They found the door sooner than expected.
That was the first problem.
It stood at the end of a short corridor branching off the western edge of Floor Two, the stone around it unusually intact—no collapse, no bloodstains, no warped geometry. The walls were smooth here, the air cooler, almost clean. Too clean.
The skull above it was alone.
One.
Human.
Cracked down the left temple, its jaw slightly open as if caught mid-breath.
Its eye sockets glowed faintly yellow.
No one spoke at first.
Aurelian broke the silence with a humorless laugh. "That's it?"
Ysara didn't answer. She stepped closer, eyes scanning the door's surface. "It wants us to think that."
Mireya tilted her head. "One skull means minimal resistance. That's what we've seen."
"Means minimal cost," Seraphine corrected. "Not safety."
Caelum stood a few steps back, Red Amendment angled downward, watching the way the corridor felt—how sound carried oddly, how footsteps seemed to echo once too many times.
The door itself was smaller than the six-skull door they'd seen earlier. Narrower. Simpler. The stone was a dull gray instead of black, etched with shallow symbols that looked rushed, unfinished.
No veins of red light.
No pulsing.
No pressure.
A promise.
Iscahrel knelt briefly near the threshold, fingers brushing the stone. "There's no resistance here," he said quietly. "No weight. No warning."
Aurelian cracked his neck. "I like it already."
Ysara glanced back toward the deeper corridors. "This is how it works," she said. "You bleed for hours. You get tired. Then Hell offers you mercy."
Mireya's eyes flicked to the skull. "Or what looks like mercy."
They waited.
Nothing moved.
No vibration rolled through the floor. No creatures emerged. The door didn't react to their presence at all.
That was worse than hostility.
Aurelian took a step forward.
Seraphine's voice cut in instantly. "Stop."
He paused, half-turned. "It's a one-skull door."
"And this is Hell," she replied.
He looked at the others. No one disagreed with her—but no one moved to block him either.
"I'm not saying we rush," Aurelian said. "I'm saying we test."
He planted his weapon's haft against the stone and leaned on it, easing his weight forward. The door didn't react.
No pain.
No echo.
No punishment.
Aurelian smiled faintly. "See?"
He reached out.
His fingers brushed the stone.
The skull's eyes flared bright yellow.
The door opened.
Not smoothly.
It peeled apart, stone folding inward like layers of skin being parted. Warm air rushed out—not hot, not cold. Neutral.
Inviting.
Beyond the threshold stretched a short passage lit by soft, steady light. The walls were straight. The floor even. No shadows clung unnaturally to corners.
It looked like a hallway.
Aurelian turned back, eyebrows raised. "Well?"
Caelum felt something tighten in his chest.
"Wait," he said.
Aurelian hesitated—just long enough to show he'd heard the warning.
Then he stepped through.
Nothing happened.
He took another step.
Then another.
He laughed, low and surprised. "It's real."
The moment his fourth step landed—
The door slammed shut.
Stone snapped together with violent finality, sealing the corridor behind him.
"Aurelian!" Mireya lunged forward.
Too late.
The skull above the door cracked.
Not split.
Cracked inward.
The light inside its eye sockets shifted from yellow to a dull, sickly green.
The floor shuddered.
Aurelian's scream came through the stone.
Muffled.
Wrong.
Not pain at first.
Confusion.
"What—what the fuck is—" His voice cut off abruptly.
Caelum stepped closer, pressing his palm against the door.
The stone was warm.
Too warm.
Something pulsed beneath it.
Then the echo hit.
Not shared.
Not mirrored.
Focused.
Aurelian screamed again—this time in pure agony—as invisible pressure crushed inward from all sides. Bone broke. Armor cracked before it had fully formed. His voice fractured into wet, choking gasps.
Blood seeped through the seams of the door.
Thin at first.
Then heavier.
Mireya slammed her shoulder against the stone, blade scraping uselessly across it. "Open it!"
The door did not respond.
Seraphine's face had gone pale, jaw locked tight. "It's not a passage," she said. "It's a verdict."
Inside, Aurelian's screams turned incoherent.
Something else joined them.
A sound like grinding stone.
Or chewing.
Then silence.
The skull above the door split completely in two.
Its light went out.
The door reopened.
Aurelian fell out.
What remained of him hit the floor hard, armor twisted inward, chest collapsed beyond recognition. His limbs bent wrong. Blood poured freely from his mouth and the ruptured seams of his body.
He was alive.
Barely.
Caelum dropped to one knee beside him.
Aurelian's eyes rolled weakly, unfocused. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before words finally forced their way out.
"Count…" he rasped. "It… counted…"
His chest convulsed.
"Skulls don't mean easy," he whispered. "They mean… interest."
His eyes went glassy.
The echo finished its work.
His body vanished.
No weapon fell.
No reward.
Just absence.
The door sealed again—this time permanently.
The skull crumbled into dust.
No one spoke.
Confidence died in that silence.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
It simply stopped existing.
Ysara exhaled slowly, hands trembling for the first time. "One skull doesn't mean weak," she said. "It means targeted."
Seraphine stared at the sealed stone. "It chose him."
Mireya wiped blood from her hands, movements stiff. "Because he believed it."
Caelum stood slowly, turning away from the door.
The floor pulsed once.
Satisfied.
They didn't stay long after that.
No one wanted to be near the lie any longer than necessary.
As they moved deeper into Floor Two, the corridors felt narrower again. Heavier. Less forgiving. The air thickened with the familiar pressure of rules waiting to be learned the hard way.
Behind them, the false door remained sealed.
A single skull reduced to dust.
A lesson paid for in blood.
And ahead—
The real door waited.
With more skulls.
Watching.
Counting.