And so They ran.
Their breath came in labored gasps, their boots pounding against the cold stone floor. Belial could hear the Blind Witness behind them, its long, clawed limbs scraping against the walls as it pursued them with terrifying precision. Every sharp turn they took bought them only moments, but those moments were everything.
The furthest survivor had been the first to fall. A single misstep—a foot sliding against loose gravel—had been enough. The Blind Witness pounced instantly. His scream barely had time to leave his throat before the creature's jagged fingers tore into him, yanking him back into the darkness. The sound of bones snapping echoed through the corridor.
No one looked back. No one dared to.
The group pressed forward, heartbeats hammering in their ears. The passages twisted and turned, each one looking more like a death trap than the last. But it wasn't until they stumbled into a vast, open chamber that Belial felt the icy grip of true dread settle in his stomach.
The room stretched out before them, cavernous and suffocating. Hundreds of monstorous figures stood motionless in the dim light, their twisted reflections casting eerie shapes along the walls. Pentacores.
Lessor mirror monsters.
Belial gritted his teeth. Fighting one was a challenge. Fighting an entire horde? Suicidal. But he had no intention of fighting them. No, he wanted to _use_ them.
Raven, clad in his dark armor, stood beside him, silent as ever. The Younger girl gripped her dagger, her breathing uneven. Behind them, Xin, the anxious man, and the last remaining survivor huddled together, desperate and wide-eyed.
Belial glanced back toward the corridor they had just come from. The Blind Witness was still there, lingering in the shadows. It hadn't stepped into the chamber yet. It was cautious. _Good,_ Belial thought. That meant it had limits.
"Raven," he murmured, just loud enough for his companion to hear.
Raven turned his head slightly, waiting.
"Find something big to throw at them!," Belial ordered. "Not at the Blind Witness." He motioned toward the cluster of Pentacores. "At _them._"
Raven's helmet glinted as a hint of something glinted under the helmet. He gave a slow nod.
He lifted a boulder nearly the size of his torso and hurled it.
The impact was immediate. Glassy bodies shattered like brittle ice, sending razor-sharp shards flying in every direction. The Pentacores stirred, their eerie stillness breaking as they screeched in unison. A horrible, high-pitched wail filled the chamber as they moved—not with natural steps, but in jagged, unnatural jerks, like broken marionettes.
Belial smirked. "That's cute, Spark," he muttered under his breath.
And then—
_BOOM._
An explosion. A deafening shockwave tore through the room, hurling Belial backward. His vision blurred as his body slammed against the cold, unforgiving ground. The ringing in his ears drowned out everything else.
Darkness.
For a moment, there was only darkness.
Then—pain.
Belial groaned, forcing himself up. The dust was thick in the air, making it hard to see. His fingers curled against the stone floor as he tried to steady himself. His body ached, but he was alive. That was all that mattered.
He blinked the haze from his vision and took stock of his surroundings.
Raven was nearby, standing as if the explosion had done nothing to him. Lyria was there too, coughing violently but otherwise unhurt.
Xin was gone.
The anxious man—gone.
The other survivor—gone.
Belial's stomach twisted. They had been split.
And now, they were trapped in a room with enraged Pentacores.
The younger girl stumbled forward, panic in her eyes. "Where are they?" she rasped.
Belial didn't answer. He already knew. If they hadn't been crushed by falling debris, they had been dragged away—either by the Blind Witness or something worse.
He crouched behind the shattered remnants of a stone wall, his breath ragged, his body aching from The shockwave. The odds were against him—hopeless, some might say. But he wasn't ready to give up. Not yet. Not while Xin was still out there.
He believed in Xin. Against all logic, against the grim reality unfolding around him, he clung to that belief like a lifeline. Xin would survive. He had to. The man was a paradox—frail in appearance, with a frame that seemed too delicate for the world, but beneath that unassuming exterior lay a mind as sharp as a blade and a resilience that defied all expectations. In his point of view, They hadn't spent much time together, but what little they had shared was enough. He had seen Xin fight, had watched him outmaneuver enemies twice his size with nothing but wit and sheer determination. Xin was a survivor; a flickering flame that refused to be extinguished.
They had fought side by side, back to back, and though the odds had been against them then too, they had emerged victorious—with some luck of course.
"He's still out there," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the distant cries of battle. "He's too smart to die here. Too stubborn."
A sudden scraping sound made him snap his head up.
The Pentacores were moving.
The creatures twitched erratically, their hollow eyes reflecting the dim light. Fractured and disfigured, they seemed even more grotesque now, their broken glass-like bodies barely holding their forms together. The explosion had only made them angrier.
And they weren't alone.
Beyond them, in the shifting shadows, something else lurked. Something larger. Something watching.
Belial clenched his jaw. _They needed to move. Now._
"Raven," he said, his voice low but firm. "We make for the next passage. We don't stop."
Raven nodded once.
Belial turned to the young girl. "Stay close. If one of them gets near you, don't fight—dodge. If you stand still, you're dead."
Lyria swallowed hard but nodded.
The Pentacores were twitching more violently now, sensing movement, hunger driving them forward.
Belial took a deep breath.
Then—
"Go!"
They sprinted.
The creatures shrieked, their bodies shifting unnaturally as they lunged forward. Razor-sharp claws scraped against stone, glassy limbs twisting at impossible angles as they pursued. The trio ducked and weaved, narrowly avoiding jagged strikes meant to rip them apart.
A Pentacore lunged at Lyria. She twisted at the last second, its claws missing her by inches. Another came at Raven, but he barely reacted—sidestepping with cold precision before crushing the creature's head with a single strike.
Belial felt something sharp slice across his arm. He ignored the pain, focusing only on the exit ahead.
But as they neared it, he felt something else.
A presence.
_The thing in the shadows._
It hadn't moved before. But now—it was watching.
Waiting.
A chill ran down Belial's spine. He knew that whatever was there… it wasn't like the Pentacores.
It was something worse.
...
Xin groaned as he came to, his body aching from the impact. Every muscle protested as he slowly pushed himself up from the cold, damp ground. His fingers pressed into soft dirt, and as his vision adjusted, he saw something strange—something beautiful yet out of place.
A small, bioluminescent flower glowed faintly in his palm, its soft blue light pulsing like a heartbeat. It was rooted in the ground beneath him, nestled in damp earth. He didn't know why, but the sight of it unsettled him. Something about the way it shimmered, almost _breathing_, made his skin crawl.
He swallowed hard and looked around. The anxious man—his name was Huey, Xin vaguely recalled—was nearby, groaning as he clutched his side. The older survivor, Roderic, was already on his feet, scanning their surroundings with narrowed eyes.
None of them spoke at first. The realization had already settled in.
They were alone.
And worse—Xin was the weakest of them.
His stomach twisted. This was the worst outcome imaginable. He had relied on Belial, on Raven. He had leaned on their strength, their experience. But now? Now, he was the liability.
The others knew it too. He could see it in their eyes.
He forced himself to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes, and took a slow, steadying breath. "We need to move." His voice was hoarse, weaker than he wanted it to be.
Neither man argued. They gathered themselves and pressed forward, moving through the dark, winding tunnels. The walls were damp and uneven, covered in strange carvings that seemed to shift under the dim glow of the flower in Xin's hand. The air was thick, almost suffocating. Every step felt heavier, like something unseen was pressing down on them.
Time stretched in the catacombs. There was no sense of direction, no indication of where they were going. The only option was _up._
They climbed a set of uneven, crumbling steps, their movements cautious. The silence was oppressive. No wind, no distant echoes—just their own breathing and the occasional drip of what Xin assumed was blood, since there was no water in these catacombs.
Then, finally, they reached it.
A door.
Massive, old, and cemented into the very stone of the catacombs. It loomed before them like a tombstone, thick with the weight of time. There were no handles, no hinges—just a solid slab of ancient stone, its surface scarred by deep grooves.
Xin glanced at the others. They understood. If they wanted to escape, they had to open it.
Together, they pressed their hands against the cold surface, straining with all their might. The stone groaned in protest, dust trickling from the edges. Their muscles burned, fingers digging in, feet sliding against the uneven ground.
Then, with a deep, resonant thud, the door gave way.
They stumbled forward, breathless.
Torches along the walls flared to life, their flames flickering to life in a slow cascade, illuminating the chamber before them.
And there it was.
A coffin.
It sat in the center of the large room, massive and foreboding, its dark stone surface covered in intricate carvings. Chains wrapped around it like constricting serpents, thick and rusted, each link adorned with strange symbols that pulsed faintly with an eerie light.
Xin's breath caught in his throat.
This wasn't just a burial site.
It was a prison.