Cineris and Druven arrived at the wide open door to the dungeon, with Eyril close behind.
Druven skidded to a halt, eyes wide as the scene unfolded before him.
"No fucking way..." he muttered, barely above a breath.
"What? What?" Cineris called out as she caught up, breathless from the run.
She stepped into the dungeon—and froze. One brow twitched, a corner of her mouth lifted.
"Fucking hell."
The scene hit like a battlefield—screams, blood dripping down from higher floors, bodies trampling each other for a chance at freedom.
Prisoners were scrambling on every floor, rushing toward the staircases. On the ground floor, waves of inmates poured toward the three exits, one on each side.
Cineris turned back sharply, calling to Eyril.
"What now?"
"Take the left. Druven, you go right. I'll handle the middle," he said—calm, emotionless, like he'd already seen how this would end.
Without hesitation, Cineris and Druven charged into the room. Eyril watched in silence.
Running forward, weaving past one another in sync, they began slashing through the prisoners—cutting a path clean through the chaos. Each diverged into their assigned direction, leaving only blood and bodies in their wake.
With the way now clear, Eyril stepped forward—walking over the corpses in a growing pool of blood, heading straight toward Luna.
….
Luna ran through the hallway, sprinting past two identical rooms—empty now, just like before. She didn't stop. She couldn't. Her legs moved as if her life depended on it—because it did.
Yet, her breath held steady. Her stamina, once fragile, hadn't given out. A sign. A glimmer of how far her body had come.
The hallway stretched on, until finally—it ended. A metal ladder stood at the far wall, leading upward.
She cast one last look behind her. Darkness. Pitch black. And as loud as silence could scream.
Without hesitation, she lunged. Her right hand caught the ladder's rung; she swung slightly to the side, her left hand grabbing the next step to steady herself. Then came the push—legs bracing, muscles firing. She climbed.
Upward, with everything she had. Gritting her teeth, she picked up the pace.
Far below, Eyril carved his path forward, slicing cleanly through the prisoners. Corpses piled in his wake, his blade painting the floor red. He moved without mercy, without pause—headed straight for the ladder.
Halfway up, Luna froze. Footsteps. Echoing from the dark hallway beneath her.
She risked a glance.
There he was—Eyril. Drenched in blood. Eyes locked on her.
In that split second, instinct surged. She pushed harder. Faster. Every ounce of strength surged into her climb.
Below, Eyril reached the ladder. Each motion deliberate. No rush. No stumble. He climbed like a shadow—silent and unrelenting.
…Luna finally climbed up the ladder, then jolted forward, dashing up the narrow staircase—each step taking her closer to the surface.
Behind her, the faint, unsettling sound of Eyril nearing the top of his climb echoed up the shaft.
She grimaced, a desperate thought sparking in her mind. "Niva… mind lending a hand? Please?"
"No problem. As you wish," Niva replied.
From the glowing mark on her forehead, he emerged, floating beside her to the right, effortlessly keeping pace.
He glanced back toward the corridor below, eyes peering into the creeping darkness—just in time to catch a glimpse of Eyril reaching the top.
An idea lit up his expression.
"You can't win this," Niva said flatly. "There's no way you stand any chance against him."
He flipped upside down in front of Luna as they ran, floating backward.
"You think I don't know that?!" she snapped.
"Well, judging by your condition and his demeanor—not even bothering to pursue you properly—I came to the conclusion that maybe… you didn't."
"When have you ever fought anyone?" she shot back.
"None," he admitted.
"That's why I assumed—"
"OH SHUT UP!" Luna shouted.
The sudden burst startled Niva, sending him into an ungraceful spin through the air.
"Alright, alright! Don't scream!" he said quickly.
"I've got an idea," Niva added, voice calming. "Just trust me."
Luna didn't hesitate—she nodded.
Right away, Niva's body began to dissolve into shimmering mana, reshaping itself midair into the form of a sword—a delicate training blade, pinkish-blue in hue, adorned with patterns of snowflakes and swirling icy mist.
The blade hovered beside her.
"Grab me," it said.
Luna, caught off guard, hesitated—but reached out and took hold of the sword, then continued her sprint.
"So… what's your plan?" she asked between breaths.
"I don't have one."
"What—?!"
"Just use me to defend yourself," Niva said with a dramatic shrug—little human-like hands popping out from the sharp edges of the blade.
Luna sighed. Her eyelids drooped as her expression dulled into defeat.
"I'm doomed," she thought.