That's when we heard splashing below.
The grey water had filled the ground floor completely. And now it was rising up the stairs.
We had maybe twenty minutes before it reached the second floor.
"Third floor," Gery commanded. "Move. Now."
"Some of us can't," an unbound survivor said. He was barely conscious. Lying on the floor. "Can't... move..."
Three others were the same. Too weak. Too drained. Dying.
"Carry them," Kael ordered.
"No." The dying man shook his head. "Leave us. Save yourselves."
"We're not leaving anyone," Gery insisted.
"You don't have a choice." Maria's voice. She was staring at the unconscious unbound survivors. "They're dying. Carrying them will slow us down. The water will catch us. We'll all die."
"She's right," Somi said flatly. Her mask made her emotionless. Clinical. "Tactically, abandoning the dying is optimal. Four deaths versus potential twenty-three deaths. Basic mathematics."
"We're not leaving them!" Lucy snapped. "We're not—"
The water reached the second floor.
Grey liquid pooled across the stone. Rising. Spreading.
And in the water, pale shapes moved.
Arms. Dozens of them. Swimming. Reaching. Searching.
Her children, my mask confirmed. They've come to feed.
The arms found the dying survivors.
Wrapped around them. Gently. Almost lovingly.
And pulled them into the water.
The survivors didn't even have strength to scream. They just... disappeared. Dragged under. Gone.
Four deaths in ten seconds.
"STAIRS!" Kael yelled. "NOW!"
We ran.
Behind us, the water rose faster. The arms multiplied. Dozens became hundreds.
They reached for us. Grabbed at ankles. Tried to pull us down.
Gery cut through them with his Azure Fang. Lucy electrified the water with her Lightning Wand—making the arms recoil, spasm, release.
We climbed. Frantic. Desperate.
The spiral stairs to the third floor were narrower. Steeper. More dangerous.
But we had no choice.
Up. Always up.
Running from the tide.
THE THIRD FLOOR
We burst onto the third level gasping. Exhausted even with our enhanced stamina.
This floor was smaller. Maybe forty feet across. The ceiling lower—only ten feet high.
And at the center: no Anchor Point.
Instead, there was a window.
An actual window. Clear of corruption. Offering a view of the world outside.
I approached it carefully.
And saw the Flesh Cradle at night.
THE NIGHTMARE LANDSCAPE
The grey water had risen everywhere. Not just around our temple. Everywhere.
The ruins that had jutted from the water during the day were now half-submerged. Some completely underwater. Only the tallest structures still broke the surface.
And the water was alive.
Thick with movement. Thousands of pale arms writhing just beneath the surface. Creatures swimming between ruins. Things that should not exist hunting in the flooded world.
The sky was worse.
The grey twilight was gone. Replaced by absolute darkness broken only by those wrong colors—pulsing veins of purple and yellow and red streaking overhead like infected arteries.
And in the distance, far across the flooded ruins, I saw something massive.
A structure. Or an entity. Hard to tell which.
It rose from the water like a mountain. Flesh and stone fused together. Thousands upon thousands of arms forming its surface. Moving. Breathing. Living.
At its peak, a face.
The Mother's face.
Even from this distance, I could see her clearly. Eyes closed. Serene expression. Beautiful and terrible.
She was sleeping.
But I knew—knew—that she was aware of us. Watching through the corruption. Through the water. Through every binding we'd made.
She's dreaming, my mask whispered. And we're in her dream. This entire world is her sleeping mind made manifest. And when she wakes...
"When she wakes?" I asked.
Then the real nightmare begins.
The others had gathered at the window. Staring at the impossible landscape.
"How do we fight that?" someone whispered.
No one answered.
Because the answer was obvious: we didn't. We couldn't.
The Mother of Limbs wasn't just a boss. She was the world. The water. The corruption. The very air we breathed.
Killing her would require killing the entire Flesh Cradle.
"We're going to die here," Maria said. She'd survived the climb but looked worse than before. Grey skin. Sunken eyes. "All of us. This world will drain the unbound. The bindings will corrupt the bound. Either way, we lose."
"Not if we kill her fast," Kael countered. "Get strong enough. Find her weakness. Strike before we're too corrupted."
"And how long will that take? Days? Weeks? How many bindings before we're too far gone?"
"As many as it takes."
"Then you'll become her. Just like those previous survivors. Just like everyone who came before us."
She was right. The math didn't work.
Get strong slowly = drain kills the unbound, time corrupts the bound.
Get strong quickly = multiple bindings, rapid corruption, lose ourselves.
We were trapped.
Checkmate in slow motion.
I looked at my reflection in the window glass.
White streaks through my black hair—more than before. Spreading. Soon it would all be white.
My eyes completely black. Inhuman.
The Mask of Hunger on my face, slowly shifting toward its devil form as my emotions fluctuated.
And beneath my shirt, I could feel the veins spreading. Across my chest. Down my other arm. The Anchor's mark claiming more of my body.
I was changing. Rapidly.
Another day. Maybe two. And I wouldn't recognize myself.
Good, the mask purred. Let go of who you were. Embrace what you're becoming. Stronger. Better. Hungrier.
"I'm going insane," I muttered.
Lucy overheard. Touched my arm. "You're not. You're just... adapting."
"That's what the insane always say."
She didn't have a response to that.
We organized watches. Four bound survivors per shift. Six-hour rotations assuming night lasted that long.
The unbound—now only ten, after four deaths—were laid out in the center of the floor. Too weak to help. Barely alive.
Some were debating binding. Others refused, even knowing it meant death.
Pride. Fear. Principle. Whatever the reason, they chose dying human over living corrupted.
I couldn't decide if that was brave or stupid.
Maybe both.
My watch shift started after midnight—assuming time worked normally here, which it probably didn't.
I stood at the window with Gery and two others, watching the flooded world.
The creatures were everywhere now. Swimming. Hunting. Fighting each other.
"What are they?" Gery asked quietly.
"Failed bindings," I guessed. "People who bound too many times. Lost themselves. Became... that."
"Will that happen to us?"
"Probably."
He laughed. Bitter. Tired. "At least you're honest."
"The mask makes me honest. Can't lie to myself anymore. Or anyone else."
"Must be exhausting."
"You have no idea."
We watched in silence for a while.
Then Gery spoke again. "Sidd. If I start to change. If I become too corrupted. If I'm not me anymore..."
"What?"
"Kill me. Don't let me become one of those things."
I looked at him. Really looked. Saw the fear in his eyes. The determination.
"Same," I said. "If I lose myself. End it. Quick."
"Deal."
We shook hands.
And went back to watching the nightmare outside.
Around what I guessed was 3 AM, the water stopped rising.
It had reached halfway up the third floor stairs. Maybe five feet below our level.
Just high enough to be terrifying. Just low enough to be survivable.
We were trapped on the third floor until dawn.
Whenever dawn was.
I could see the arms in the water below. Writhing. Reaching up toward us. They couldn't quite grab the floor level, but they tried. Endlessly grasping.
She's testing you, my mask said. Seeing who's strong. Who's weak. Who will bind again. Who will die. This is her audition. Her casting call. She's deciding which of you are worthy to become her children.
"We're not auditioning," I muttered. "We're surviving."
Same thing.
Hours passed.
The night stretched on. Endless.
Some survivors slept. Others kept watch. The unbound got weaker.
One more died during the night. Simply stopped breathing. Too drained. Too weak.
Nine unbound left.
Twenty-three bound.
Thirty-two survivors total.
Down from thirty-seven at the start.
Five dead in one night.
At this rate, we'd all be gone in a week.
DAWN APPROACHES
Finally—finally—the darkness began to fade.
Not sunrise. Just a gradual lightening. The absolute black became dark grey became grey.
The twilight was returning.
And with the light, the water began to recede.
Slowly. Inch by inch. The tide going out.
The arms withdrew. The creatures swam back to deeper water. The flooded ruins began to emerge.
The Flesh Cradle's breathing cycle. Inhale at night. Exhale at day.
The Mother's respiration.
We'd survived one night.
Barely.
By the time the water had fully receded, we were exhausted. Even the bound felt it—not physical exhaustion, but mental. Emotional. Spiritual.
This place was draining more than just essence.
It was draining our will to live.
"We need a plan," Kael said as grey twilight filled the world. "We can't just hide in temples every night. We need to progress. Find the Mother. Kill her. Escape."
"Agreed," Somi said. "My tactical analysis suggests we explore during the day. Map the ruins. Locate additional Anchor Points. Find the path to the Mother's main body."
"And get stronger," I added. "Those who need to bind again, do it. We need power to survive what's coming."
I looked at the second Anchor Point in the room below us. The water had receded enough to expose it again.
And I felt the hunger.
The need.
The craving to bind again. To become stronger. To consume more power.
My mask shifted. The horns emerged slightly.
Lucy saw. Grabbed my hand. "Sidd. Not yet. You're strong enough for now. Don't rush into another binding."
"But I want to," I admitted. "I need to. The hunger is getting worse."
"That's the corruption talking. The addiction. Fight it."
I tried.
But looking at that glowing blue crystal, I wasn't sure I could resist much longer.