The climb feels endless.
Floor after floor, I've fought through beasts twisted by this place's madness. The monsters I've faced were nothing compared to the environment itself. Now, the air shifts, signaling a new kind of challenge ahead. As I ascend to the next floor, a cold, metallic hiss greets me—the groan of unseen machines stirring into action. My every instinct screams that this place is designed for death.
The hallway in front of me stretches out, impossibly long, lined with mechanisms embedded in the walls. Some are hidden, but others are clearly visible, blades gleaming in the dim, artificial light. I take a step forward, and the sound of grinding gears echoes through the air. The gauntlet has begun.
The floor tiles beneath my feet shift, creaking under my weight. Something about this floor feels more deliberate, more calculated than the chaos below. It's not just about fighting anymore. It's about survival—surviving the very floor beneath my feet.
The armor I took from the guards—the lightweight, futuristic gear—hugs my body like a second skin. It's stronger than it looks, giving me enough protection to deflect glancing blows, but it's not invincible. The sleek material can only do so much against what's ahead. I have to rely on more than just brute strength.
The walls seem to close in on me as I move forward, my muscles tense, my every sense on high alert. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm. There's no room for mistakes. One wrong move, one misstep, and the floor itself will tear me apart.
The first trap is almost silent.
A low hiss—barely audible—echoes from above. Instinct takes over, and I dive to the side just as a massive blade descends from the ceiling. It slices through the air with a terrifying whoosh, so close that I can feel the rush of wind against my face. The blade slams into the floor where I stood a heartbeat ago, sending sparks flying.
I land in a crouch, my heart pounding in my chest. That was too close.
I look up, only to see more of them. Giant swinging blades, each one moving at different intervals, all aimed to slice through anything caught in their path. They hang like pendulums, gleaming under the cold light. I study them for a moment, watching the rhythm of their swings. It's a deadly dance, and I have to find the right beat.
The floor shifts beneath me, sliding as though it's alive, trying to funnel me into the path of the next blade. My legs burn with effort as I leap from one tile to the next, narrowly avoiding another deadly swing. The movements feel mechanical—designed to force me into the traps. Whoever built this place knew how to turn the environment into a weapon.
I dive forward again, my feet barely touching the ground before I roll beneath the next set of blades. The armor absorbs most of the impact, but I feel the strain in my muscles. The blades swing back, and I rise to my feet, panting.
The walls shift, creaking again. More traps are coming.
The floor stops shifting for a moment, giving me a brief window to catch my breath. But the reprieve is short-lived.
A screeching sound fills the air, high-pitched and relentless. My eyes snap toward the source, and my stomach tightens at the sight of what's coming.
A swarm.
Mutated, oversized insects pour out from the walls, their wings buzzing like a hive of enraged bees. Their bodies are sleek and dark, covered in jagged, serrated armor. Their wings glint like blades, slicing through the air as they dive toward me with unnatural speed. The first one swoops down, its wings cutting dangerously close to my head.
I swing my arm up, catching it with the edge of my knife, and send it crashing into the floor. It skitters across the ground, screeching as it twitches in its death throes. But there's no time to celebrate the kill—the swarm is relentless.
They come at me from all directions, their wings like razor-sharp edges designed to tear flesh from bone. I block one with my armored forearm, the wing glancing off the material with a loud *clang*, but another strikes from behind, slicing across the back of my shoulder. The armor holds, but the force of the blow nearly sends me stumbling forward.
I grab one of the insects mid-air, using its body as a shield. Its wings flail wildly, and I slam it into the wall with all my strength. The force cracks its exoskeleton, and it lets out a final screech before falling limp. I toss its body aside just as another lunges at me, its wings angled for a deadly strike.
My eyes dart around the room, scanning for anything I can use to my advantage. Then I see it—a laser grid lining the far wall, glowing faintly red. It's part of the gauntlet's traps, meant to slice through anything that crosses it. But I can use it.
I backpedal, baiting the insects into following me. The buzzing grows louder, the swarm growing more frenzied as they sense victory. I leap over a swinging blade, twisting in midair to avoid a collision, and land just in front of the laser grid.
The insects dive at me, their wings ready to tear through my body. But I sidestep at the last moment, grabbing one of them by its spiked legs and hurling it into the laser grid.
The results are immediate.
The laser cuts through the creature with surgical precision, slicing it into pieces before it even has time to screech. The others follow, mindlessly flying into the deadly red light. One by one, the laser grid reduces them to a pile of smoking, charred remains.
The stench of burning flesh fills the air, acrid and nauseating, but I breathe a sigh of relief as the swarm is finally decimated.
I stand there for a moment, catching my breath, my heart still racing from the battle. My body feels like it's on fire—muscles aching from the constant tension, my skin slick with sweat beneath the armor. The adrenaline from the fight begins to fade, replaced by the dull ache of exhaustion. But there's something else.
I can feel it.
Each time I survive, each time I kill, my body adjusts. My reflexes sharpen, my senses heighten. My body moves faster now, adapting to the constant pressure. The more I fight, the quicker I react. It's as though my very survival instincts are evolving, growing sharper with every passing moment. The armor I wear—this futuristic gear—enhances my agility, protecting me from some of the damage, but even it has limits. And I'm pushing those limits further than I thought possible.
My hands tremble as I wipe the blood and grime from my face. The cuts and bruises from the fight with the insects are already fading, healing faster than before. But the exhaustion is still there, weighing me down. Each step is a battle in itself, my legs burning with overexertion. My body feels like it's been run through the wringer, and I know I can't keep this up forever.
But I have no choice.
I move forward, stepping over the wreckage of the creatures I've killed. The traps are still there, lurking around every corner, waiting for me to falter. But I won't.
The gauntlet may be designed to kill me, but I've become something it didn't expect. I'm learning. I'm adapting. And with every step I take, I grow stronger.
The next floor awaits.