My Overpowered Bunny Girls

A few days after Ashwick burned, Nathan Cross stood in the Celestial Peak briefing room, feeling the accumulated weight of the last few months pressing heavily against his spine.

His party assembled around him, quiet but coiled. Garrett leaned back in his chair, Volcan propped carelessly against his leg while Red dozed at his feet. Dillon nursed a mug of black coffee, casually ignoring the tiny sparks Cloudy was spitting at passing dust motes from her perch on his shoulder. Near the window, Elise reviewed notes, the shifting, ethereal light of the Aurora Wing Tiara casting soft colors across her face. Mirko stood in her humanoid form at Nathan’s right hand, immaculate and proud, while Kuro melted into the shadows near the eastern window, her dark eyes tracking the sunrise.

They were rested. They were resupplied. They were ready.

Nathan touched his side. His ribs had finally finished knitting together—no more sharp agony when he drew Moonlight, no more hesitation dragging at his firing stance. Within Elise’s summon mark, the Frost Golem had successfully reconstituted its mass, fully restored to its towering nine-foot height. On Nathan’s wrist, the Mana Capacitor hummed with a full charge, while the Leyline Ring pulsed with a steady, comforting rhythm against his finger.

The heavy oak doors swung open, and Valerie strode in, clutching her TUFF GRANNY mug in one hand and a thick manila dossier in the other. Boris shuffled in behind her, letting out a low grunt as he collapsed into his usual corner. The Guild Master looked exhausted—the dark circles under her eyes had deepened over the last three days—but as she surveyed the room, a fierce, undeniable pride sharpened her gaze.

"A few days of rest and of recovery. I hope you made the most of them, because this is the final hurdle." She slid the thick dossier across the table. It stopped squarely in front of Nathan. "Tower of the Crimson Depths. High Class. Five floors. Your final requirement before Drak’thar."

Nathan pulled the folder closer. The cover photograph depicted a jagged, descending chasm rather than a rising spire. It was a yawning, violent tear in the earth, its lower levels bleeding a faint, arterial red light into the dark. He opened the file and began to read.

"It’s located out in the northern mining territories," Valerie explained, taking a sip from her mug. "It is five descending floors of claustrophobic tunnels, active blood veins, and massive extraction chambers. It is entirely enclosed, entirely dark, and saturated in blood magic."

She tapped a finger against the dossier’s open page. "Expect vampire-type ecology. Blood Wisps that drain vitality upon physical contact. Crimson Stalkers that utilize the environment for stealth ambushes. The boss on Floor 5 is the Crimson Lord—a vampire-type humanoid. This Tower has never been full-cleared recently. Three parties have attempted it in the last ten years. All three extracted early. One party left two Climbers behind."

Valerie leaned forward, her expression deadly serious. "The Crimson Lord is not the strongest boss you’ve faced in terms of raw kinetic power. The Pyre Wyrm hit harder. The Matriarch was faster. But the Crimson Lord is intelligent. It weaponizes the environment. It utilizes advanced blood magic to siphon your health to regenerate its own. Do not underestimate it."

"We won’t," Nathan said quietly.

"I know." Valerie set her mug down. "Clear this Tower, and I sign the authorization for Drak’thar. You will have met every single requirement I set: six High Class clears, Level 50 or near it, and flawless party coordination. You have earned the right to challenge the Elite Class." Her tone darkened. "But the Cleansing is accelerating. The TCA is tracking massive Court mobilizations—operatives, mutated summons, coordinated strikes. The clock is running out. Clear this Tower, and clear it fast."

Nathan closed the dossier. "We’ll break it. And we’ll be ready for whatever comes next."

"Dismissed," Valerie said. "Good hunting."

The guild transport rumbled heavily through the northern mining territories, leaving the ruined cities and the distant, freezing gleam of the Frozen Throne far behind. The landscape here was brutalized—a wasteland of gaping, unhealed mineshafts, rusted extraction equipment, and towering slag heaps. The sky above was a suffocating, overcast grey, pregnant with rain that refused to fall.

Old Marren drove in his usual gruff silence, but Nathan caught the veteran driver checking the horizon repeatedly in the rearview mirror, his leathery face tight with unease. The entire outer region felt like a drawn bowstring. The Court’s movements were creating an atmospheric pressure everyone could feel.

The Tower of the Crimson Depths finally came into view. It was a jagged, violent wound in the earth. The old blood-mine entrance had been warped and consumed by the Tower’s architecture—massive iron support beams twisted into unnatural archways, and rusted cart tracks spiraled down into suffocating darkness. At the bottom of the open shaft, the portal shimmered with a viscous, rippling crimson light.

"Blood," Old Marren muttered, gripping the steering wheel tight. "Don’t like the smell of it."

The party disembarked and began the long descent down the spiral staircase cut into the shaft’s walls. With every step, the air grew noticeably colder and heavier. The overwhelming, metallic tang of old blood filled Nathan’s nostrils, sticking to the back of his throat. Below them, the portal pulsed like a sluggish heart.

"Standard enclosed formation," Nathan ordered, his voice echoing off the stone. "Kuro, you’re point. Your senses are built for the dark. Mirko, take the front line with the Frost Golem. Garrett, Red—secure the flanks. Dillon, Cloudy—rear guard, and provide aerial reconnaissance where the ceiling allows. Elise, mid-line support and environmental control. I’ll coordinate from the center and conserve mana."

Understood, Summoner. Kuro shifted seamlessly into her humanoid form, her sleek bodysuit weaving itself from the shadows. The silver threading caught the faint red light. The ambient blood magic here is suffocating. It is thick enough to taste. Stay sharp.

"Hmph! Blood magic, vampire lords, and claustrophobic tunnels!" Mirko drew her sword with a metallic ring, the emerald light of [Impenetrable Fortress] pushing back the gloom. "This is exactly the sort of dramatic, oppressive setting this Knight was forged for! I shall carve a path of righteousness through the dark!"

You shall also carve a path of excessive noise, Kuro murmured.

"Loudness is an effective combat multiplier!"

Nathan stepped off the final stair and approached the portal. The crimson light washed over his face, cold and unpleasantly electric against his skin. "Let’s finish the High Class run."

They stepped into the blood.