Stone steps stretched downward into a corridor that swallowed light, the air growing denser with every step they took. Though their presence is view disturbing, in a way that pressed subtly against the senses.
Faint glows pulsed to life as several of them activated their light orbs. Some held them in their palms, others had them fixed to their gear, casting uneven halos that swayed with each movement. The illumination was sufficient but only barely. Shadows still clung stubbornly to the edges of the corridor, as if reluctant to retreat.
And through that silence
"Mmm… mm-hmm… mmm-mm…"
A soft hum.
It slipped into the space like a thread weaving through fabric, delicate but persistent. The melody carried no words, yet it rose and dipped with intentional rhythm, almost as if following a tune only its source could hear.
The small one.
Camilla.
Her voice echoed lightly against the stone, not loud enough to disrupt but impossible to ignore. It lingered, curling into corners, brushing against the others as they walked.
No one stopped her not yet though.
Step after step, the group descended until the staircase finally gave way to level ground.
They stepped off together, the First Floor. The space opened abruptly vast, structured, deliberate.
Before them stood an enormous entrance hall, its scale almost disproportionate to the narrow descent that led into it. Towering doors already open stood ahead, their surfaces worn yet untouched by decay. The stone here was different. Familiar in sense, heavier.
Light from their orbs stretched across the chamber, revealing walls lined with inscriptions dense, intricate, and utterly unfamiliar.
Symbols carved with precision.
Rate moved forward without a word, he stepped away from the group, his boots echoing faintly as he approached the wall. He stopped a few meters short of the entrance, his gaze fixed on the inscriptions.
"What is this?"
His voice was low, controlled, he reached out his fingers and made contact. And immediately a faint chill.
Not cold enough to hurt, but unnatural. The kind that didn't belong to temperature but to something embedded deeper within the material itself.
His expression tightened, just slightly.
These writings… they're unfamiliar, in shapes and in structure.
What could be responsible for something like this…?
Behind him, the rest of the group lingered.
And the humming continued.
"Mmm… mm-hmm… mmm-mm…"
A pause then,
"Alright, that's enough, Camilla."
The voice cut through cleanly.
Moderate in volume, but edged with irritation.
Quinn in discomfort.
Camilla stopped, not immediately but just long enough to make it clear she chose to stop.
She turned slightly, her head tilting.
"Enough what?" she asked, her tone light teasing.
Quinn didn't hesitate.
"Your singing," he said flatly. "It's annoying. And it's making my ears bleed."
A beat, then the large one spoke.
"Let her be, Quinn. She's only expressing herself."
Bulk replied.
His voice carried weight not just in tone, but in presence. Slow and grounded.
Quinn exhaled sharply through his nose.
"I'm positive you find it very disturbing, right, Bulk?"
Camilla didn't wait for a response.
"Oh please," she cut in, stepping forward lightly, her movements almost bouncing. "Your ears bleeding just means they're crying from joy after hearing my lovely voice."
There was a faint clinking sound with each step she took metal brushing softly against metal.
Not loud but constant. Quinn stared at her.
"You're not in the right state of mind, are you?"
Camilla gasped softly, placing a hand against her chest in mock offense.
Then she moved closer.
Step.
Clink.
Step.
Clink.
Her pace was light almost playful as she closed the distance between them.
"I'm very sure you're just jealous," she said, her voice dipping into something almost conspiratorial. "Perhaps if you kneel and praise me properly, I could teach you a few of my tunes."
Quinn's expression hardened instantly.
"I kneel to no one."
Camilla leaned in slightly, her grin widening.
"Nooo," she dragged out, shaking her head. "You're just shy. Getting cold feet."
"You're unhinged."
That did it.
Quinn turned sharply and began walking forward, heading toward Rate without another glance.
"...At least one of us has a sense of humor!" Camilla called after him, her tone bright and entirely unaffected.
Behind her, Bulk sighed, It was quiet but heavy.
Quinn, midway through the hall, muttered under his breath.
"If I'd known, I wouldn't have taken this mission with that lunatic…"
He didn't slow down.
Didn't look back.
He reached Rate just as the latter withdrew his hand from the wall.
Rate turned slightly, giving a brief glance across the group.
Then a small motion.
Two fingers.
"Alright, enough messing around. We got work to do!"
No wasted words, they pushed onwards.
Time passed, not long but long enough for time to tell.
The corridor narrowed again as they advanced deeper, the architecture transitioning from open chamber to guided passage. The walls seemed closer now, the ceiling higher not physically oppressive, but perceptually tighter.
Their orbs continued to provide light.
And again,
"Mmm… mm-hmm… mmm-mm…"
Camilla had resumed, of course she had. Quinn's jaw tightened. His steps grew just slightly heavier.
Will someone make that twisted fool stop…
Camilla drifted her gaze across the walls as they walked, her humming softening into a quieter rhythm.
"This place…" she began, her tone almost thoughtful. "It looks super creepy."
A pause, then she smiled faintly.
"In a pleasant way."
She turned her head slightly.
"Don't you think, Bulk?"
Bulk blinked once.
"Huh?"
Before he could say more
"You're the creepy one," Quinn cut in.
Camilla's eyes lit up.
"Ohh," she giggled softly, "someone's still having complicated feelings."
"As if," Quinn snapped. "I'm not narcissistic like you. You're just a crazy, idiotic person who thinks with your feet."
"Alright," Bulk stepped in, his tone firmer now. "That's quite enough from you, Quinn."
Quinn stopped, turned slightly.
His gaze locked onto Bulk.
"How about you zip your trap," he said, voice low, edged with irritation, "and stay focused on the task you were given."
A beat.
"...or I'll smash your bloody skull into your ground!"
Silence unfold for a moment, Bulk froze for half a second.
A low, grumpy sound escaped him. Not quite a growl, not quite a sigh.
Just… displeasure.
Camilla leaned toward him immediately, patting him lightly though her hand landed closer to his lower back than his shoulder.
"Don't let his words bother you, old man," she said cheerfully. "He's always like that."
Bulk didn't respond.
But his shoulders shifted slightly.
Forward.
They kept moving, the corridor stretched ahead.
Dark, Still, Too still.
Their footsteps echoed in controlled rhythm.
Light swayed. Shadows as it where
Then, a sound
Sharp and fast.
An arrow tore through the darkness.
It came without warning, cutting across the corridor in a straight, lethal trajectory aimed cleanly toward the group.
But before it could strike, Rate had moved, not dramatically but enough.
His hand snapped up, striking the arrow mid-flight with precise force. The shaft splintered on impact, fragments scattering as they deflected into the wall and dropped to the floor.
The motion was effortless and calculated.
And in the same breath Rate's voice cut through.
"Bulk."
A fraction of a second.
"We have incoming."
His posture shifted.
Slighty but definitive.
"Get in position."
And then from the darkness responded, triggers from ahead unfold. From the unseen depths of the corridor they came a whispering sound
A rain of arrows.
Fast and relentless.
Cutting through the air in a storm of sharpened steel.
Before the rain of arrows could reach them, Bulk moved, he didn't rushed or panicked but measured.
His cloak flared outward in a single, deliberate motion fabric snapping as it peeled back from his frame. Beneath it, his full form revealed itself like a system being unsealed.
Dark leather armor, layered and reinforced not ornamental, but functional. Every inch of it carried weight. Strapped segments ran along his arms and thighs, reinforced plating integrated at stress points, with overlapping bands that suggested both flexibility and endurance. Across his shoulders, thick harness straps dug into the armor, tensioned tight built for load-bearing. Built for someone accustomed to carrying more than his own weight.
His hood slipped back just enough. What showed wasn't meant for display. No hair not even stubble.
The left side of his face intact, hardened. The right ruined. Not freshly, not violently, but surgically altered into something reconstructed. The skin bore the mark of correction, not healing.
And where his eye should have been. A metallic implant sat embedded into the socket, fused seamlessly through alchemical integration. Its surface was not dull steel, but something refined etched, responsive. It glowed faintly.
Sea green. Alive, but not human. Bulk didn't speak. He reached back.
Both hands moved in sequence right, then left sliding beneath the opened cloak toward the carriage system mounted along his back. The motion was practiced, efficient, like muscle memory refined through repetition.
From his right side he pulled free a weapon.
A pole.
Sixty inches of solid metal, its shaft tapering into a diamond-shaped profile. Not decorative angular, precise, designed for both stability and channeling. The base struck the ground with a dull, grounded thunk as he planted it upright.
The hilt silver, etched with black branding that ran like veins along its length.
From his left He retrieved the guard.
At first glance, it resembled a lattice a structured frame mounted near the grip, but its most distinct feature lay embedded within it.
Five cyan crystals.
Each positioned at a node of the structure, evenly spaced, forming a geometric symmetry that hinted at intentional design rather than ornament.
An alchemist's construct.
Bulk's voice came low, almost like a system call rather than speech.
" Re-layered."
The reaction was immediate.
Three of the five crystals ignited.
Not all at once but in sequence. One, the second and then the third.
A chain reaction of light electric, sharp cascading across the lattice. Energy threaded through the metal framework, crawling like lightning across engraved channels.
The air around the pole shifted condensed.
Then, It released. Energy surged upward from the weapon's tip, splitting into four distinct streams that arced outward into the air above them. The streams curved, bending unnaturally, before collapsing downward.
Onto them.
The energy didn't explode it wrapped.
A thin, translucent layer formed over each member of the group, clinging to their forms like a second skin. Cyan light traced their silhouettes, faint but defined stacked, layered, reinforced.
Not a single barrier but multiple.
Re-layered.
The arrows arrived, a storm of them.
The sound came first a violent tearing of air, the high-pitched whistle of dozens of projectiles descending in synchronized death.
Then impact. But not penetration.
Each arrow struck the layered field and stopped.
Not bounced. Not deflected wildly.
Stopped as if they had collided with a surface that refused to acknowledge their momentum.
Some shattered on contact.
Others cracked, their shafts splintering as the force dispersed across the layered barrier.
None reached flesh.
The group didn't break formation. They walked forward.
Through the rain, through the sound of repeated impacts striking against invisible layers that shimmered faintly with each hit. Arrows continued to fall, relentless.
The cyan silhouettes flickered with each strike but never collapsed, never faltered.
Bulk remained at the rear, pole grounded, arm steady his role clear.
Anchor, stability, load-bearing.
"This would have been more fun without Bulk's items."
Camilla's voice cut through the noise, light and unimpressed, carrying a sigh that felt almost theatrical.
She didn't even look up at the arrows, didn't acknowledge the danger. She walked as if the storm didn't exist. As if it bored her.
The corridor stretched ahead stone walls narrowing the path, shadows deepened by uneven light from their orbs. The air carried a strange stillness beneath the chaos of arrows, like something was waiting.
Then a shift. A sharp mechanical snap from the wall to Camilla's left.
A blade shot out, it was fast.
Too fast for most to react. But not her.
Her hand moved casual, almost lazy. Two fingers extended. The blade stopped, caught.
Pinched perfectly between her index and middle finger mid-flight.
"Would you look at that."
She lifted the blade, holding it up across her face, her hood casting shadows over her expression. The metal reflected faint cyan light from the barrier, giving it an eerie glow.
"There seems to be more hidden surprises beyond our eyes…"
A small pause.
"…get it?"
Her tone tilted slightly, playful, expectant.
She angled her head just enough to glance sideways.
Toward Quinn.
"… …"
Nothing, he didn't respond. Quinn continued walking. Straight ahead, expression unreadable.
He didn't even spare her a glance.
Camilla blinked once.
Then twice.
"…He's now acting serious now huh."
A beat.
"He's grumpy like an old man."
She turned her head back slightly, looking past her shoulder toward Bulk.
"Right, Bulk?"
Bulk didn't look at her.
His focus remained forward, hand still steady on the pole as another wave of arrows shattered against the layered barrier.
"How about you leave me out of it, Camil."
Camilla's lips curved slightly.
"Don't worry, old man. You'll get your moment of spark."
She turned forward again.
And then, dhe skipped. Light steps, almost rhythmic.
Each step produced a faint clinking sound metal against metal, subtle but distinct, like hidden components shifting with her movement.
She closed the distance.
Toward Quinn.
"Hey Quinn?"
No response.
"Hey Quinn?"
Nothing.
"Hey! Quinn?"
Still nothing.
She leaned in slightly closer as she walked beside him now, tilting her head to catch his face.
"Quinnie?"
A pause.
"Queen?"
Another step.
"My Queen?"
The repetition was deliberate.
Persistent as annoying.
Quinn's jaw tightened, just slightly. Barely visible but there. His voice came low, under his breath.
"Ohh heavens…"
He exhaled slowly, like someone already regretting every decision that led to this moment.
His eyes shifted.
Not to her, to the side. Toward where Rate was.
Rate felt it, but he didn't turn immediately. But the awareness was there.
A second later, his head angled just enough to meet Quinn's gaze. A side glare. The message was clear.
Quinn held the look for half a second longer.
Then,
"Let me just kill her, even if it's just for a moment I give you my word i be done with it."
Flat and serious. Not entirely a joke.
Camilla's grin widened slightly, like she heard it and approved.
Rate slow down. Not fully. Just enough of a shift in his step to assert presence.
His head turned.
Slow and deliberate.
He looked directly at Quinn now.
"Do you think I care about your deaths?"
The tone wasn't raised,weight behind it. Authority without exaggeration.
"Don't make me regret bringing you along."
The glare that followed wasn't momentary.
Final.
Then,
Rate turned forward again.
Conversation over.
Command re-established.
The group continued moving.
Arrows still falling, Blades still hidden within the walls.
And beneath it all, the corridor remained calm.
Too calm, like it hadn't even begun yet.