Morning arrived without light.
There was no sunlight slipping through cracks in the stone. No change in the color of the sky. There was only a shift in the air, slightly colder, slightly heavier, enough to awaken instincts forged over the past five months.
They woke not because of time, but because of survival.
They woke before the guards arrived.
Clive opened his eyes first.
He did not move right away.
He listened.
Zorilla's breathing in the left corner of the room was deep and steady, like a large beast that knew when to conserve its strength. On the right, Dilos made almost no sound, only a subtle rhythm indicating he was already half awake. Ted shifted slightly, far too lightly for someone who was truly asleep. Dorde was still out cold, his face peaceful in a way that felt wrong for a place like this.
And Glenn.
Clive opened his eyes fully.
Glenn was already sitting in the same spot as the night before. His back pressed against the stone wall, knees slightly bent, hands resting on his thighs. His eyes were open, staring straight ahead, unblinking.
As if he had not slept at all.
Or as if he had just woken from a dream he did not want to bring into the real world.
Clive rose slowly. His knee joints creaked softly, a faint sound that barely carried in the silent room. He walked toward Glenn, each step following grooves in the stone floor they had crossed hundreds of times before.
"You did not sleep," Clive said.
It was not a question.
Glenn turned his head. The movement was slow, overly controlled. His gaze was empty, but Clive could see something hardened beneath it, like a thin layer of ice sealing turbulent water.
"Sleeping would not change anything," Glenn replied flatly.
"But it clears the mind," Clive said. "And we need clear minds today."
Glenn did not answer. He stood up. His body wavered for a fraction of a second before stabilizing. He rolled his shoulders, and Clive caught the tension there. His muscles were too tight, like someone bearing an invisible weight.
"Are you sure you can control yourself in there?" Clive asked quietly, for only the two of them.
Glenn held his gaze longer this time.
For a brief moment, the emptiness in his eyes cracked.
There was a flash of emotion. Not one, but many. Anger, fear, exhaustion, and something deeper, darker.
"I have to," Glenn said at last. "If not, I would rather die in there than keep living like this."
The words fell between them, heavy, irreversible.
Clive held his breath. He wanted to say something. To pull Glenn back to the plan, to the formation, to the reason they had survived this long. But he knew that right now, words would only bounce off the walls Glenn had built inside himself.
Before he could say anything else, the others were already awake.
There were no commands. No discussion.
*******
The first corridor.
The formation took shape almost without words.
Zorilla stood at the very front. His massive body leaned slightly forward, center of gravity low, ready to absorb the first impact. Dilos was directly behind him, his eyes already moving, sweeping the space, calculating even before they stepped out. Ted and Dorde took the flanks, their bodies appearing relaxed, but their muscles ready to move at any moment.
Clive stood behind Zorilla.
Not as an attacker.
But as the control center.
He closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and opened his awareness.
The familiar energy was there. Rough. Disordered. The monsters within moved in simple patterns. The moment they entered, Zorilla struck first. The heavy impact echoed against the stone walls. Clive had already given direction before the monster fully emerged.
Dilos read the rhythm of the attacks. Ted struck weak points. Dorde swept through exposed sides.
It was over in minutes.
The second corridor.
Narrower. Darker. Monsters hid in upper crevices, trying to drop down. Clive sensed them before the first stone even trembled. A hand signal. Zorilla raised his blade. The ambush failed. The counterstrike was immediate.
There was no wasted movement. No shouting.
The third corridor.
The loudest.
There were more monsters, but they were careless. The smell of blood quickly filled the air. Clive maintained mental distance, suppressing the two monster wills within him as they grew restless from the rapid slaughter.
In less than an hour, corridors one through three were cleared.
They stood before the door to the fourth corridor.
The stone door looked no different physically. The same rough surface. The same cold texture. But Clive felt it.
The energy was different.
He raised his hand.
A stop signal.
The two monster wills within him stirred slowly.
The smaller monster trembled warily, like a small animal sensing a predator. The black furred monster remained still. Too still. As if it recognized something beyond the door and chose to wait.
Clive pressed them down.
A wordless warning.
"This corridor is different from the others," Dilos murmured.
"The energy is denser," Clive replied. "More organized."
No one stepped back.
Clive was the first to cross the threshold.
The fourth corridor greeted them with a deafening silence.
Not empty silence.
A full silence.
The air inside did not move. There was no wind. No current. As if the corridor itself was holding its breath.
Clive inhaled slowly.
A sweet, cloying scent stabbed into his nose.
Not the smell of blood. Not the stench of rotting flesh.
This smell was wrong.
Like flowers soaked too long in bodily fluids. Like decay masked by cheap perfume. The scent clung to his throat, triggering a cough reflex that Clive suppressed with effort.
The light here was different as well.
The stone walls emitted a dim purple glow. Not bright. More like a pulse. The pattern moved, rising and falling, like veins in a leaf seen against backlight. Occasionally, the light flickered, following a rhythm that felt far too deliberate to be coincidence.
They began counting steps.
Not with voices, but with breath and heartbeat.
One.The air felt colder, as if the corridor were slowly drawing heat from their bodies.
Two.The stone beneath their feet no longer felt dead. There was a faint vibration, almost like a slow pulse.
Three.Clive felt a thin pressure at his temples. Not pain, but the awareness of being watched.
Four.Zorilla's steps ahead sounded too loud. The echoes did not bounce back. They were absorbed.
Five.The corridor narrowed almost imperceptibly. The walls drew closer, not physically, but mentally.
Six.Clive stopped breathing for a moment.
He felt it.
Dozens.
No. More.
Points of energy were scattered everywhere. They did not move. They did not attack. They did not intend to kill. They simply existed. Clinging to the walls, crawling along the ceiling, seeping into the floor. Like pores of a massive creature sleeping with one eye open.
This corridor was not a passage.
It was an organism.
Seven.Cold sweat ran down Ted's back.
Eight.Dorde sniffed the air. Acidic. Metallic. And something old. Not a corpse, but the memory of decay.
Nine.Glenn felt heat at the back of his neck, as if someone were standing directly behind him.
Ten.
They stopped.
Clive raised his hand without turning around. The signal was firm. His body went rigid, the two cores inside him trembling. Not from fear, but from recognition.
This was the boundary.
Dilos narrowed his eyes, scanning the dark corners. "No monsters in sight."
"No," Clive murmured softly. "But we're standing inside something."
Zorilla let out a low growl. His instincts were confused. There was no physical threat. No scent of a hunter. And that was what made it more frightening.
Ted knelt, touching the floor with his fingertips. "There's liquid here."
His fingers stuck, pulling back with a soft tack sound.
"Still wet," he continued.
Dorde stepped closer. "Not blood." He rubbed his fingers together. "Sticky. And… warm."
As if this corridor had just swallowed something.
Clive felt a touch against his mind.
Gentle.Not forceful.Not painful.
Like a finger skimming the surface of a lake. Not to drown him, only to feel how deep the water was.
He immediately reinforced his mental fortress. Walls of will hardened. The monster wills within him fell silent, sensing the same pressure.
Beside him, Glenn stiffened.
His breathing changed rhythm. Faster. Shallower. His chest rose and fell as if chased by something unseen.
"Glenn," Clive whispered without looking. "Hold it."
Glenn nodded.
Too quickly.
His eyes were open, but they were not truly seeing the corridor. He was seeing something else.
He was hearing something.
The voice had returned.
Clearer than before.
Not shouting.Not commanding.
Persuasive.
Go on.
Glenn swallowed. His jaw tightened. He bit his lip until the taste of salt filled his mouth, trying to anchor himself in the real world.
Five more steps, the voice whispered.Just five. You want to know, don't you?
He wanted to scream.He wanted to run.He wanted to know.
Clive felt a small wave of shifting energy from Glenn's direction. A fine crack in his mental calm.
"Glenn," Clive said louder, his tone pressing down. "Focus on me."
"I'm fine," Glenn replied.
The answer came too fast. Too automatic. Like a rehearsed line.
Ted suddenly turned toward the darkness. "I hear something."
"Illusion!" Clive snapped. "Don't listen. Don't respond. Don't follow."
But the corridor was already working.
The pressure spread like fog. Dorde rolled his shoulders uneasily, trying to shake off the itching beneath his skin. Zorilla growled louder, frustrated that his instincts were blind. No target to strike. No danger he could destroy.
Ten minutes. The agreed time limit was almost up.
Clive drew in a breath, preparing to give the retreat signal.
And Glenn stepped forward.
One.
"Glenn—"
Two.
He crossed a boundary invisible to the eyes, but painfully clear to Clive's awareness.
"GLENN!"
Clive lunged forward. His hand shot out, his fingertips a single breath away from Glenn's cloak.
Then the wall moved.
Stone shifted with a low sound, like bones grinding together. Protrusions surfaced from its face, melting and hardening again, forming contours that were far too familiar.
Faces.
One.Two.Three.
Dozens of human stone faces emerged from the walls. Hollow eyes. Sealed mouths. Neutral expressions. Not angry. Not hungry.
Observing.
The corridor behind them remained open. The path of retreat was not yet sealed.
Yet none of the faces moved to attack.
They were waiting.
Clive felt something lock into place.
Not a trap.Not a coincidence.
They had not entered by accident.
They had been allowed in.