Final Life Online

"Alright… let's see what we're dealing with," he said, pushing the doors open.

The gate groaned on rusted hinges, revealing a vast, dimly lit chamber. The walls were slick with damp rot, and the smell was overwhelming. On both sides of the room, piles of corpses—human, elf, and beast—were stacked like discarded firewood.

At the center, hunched over one of the bodies, was a figure. Its form was vaguely human, but its skin was stretched tight over bone, rotting in places, and its limbs moved with unnatural stiffness. It was working on the corpse with skeletal fingers, muttering to itself in a low rasp.

Rhys stepped forward—and the thing slowly turned.

Two burning pinpricks of red light glared from the hollow sockets of its skull-like face. A low, chilling chuckle escaped its rotting lips.

"Eke…ke… fresh meat…"

The thing's hunched posture straightened, and it took a step toward him. A silver-colored nameplate flared into view above its head:

[ Skeleton Lord ]

Unique Boss

Rhys exhaled sharply. "Oh boy… I guess it was a good idea to level up before coming here."

Unique Bosses were rare—and dangerous. Unlike normal bosses, they never respawned. They were stronger, smarter, and always carried far better loot. But more than that… each one possessed a Unique Skill that would drop for whoever could defeat them.

Rhys tightened his grip on his sword and glanced at Puddle.

"Get ready, Puddle… this is going to be a tough fight."

The slime bounced in place, its body glowing faintly with water, light, and dark magic.

The Skeleton Lord raised both arms high—bones in its shoulders and elbows grinding loudly. The ground trembled, and the piles of corpses began to twitch.

A terrible sound echoed through the chamber as dozens of hands clawed upward from the mounds.

One by one, the dead rose.

Rotting flesh sagged from their frames, bones jutting at odd angles, empty sockets staring forward without a flicker of emotion.

The Skeleton Lord's voice rang out, deep and guttural:

"Arise… my army!"

More and more of the dead stood, filling the room. Their number swelled quickly—ten, twenty… fifty… over a hundred shambling corpses now stood between Rhys and their master.

Rhys tilted his head, his expression darkening.

"Alright then… you want a war? You've got one."

Puddle's form rippled, its aura beginning to flare as the Skeleton Lord's horde lurched into motion.

The undead horde surged forward like a wave of bone and rot, the ground shaking beneath their collective march. Their hollow moans mixed with the dry clatter of skeletal limbs, the stench of decay rolling ahead of them like a tide.

Rhys exhaled, his grip tightening around the Corrupted Treant Lord's Sword.

"Let's thin them out before they even get close."

He raised his left hand.

[Light Bullets]

Five radiant spheres tore into the air, streaking like falling stars. They punched through skulls and ribcages in rapid succession, each impact bursting with holy light that reduced their targets to scattering bones.

The front ranks collapsed, but the wave kept coming.

Puddle's voice rang in his head through their bond — a single thought of readiness.

"Go."

[Abyssal Grasp]

The ground in the horde's center ruptured into writhing tendrils of shadow. Dozens of undead were ensnared, their legs yanked and bound, movement slowed by the choking darkness.

Rhys stepped forward, body flickering.

[Ghost Edge Step]

In less than a blink, he was deep in the immobilized mob.

The Treant Lord's Sword sang in his hands as he unleashed:

[Whirlwind Slash] + [Water Blade]

A swirling storm of steel and pressurized water erupted outward, slicing clean through rotting torsos and snapping spines. Bone fragments spun through the air like shrapnel.

Before the momentum faded, he twisted into a follow-up:

[Arc Surge Slash]

The mana-charged blade released a compressed arc of energy, cutting a ten-meter line through the undead ranks. The wave of corpses staggered as torsos fell in halves.

But more were still climbing over the bodies of the fallen.

Arrows whistled toward him from skeletal archers. Puddle reacted instantly.

[Light Shield]

A pale barrier shimmered around Rhys, arrows bouncing harmlessly away.

Two skeletal mages at the rear began chanting, their bony fingers weaving foul runes into the air. The sickly green glow of decay magic built around them.

Rhys's eyes narrowed.

[Predator's Archive]

Weak points bloomed over the mages' forms, glowing red in his vision. In a single motion, he pointed his sword.

[Magic Missile] → Arcane Echo Triggered!

Twin salvos of shimmering mana shot forth, each projectile curving mid-flight to punch through the exposed weak spots. Both mages exploded into bone dust before their spells could be loosed.

Puddle surged forward beside him.

[Gleaming Halo]

A radiant halo spun around the slime, searing any undead that dared come too close. Corpses ignited in white fire as they were shredded by the rotating ring of light.

The Skeleton Lord growled low from his throne of bones, standing at last.

Its skeletal frame was draped in rotting regal robes, its long fingers clutching a jagged bone scythe that dripped with an oily black mist.

With a single gesture, the horde split in two, allowing their master to step forward.

The moment the Lord's foot touched the cracked stone, the air warped.

[Rot Aura – Passive]

Everything within twenty meters began to wither — even the stone floor blackened and cracked under the miasma's touch. Rhys felt his armor's edge corrode as if gnawed by invisible teeth.

The Lord's voice was cold, like bone scraping over bone.

"Your light will fade. Your bones will serve."

The Lord swept its scythe down in a broad arc.

[Bone Reaver Slash]

A crescent of black death energy ripped through the air toward Rhys.

He didn't back down.

Mana flared in his veins.

[Beastarmament – Soul Fusion Initiated]

Puddle dissolved into a swirling vortex of water, light, and shadow, flowing into Rhys. His armor shimmered, his blade shifting into the Spiritbound Sword: Aether Vein.

A wave of elemental energy rolled off him, shattering the incoming death slash like glass.

"Your army's gone," Rhys said, stepping forward as his aura flared like a beacon in the rotting dark.

"Now it's just you."

The Lord roared, raising its scythe again — but Rhys was already moving.