The floor groaned beneath his bloodied steps.
Velen Kael stumbled into the chamber at the end of Floor Eight, his breathing ragged, muscles quivering. His sword, a jagged, frost blade earned five rooms ago dragged behind him, its edge cracked from the trial they'd barely survived.
Seven rooms. A gauntlet of spined beasts, mind loops, and a cursed mirror that made him relive his worst tramas on repeat. He had survived.
They had survived.
More than a dozen figures followed him in, some cheering weakly, others collapsing against the walls. The group was larger than most he'd seen make it this far—eighteen strong now, formed through a patchwork of alliances, desperation, and necessity. He had fought beside some of them for months.
Velen barely registered the tension at first, too focused on the arch ahead—a gateway of black stone and swirling mist that led to Floor Nine. Behind it, something waited. A new Core. A new test. A new place to die.
But for now, they had made it.
His system window flickered across his vision:
— FLOOR 8: COMPLETE —
Judgment Rating: 81%
Reward: +1 Active Awakening
Reward: +1 Passive Awakening
Current Wills: 176
Status: Stable (Low Vitality)
He turned to Kaelen, the group's silent brute, and to Rae, still gripping her bow with white knuckles. Marik stood behind them, gaze hard, calculating. Others lingered: Tov, Breya, Lin, Jessa, all faces he'd fought beside.
Velen gave a nod. "We need to rest. Then we move."
Silence.
Kaelen didn't respond. Rae avoided his eyes. Marik stepped forward, voice cold.
"You've got 176 Wills. That's enough to heal twice. Or buy armor. Or pay for the rest of us to survive the first room of Nine."
Velen blinked. "What are you saying?"
Marik's expression didn't change. "You're slowing us down. You're marked. You'll come back. We won't."
Kaelen shifted.
"You're serious," Velen muttered.
Rae flinched. She didn't meet his gaze.
"You should've never told us your goal," Marik said. "You're not like us. You don't die. You loop. You're worth more dead."
He stepped back.
Weapons were already drawn.
But they had underestimated him.
Velen's fingers tightened on the frost blade.
"Then come take it."
The room erupted into chaos.
Kaelen charged first, but Velen was ready. He sidestepped, carving a deep gash through the man's thigh, sending him crashing into Tov. Rae loosed an arrow—Velen deflected it with a glancing strike that shattered part of his sword.
He ducked low, spinning into Breya's legs, slashing her knee open. She screamed.
Jessa lunged with daggers. Velen caught her wrist and rammed her into the wall with brute force. She didn't get back up.
Lin tried to run—not away, but toward Velen, yelling, "No! Stop! This isn't right!"
A spear caught Lin in the stomach before he reached him. He fell with a wet gasp.
More allies broke off from the mob—Yuri, Ren, and little Afa, the boy with the broken voice. They tried to shield Velen, fought against the frenzy, but they were cut down within seconds. Screams echoed.
Velen kept fighting. He didn't stop. Not even when Breya got up again. Not when Rae shot him through the shoulder. Not when his blade shattered completely against Kaelen's axe.
He punched, kicked, bit. He broke a neck with his bare hands.
He stood atop four bodies before the rest finally overwhelmed him.
Kaelen swung the axe again.
This time, it landed.
Wills spilled from him, shimmering motes of light rising toward the betrayers like fireflies.
Rae turned away.
Then everything went dark.