POV: Olamilekan
The first drop of blood hit my boot.
It wasn't mine.
The black soil beneath us was turning crimson, slow at first, then in waves—like something deep underground had been stabbed and was now bleeding out. The blade-creatures didn't move, but their heads tilted in unison, tracking every twitch of our bodies.
"They're waiting for us to blink," Joshua said, his voice low.
Ibou's grip on his curved swords tightened. "Then don't blink."
The smell hit next.
Rot. Not fresh, not old—just wrong. Like the blood belonged to something that had never been alive in the first place.
I felt my magic react before I could control it—light crawling up my arms in thin veins. The faceless things twitched at the sight.
They could sense it.
And that made them hungry.
They struck all at once.
It wasn't charging—it was gliding. They moved without bending a knee, skimming over the bleeding soil like they were on rails.
Ibou met the first one head-on. His blades rang against its bone-edges, sparks flying. Leona conjured a barrier of flame, but two of them slid around it like shadows. Joshua's magic flared—four shadow-clones exploding out of the ground, spearing their targets.
Me?
I didn't think.
I lit up my whole body. The soil around me steamed, black flowers wilting from the heat. My blade cut through the first one's arm, but instead of bone snapping, the severed limb dissolved into black dust.
The problem wasn't killing them.
It was keeping them dead.
Every strike that landed, every piece that fell away, sank into the ground—then reformed on another one of them. They weren't individuals. They were one thing, one swarm wearing many bodies.
And the swarm was patient.
We fought like trapped animals. I stayed close to Joshua's flank, burning anything that tried to flank him, while Ibou and Leona rotated in and out to keep the pressure off.
But the staircase was still far—thirty meters at least. And every step forward was two steps back.
One of them slipped past me. I felt the slice before I saw it—my side tearing open just above the ribs.
I stumbled, light dimming.
That's when I saw it.
On the far edge of the clearing, the faceless figure from before.
It was still pruning the garden. Unbothered. Untouchable.
But when its blade cut another stalk, every creature between us twitched like a string had been pulled through their spines.
Control.
It was controlling them.
"Ibou!" I shouted over the clash of steel. "The gardener—kill it!"
He didn't argue. He broke away, sprinting along the outer ring of flowers. Two of the swarm lunged to intercept, but Joshua's shadows swallowed them whole.
The gardener turned its blank face toward Ibou mid-stride.
Then it moved.
I'd thought it was fast before, but this was different—it crossed the clearing in a blink, bone-blades raised.
Ibou ducked, sliding under its swing and carving a deep cut into its side.
No scream. No reaction.
It just turned and kept going.
I burned through another wave of the swarm, buying him seconds. Leona poured fire into the gardener's back, and for the first time, it stopped. The bone blades trembled.
Ibou struck again.
The gardener staggered.
Every faceless creature around us froze.
Then, as one, they collapsed into the bleeding soil, dissolving into the ground like melting ice.
The air went still.
No more laughter from the flowers. No more rustle of stalks.
Just silence.
We didn't wait to see if it was real. We ran for the staircase.
When my foot hit the first step, I looked back.
The gardener's body was gone.
But the soil was still bleeding.
We climbed in silence.
Eight floors down.
Two to go.
And if each one got worse… floor ten was going to be hell.