Floor ??? — Hall
The small hall was shrouded in an eerie silence, broken only by the faint glow of the orb hovering in the center. Around it stood the lich, his skeletal fingers tracing the air as images flickered across the orb's surface. Beside him, three silhouettes watched intently—one of them revealed to be Joel, his expression unreadable as he observed the events unfolding.
Then, the girl with horns shifted impatiently, "I'm bored," she groaned, her voice dripping with annoyance. "When are we going to get to the good part?"
The lich's eyes remained fixed on the orb, his voice a dry whisper. "Patience. It's starting soon."
---
Floor ??? — Labyrinth of the Deadly Embrace
Adonis stumbled forward, his legs trembling beneath him. The labyrinth stretched endlessly in every direction, its walls shifting subtly as if alive. His stomach growled violently, a relentless reminder of the years—or perhaps centuries—he had spent wandering this accursed place. Time moved differently here, warping his perception until hunger gnawed at his very soul.
He clutched his sword, its weight the only thing keeping him grounded. His vision blurred, his body weak from starvation. Then, a sound reached his ears—wet, ragged chewing.
Rounding a corner, he froze.
Three figures crouched over a lifeless body, their fingers tearing into flesh with animalistic frenzy. Their eyes were wild, their mouths smeared with blood. They were no longer human—just hollow shells driven by primal hunger.
These people are no longer human, Adonis thought, bile rising in his throat.
One of them snapped its head up, its bloodshot eyes locking onto him. A shriek tore from its throat, and the other two turned in unison. With guttural snarls, they charged.
Adonis moved on instinct. His sword flashed—once, twice—and three heads thudded to the ground.
Breathing heavily, he collapsed to his knees. The exertion had drained what little strength he had left. His stomach twisted painfully, demanding sustenance. His gaze fell upon the corpse.
Should I eat them?
The thought revolted him, but the hunger was unbearable. His body screamed for nourishment. Then, an idea struck him.
He looked down at his own arm.
Without hesitation, he raised his sword and brought it down. The blade was dull, and it lodged deep into his flesh. Pain exploded through him, white-hot and searing, but he gritted his teeth and chopped again. And again. And again.
Blood poured onto the stone floor as his severed arm dropped with a sickening thud.
Gasping, he watched as his flesh writhed, tendons knitting together, bone reforming. A new arm sprouted from the stump, whole and unblemished.
With trembling hands, he gathered his severed limb and conjured a small flame. The scent of cooking flesh filled the air, and though his stomach churned, he forced himself to eat.
As he chewed, a grim realization settled over him. Had he not possessed the gift of regeneration, he would have succumbed—just like the feral creatures he had slain. He would have become one of them, lost to madness and hunger.
But for now, he lived.
And the labyrinth stretched on.