The recruits huddled in the dark, hidden among the elaborate furniture and eerie decor of the ancient room. Their breaths were shallow, hearts pounding in their chests as the footsteps grew closer, their slow, deliberate rhythm heightening the suspense. Each soft step felt like a countdown, and Abel, crouched behind a dusty armchair, could barely control his nerves. His fingers gripped the edge of the chair, feeling the old fabric tremble slightly beneath his touch. In the silence, every rustle and breath felt magnified, as if they were being drawn into a dark vacuum.Then, abruptly, the footsteps stopped.Abel's pulse thundered in his ears, but he dared not move. The room was suffocatingly still. His eyes darted to his companions, and he could see their fear mirrored in their eyes. Lorne was gripping the hilt of his blade, his knuckles white, ready to act at a moment's notice. Alisa had her glowing stick tightly clutched, but even that faint light did little to ward off the overwhelming sense of dread.A raspy voice cut through the silence, like the sound of dry leaves crackling underfoot. It echoed throughout the room, hollow and eerie, carrying a mocking undertone that sent chills down Abel's spine."Do you really think I can't tell you're here?" the voice rasped, low and threatening. "Do you think I'm an idiot, unable to sense when someone has invaded my living quarters?"The recruits froze, their breaths caught in their throats. Whoever this man was, he knew they were there all along."Come out," the voice commanded, now even colder. "Show yourselves, before I lose patience."One by one, trembling and hesitant, they stepped out from their hiding places, their eyes scanning the shadows for the figure. Abel's heart raced faster than ever as he moved from behind the chair, keeping Lorne in his peripheral vision for support.As the recruits assembled, Lorne was the first to speak, his voice cautious but steady, "We mean no harm. We're recruits of the Stone Tower... we got lost and just want to return to the surface."For a moment, the figure said nothing, only moving closer. The air around them seemed to grow heavier with his presence. Then the voice spoke again, this time with a cryptic tone, like riddles sewn into his speech."Lost, are you?" the voice said, stepping into the faint light. A dark, hooded figure stood before them, his face obscured by shadow. "You say you are not looking for trouble… but trouble might have found you nonetheless."His words sent shivers down their spines, the recruits instinctively taking a step back. The man turned, motioning for them to follow him deeper into the dark labyrinth of the room."You will follow me," he said simply, "or you will never see the light of day again."The recruits walked in silence, their footsteps barely audible as they trailed behind the hooded figure. The oppressive darkness around them seemed to breathe, closing in with every step, and the air was thick with a stench of decay. The flickering lamps along the walls cast unsettling, shifting shadows, making the twisting corridors feel alive with an eerie, watchful presence.Abel's heartbeat pounded in his ears, his eyes darting to the others. Lorne kept his jaw clenched, his face hard, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. The others exchanged nervous glances, their fear palpable in the narrow space. No one spoke.As they moved deeper into the labyrinth, the hooded figure began to speak again, his voice now low and distant, but with an edge that hinted at something darker lurking beneath the surface. "I was once an Apostle of the Tower," he muttered, almost to himself, as if the words were an echo from a forgotten past. "Once, long ago, I stood where those arrogant Gifted now stand. But the Tower... it does not reward those who strive from nothing. No. It abandons us, the ones without gifts."The bitterness in his voice grew sharper with each word, and the recruits felt the tension rising. Abel's mouth was dry, but he dared not speak. He could feel the weight of the figure's past like a suffocating shroud around them."I had a gift," the figure continued, his pace quickening as if spurred by the anger bubbling within him. "Not a Gifted's talent, but a true gift... of knowledge. But knowledge, my dear recruits, is not cherished by the Tower if you are not born with their magic. No, they cast you aside, mock you, abandon you in the shadows." He spat the last word, his voice trembling with a growing intensity.They turned a corner, and suddenly, the corridor opened into a larger room. The recruits stumbled to a halt, their eyes widening in shock. It was a laboratory, but not just any lab—it was a macabre, ancient place, like something out of a twisted scholar's nightmare. The stone walls were lined with shelves cluttered with ancient tomes, strange artifacts, and countless jars filled with grotesque specimens suspended in murky liquids. The soft gurgle of bubbling beakers filled the air, and the pungent scent of chemicals and decay mingled together, burning their nostrils.In the center of the room stood long, wooden tables covered with dusty, half-finished experiments—alchemical devices, glass tubes, and flasks bubbling with unknown substances. The low, flickering light from several old lamps illuminated the scene, casting grotesque shadows that danced across the stone floor. It looked as though this lab had been untouched for centuries, but now someone had brought it back to life, refurbishing it, using it once more for dark and unspeakable experiments.The hooded figure walked confidently through the room, his hand brushing over the equipment, almost lovingly. "This place," he said softly, "was once a sanctuary for those like me. A refuge from the arrogance of the Tower. The Black Alchemists, they called us—long forgotten, erased from history by the Gifted who feared what we could achieve."He turned to face the recruits, his hood still obscuring his face, but the madness in his voice was unmistakable. "But I have revived their work. I have taken it further than they ever could. Do you know why?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Because I don't have the curse of the Gifted holding me back."Abel's stomach churned, his eyes darting to the bubbling beakers and strange, writhing forms in the jars. He had never seen anything like it, and yet the sight filled him with a deep, primal fear.The hooded figure continued, his voice growing more manic with each word. "The Gifted are a disease, you see—a plague upon the human race. They take their power for granted, never realizing that they are the very thing holding humanity back. And you... all of you... are free of that curse."The recruits stiffened at his words, fear creeping into their bones. The figure noticed their reactions and smiled beneath his hood, though none of them could see it. "Ah, yes, I see it now. You are all non-Gifted, aren't you? How fortunate. How perfect." His voice became a hiss, filled with sick pleasure. "You understand what it's like to be powerless. To be discarded. To be nothing."Lorne's voice, usually steady, cracked slightly as he asked, "What do you want from us?"The figure straightened, his tone turning to one of triumph. "I want to give you a gift, the gift of true power. My experiment—it's almost complete. I have worked for years, refining the ancient knowledge of the Black Alchemists. Soon, non-Gifted humans like us will have a way to claim the power denied to us for so long. The power to eradicate the Gifted once and for all."Abel felt a chill run down his spine as the figure's words sank in. The recruits exchanged terrified glances. This man was insane, driven by a hatred that had consumed him entirely."The experiment only needs a few... final ingredients," the figure continued, his voice lilting with an almost childlike excitement. "And that's where you come in."The recruits backed away instinctively, horror filling their faces. "What... what do you mean?" Alisa stammered, her voice shaking.The figure stepped toward them, his presence now overwhelming, like a suffocating weight pressing down on their chests. "You will help me complete my experiment, and in return, I will give you power beyond your wildest dreams. You will rise, stronger than any Gifted, and together, we will remake the world."His voice was now a twisted mix of zeal and madness. "Imagine it—non-Gifted ruling over the arrogant fools who have held us down for so long. The Gifted will be no more."The recruits were paralyzed with fear, their minds racing. Abel could barely comprehend what was happening, the weight of the situation crashing down on him like a wave. This man was a madman, consumed by his hatred of the Gifted, and now they were caught in his deranged plans.Abel's heart pounded as he whispered to Lorne, "We have to get out of here."But before Lorne could respond, the hooded figure turned abruptly, leading them deeper into the lab. "Come now," he said with eerie calmness, "there's no need to fear. You'll see soon enough. Once the experiment is complete, you'll thank me. You'll all thank me."As they followed, trapped in this nightmarish situation, Abel couldn't shake the feeling that they were descending into something far worse than they could ever have imagined."I worked hard to overcome my hurdles as a non-gifted," the man said, his raspy voice a haunting echo. "I survived... but I found something more. Something that will propel me far beyond the limits of what any Apostle could ever dream of."Suddenly, the man stopped and lifted his arm, exposing his forearm. The sight of it made Abel's stomach turn—an extra, twisted finger jutted from the man's hand. It looked unnatural, almost demonic, as if it didn't belong to him. The finger twitched, and the recruits couldn't hide their revulsion."I discovered this," he whispered, his voice filled with eerie pride. "A discovery that will make me something far greater than an Apostle. A Magian."The term was unfamiliar to the recruits, but they didn't dare ask. The man's presence was too terrifying, too unstable. Lorne clenched his jaw but said nothing, his eyes fixed on the figure's malformed hand.They continued to follow him in tense silence, deeper into the belly of the labyrinth. Abel's mind was racing. What kind of power did this man wield? What was he planning? His gut screamed danger, but he knew there was no turning back now.The man led them through a heavy stone door, opening into a nightmarish lab. Green, bubbling liquid filled large glass tubes that lined the walls, casting an eerie glow over the room. The walls were adorned with ancient symbols and strange, grotesque objects—some of which looked like they had been pulled from a nightmare. Above the tubes, hanging in iron chains, were strange artifacts and organic objects that pulsed with unnatural energy.The man turned to face them, his hood falling away to reveal his full visage. His face was horrifying—covered in cysts, with yellow pus oozing from them. His eyes were sunken, dark bags heavy beneath them, and his dry, cracked lips bled slightly as he grinned at them."I need your assistance to achieve my breakthrough," he rasped, his voice full of deranged enthusiasm. "Afterwards, I will set you free."The recruits felt their hearts sink, the ominous green light from the tubes casting sickly shadows across their faces. Abel looked at the others; they were equally terrified, the hope of survival slipping away."Why don't you ask the Tower for help?" one of the recruits stammered, her voice shaky.The man's grin widened, his lips splitting further as blood trickled down his chin. He didn't answer the question. Instead, he stepped closer to them, his gaze locking onto Abel."You are here now," the man whispered. "Fate has brought you to me. And you will help me—whether you want to or not."Abel's skin crawled as the deranged figure raised his hand, revealing the extra, twisted finger once more. The room around them hummed with dark energy, and the air became thick with tension. They knew that promises of power without any repercussions were impossible things, and something that the Tower always highlighted in class.They were trapped.