The passage led them to the roof of a ruined building. The hero emerged first, took a few steps, and stopped, looking at the panorama that opened up.
The city.
A vast, dead city stretched in all directions—skyscrapers, bridges, overpasses, everything that had once been constructed of metal and concrete. But this was no majestic metropolis. These were ruins.
The buildings stood leaning, with gaping holes in their walls. Metal structures sagged, rusty beams jutting out of the concrete like broken bones. Bridges had collapsed halfway and hung suspended in the air, frozen in the final moments of their fall. Rust was everywhere—orange-brown streaks covered everything, like leprosy slowly devouring the city.
But the most terrible thing was the rain.
Drops fell from the low gray sky. Not water. Liquid metal. Thick, viscous, orange-red iron poured down in a stream. The drops were large and heavy, hitting surfaces with a dull, metallic ringing. Where they fell, the metal corroded, the concrete crumbled, everything turned to dust.
The air was heavy, thick with the scent of blood and rust—iron-rich, suffocating, leaving a metallic taste on the tongue.
Medusa followed, stopping next to the hero. The snakes on her head hissed in alarm, pressing themselves against her skull, trying to hide.
"What the…" she began.
A drop landed near her foot. It hissed, burning through the stone roof, leaving a smoking crater.
"Not acidic," the hero said quietly. "Something worse."
Another drop. Then another. The rain intensified.
"We need to find shelter," Medusa said, looking around. "Quickly."
The roof of the building they stood on was relatively intact, but without an overhang. Rain was already beginning to cover the entire space. Ahead, the entrance to the building was visible—a door half torn from its hinges.
"There!" the hero nodded.
They ran. The raindrops fell more quickly, hitting the ground around them. One landed on the hero's shoulder. Pain flared instantly—searing, corrosive. He screamed and brushed the drop away with his hand, but his skin was already smoking, his flesh melting, revealing muscle.
They reached the door and burst inside.
The corridor was dark, damp, smelling of mold and iron. But there was no rain here. The ceiling held up, protecting him from the torrent from outside.
The hero leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, clutching his shoulder. The wound throbbed, and his skin continued to smoke, corroding even after the drop had been brushed away. Medusa approached, bent down, and examined him.
"The metal has bitten deep."
"I can see it," the hero hissed through clenched teeth.
She pulled a piece of cloth from her belt and tightly wrapped it around the wound. The cloth immediately began to darken, absorbing blood and something else.
"Do we have to go through this entire city?" Medusa asked, looking out the broken window of the corridor. Outside, the rain poured down in a solid orange wall, metallic drops pounding the ruined buildings.
The hero nodded.
"Looks like it. The exit must be somewhere further."
Medusa swore softly—a hissing, snake-like sound, full of irritation.
"Excellent. Simply excellent."
They moved deeper into the building, down the corridor. The walls were covered in rust, metal pipes and beams protruding from the concrete, slowly rotting before their eyes. A viscous orange liquid squelched underfoot—presumably once water.
The corridor led to a staircase. The steps were slippery, caved in in places. They descended carefully, holding onto the railing, which crumbled under their fingers.
The first floor was flooded. The rusty liquid stood knee-deep, slowly flowing toward the holes in the walls. The smell was unbearable—rotting metal, blood, caustic chemicals.
"We'll have to go through this," the hero looked at Medusa.
She sighed and nodded. She lifted the hem of her cloak so it wouldn't get completely soaked.
They descended into the liquid. Cold and viscous, it gripped their feet, seeping through their shoes. Their skin immediately began to itch and burn.
They walked slowly, creating small waves. The room was large—probably once an office or a retail space. Now it was just ruins, with protruding metal furniture frames and columns barely supporting the sagging ceiling.
Something moved in the liquid ahead.
The hero stopped and raised his hand, stopping Medusa.
—Did you see it?
—Yes.
They froze. The liquid rippled—something large was passing beneath the surface.
Then it rose.
A creature of frozen metal. Humanoid, but deformed—its arms too long, its legs twisted at an unnatural angle. Sharp, rusty growths covered its entire body. Its head was featureless—only deep pits where eyes and a mouth should have been.
The creature stood motionless, its "head" turned in their direction. As if listening.
"Don't move," Medusa whispered.
The hero froze. The liquid around him slowly calmed.
The creature took a step. Then another. The waves reached them.
The creature jerked sharply. Its pit-like eyes stared straight ahead.
A second of silence.
Then the creature roared—a deafening screech of metal on metal—and rushed forward.
"Run!" the hero shouted.
They tore through the liquid, raising a spray. The creature pursued, swift despite its misshapen limbs. Its long arms swung, its growths cutting through the air.
The hero drew the Bloody Dagger, turned, and threw. The blade sank into the creature's chest. It stumbled, but didn't fall. She tore the dagger free and tossed it aside.
"Damn it!" — The hero dove for the dagger and snatched it from the liquid.
Medusa stepped between him and the creature. The trident flew up and struck the creature's hand. Metal clanged on metal, and the creature's hand flew off and landed in the liquid.
But the creature didn't stop. With its other hand, it knocked the trident out of Medusa's hands and pushed her into the chest. Medusa flew backward, hit a column, and fell into the liquid.
— Medusa!
The hero rushed toward the creature and plunged the dagger into its neck. The creature grabbed it with its other hand and squeezed. Ribs cracked, and the air left its lungs.
Medusa rose, grabbed the trident, and swung it through the creature's back. All three prongs passed through and exited its chest.
The creature froze. It hissed—the sound of escaping steam. Its hand loosened, and the hero fell into the liquid. The creature collapsed forward and fell silent. Rust began to peel off its body, dissolving.
The hero coughed, trying to breathe. Medusa helped him up:
"Are you okay?"
"More or less," he wheezed. His ribs ached, but they weren't broken.
They moved on, faster now. The exit from the building was ahead—a large hole in the wall leading to the street.
They stepped out. And the rain fell upon them all at once.
The drops fell thickly, heavily, like hail. They struck skin, clothing, armor. Everything they touched began to smoke and corrode.
The hero raised his hand above his head, trying to protect himself. It was no use. The drops burned through his palm, running down his arm, dissolving the skin.
Medusa covered herself with her cloak, but the fabric was already smoldering, holes appearing before their eyes.
"Shelter!" " she shouted, shouting over the noise of the rain.
Across the street, another building was visible, its awning still intact at the entrance. About twenty-five to thirty meters away.
They ran.
Drops beat down on his shoulders, back, head. The pain was unbearable—dozens of small burns at once, his flesh melting, blood mixing with rust.
The hero stumbled and fell face-first into a puddle. Liquid flooded his mouth, nose, and eyes. It burned. It blinded him. He saw nothing but pain, only the fire devouring his face.
Medusa grabbed his arm and jerked him up. The snakes on her head hissed and writhed—the rain was eating away at their scales.
They reached the canopy. The hero collapsed to the ground, coughing, spitting out rust. The skin on his face was smoking, his eyes were watering, his vision was blurry.
Medusa landed next to him, breathing heavily. Her cloak was in tatters, her armor was burned through in places, her green skin was covered in burns.
"This... madness..." she breathed. The hero nodded, unable to speak. The pain washed over him in waves, every cell screaming.
They sat under the canopy for several minutes, letting their bodies catch their breath. The pain slowly dulled—it didn't go away, it simply became a background ache.
The hero examined his hands. The skin was red, scraped raw in places.
"How much longer?" Medusa asked, looking at the city ahead. The rain poured down incessantly, turning the ruins into a blur of orange and gray.
"I don't know," the hero replied. "But we can't stop."
They rested a little longer, then moved on—from canopy to canopy, from building to building, waiting under any cover.
They died three more times.
The first time, the canopy collapsed above them, burying them beneath metal beams. The hero suffocated under the weight, his ribs rupturing his lungs. Darkness. Resurrection nearby, beneath the rubble. They had to claw their way out, pushing against the beams, scraping their hands to the bone.
The second time—Medusa. She slipped on the bridge and fell from a height into a deep pool of rust below. She drowned, choking on the viscous liquid. The hero jumped in after her, found her body, and pulled her to the surface. She revived a few minutes later, coughing, spitting out rust, the snakes on her head limp, barely moving.
The third time—together. The building they were hiding under began to collapse. The rain ate away the support beams, the ceiling collapsed. They were buried under tons of concrete and metal. Death came quickly—crushed instantly.
They revived next to each other, in a pile of rubble. The climb was slow, painful, scratching their skin, breaking their nails.
When they emerged, they sat among the ruins, covered in dust, blood, and rust. Silent. They simply breathed, glad they could still breathe.
"I'm starting to hate this place," Medusa said quietly.
"Join the club," the hero chuckled.
She looked at him and smiled weakly. The snakes on her head hissed tiredly, but kindly.
"You know..." she reached out and took his hand. "...I'm glad I came with you. Even here. Even in this hell."
The hero squeezed her hand in response.
"Me too."
They sat for a while, holding hands, allowing themselves a moment of weakness, a moment to simply be—well, almost human—amidst this inhuman nightmare.
Then they stood up. And continued on.
The exit from the city seemed unexpected.
They had been walking for several hours—or days, time had lost its meaning here—when the buildings began to thin out. The streets grew wider. The rain continued to pour, but ahead, through the gray haze, an arch was visible.
Tall, made of black stone, untouched by rust. The passage to the next floor.
They ran. A final dash across the square, ankle-deep in rust. Drops fell on their backs, heads, shoulders, but they didn't stop.
The arch was getting closer. Another ten meters. Five.
Something grabbed the hero's leg.
He fell, his face slamming against the stone. He turned around—a rusty creature, emerging from a puddle, was holding him by the ankle. It was pulling him back toward the liquid.
The medusa darted forward, her trident piercing the creature's head. It released its grip and collapsed.
The hero jumped up; they reached the arch and dove under it.
The rain remained outside. Under the arch it was dry. Quiet. Only their heavy breathing broke the silence.
They stood, leaning on each other, covered in rust, blood, and dirt. Their armor was torn. Their skin was burned. But alive.
"999,990," the hero read the rune-engraved inscription on the arch.
"One more behind," Medusa smiled wearily.
The hero nodded. He looked at her—at her green skin, covered in wounds, at the snakes drooping limply from her head, at her golden eyes, still burning with determination.
"You're incredible," he said.
Medusa blinked, surprised.
"What?"
"You. Incredible. Not everyone would have gone through this."
She smiled, tiredly but sincerely.
"You're nothing special either. For a mortal." They laughed. Quietly, briefly, but it was real laughter—live, human.
Then they moved on, through the arch, up the steps.
To the next floor. To the next test.
But now—together. And that made everything a little easier.