Fantasydestiny

Chapter 32: Into the Crimson Verge

Chapter 32: Chapter 32: Into the Crimson Verge


The portal looked wrong.


Not dangerous—wrong.Like someone had punched a hole through the world and painted over it with blood and static.


The East Hub staging ground sat on the edge of the industrial district, steel cranes hunched over empty lots, emergency floodlights washing everything in hard white. The air hummed with mana. Even the asphalt seemed to flinch.


The gate shimmered ten meters tall, oval, slow-turning, its center a liquid red swirl shot through with black threads that moved like veins. Around it, containment pylons crackled, trying to pretend they were strong enough.


[Objective: Enter the Crimson Verge.][Warning: Dimensional Instability — Sustained Exposure Hazard Level: S-Rank.]


Yeah. No kidding.


Selene stood a few paces away, scanning the readouts on a tablet. "Stabilizer field’s fluctuating by three percent," she said. "That’s the lowest it’s going to get."


"Good," I said. "Wouldn’t want it too safe."


Elise Renard stretched her arms, fire licking across her fingertips like it was impatient. "Finally. Feels like home."


Lucien adjusted his gloves, quiet, calm. "Remember, the field will suppress external healing. Don’t get creative with injuries."


My stomach did an elevator drop.


[Notice: External Regen Suppressed within target environment.]


[Absolute Regeneration — efficacy ↓→ situational / delayed.]


[Recommendation: Avoid trading damage.]


Great. My whole playbook is "trade stupidity for time," and the time just got repossessed.


Okay. Fine. Different game. No "prove I’m tough." No cute grazes to buy position—there are no cute grazes today. If a blade’s coming, I’m gone. If it touches me, it’s because I chose wrong, and choosing wrong isn’t a lesson anymore, it’s a bill. Knees and wrists end arguments; throats end them faster. Spend Step like rent, not like tips. Count harder. Let the cloak be an exit, not a magic trick. If something hurts now, it’s a death sentence later—fix it or bail.


"I’ll try to stay boring," I said, which here meant "I would like to continue existing."


Varga Keene grunted. The man had the conversational range of a mountain. His armor hummed as his barrier came online, low and certain. "We go in, we hold formation. No sightseeing."


"Understood," the Guildmaster said behind us.He looked the same as yesterday—calm storm. "You know the mission. Clear a route to the gate’s core. Retrieve any data you can. If contact with central command fails—"


"Close it from the inside," Elise finished, smiling like it was a dare.


He met each of our eyes. "No heroics. No martyrs. If it moves, assume it wants you dead."


I tried to smile. "That part I’m good at."


The gate pulsed.


Once.


Twice.


Then the world blinked.


[Entering Gate S-0127: Crimson Verge]


[Stability: 41 %]


Atmospheric Type: Volcanic / Reactive Mana]


[Survival Conditions: Hostile.]


The transition hit like being dunked in boiling ink.


Sound vanished first—ripped out of the air. Then heat flooded every inch of me, thick and metallic, clinging under my skin. Gravity stumbled, caught itself, came back heavier.


The world reassembled in pieces.


We stood on black glass. Not rock—glass. A plain of cooled magma stretched to the horizon, fractured into plates the size of buildings, glowing lines of fire threading between them like veins of a sleeping giant. The sky was dark red, clouds drifting slow as oil, streaked with distant lightning that burned gold instead of white.


The air tasted of iron and old storms.


Every breath scraped.


Lucien muttered something under his breath—probably a prayer or a spell. His healing field flickered pale around us, just enough to dull the burn.


"Temperature’s at forty-two Celsius," Elise said, checking her wrist gauge. She smiled like it was a vacation. "Finally warm enough to think."


"Remind me to never visit your hometown," I said.


She winked. "Too late."


Varga was already scanning the horizon. His armor’s sensors clicked like clockwork. "Movement. Two klicks east. Multiple heat signatures."


The Guildmaster’s voice crackled faintly over comms. "Initial contact’s expected. Document everything. Don’t engage unless necessary."


"Define necessary," I said.


"Survival," he replied, and cut the line.


Figures shimmered through the heat haze—humanoid silhouettes, broad-shouldered, moving in formation.


Orcs.


At least a dozen.


Armor made from scavenged metal, blackened and glowing at the edges. Their weapons weren’t crude clubs—they were forged blades, rune-etched, burning faintly with orange lines.


"Those aren’t your usual drooling types," Elise murmured. "They’re coordinated."


Lucien nodded, eyes narrowing. "Look at their spacing. Squad discipline."


"Stay low," Varga ordered. "If they’re guarding a route, we find another."


We dropped behind a ridge of black glass, the heat bleeding through even the ground. The nearest orc barked something guttural—and then, to my surprise, something that sounded almost... like words.


I couldn’t catch the language, but it had rhythm. Structure.


"Did that one just talk?" I whispered.


Elise frowned. "Could be mimicry."


A low growl rippled through the ridge. Not orcs—something else.


Then the ground shuddered.


[Environmental Event: Lava Surge Imminent.]


"Move!" Varga barked.


We scattered as the fissure beside us erupted—liquid fire vomiting upward, spraying chunks of molten glass the size of cars. One splashed near Elise. Her shield flared, evaporating the droplets midair.


I slid behind a spire, knives out, both humming at different pitches. The world roared.


Heat distortion blurred everything into ghosts. The orcs turned toward the eruption—then toward us.


"Guess we’re doing necessary," I said.


Varga slammed his gauntlet down. A translucent barrier bloomed around him, wide enough to cover Elise and Lucien."Cross—flank left!"


"Already moving!"


Lightning Step twitched awake in my legs.


[Lightning Step: 1/3]


[Cooldown: 2s]


[Bonus: +100% strike speed applied.]


I dashed across the field, heat peeling at my jacket. The closest orc roared, swinging a blade wreathed in orange fire. I ducked under, Fangpiercer sliding between plates of molten armor.


[Fangpiercer Critical]


[Armor Penetration: 30 %]


[Target Vitality — Null.]


The orc collapsed, armor hissing as blood met air.


[EXP Gained: 60][Double Rate Applied → 120][Level 20 Progress: 120 / 2000]


Elise raised her hand. Fire blossomed out—a sweeping arc that turned the front line into silhouettes. When the light faded, the orcs were still standing. Charred, smoking—but standing.


"They’re resistant!" she shouted.


"Of course they are!" I yelled back. "Because why wouldn’t they be!"


Varga charged in, hammering one into the ground, his shield field deflecting molten shrapnel. Lucien’s sigils lit, healing light tracing the cracks in his armor.


Every swing, the corner of my vision kept ticking like a bad casino slot.


[EXP +40 → 80][EXP +35 → 70][Double Rate Active.][Level 20 Progress: 670 / 2000]


We fought in heat and noise. No grand speeches. No system miracles. Just sweat, steel, and the sound of glass cracking under too much blood.


Five minutes later, the field was quiet.


Smoke curled from a dozen bodies. The horizon burned.


[Combat Complete][EXP Total: +720 (Double Rate Applied)][Level 20 Progress: 1390 / 2000]


Elise knelt, touching one of the fallen. "These weren’t random spawns," she said softly. "Look—organized insignia, consistent markings. They’re soldiers."


"Soldiers means a commander," Lucien said.


"And a city," I added.


Varga’s visor flickered with distant scans. "There," he said, pointing north. A faint red glow shimmered beyond the heatwaves—a vertical line rising against the horizon like a tower. Then another. And another.


An entire skyline—jagged silhouettes carved from obsidian, backlit by molten rivers. A city. Alive.


[EXP Logged. Current Progress → 1390 / 2000.]


"Holy shit," Elise breathed. "That’s—"


"Home base," I said, cutting her off. "For them."


Lucien looked at me. "You’ve seen this before?"


"No," I said. "But I’ve got a bad sense of déjà vu. The gate doesn’t just spawn monsters—it’s building civilizations."


Selene’s voice buzzed faintly through the comms. "Report."


"We found locals," I said. "And they’re not thrilled we’re visiting."


"Copy that," she said. "Stay sharp. The Guildmaster wants data from the inner ring."


"Inner ring," I repeated, looking at the city’s glow. "Of course he does."


The comm clicked off.The wind shifted, hot and alive. Somewhere far ahead, a horn blew—deep, ancient, echoing through the valley.


Elise smiled faintly. "That’s not ominous at all."


I checked my knives. Both hummed back—Fangpiercer sharp and steady, Gloamthorn low and hungry.


"Welcome to the Crimson Verge," I said. "Try not to die interesting."


We started toward the light.


And the world started watching.