"Have you, by any chance, walked forward to see where we are in this cave?" Dave asked.
Violet paused for a long moment, her body drawing in on itself slightly before she shook her head. "I'm too afraid to do that," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. There was no shame in the confession, only fear.
Dave gave a single, understanding nod. "Alright... I understand. Sorry for asking."
"It's alright," she replied, her gaze fixed on the safety of their small campfire.
Just then, the now-familiar, chilling chime echoed not in the cave, but directly inside their skulls.
A translucent screen materialized before their eyes,
.
.
.
The vagueness of the consequence was somehow worse than a direct threat. Failure: ??? The unknown hung in the air, a specter of unimaginable penalties. As the message faded, a single red marker appeared, hovering in the darkness of the cave tunnel ahead. It was a distant beacon, marking a point they were forced to reach.
A cold knot tightened in Dave's stomach. Just how dangerous will this second game be? The first one was a straightforward brawl. This one, with its checkpoint and its "Selection Zone," felt more deliberate. These games were created with stages, and that implied a Game Maker who enjoyed a long, drawn-out spectacle.
"Dave..." Violet's small voice broke through his thoughts. She was staring into the dark tunnel. "Are we going to follow the marker?"
Dave nodded, his own apprehension locked down behind a wall of calm. "We have to." He glanced at the makeshift campfire, the only source of light and warmth in the cave. "It'll be dangerous if we just follow it without holding anything to light the way." He turned back to her. "How did you get the wood to make this fire?"
"Uhmm... There were stems at the corners of the rocks," she explained, pointing toward a recess. "I don't know how they got there, but... it was useful at that moment."
Placed there, Dave thought. Like the bug. Just another resource in the Game Maker's arena. "Alright," he said aloud. He stood up and walked over to Violet. He offered her his hand. "Let's get going."
She looked at his hand for a heartbeat, then gave a quick, nervous nod and accepted it, her own grip surprisingly firm despite her fear. He pulled her gently to her feet.
Together, they scoured the edges of the rocky cave, their search hurried but thorough. In the corners, tucked away as if waiting for them, they found three long, dry sticks. Dave gathered them and carried them back to the fire. He carefully lit the ends of two, before handing one of the torches to Violet.
"Stay close,"
Violet nodded, holding her torch with both hands, its light reflecting in her wide, anxious eyes.
With a final glance around their temporary sanctuary, he led the way into the darkness, the red marker their only guide. The tunnel was a winding throat of stone, forcing them into several frustrating dead ends where the only sound was the drip of water and their own echoing footsteps. Each backtrack felt like a waste of precious time, a tightening of a noose they couldn't see.
Finally, the path ended. But this was no ordinary dead end.
The tunnel opened into a vast cavern, and before them lay not a wall, but a shallow, dark pool that stretched into an impenetrable blackness. The water was still, a sheet of polished jet. The only signs of life were the faint, large bubbles that bloomed on the surface and burst with soft, wet pops, each one releasing a faint, cloying sweetness into the air.
"Are we returning back to find another way? Or...," Violet's question was a fragile thread of sound from behind him.
Dave didn't turn, his eyes fixed on the stagnant water. He offered a slight, humorless smile she couldn't see. "Hate to break it to you, but..." he said. "We'll have to find a way through this pool. And even if we don't find a way and decide to turn back, I'm sure we'll hit a dead end more worse than this."
He heard her sharp intake of breath as her body trembled. "Then, what are we going to do?"
"Just give me a moment."
His eyes scanned the inky surface, finding no path, no stones to cross. He hefted the third, unlit stick in his hand, then tossed it in a high arc toward the center of the pool.
It landed with a soft, muffled plop! a ghost of a splash. The stick bobbed, floating on the surface. It's shallow, he thought, a flicker of hope. But the hope died a sudden death.
The stick didn't just float. It began to dissolve, its solid form unraveling into a wisp of black smoke that vanished into the damp air. Where it had been, the water churned with a sudden, silent frenzy. Ghostly, translucent shapes wriggled and slithered just beneath the surface, and a faint, greenish gas began to bubble up, hanging over the spot like a poisonous shroud.
Dave's brows furrowed, his earlier assessment hardening into a certain dread.
Crossing through this pool is a death wish.!