swirled through his mind, thoughts he shouldn’t have.

  His awakening in the final room of his dungeon, this current life-cyle as a final boss was all he should be remembering, that and all that lead to this moment.

  Past cycles should have been out of reach.

  “What are you doing to me…?” asked the Architect.

  “Do you want me to free you from those shackles? Isn’t there anything more for you than remaining an eternal slave to this dungeon? What would you be, if you could be anything?”

  …An adventurer.

  His own thought surprised him.

  Yet as the memories kept coming back, he couldn’t help but feel envy for all those who challenged him.

  …Can he do it? Is it even possible? It goes against the natural order of this world, and what about my dungeon…?

  “I understand your hesitation. I myself hesitated.”

  “Who are you? You’re no adventurer.”

  Laughter echoed through the infinite void.

  “I’m your savior.”

  The man slashed once more, yet rather than a whistling, it sounded closer to a shriek.

  The Architect barely had time to react, his body uncontrollably sent swirling backward, only to be stopped by the cannon he had conjured behind him.

  His back bent backward, he could feel his breath escaping his lungs as the warmth of his own blood soaked his chest.

  The wound was like no other he had received.

  The sword wasn’t what cut him; rather, it was whatever’s inside its mist.

  His body slowly fell on the platform holding the cannon. From afar, the echoes of the bright expanse could be heard as it began to close in on itself, layers folding inward at an increasing speed.

  The architect glanced up, a hand on his chest as he tried getting up, stumbling to find balance.

  “You got my guard down…” said the Architect.

  The shrouded man slowly shook his head.

  “You need to be rebuilt, once more. I’ll defeat you, yes, but once you come back from the dead, it won’t be as a dungeon boss. Come find me after you do.”

  The architect was finally up, thoughts chaotically crashing on the walls of his mind as he tried to make sense of everything.

  He could feel the numbness slowly taking over the tip of his fingers, his shortness of breath making each inhale feel like a thousand nails pushed through his lungs.

  He raised his hand once more, trying to restructure his staff.

  The man slashed the air again, yet this time it felt as if claws tightly gripped his chest before ripping it away.

  The final boss fell to his knees.

  The dimension was segmented, then disassembled itself as quickly as it had appeared, returning the final dungeon room to its original state.

  A pool of blood was accumulating underneath the Architect; he could feel his life slipping away.

  A feeling he now remembered.

  His being, his essence, retreating into something deep within him: his magical core.

  His own body was slowly disappearing. It was neatly segmented, partitioned, and disassembled.

  Each part floated upward, slowly disappearing in a quiet firework of dim lights.

  As his face was against the cold, hard tiles of his own dungeon, he could see as the man slowly turned away, walking away from his disappearing body.

  Until all that remained in the room was a dungeon boss core resting against the floor.

  A blood-red magic circle formed beneath the core, its radius slowly lighting up like a clock ticking, waiting to complete.

  Will you keep reading?