The lab is darker than I remembered. The endless hallways, twisting corridors, and sharp angles blur into one another, making it difficult to tell which direction I'm heading. The metallic walls echo with every footstep I take, and the air feels thick, suffocating, as though the weight of this place presses against my lungs with every breath.
I've been hunting this latest creature for what feels like hours. Its scent lingers in the air—thick, foul, and cloying—but the labyrinth of the lab makes it impossible to track it down quickly. The corridors stretch on for miles, winding in directions that shouldn't make sense. Dead ends, abrupt drops, and hidden vents where the creature might have crawled into escape my vision.
But it's close now. I can feel it.
My muscles burn with each step, still recovering from my last encounter, but I force myself forward. There's no room for weakness. No space for rest. Each kill brings me closer to understanding this place, to learning its patterns, its secrets. The creatures grow stronger, their forms more twisted with every encounter, and I know the only way to survive is to keep moving. To keep hunting.
As I turn a corner, the dim light flickers overhead, casting long, distorted shadows on the walls. The air grows colder here, the temperature dropping enough for my breath to fog slightly in front of me. I tighten my grip on the jagged piece of metal I've been using as a makeshift weapon. Its cold surface bites into my palm, a reminder that I'm never truly safe here.
Then, I hear it—a soft, skittering sound. It's faint, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable. The creature is near.
I move silently through the hallway, my footsteps barely making a sound. The air is still, too still, and every sense I have is on high alert. There's a tension in the air, a feeling that something is waiting, watching from the shadows.
I pause at an intersection of corridors, my eyes scanning the darkened passageways. The sound of skittering claws echoes faintly, but I can't pinpoint its location. It could be behind any one of these walls, or worse—beneath the floor.
Suddenly, a shape darts across the corridor ahead of me, quick as a shadow. My heart races, and instinct takes over. I lunge forward, chasing after the fleeting glimpse of the creature. My footsteps echo loudly now, no longer silent, as I sprint through the halls. My eyes strain to catch sight of it again, the darkness closing in around me like a suffocating blanket.
I round another corner, and there it is.
The creature is hunched low, its twisted, sinewy body pressed against the floor. Its eyes glow faintly in the dark, and its elongated limbs are covered in jagged scales, each one glistening with an oily sheen. It's smaller than some of the other fusions I've faced, but it's quick, darting back and forth with unnatural speed.
It lets out a low hiss, baring rows of sharp, needle-like teeth. The sound is grating, almost mechanical, as if it's more machine than flesh.
I don't hesitate.
With a snarl of my own, I charge, swinging the jagged metal bar down toward the creature. It leaps to the side, skittering up the wall with ease. I swing again, but it's too fast, darting away into the shadows.
For a moment, the corridor falls silent again, but I know it's still here. Hiding. Waiting.
I glance around, scanning the debris scattered across the floor. Then, in the corner of the hallway, half-hidden beneath the rubble, something catches my eye.
A piece of paper.
For a second, I hesitate. The creature could attack at any moment, but something about this scrap of paper draws me in. It's different. Out of place. I crouch down, keeping my weapon ready, and tug the paper free from the debris.
It's not just a piece of paper. It's a map.
My eyes scan the worn surface, tracing the lines and symbols hastily drawn across the page. At first, it looks like nothing more than random scribbles, but as I study it closer, the patterns begin to make sense. There are layers upon layers—floors of this place, each one marked with notes and warnings.
Forty floors.
My stomach churns at the realization. I've barely scratched the surface of this place. The thought of how far I still have to go feels like a weight pressing down on me, suffocating. And then I notice something else—small, scrawled warnings at various points on the map.
*Trap.*
*Blunder.*
*No exit.*
Each warning is placed next to what looks like an exit. Dozens of them, all leading to different parts of the facility, but according to this map, they're all traps. Deadly traps.
The creature's hiss breaks the silence again, and I snap my focus back to reality. But the weight of the map in my hand feels heavier now, more ominous. I fold it quickly and tuck it into my waistband, my mind already racing with the implications.
There's only one way out.
Up.
I can't waste any more time. The longer I linger in this cursed place, the closer death inches toward me. The creature in the shadows is a reminder that every moment here is borrowed, every second a chance for something to strike. I know now that I have to ascend. There's no other option.
As I move cautiously down the hallway, the creature reappears—skittering along the wall, hissing as it tracks my movements. It doesn't attack right away, as though testing me, waiting for an opening. But I don't give it the chance. With a sharp turn, I swing my weapon, catching the creature off guard.
The jagged metal connects with its side, and a shriek of pain echoes through the halls. It collapses, twitching, its body convulsing on the floor. The scent of its blood fills the air—acrid, metallic. Without hesitation, I tear into it, devouring its flesh. The taste is bitter, but it doesn't matter. Each bite sends a jolt of energy through my veins, my body healing as the wounds from earlier begin to close.
But even as my body mends, my mind is elsewhere—focused on the map, on the task ahead. There are 40 floors. Forty levels filled with increasingly dangerous creatures, fusions stronger than anything I've faced before. And at the top, a final challenge, a final floor where something waits for me. Something far worse.
The thought sends a chill down my spine, but I push it aside. I can't afford to think about what might be waiting for me. Not yet. First, I have to survive the journey.
With the map as my guide, I make my way to the stairwell that leads up to the next floor. The map shows multiple paths, but each one is marked with warnings of traps or blunders. I don't trust any of the so-called exits. The only path that matters is the one that leads higher.
The stairwell is cold, metal grating beneath my feet as I climb. The darkness presses in around me, the air growing thicker with every step. The higher I climb, the more I can feel the weight of this place, the oppressive presence of something watching. Something waiting.
By the time I reach the next floor, my muscles ache from the strain. My breath comes in ragged gasps, but I force myself to keep moving. I have no choice. If I stop, I die. It's that simple.
The new floor is different—wider, with more space to move, but also more places for something to hide. The ceiling is higher, with long, rusted pipes running along the walls, dripping moisture onto the floor. The stench of rot is stronger here, more pungent. Something is nearby.
I grip my weapon tighter, every muscle in my body tensed, ready for whatever comes next.
As I move deeper into the new floor, I notice something strange. The walls are lined with small, circular indentations, each one no bigger than a fist. At first, they seem harmless—just part of the dilapidated structure. But then I notice the ground.
The floor is littered with bones. Old, brittle, broken bones—scattered haphazardly across the corridor. Some are human. Some are not.
And then it hits me. The indentations in the wall aren't just random marks. They're part of a trap.
Before I can react, I hear the faint click of
a pressure plate beneath my foot. The indentations in the wall shift, and with a deafening whir, sharp, metallic spikes shoot out from the walls, racing toward me.
I dive forward, rolling across the floor as the spikes slam into the space where I'd been standing. The sound of metal scraping against metal echoes through the hallway, and I barely manage to avoid a second volley as I scramble to my feet.
The spikes retract, but I know they'll fire again if I take another wrong step.
I grit my teeth, sweat dripping down my forehead as I inch forward, carefully avoiding the pressure plates scattered across the floor. Each step is a gamble, and the tension in my muscles grows with every movement. I can't afford a single mistake.
But after what feels like hours, I finally reach the end of the corridor, my body trembling with exhaustion. The spikes remain dormant, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
The map was right. This place is filled with traps—deadly, unpredictable traps designed to kill anyone foolish enough to try and escape. But I made it through this one. I can make it through the rest.
With renewed determination, I press on, my eyes scanning the map for the path ahead. There's no turning back now. The only way out is up, and I'm ready to face whatever comes next.
No matter the cost.