Floor 499 — Luminor — The Lower Sectors
The wooden door stood at the far end of the room, its surface weathered and unassuming. Jace approached it, his breath steady, his mind sharp. Without hesitation, he raised his hand, and a wave of frost erupted from his fingertips, encasing the door in a thick layer of ice. With a single, brutal kick, the door shattered into countless frozen shards, scattering across the floor like broken glass.
What lay beyond was a nightmare.
The chamber was vast, its walls lined with rows upon rows of bioreactors—massive, translucent tubes filled with a sickly green fluid. Inside each one, figures writhed in agony. Adults, children—all twisted and mutating, their bodies contorted into grotesque shapes. The air was thick with the stench of chemicals and the muffled, haunting cries of the imprisoned.
Jace's stoic expression didn't waver, but beneath the surface, fury coiled like a serpent. His eyes swept over the nearest bioreactor, where a child—barely recognizable as human—pressed trembling hands against the glass. The boy's eyes, wide with pain and terror, met Jace's. His lips moved, forming a silent plea:
Kill me.
Jace's jaw tightened. He placed a hand against the bioreactor, and in an instant, frost spread across its surface, creeping inward until the entire tube was frozen solid. The child's suffering ended in an instant, his body locked in an eternal, merciful stillness.
One by one, Jace repeated the act, his movements methodical, his heart a storm of rage. With each life he released, he made a silent vow: The one responsible will pay.
---
"Ah, Lieutenant Jace. I wondered when the Mad Dog would come skulking through my halls."
The voice was smooth, dripping with amusement. It echoed through the chamber, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Jace turned, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the shadows.
"Tell me,"* the voice continued, *"did you enjoy my artwork?"
A figure emerged from the darkness, stepping into the dim light with the flourish of a performer. He was clad in a classic ringmaster's outfit—a bright red tailcoat adorned with gold braiding, a dark vest with gleaming buttons, and a crisp white shirt beneath. A top hat perched atop his head, and his face was painted with a single, exaggerated teardrop on one cheek. White gloves covered his hands, and his smile was sharp enough to cut glass.
Flanking him were two bandits, their grins predatory.
Jace's eyes burned blue with fury. "Artwork?" "You took children. You turned them into this."
The Ringmaster laughed, a high, grating sound that set Jace's teeth on edge. "Children, merchandise—it's all semantics, my dear Lieutenant. The nobles of Vorgoth's cult have refined tastes. They crave the exquisite beauty of suffering, and I provide it." He gestured grandly to the bioreactors. "These little wretches are my canvas, their pain my masterpiece. The cult pays well for their amusement, and I deliver."
Jace's hands clenched into fists, the air around him growing colder, his breath visible in the frigid haze. "You put them in tubes and made them suffer. And you call this entertainment?"
The Ringmaster's laughter echoed again, joined by the dark chuckles of his bandits. "Oh, Lieutenant, you're so delightfully moral. These bioreactors are the future—the will of Vorgoth himself! The nobles revel in the screams, the mutations—a symphony of despair, and I'm the conductor!" He leaned forward, his painted teardrop glinting. "And you, Mad Dog… what of your little mercy killings? You've frozen my merchandise solid, snuffed out their pathetic lives. Tell me, how does it feel to play executioner?"
"I'm nothing like you," Jace growled, his voice like ice. "I ended their suffering. You're the one who locked them in those tanks, you sick fuck."
The Ringmaster clapped his gloved hands, delighted. "Such fire! Such conviction! But you're too late, Lieutenant. The Vorgoth's faithful are watching, you know. They'll pay a fortune to see you in a bioreactor, screaming for their pleasure."He tilted his head, studying Jace with mock pity. "You're just a dog, barking at forces you'll never understand."
Jace's patience snapped. The temperature plummeted, frost spreading across the floor, crawling up the walls. His voice was lethally calm. "I understand enough. I understand that you're a dead man. For every kid you've hurt, every life you've twisted, I'll make you beg for death."
For the first time, the Ringmaster's smile faltered. A flicker of fear crossed his eyes before he masked it with bravado. With a snap of his fingers, his bandits stepped forward.
"A challenge, then!" he declared, retreating into the shadows. "Let's see if the Mad Dog can bite as hard as he barks. My friends here are eager to play."
The bandits bit down on something in their mouths—pills, perhaps, or vials of some grotesque serum. Their bodies convulsed, bones cracking, skin splitting as they transformed.
The first bandit grew taller, his muscles swelling to monstrous proportions. His skin hardened into a craggy, rock-like hide, his arms thick enough to shatter stone. The second bandit's head dissolved into writhing tentacles, his arms elongating into bony claws. His legs split into sinewy appendages, and with a grotesque flutter, wings burst from his back, leathery and veined.
Jace exhaled, his breath a frozen mist.
The battle had begun.