Chapter 5: The Boss vs. The Monsters That Love Me

The throne room was bigger than our entire guild hall.

Vaulted ceilings disappeared into darkness, pillars thick as ancient trees lined the chamber, and the floor was polished obsidian that reflected the green flames burning in massive braziers. Everything about this place screamed final boss arena.

“That’s a big room.”

I stepped through the doorway and the girls followed, their footsteps echoing as we spread out instinctively—combat formation without me having to say it. Maybe they were actually taking this seriously.

“Welcome, mortals.”

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, rattling in my chest and scraping against my eardrums like rusty nails. At the far end of the chamber, a figure sat on a throne of bones—the Lich King, his robes tattered purple silk, his crown black iron fused to his skull, empty eye sockets burning with eldritch fire.

“You have trespassed in my domain, disturbed my eternal rest—for this crime, you will serve me in undeath.”

He raised one skeletal hand and dark energy crackled around his fingers. The temperature dropped, ice forming on the pillars, my breath misting in the air.

“I am Malthor the Undying—I have ended kingdoms, consumed armies. Your souls will join the thousands already bound to my will.”

“Cool speech, you practiced that?”

I called out.

The Lich’s flames flickered—confusion, probably. Dead guys hate when you don’t take them seriously.

“You dare mock me?”

“I dare ask if we can skip to the fight—we’ve had a long day and I’d like to get this over with.”

Valeria snorted, Seraphina smiled, Elara giggled nervously. The Lich King radiated rage as the braziers flared and the ground trembled.

“Insolent worm! I will make an example of you!”

He stood from his throne, robes billowing dramatically—probably had a wind spell going for effect. He pointed directly at me, his finger bone extending like an accusation.

“You, the one who speaks—you will die first. Slowly, painfully. I will peel your soul from your flesh and bind it to eternal torment!”

Dark magic gathered around him, a spell circle forming with multiple layers and complex runes. This was high-tier death magic, the kind that ignores armor and attacks the target’s life force directly.

“Rian, move!” Seraphina shouted.

I started to dodge but the spell was fast—impossibly fast. Black lightning arced toward me, would hit in less than a second, and my body tensed as I prepared for impact.

The lightning never reached me.

The air in the throne room changed, got heavier and colder, the pressure suffocating. It wasn’t coming from the Lich anymore—it was coming from behind me.

“You,” Valeria’s voice was dead calm.

That was worse than her usual sadistic glee—when Valeria got quiet, people died. Not quickly, not cleanly.

“You just tried to kill my Guild Master.”

The temperature plummeted.

Her killing intent exploded outward, so thick I could taste it—like copper and ozone. The Lich’s spell dissipated, just evaporated, her bloodlust literally overwriting his magic.

“That pile of bones just looked at what’s mine.”

She drew her sword.

The Lich raised his hands and magical barriers materialized—seven layers of protective wards, each one strong enough to stop artillery spells. Standard boss fight mechanics where you’re supposed to wear them down gradually.

Valeria didn’t care about mechanics.

She moved—one moment next to me, the next in front of the Lich. No teleportation, no magic, pure speed. Her sword swung and the barriers shattered like glass, all seven at once.

“Impossible!” The Lich stumbled backward.

Valeria’s fist connected with his skull, the impact echoing as cracks spiderwebbed across his bone. She grabbed his robes and yanked him forward, her knee driving into his ribcage—more cracks.

“You don’t get to threaten him, don’t get to look at him, don’t even get to exist in the same reality as him!”

She threw him across the chamber.

The Lich crashed into a pillar, stone crumbling as he tried to stand. Valeria was already there, her boot slamming into his spine as he went down hard.

“Stay down, you worthless sack of calcium!”

She raised her sword.

“Wait! We can negotiate!” The Lich’s voice cracked with genuine fear.

“Negotiation implies you have value—you don’t.”

She drove her blade through his shoulder, pinning him to the floor. He screamed, voice shrill and desperate, as she twisted the blade.

“That’s for looking at him.”

She pulled the sword out and stabbed again, different angle, through his hand this time.

“That’s for threatening him.”

Meanwhile Seraphina approached from the other side, eyes glowing purple as she knelt next to the Lich’s skull. Her fingers traced the air, invisible threads of magic connecting to his consciousness.

“Let me inside your mind, dead man,” her voice was soft, sweet, terrifying.

“No! Stay out!”

“Too late.”

Purple light flared and the Lich convulsed, his bones rattling, his flames guttering.

“Oh, oh you’re such a pathetic creature—you call yourself a king? You’re nothing, you’re garbage, you’re not even worth the mana it takes to kill you.”

She was whispering, each word dripping with venom.

“You’ve existed for centuries and accomplished nothing meaningful. Every soul you consumed? They’re all laughing at you—they know you’re weak, know you’re a failure.”

“Stop! Stop talking!”

“Why? I’m only telling you the truth. Deep down you know it, you’ve always known it—you’re not a king, you’re a joke wearing a crown.”

The Lich tried to cast a spell, hands moving, magic gathering, then it fizzled. Seraphina’s mental manipulation was too strong—she was rewriting his self-perception, making him believe he was powerless.

“You should just give up, destroy yourself—it would be a mercy for everyone.”

“I… I should…”

The Lich’s flames dimmed as he broke—centuries-old undead overlord reduced to a sobbing mess by Seraphina’s psychological warfare. It was brutal to watch, efficient but brutal.

“Incoming!” Elara’s voice rang out.

I turned—the Lich had a contingency spell, a massive magic circle activating on the ceiling as necromantic energy poured down. Area-of-effect death magic designed to wipe the entire party if the boss was losing.

“Everyone get back!” I shouted.

Elara ran forward instead, positioning herself directly under the spell. The energy crashed down like a tidal wave, engulfing her completely—black lightning, cursed flames, necrotic poison, enough concentrated death magic to obliterate a small town.

The spell ended.

Elara stood there completely unharmed, her robes not even singed. Her passive holy resistance was so high that the spell literally did nothing, but she was gasping, trembling, her face flushed crimson.

“I… I took it all! Every bit of damage!”

She fell to her knees dramatically.

“For you, Master Rian! I suffered the ultimate agony, endured hell itself to protect you!”

“You took zero damage, Elara.”

“But I could have taken damage—the potential suffering was immense!”

She crawled toward me, eyes unfocused, lost in her own fantasy.

“Praise me! Tell me I did well, tell me I’m a good girl who deserves punishment for being so reckless!”

I looked at the Lich—he was staring at us, his flames barely flickering, looking confused and horrified, like he was questioning every decision that led to this moment.

“What… what are you people?”

Valeria ripped her sword free and pointed it at his skull.

“We’re Crimson Rose, and you made the mistake of threatening our Guild Master.”

“Please, mercy.”

“Denied.”

Her blade came down, the Lich’s skull shattered, his bones collapsed, and the magic animating him dispersed. The flames in the braziers went out, the throne room falling silent.

Victory.

I stood in the center of the carnage—untouched, unharmed, hadn’t even drawn a weapon. The final boss of an S-rank dungeon was dead in under three minutes.

“Is everyone okay?”

Valeria walked back to me, blood—or whatever Liches have—dripping from her sword. She looked satisfied, calm, like she’d just finished a light workout.

“I’m perfect now that the threat is eliminated.”

Seraphina dusted off her robes, looking pleased with herself.

“That was therapeutic—I haven’t broken someone’s mind that thoroughly in weeks.”

Elara was still on the ground, still breathing heavily, still lost in whatever masochistic fantasy she was having.

“I’m ready for my reward, Guild Master.”

“Your reward is not dying—get up.”

I walked toward the throne where behind it sat the dungeon core—a pulsing crystal filled with concentrated mana. That was our objective: destroy it and the dungeon collapses. We’d completed the mission.

“Good work, everyone—genuinely, that was efficient.”

They beamed at the praise, all three of them, like I’d just told them they won the lottery. It was unsettling how much my approval meant to them.

I placed my hand on the crystal and it shattered. The throne room trembled, dust falling from the ceiling—we had maybe five minutes before the whole structure came down.

“Time to leave, double-time.”

We ran back through the corridors, past the traps, past the destroyed undead. The dungeon groaned and shook around us—stone crumbling, walls collapsing—and we made it to the entrance just as the ceiling caved in behind us.

Fresh air hit my face, sunlight blinded me, and we stumbled out into the cursed forest. The dungeon entrance collapsed, sealed forever.

Silence.

I sat down on a rock, legs shaking—not from fear but from exhaustion, from the realization that just hit me.

The Lich King was right to be afraid, not of me but of them. These three walking disasters who became something else the moment someone threatened me, something absolutely terrifying.

I was the safest person in that dungeon—not because I was strong, but because I held their leashes, because they had decided independently and insanely that I was theirs to protect.

“Rian?” Valeria sat next to me, armor covered in dust.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just processing.”

“We did good work today.”

“You obliterated a legendary undead in under a minute.”

“He touched what’s mine—I was being merciful.”

She smiled, that dangerous, beautiful smile that promised violence and something else, something I couldn’t quite name but felt in my chest.

The carriage was waiting, the driver looking relieved we were alive. We loaded up and started the journey home—this time the ride was quiet, they were tired and satisfied, for once not competing for my attention.

I stared out the window. We’d completed an S-rank quest with four people, earned enough gold to keep the guild running for months—by all metrics this was a success.

So why did I feel like I’d just barely survived?

Because I had—not the dungeon, but them. I survived them, and tomorrow I’d have to do it all over again.