Floor 499 — Luminor — The Lower Sectors
The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the grimy streets of the Lower Sectors. Inside a dimly lit tavern, the air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of fear. The scene was one of carnage—corpses littered the floor, some impaled with such force that gaping holes tore through their bodies, others frozen solid, their faces locked in eternal screams. Blood pooled around the counter where the bartender had once served drinks, now nothing more than another lifeless heap.
Behind the shattered shelves of alcohol, a hidden door stood ajar, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness. Below, the tavern's true purpose was laid bare: a den of unspeakable horrors. Cages lined the walls, their tiny occupants—malnourished children—huddled together, their hollow eyes wide with terror. The bandits who had taken refuge here were armed and desperate, some gripping jagged swords, others clutching magic wands crackling with unstable energy.
At the front of the group, a bandit wiped sweat from his brow, his knuckles white around the hilt of his blade. The others shifted nervously, their breaths shallow as they stared into the abyss of the corridor before them. Then, the sound came
—clack, clack, clack—
A steady, deliberate rhythm of footsteps echoing from the darkness.
The figure that emerged from the shadows seemed to bring the cold with him. The air itself froze in his wake, frost creeping across the floorboards as he stepped into the flickering light. He was a young man, no older than his twenties, with striking blue hair partially hidden beneath a peaked white officer's cap. His uniform was immaculate—a white double-breasted coat adorned with gold and teal accents, epaulettes marking his high rank, and a belt cinched tightly at his waist. Black leather gloves, ornate with red and gold embellishments, flexed as he raised a hand.
Behind him, a dark cape billowed, its edges shimmering with an unnatural chill. His eyes, half-obscured by shadow, gleamed with a quiet, deadly intensity.
"It's Lieutenant Jace!" one of the bandits squeaked, his voice cracking with panic.
"Don't give him a chance to attack!" another shouted.
The ones armed with wands acted first, hurling fire projectiles toward the lieutenant. But the flames flickered and died mid-air, snuffed out as if by an invisible force before they could even singe his coat.
"What—?" a bandit stammered, his face paling.
Jace's lips curled into a smirk. "Fools."
With a flick of his wrist, the air around him shimmered, and a flurry of razor-sharp snowflakes materialized, spinning with lethal precision. In an instant, he sent them hurtling forward. The bandits barely had time to scream before the icy blades sliced through flesh, bone, and weapon alike, reducing the room to a silent, bloodied ruin.
The children in the cages watched, their tears freezing on their cheeks as the lieutenant stepped over the fallen, his cape whispering against the floor. His work here was far from done.