The determined rhythm of his footsteps was the only sound he trusted now. Each step was a conscious effort to outpace the ghosts the labyrinth had stirred up—the claustrophobic terror of the kelp bed, the cold weight of his father's disapproval, the whispered warnings of the elders. He was a current of focused intent, flowing through the glowing, veined stone passages.
"A test of enlightenment," he muttered to himself, a wry, sarcastic edge to his voice. "More like a theatrical review of my greatest failures. I should demand a director's fee." He was so wrapped in his own thoughts, analyzing the labyrinth's psychological warfare, that he almost missed the first sign of a shift from mental to physical trial.
It was a tremor, a deep, grinding shudder that traveled up through the soles of his boots. It wasn't the gentle, pneumatic hiss of shifting walls. This was heavier, like something ancient and stone-born was waking up.
Galit stopped, his head cocked, every sense suddenly sharpened. His emerald eyes, previously clouded with introspection, now darted with unnerving speed, scanning the corridor ahead and behind. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face, erasing the lingering frustration. "Finally," he breathed, his voice laced with genuine relief. "Something I can actually hit."
From the walls themselves, segments of the glowing cloud-stone detached with the sound of grinding rock. They were hound-like creatures, low-slung and powerfully built, with folded wings of stone hugged tight to their bodies. Their eyes were dull, unlit Dials, and their movements were accompanied by the gritty scrape of stone on stone. The Gargoyle Sentinels. They landed with heavy thuds that echoed in the confined space, their forms blocking the path forward and behind.
Galit didn't wait for them to fully orient themselves. His hands found the hilts of his Vipera Whips in a fluid motion. The slender, articulated sea-snake vertebrae uncoiled with a whispery rasp. "Alright, stone puppies," he taunted, his body settling into the loose, ready stance of his Kelp Forest Kata. "Let's see if you can keep up."
He moved first, a blur of dark teal cloth and gleaming whip. He didn't aim to shatter them immediately; that would be his father's way. Instead, his whips snapped through the air, not at the lead Sentinel, but at the space between it and its companion. The crack was a feint, a visual distraction. As the first creature lunged, its clawed paw swiping with enough force to gouge the wall, Galit was already sidestepping, his whip coiling around its stone foreleg not to hold it, but to stealits own momentum, sending it stumbling into its partner.
"A dance requires partners," he quipped, his neck twisting to avoid a retaliatory swipe from a third Sentinel that dropped from the ceiling. "But you all have two left feet." He landed a "Whisper Strike," the tip of his whip snapping against the joint of a Sentinel's wing with a sharp crack. A web of fractures appeared in the cloud-stone.
For a moment, it was an exhilarating game. He was a reef eel among sluggish rockfish, striking from unexpected angles, using their brute force against them, herding them into clumsy piles. But the grin on his face began to tighten. Another tremor, and another pair detached from the walls ahead. Then two more from behind. He shattered one with a well-placed, powerful blow to its core, the creature exploding into a cloud of dust and shards, but two more took its place.
Their advance was no longer a series of individual attacks; it was a tide. A relentless, grinding press of stone and Seastone-reinforced claws. Their mere presence began to press on him, a faint, draining sensation that felt like a weight settling on his shoulders. It was the Anti-Fruit User Aura, a dull headache of an energy that, while not crippling for him, was a constant, disorienting irritant.
"Persistent, aren't you?" he grunted, his breath coming a little faster now. He was forced to give ground, step by step. His whips became a spinning shield, deflecting claw swipes that could break steel. A glancing blow from a stony wing sent a jolt of numbness up his arm. For a Devil Fruit user, it would have been a death sentence; for him, it was just a painful reminder of their power.
He tried his "Mirage" technique, whipping the floor to throw up a cloud of stone dust, but the Sentinels' Flame Dials detected his body heat through the obscurity without pause. They were herding him, their predictable pathing now forming an inescapable funnel. Every time he tried to break left or right, a new Sentinel would drop, blocking the attempt with implacable stone mass.
"Herding me like a lost sheep," he snarled, frustration boiling over. This was exactly the kind of straightforward, overwhelming force his father revered. There was no clever way out, no feint or misdirection that could stop this grinding advance. He was being outmaneuvered not by tactics, but by sheer, endless numbers.
Step by relentless step, they forced him back down a side passage he hadn't chosen. The air changed; the heavy, mineral scent of the labyrinth began to fade, replaced by a fresher, cooler draft. The walls seemed to widen. With a final, desperate flurry of his whips that forced two Sentinels back a precious few feet, he took another stumbling step backward—and the world opened up.
The grinding of stone ceased. The oppressive aura vanished. The sudden silence was as shocking as the previous noise had been.
Galit stood panting, his whips still held ready, his body coiled for an attack that didn't come. He slowly, warily, straightened up. He was no longer in a corridor. He was standing at the mouth of a large, open archway. Behind him, the Great Labyrinth of Lumenara hummed with its soft, internal light. Before him stretched the open, airy expanse of the Temple of the Luminous Path's main hall, the exit clearly visible in the distance.
They hadn't just beaten him; they had expelled him.
He let his whips droop, the vertebrae clacking softly against the floor. His shoulders slumped. The frustration was a hot, bitter taste in his mouth. He had been so close to the center, he was sure of it. He had solved the water chamber, endured the psychological trials, and fought like one of the Lost Coil's best.
And the labyrinth had simply found him unworthy and tossed him out.
"Unbelievable," he whispered to the empty hall, the word dripping with a potent mix of anger and humiliation. He had been outsmarted by a building. The Young Tide had been turned back at the gate.
---
The ghostly echoes of the storm-bridge still clung to Atlas like a bad smell. He strode through a new, wider corridor of the labyrinth, his usual saunter forced, his fingers flexing at his sides as if trying to physically shake off the memories. He focused on the dull hum of the Seastone, the cool, smooth texture of the cloud-stone underfoot—anything to anchor himself in the now.
"Stupid maze with its stupid parlor tricks," he grumbled, kicking a loose pebble. It skittered ahead and vanished into the gloom. "Should've just smashed the walls down from the start. Pedro would've—"
A deep, grinding tremor cut through his thoughts. It wasn't the lazy, architectural shifting of the labyrinth. This was a sharper, more aggressive vibration that traveled up through the soles of his boots and into his bones. He stopped, ears twitching, the charcoal tufts standing erect.
From the walls themselves, sections of the seemingly seamless cloud-stone cracked and slid away. From these dark alcoves, hulking forms unfolded themselves. They were the color of aged, storm-gray cloud-stone, with low, prowling silhouettes and powerful limbs ending in claws that looked like they could shred iron. Their wings were folded tight against their backs, and their eyes were dark, vacant pits. The Gargoyle Sentinels.
A slow, genuine smirk finally returned to Atlas's face, wiping away the lingering bitterness. "Finally! Something with teeth!" Blue-white Electro sparked to life around his fists, crackling up his forearms. "Come on, then! Let's see if you can keep up with the Crimson Comet!"
The first Sentinel lunged, a surprising burst of speed for something made of stone. It led with a clawed swipe that whistled through the air. Atlas didn't block; he became a blur, sidestepping so fast the air popped in his wake. He studied the move, a predator analyzing his prey. "Too slow." He retaliated, driving a fist wreathed in lightning into its side. The stone cracked under the impact, and the creature staggered, blue energy arcing across its body.
But two more were already on him from the flanks. He dropped into a low sweep, his leg sheathed in Electro, shattering the knee of one while parrying the other's swipe with a forearm. The moment the Seastone-reinforced claw touched his skin, a wave of profound weakness washed over him, a dizzying sensation like plunging into the deep sea. He gritted his teeth, shoving the creature back. "Cheap trick!"
He unleashed Stormclaw and Thunderfang from their holsters, the Seastone-core maces humming with power. He moved like a lynx in a henhouse, a whirlwind of rust-red fur and destructive force. A mace shattered a stony jaw. A lightning-infused kick sent another Sentinel crashing into a wall where it crumpled, inert.
For a glorious minute, he was winning. He taunted them as they fell. "Is that all? I've seen snails with more fight!"
Then he heard it. Not from in front, but from behind. More grinding. More alcoves opening. And from ahead, yet another set. They weren't just attacking; they were emerging, flooding the corridor from both directions. His smirk faltered. He was no longer in a fight; he was in a grinding mill.
He fought with renewed fury, his maces becoming a blur. He shattered one, only for two more to step into its place. A claw caught his shoulder, not deep, but the Seastone contact made his arm go numb for a crucial second. He roared, blasting the offender with a concentrated bolt of Electro that turned it to rubble, but the space was immediately filled.
They were herding him. Their attacks were coordinated, not to kill him, but to press him, to force him down a specific side passage he'd ignored. Every time he tried to break through their line to advance deeper into the labyrinth, a fresh wave would push him back, their stone bodies forming an moving, unyielding wall.
"Get out of my way!" he bellowed, his Electro flaring from controlled blue to unstable streaks of crimson. He moved at blurring speeds, but there was nowhere to go. The narrow passage funnelled him, the relentless advance giving him no room to breathe, to plan, to use his speed effectively. He was a torrent against a dam, and the dam was made of endless, grinding stone.
A heavy, Seastone-laced paw slammed into his back, sending him stumbling forward. He caught himself, spinning around to retaliate, but a dozen vacant stone eyes stared back, advancing without pause. He was panting now, his fur matted with dust and sweat. The constant, draining presence of the Seastone was wearing him down, slowing his legendary reflexes by a hair—just enough.
With a final, frustrated roar, he unleashed a massive wave of crimson Electro, clearing a circle around him. But in that single moment of recovery, he saw the end of the passage he'd been forced into. It wasn't a wall. It was an archway, shimmering with a faint, pearlescent light.
Before he could react, a combined charge from three Sentinels smashed into him, throwing him off his feet. He flew backward through the archway.
The world twisted. The oppressive hum of the Seastone vanished. The cool, manufactured air of the labyrinth was replaced by a warm, natural breeze carrying the scent of strange flowers and polished wood.
Atlas landed in a clumsy roll on soft, springy turf, his maces clattering beside him. He pushed himself up, his chest heaving, his body throbbing from a dozen minor impacts and the lingering nausea of Seastone. The Gargoyle Sentinels had stopped at the archway, their stone forms receding silently back into the walls, which sealed shut, becoming once more a seamless, carved mountainside.
He wasn't in a corridor. He was standing in a wide, open plaza under the open sky of Lumenara. The towering, glowing domes of the city rose around him. The sounds of distant chisels and harmonious bells filled the air.
He had been defeated. Not by a superior fighter, but by numbers, by strategy, by a maze that had simply… ejected him.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his claws digging into his palms. The smirk was long gone, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated fury. He had been thrown out. Like common trash.
"The nerve..." he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous thunder. "The absolute nerve of this place." He stared at the now-featureless wall, a storm of humiliation and rage brewing in his sapphire eyes. The labyrinth had not only beaten him, it had made him feel weak. And for Atlas Acuta, that was the greatest sin of all.
---
The ghosts of her past clung to Jannali like cobwebs, their whispered lessons a dull ache behind her eyes. She trudged forward, the polished obsidian of the corridor giving way once more to the familiar, faintly glowing cloud-stone. She was trying to stuff the memories back into their boxes, to focus on the now—the hunt for the kids, the mystery of the labyrinth—but the weight of the headscarf felt heavier than usual.
"Get it together, Bandler," she muttered to herself, tapping a golden earring. "Not the time for a sook."
A slight tremor ran through the floor, a deep, grinding vibration that travelled up through the soles of her sandals and into her bones. It wasn't a shift; it was a waking.
Jannali stopped dead, her hunter's instincts screaming. She tilted her head, her large, expressive eyes scanning the corridor ahead. The grinding grew louder, the sound of stone dragging against stone. From the walls, from the very ceiling, shapes began to detach themselves. They were hound-like, prowling silhouettes of cloud-stone, with folded wings hugged tight to their bodies and claws that scraped furrows in the floor. Their eyes were dull, unlit Dials, but the air around them grew thick and heavy, the Seastone infusion in their composite frames making the atmosphere feel like wading through syrup.
"Alright then," Jannali said, a grim smile touching her lips. "Party crashers it is."
With a sharp, practiced flick of her wrist, she unclipped Anhur's Whisper from her hip. The segmented alloy shaft snapped out with a series of satisfying metallic clicks, locking into place as a full-length spear, its dark sea-stone tip gleaming with a hungry light. The weight of it in her hands was a comfort, an old friend.
The first Gargoyle Sentinel lunged, a low, grinding pounce meant to take her legs out. Jannali was already moving, her sturdy heeled sandals giving her just enough lift to pivot over the swiping claws. She thrust her spear down, the sea-stone tip biting deep into stone shoulder joint. The creature shuddered, a crack spiderwebbing from the point of impact, but it didn't stop. A glancing blow from its wing sent a jolt of profound weakness through her arm, a feeling like being plunged into the deep sea. She gasped, yanking her spear free and backpedaling.
"Right, no touchy-feely then," she grunted, shaking the numbness from her limb.
Another came from the left. She dropped into a low sweep, knocking its legs out from under it, and in the same motion, drew one of her Echo Boomerangs from the strap on her thigh. She sent it whirring down the corridor, its intricate swirls cutting the air. It smacked into a third Sentinel that was emerging from the wall, not causing damage, but buying her a precious second.
That was the problem. The seconds were all she got. For every one she parried or dodged, two more seemed to claw their way out of the architecture. She was a whirlwind of motion—thrust, parry, duck, roll—her skort allowing for acrobatic escapes that barely kept the stone claws from finding their mark. She infused her boomerangs with a flash of Armament Haki, sending them back with enough force to chip chunks from her attackers, but the shattered stone just seemed to reabsorb into the walls, and new Sentinels would form.
"They're herding me, the clever bastards," she realized, her breath coming in sharp pants. She was trying to push forward, towards where she felt the labyrinth's heart might be, but every attack, every new emergence, was forcing her to give ground, angling her down a specific side-passage.
A claw caught the fabric of her off-the-shoulder top, ripping it. Another swipe she ducked under by a hair's breadth, the wind of its passage ruffling her proud afro. The relentless advance, the constant, grinding noise, the draining aura of the Seastone—it was a cacophony of a different kind, a physical one that shattered her focus. She couldn't hear the 'voice' of the labyrinth over the battle; she couldn't plan.
"Would you just rack off!" she yelled, spinning Anhur's Whisper in a wide arc to force a trio of them back. But for every step she gained, she was forced two steps back, deeper into the narrowing passage.
Then, a massive Sentinel, larger than the others, dropped from the ceiling directly in front of her, blocking her path. She skidded to a halt, and in that moment of hesitation, the ones behind her closed in. She was surrounded, the press of their stone bodies and the nullifying aura making her head spin. With a final, frustrated cry, she was forced backwards through a low archway she hadn't even noticed.
She stumbled, expecting to hit another wall, but instead her heels met rough, natural stone. The grinding ceased abruptly. The oppressive Seastone aura vanished.
Jannali whirled around, spear held high, ready for the next attack.
It didn't come.
She was standing in a wide, open cavern, the air cool and smelling of damp rock and distant saltwater. A gentle, natural light filtered in from a high opening. Behind her, the archway she'd just been forced through was set into a vast, seamless wall of cloud-stone—the outer shell of the Temple of the Luminous Path. The entrance, if it could be called that, was already smoothing over, the stone flowing like liquid to seal itself shut.
The silence was absolute. And for the first time, it wasn't a relief.
She lowered her spear, the fight draining out of her to be replaced by a hot, bubbling annoyance. She planted her hands on her hips, glaring at the now-featureless wall.
"You have got to be joking," she said, her voice echoing in the quiet cavern. "After all that? You just… spit me out?" She kicked a loose pebble, which skittered pathetically across the floor. "I was busy in there! I had things to do! People to find!"
She was out. Ejected. The labyrinth, in its infinite, frustrating wisdom, had decided she'd had enough and unceremoniously booted her from the game.
"Un-bloody-believable," Jannali muttered, collapsing her spear with a series of irritated clicks and reattaching it to her hip. She was safe, for now. But she was also right back where she started, only now, she was on the wrong side of the walls, and two kids were still lost somewhere within. It was, she decided, a proper pain in the arse.
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