Floor Two did not rush them.
That was the first mistake most of the survivors made.
After the descent sealed behind them, no enemies came screaming out of the dark. No traps snapped shut. No voice laughed from above. The corridors simply existed—vast, branching, uneven in scale, opening into plazas large enough to lose sight of one another and narrowing again into passages barely wide enough for two people to pass shoulder to shoulder.
The floor was enormous.
Too enormous to be accidental.
Caelum walked at the center of the group, Red Amendment low at his side, the blade's weight steady and familiar now in a way that unsettled him more than the pain had. The weapon no longer felt like something he carried.
It felt like something that expected to be used.
They moved cautiously, not in formation but not scattered either. Seraphine had insisted on spacing—close enough to see one another, far enough that a single mistake wouldn't take them all.
"Hell likes momentum," she said earlier. "But it loves impatience."
The corridors bore marks of age that didn't align with time. Stone had collapsed and reformed. Arches leaned against nothing. Staircases spiraled upward into ceilings that no longer existed. Some paths looped back on themselves subtly, not obviously enough to notice until the same broken pillar appeared twice from different angles.
They learned quickly to leave marks.
Scratches in stone. Smears of blood. Bent metal.
Ysara took the lead when it came to navigation—not because she claimed it, but because she noticed things others didn't. She paused often, crouching, touching the walls, listening.
"It's not random," she murmured after a while. "But it wants to feel like it is."
They encountered the dead before they encountered the door.
A body lay crumpled near the base of a shattered column—male, mid-thirties, unarmed. His chest was caved inward, ribs driven into what remained of his lungs. His hands were broken at the wrists.
No enemy stood nearby.
No blood trail led away.
The echo.
Aurelian stared at the corpse longer than necessary. "He hit something hard," he said quietly.
"And it hit back harder," Mireya replied.
They moved on.
Further in, they found signs of fighting—blood sprayed across stone, fragments of something not human embedded in walls, a broken spear shaft that had snapped cleanly in two.
But no weapons had fallen here.
That was the second lesson.
Not all kills were recognized.
After nearly an hour of walking—though time felt wrong here, stretched thin and uneven—they reached an open space that stopped them all at once.
The corridor widened abruptly, stone peeling back into a vast circular chamber. The ceiling rose higher than anything they'd seen since waking, vanishing into shadow. The floor was smoother here, unscarred, as if preserved.
And at the far end of the chamber—
The door.
It was enormous.
Twice the height of the tallest arch they'd passed, carved from black stone shot through with veins of dull red light. The surface was etched with layered symbols—some sharp and angular, others worn smooth as if touched repeatedly over centuries.
But no one looked at the carvings first.
They looked up.
Six skulls were mounted above the door.
Not trophies. Not decorations.
Markers.
They were not identical.
Two were human. Cracked, yellowed, empty-eyed.
Two were something else—elongated, jawlines wrong, teeth too numerous.
One skull had been split down the middle and fused back together poorly, a jagged seam running from crown to jaw.
The last—
The last skull was intact.
Perfect.
Its eye sockets burned with a steady red glow.
No one spoke for several seconds.
Then Iscahrel exhaled slowly. "Six."
"Skulls," Aurelian said unnecessarily.
Ysara tilted her head. "Not decorative," she added. "They're counting something."
Caelum felt Red Amendment tense subtly in his grip, the blade humming low, almost imperceptibly.
The door mattered.
But it wasn't open.
No handle. No seam. No visible mechanism.
Just stone.
Seraphine stepped forward, studying the frame. "This isn't the exit," she said.
Mireya glanced at her. "Then why show it to us?"
"Because Hell likes goals," Seraphine replied. "And pressure."
As if in response, the floor pulsed once—deep, slow, deliberate. The red veins along the walls brightened momentarily, then dimmed again.
A sound followed.
Not a roar.
Not a scream.
A shift.
Stone scraped against stone somewhere behind them.
Caelum turned just in time to see the corridor they had entered from fold inward, collapsing smoothly, sealing shut without violence.
No retreat.
The chamber was not a crossroads.
It was a holding space.
Aurelian swore under his breath. "So this is it."
"No," Ysara said softly. "This is the reminder."
She pointed to the skulls. "Six means hard. Not impossible. But costly."
Mireya glanced back at the branching paths that led away from the chamber. "So we don't open it yet."
Seraphine nodded. "We survive the floor first."
The realization settled slowly.
This door was not a reward for arrival.
It was a destination.
Floor Two was not about reaching it.
It was about earning the right to try.
They explored outward from the chamber in controlled sweeps, mapping paths, testing distances. Some corridors led to dead ends that sealed behind them, forcing long detours. Others opened into arenas—wide spaces scarred by old battles, pillars shattered and rebuilt so many times they looked grown rather than constructed.
They fought twice more before resting.
The Echo-Bound emerged again, this time in smaller numbers but tighter formations. The group handled them better now—measured strikes, controlled movements.
Caelum learned to kill without anger.
Mireya learned to withdraw faster.
Aurelian learned to stop laughing when his ribs cracked.
Each victory brought pain.
Each pain brought understanding.
Armor began to form more visibly on those who survived—thin plates of black steel emerging along forearms, shoulders, ribs. Not complete suits. Not protection.
Recognition.
They found a Quiet Zone beneath a collapsed archway where sound thinned unnaturally, allowing them to rest without fear of immediate attack.
They sat in a loose circle, weapons close, breathing slowly.
No one spoke for a while.
Then Iscahrel broke the silence. "The door colors," he said. "I've seen carvings. Old ones."
Ysara looked at him. "Colors?"
"Red," he continued. "Purple. Green. Black. Others. Each tied to a kind of trial."
Seraphine's eyes sharpened. "And gold?"
Iscahrel hesitated. "Rare. Three skulls. Three faces. Always requires more than one."
Aurelian snorted weakly. "Sounds fun."
"No," Iscahrel said quietly. "It sounds final."
Caelum stared at the flickering light beyond the archway, thinking of the six skulls above the door they'd seen.
Six.
Not the worst.
Not forgiving either.
"Hell doesn't want us rushing," Mireya said. "It wants us changing."
Ysara smiled faintly. "It wants us choosing."
The floor pulsed again.
Far away, something moved.
Not toward them.
Not away.
Watching.
When they returned to the chamber hours later, the door was unchanged.
Still sealed.
Still silent.
Still waiting.
Above it, the six skulls burned steadily, patient and unblinking.
Caelum rested his hand against the stone, feeling the vibration beneath it.
This floor would not end quickly.
And whatever waited beyond that door—
Would not care how many of them were left when they finally opened it.