Chapter 5: **Negotiating with Death**
Vito's boots echoed against the new staircase as he descended deeper into the labyrinth. The glow of the runes on the walls was dimmer now, flickering like a candle about to burn out. The shard in his hand remained warm, but it pulsed with an almost impatient rhythm, as if it, too, was growing tired of his sarcasm.
"Okay, glowing rock, I get it. We're in this together," Vito muttered. "But could you at least lead me somewhere that doesn't scream *imminent doom*?"
The shard, unsurprisingly, didn't respond.
The staircase finally ended in another cavernous room, but this one was different. Instead of eerie light or shifting shadows, the room was filled with mist, curling around the floor like a restless serpent. At the center stood a cloaked figure, shrouded entirely in black. The only visible feature was the faint gleam of two hollow eyes beneath the hood.
"Oh great, another spooky figure," Vito said, throwing up his hands. "Let me guess—you're the one who collects my soul after I fail this ridiculous labyrinth?"
The figure tilted its head, as if studying him. Its voice, when it spoke, was low and resonant, each word like a tolling bell. "You stand before the Ferryman. The shard has brought you here to bargain."
"Bargain?" Vito asked, gripping the shard tighter. "Pretty sure I don't have much to trade. Unless you want this dagger? It's got, uh… sentimental value?"
The Ferryman ignored his quip, stepping closer. The mist swirled around it, forming faint shapes—faces contorted in agony, hands clawing at invisible walls.
"You carry the shard, a fragment of the Abyss," the Ferryman said. "Its power will grow with each trial, but its burden will weigh heavier on your soul. The shard demands payment, thief. I am here to collect."
Vito swallowed hard, his usual sarcasm faltering. "Look, I didn't ask for this thing. It just… latched onto me. Can't we call it a misunderstanding and part ways?"
The Ferryman extended a skeletal hand. "The shard cannot be returned. It is bound to you now. But I can offer… alternatives."
---
Vito hesitated. He wasn't the kind of guy who trusted ominous cloaked figures—especially ones that radiated *death vibes*—but he also didn't like the idea of the shard "collecting" from him.
"Okay, I'll bite," he said cautiously. "What kind of alternatives are we talking about?"
The Ferryman's hollow eyes seemed to gleam brighter. "You may offer a piece of yourself in exchange. A memory. A talent. Or… something more tangible." It gestured toward the mist, which swirled into a jagged mirror-like surface. Within, Vito saw glimpses of his life—a childhood memory of stealing his first trinket, the face of someone he'd once cared about but had long since forgotten, the sharp wit he had used to survive countless scrapes.
Vito's stomach churned. "So, what? I just hand over my sense of humor and walk out of here a boring husk? Or lose a memory and end up wondering why I'm always sad at sunsets?"
The Ferryman didn't respond, waiting silently.
---
Vito paced, running a hand through his hair. He hated this kind of choice. Life was already hard enough without giving up pieces of himself to some creepy Grim Reaper knockoff. But then he thought of the Keeper's words: *Every victory carries a price.*
Maybe this was one of those moments where "survival at all costs" meant more than he wanted to admit.
Finally, he stopped pacing and turned to the Ferryman. "Alright, fine. You want a piece of me? Take a memory. But nothing important, okay? Like… I dunno, that time I tripped and fell into a pig pen. No one needs to remember that."
The Ferryman raised its hand, and the mist enveloped Vito. For a moment, he felt weightless, like a part of him was being unraveled. Images flashed before his eyes—a memory of laughter, the face of an old friend, the warmth of a campfire. Then, as suddenly as it began, the sensation stopped.
Vito stumbled back, his head spinning. "What did you take?" he asked, his voice shaky.
The Ferryman didn't answer. Instead, it pointed toward a newly formed doorway in the far wall. "The shard's hunger is sated… for now. Continue your journey, thief. The labyrinth awaits."
---
Vito glanced at the doorway, then back at the Ferryman. "You know, for someone who talks about bargains, you're a lousy negotiator. Ever think about throwing in a freebie? Like, I don't know, a snack or a map?"
The Ferryman's silence was as loud as a rejection letter. Vito sighed and headed toward the doorway, muttering under his breath, "I swear, the next cursed artifact I find, I'm leaving it for someone else. Let some other idiot play hero."
As he stepped through the doorway, the mist faded, and the Ferryman's voice echoed one last time: "Beware the cost of cleverness, thief. The Abyss takes more than it gives."
Vito shivered but kept moving forward. Whatever lay ahead, he had no choice but to face it. After all, if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was survive—even if it meant playing the fool in a game he didn't understand.