Magus Supremacy

Chapter 183 - 183: Dungeon traps!

The team pushed the heavy stone doors open, the loud groan of the hinges echoing like a dying beast. A gust of stale, ancient air rushed out, brushing against their faces like a warning from the past.

They stepped into the dungeon—an oppressive, dimly lit corridor that stretched forward like the gullet of some ancient, slumbering creature.

Cracked torches lined the eastern and western walls, their flickering flames barely holding back the shadows that slithered across the stone.

Silence dominated the space—so absolute that even the faint crunch of gravel beneath their boots sounded like thunder. Every breath felt heavier, the air laced with dust and the scent of decay.

Dante took the first step, his silhouette merging with the gloom. The others followed tightly, eyes darting about as if expecting the walls themselves to lunge forward.

After several tense steps, the narrow corridor finally opened into a massive underground chamber.

The ceiling arched high above like the belly of a cathedral, held up by massive stone columns worn by time.

The walls were lined with ten gaping holes, each pitch black and just large enough for a man to crawl through. They resembled mouths, open and waiting.

Scanning the chamber, there was no clear exit—just a stone altar standing ominously in the chamber's corner, draped in tattered crimson cloth.

Atop it stood a weathered statue of a hooded figure, its face completely hidden beneath the folds of its robe.

In its outstretched hand, it clutched a twisted staff that seemed almost to pulse with malice.

"Where do we go?" Greg muttered, his voice hushed, as though afraid to disturb something.

"I don't know," Dante replied, his brows furrowed as he studied the room. "There are too many options."

"I can help," Grey said, stepping forward with calm confidence.

"How can a weakling like you be of any help?" Dante scoffed, not bothering to hide his contempt.

Grey ignored the jab. He walked into the heart of the room and knelt. The moment his palms touched the stone, electricity sparked to life, dancing across his fingers in crackling arcs.

In a heartbeat, ten lightning tendrils shot out from him, each branching into one of the holes like

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{A/N}

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