The ruins shifted again.
Alpha had learned to expect it, but never to accept it. The Labyrinth moved like it was alive, a vast lung breathing him deeper into its hollow ribs. The cracked archways of the last chamber collapsed behind him, dust falling like sand. In front, a wide courtyard stretched, framed by broken pillars and the faint glow of ghostly braziers.
But this was no ordinary ruin.
Alpha froze. His throat tightened.
The stones underfoot weren't pale gray but stained dark—dark with the color of rusted chains. Around the courtyard were not statues, but broken posts, whips still nailed to them. And in the far end, beneath the broken husk of a gate, wooden scaffolds stood tall, ropes dangling like nooses.
It was the slave yard.
Or rather, the memory of one.
Alpha's scar itched. The Labyrinth was mocking him, twisting his past into stone and shadow. Every post, every whip, every splinter of wood—it was perfect. Too perfect.
And from the broken earth, bones clawed their way free.
Not three this time. Not five.
Eight.
Eight skeletons rose, each clutching a crude weapon. Axes, blades, a hammer. Their sockets burned cold blue, fixed on him as though they had waited for years.
Alpha gritted his teeth. His thigh still bled from the last battle. His arms were heavy. But the Dreamstone at his side pulsed faintly, as though daring him.
He raised his sword.
The first skeleton shrieked without a tongue and charged.
Alpha sidestepped, steel flashing. The blade carved through ribs, but the creature twisted, its hammer slamming into his side. Pain burst white-hot. He stumbled, gasping.
Another rushed him, sword slashing for his head. He ducked, felt the wind of the strike whistle past. He shoved his shoulder upward, driving his sword into its chest. Bone cracked, but another skeleton rammed him from behind. He went sprawling, stone biting into his palms.
Claws scraped. Steel fell.
He rolled, barely escaping. The hammer slammed where his head had been, stone shattering. Dust choked his throat.
Alpha's breath came sharp and shallow. He staggered to his feet, bleeding, swaying.
Too many.
They circled him, sockets glowing like torches in the dark. Their movements were jagged but relentless, no fatigue in their hollow bones. Alpha swung once, twice—both blows deflected by shields or empty air. His arm screamed.
Another slash came for his throat. He raised his blade high. Sparks screamed as metal met metal, the impact nearly dislocating his shoulder.
The skeleton pressed down. Alpha's knees buckled.
Then—
A flicker.
The faintest twitch of bone. A shift in weight. Alpha's body moved before his mind. He twisted, breaking free. The enemy's blade clanged against stone. Alpha brought his own sword up and slashed across its skull, splitting it clean. Blue fire guttered out.
One down.
The others hissed, rattling like dry leaves.
The hammer-wielder lumbered forward, weapon swinging in a brutal arc. Alpha raised his blade to parry. The hammer crashed down. His arms nearly snapped under the force. Sparks exploded. His knees hit the stone.
He rolled again, sword barely held tight. The hammer shattered a pillar behind him. Fragments rained down.
Alpha surged to his feet, blade low. Another skeleton lunged from the side. Its axe swung for his ribs.
But he 'saw' it—before it moved.
The tilt of the skull. The slight shift of bone. The hollow anticipation.
Alpha ducked, drove his sword upward into the thing's jaw. The skull popped, fire fading.
Two down.
Pain lanced across his back—another had struck. He gasped, blood hot across his skin. He spun, slashing wildly, forcing them back. His breath tore in and out, vision shaking.
He couldn't win this by brute strength.
But something inside him—instinct, memory, fate—was whispering.
Watch. Breathe. Move.
The next came from the left, blade raised. Alpha leaned—not back, not forward, but just enough. The strike missed by an inch. His sword lashed out, cutting through its spine. Bones clattered apart.
The hammer came again. He ducked, rolled forward. His blade cut at the leg of another. It fell shrieking, skull bouncing.
Four.
Half.
Alpha's vision blurred, every limb screaming. But his movements were sharper now. Every twitch of bone, every hollow rattle spoke to him. The fight stretched, long and bloody, every breath a gamble.
A skeleton stabbed for his chest. He sidestepped, grabbed its wrist, shoved his blade through its neck.
Five.
The hammer fell. He raised his sword, braced, let the weight slam into stone. Sparks flew. Alpha pivoted and stabbed deep into its side.
Six.
The last two came together, blades flashing. Alpha met them head-on, sword shrieking against rusted steel. His arm buckled, ribs flaring. He staggered, blood spraying from his lips.
But he didn't fall.
He pushed. He screamed. His sword carved through one, then twisted, ripping the other in half.
Seven. Eight.
Silence.
Alpha collapsed to his knees, sword clattering. Blood dripped from his side, his arms, his ribs. He was dust and pain and fire.
But alive.
His scar burned, shifting faintly as though writhing. The blue fire of the courtyard dimmed.
The Veyres window flickered faint:
[ Dreamstone Acquired +1 ]
[ Dreamstone Acquired +1 ]
[ Veyres System: Incomplete… ]
Alpha gasped, clutching his pouch. Three stones now. His body was breaking, but his instincts had sharpened. His scar pulsed with faint heat, crawling under his skin.
The Labyrinth mocked him with his past. But he had survived it.
Not because of luck.
Because he was learning to fight.