Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
Mira was shaking.
Her breath came in quick, uneven gasps, her chest heaving, her arms trembling violently around me. Her fingers dug into my back, curled so tightly into my blanket that her knuckles had turned white.
Charlotte coughed, rubbing at her bruised throat, her breaths still ragged and uneven. Lucien didn't say anything. He just stared at the spot where the Apparition had disappeared, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like his teeth might crack.
And then—
The system flickered in my mind again.
A single message.
Cold. Unrelenting.
[Final Trial Approaches. Prepare the Anchor.]
The crack on my chest glowed.
Mira sucked in a sharp breath. Her hold on me tightened even more, her hands shaking as she pressed her forehead against mine. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "No, no, no—"
Lucien turned sharply, his gaze flicking from the glow on my chest to Mira's face. He was breathing hard, his knuckles white against the grip of his sword. "Mira," he said, his voice firm, controlled.
She didn't respond.
Lucien exhaled sharply, his expression darkening. His free hand came up and grabbed her shoulder. "Mira."
She finally looked up.
Her eyes were red, her face pale, lips trembling as she met Lucien's stare. There was something raw in her gaze, something close to desperation. "I—" Her breath hitched, her voice cracking.
"We need to move," Lucien said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Mira didn't move.
Lucien let out a sharp breath through his nose. "If we don't get out of here now, we won't make it to the final trial."
Mira flinched at the words, as if physically recoiling from them.
But she moved.
Her arms curled protectively around me as she forced her legs to move forward, her breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. Lucien turned sharply, leading the way, his sword still drawn. Charlotte followed, her posture stiff, her injured arm cradled close to her chest.
And behind us, the world continued to fall apart.
---
The estate was shifting again.
The walls bled.
Not metaphorically. Not an illusion. They bled—thick, dark streaks of crimson seeping from the cracks, running down the stone in sluggish, unnatural rivulets. The air was heavier now, saturated with the metallic scent of blood and something else, something more than just decay.
Mira coughed into her sleeve, her breaths uneven. Charlotte wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, her fingers coming away stained with red.
The floor gave way.
Not all at once. Not like the collapsing chamber. This was slower, more deliberate. The stone beneath us cracked, then crumbled, breaking apart in jagged, uneven chunks.
And beneath it—
A void.
Felt deep. Endless.
A gaping abyss of pulsing crimson light, stretching infinitely in every direction, as if the very foundation of the estate had rotted away, leaving only this yawning emptiness in its place.
Lucien stopped at the edge of the crumbling platform. His expression was unreadable, his grip on his sword unwavering. "We have to go down."
Mira stiffened behind him. "You can't be serious."
Lucien didn't look at her. "There's no other path."
Charlotte stepped forward, peering over the edge. Her breath hitched slightly, but she didn't hesitate. "It's not just a fall," she said, voice low. "There's a way across."
Lucien followed her gaze.
Bridges.
Thin, crumbling stone bridges stretched across the abyss, narrow and uneven, barely wide enough for a single person at a time. The mist rising from below twisted around them like reaching hands, tendrils of red fog curling and writhing along the edges of the stone.
Lucien exhaled through his nose. "We move carefully."
Mira didn't move.
Lucien turned, his gaze settling on her again. "Mira—"
"No." Her voice was sharp, shaking. "No, this is insane. You can't expect us to just—just—" Her breath hitched, her grip tightening around me. "We can't do this."
Lucien's eyes darkened. "We don't have a choice."
Mira's hands trembled.
Lucien took a step forward, his voice lower now. "If we stop here, we die. If we wait, we die. The only way is forward."
Mira's breath was ragged, shallow. I could feel the way her heart pounded against my back, the way her fingers clenched around the fabric of my blanket.
But she stepped forward.
Lucien nodded once, then turned sharply, stepping onto the bridge first.
The stone shifted beneath his weight, but it held.
Charlotte followed next, her steps slow, careful. Her balance was off—her injured arm forced her to favor her right side—but she kept moving.
Mira hesitated at the edge.
Her grip on me tightened as she stepped onto the bridge.
The fog moved.
Tendrils of red mist curled upward, reaching, twisting, stretching toward us.
Lucien moved first. His sword was already cutting through the air before the mist could reach them, the blade slicing through the tendrils. The mist recoiled, hissing, but it didn't stop.
It wasn't mist at all.
It was alive.
The tendrils reformed almost instantly, stretching higher, reaching for us again.
Charlotte gritted her teeth. "They're not stopping."
Lucien exhaled sharply. "Then we move faster."
Mira's grip on me tightened painfully as she forced herself to keep walking. The stone beneath us trembled, loose debris falling into the abyss below.
And then—
A low, inhuman growl echoed from the mist.
Mira stiffened.
Lucien's posture tensed. His grip on his sword tightened.
And then—
The beasts emerged.
They came from the fog.
Not like animals. Not like living things.
Like hunger.
Wolf-like horrors, their bodies were nothing but twisted nightmares given form, barely more than jagged shadows stitched together with raw malice. Their spines jutted out at odd angles, bones pressing against sickly, translucent flesh that shuddered and flickered, as though the very concept of existence refused to hold them in place.
Their eyes glowed. Burning red, like open wounds, like smoldering embers beneath the skin, their gaze filled with nothing but a cold, ravenous emptiness.
And they moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
A blur of limbs. A ripple in the darkness. One of them lunged.
Lucien was already moving.
A sharp exhale. A shift in weight. A perfect strike.
His sword flashed, slicing clean through the creature's throat, the blade biting into flesh and shadow in a single, precise motion. The force of the cut ripped through bone, severing its head from its body in one brutal arc. Black ichor sprayed, thick and clotted, reeking of rot.
But the body kept moving.
Lucien's stance didn't break. He stepped back, sword raised, eyes locked on the abomination as it stumbled forward, claws still raking through the air, its severed head rolling across the ground-
And then, it twitched.
Not dying.
Not falling.
:
Reforming.
The flesh around the wound boiled, flickering between states, shadow and sinew twisting back into shape. Lucien cursed under his breath, sharp and quiet, barely more than a whisper-
Then three more lunged.
Lucien moved.
His feet skidded against the stone as he twisted, sword swinging, barely catching the closest one mid-pounce. The edge of his blade tore through its side, but the creature didn't slow. It hit the ground running, claws scraping against stone, its skeletal form twisting unnaturally as it veered around for another attack.
Charlotte was there.
She didn't hesitate.
Steel met flesh.
Her sword carved into its spine, splitting bone, but the beast contorted.
It didn't die.
It didn't fall.
It turned.
And it screamed.
Not a sound. Not a growl.
A wound in reality.
A tearing, wailing shriek that ripped through the air like a thousand broken voices screaming at once, forcing itself into their skulls, into their bones. Charlotte flinched. Just for a second. Just long enough.
And then the other two were on her.
Claws flashed.
Charlotte twisted just in time, throwing herself back as jagged limbs slashed through the air, inches from her throat. She ducked low, her blade snapping up to intercept the next blow, steel clashing against bone. The impact shook through her arms, raw strength against sheer force, her footing slipping on the blood-slicked ground.
Lucien was already moving to cover her flank, a single sharp breath, his sword carving through the nearest beast's midsection-
But it was too fast.
The creature's body collapsed into shadow before the blade could land, its form flickering out of existence for a split second.
Then reforming behind him.
Lucien barely had time to turn.
Claws came for his back.
Mira screamed.
He spun, sword snapping up in a desperate block-
Too slow.
The claws raked across his side, a burst of pain searing through his ribs. His coat tore, blood splattering across the stone.
Lucien gritted his teeth, biting back a grunt. His grip on his sword never wavered.
Pain could wait.
Death wouldn't.
Charlotte recovered.
Her feet dug into the ground. Her breath steadied. Her eyes burned.
Her blade moved before she did.
A thrust. A twist. A counterstrike.
She was faster.
The sword pierced through the creature's skull.
It froze.
For a second. For half a second. Just long enough for her to drive the blade deeper.
The creature convulsed. Its body shook, flickered, collapsed inward.
Then it was gone.
But the others were still coming.
Mira was panting. Hard. Her breaths ragged, unsteady, her arms trembling violently as she pressed me closer against her chest.
She was afraid.
But she didn't move.
Didn't run.
She couldn't.
Because if she ran, if she moved, if she faltered even once-
We wouldn't survive.
The system flickered in my mind.
[Activate Spectral Echo.]
Pain.
Not normal pain.
Not something human.
:
Deep. Old. Cracked open and raw.
Like something inside me was breaking.
The wound on my chest burned.
A sharp, violent pulse of energy rippled outward from the core of my being. The world shuddered.
The creatures reacted.
Their bodies glitched.
A distortion, a flicker of static tearing through their forms, their shapes bending, limbs twisting at unnatural angles, as though reality itself was rejecting them.
Lucien saw the opening.
He took it.
His sword moved like lightning.
A step forward. A cut across. A second strike before the first even finished.
One fell.
Then another.
Charlotte followed.
Her blade flashed, slicing through the last one.
A breathless pause.
Then-
The creatures collapsed.
The fog remained. The abyss remained.
Lucien's breathing was controlled. Measured. His sword dripped black.
He turned.
"Move." His voice was sharp. No hesitation. No room for argument.
Mira didn't hesitate this time.
She ran.
---
The bridge held.
Barely.
The group reached the other side, stumbling onto the platform beyond. A massive stone gate loomed ahead, carved with glowing sigils, the energy within them flickering faintly.
The system pulsed in my mind again.
[Beyond the gate lies the final trial. Prepare the anchor.]
Mira's breath hitched.
She stared at the gate.
Then at Lucien.
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't care what's beyond that door. We're not going through it."