We woke slowly, each of us dragging ourselves from the tenuous grasp of sleep like prisoners escaping a nightmare, only to find ourselves still ensnared by it. The torch above us, our lone guardian in this hellish domain, had burned low. Its once-bright flame now flickered weakly, casting faint, trembling shadows on the cave walls. I stared at it, a cold realization settling over me: when that light died, so would whatever tenuous protection it offered.

  Neither Mattie nor Zefpyre spoke as they stirred, their faces carved with exhaustion, their movements sluggish and mechanical. Stretching brought no relief—only a cruel reminder of the pain. Every fiber of my body burned as if my bones were molten steel. My muscles ached, screaming with every motion. And yet, we forced ourselves to rise, for there was no choice.

  The moment we resumed our trek, the flame sputtered and whispered its last breath. Darkness surged forward, eager and oppressive, and with it came the sound—the gnawing, scratching, skittering sound of vermin. Rats poured out of unseen crevices, their glowing red eyes blazing like malevolent embers, harbingers of the swarm to come. They swarmed toward us, their clawed feet scratching the stone like an unholy drumbeat.

  From above, vultures dove, their talons raking the air, their hooked beaks snapping with hunger. Bats screeched and descended in a black tide, their leathery wings blotting out what little light the dim cave offered. The air grew thick with chaos, the sound of flapping wings and gnashing teeth blending into a cacophony of madness.

  This place didn’t just attack—it assaulted the senses, the spirit. It aimed to break us in every way. My mind struggled to reconcile the sheer relentlessness of it all, the way this underworld seemed capable of birthing such endless horrors. But the beasts weren’t only focused on us. They tore into each other with savage abandon, the sound of ripping flesh and the coppery stench of blood filling the air. The chaos was indiscriminate, a tempest of destruction where nothing was sacred, not even the monsters themselves.

  It was designed to break us, to erode our will. It didn’t need to sap our magic anymore; the effort of summoning it was crushing enough. Each spell required not just concentration, but defiance against the creeping despair that gnawed at our resolve. I felt it clawing at the edges of my mind, whispering that it wasn’t worth it, that the fight was futile.

  Times like these made me wish I’d chosen the path of the blade or the bow—something simple, something grounded in raw instinct and muscle. Magic had always seemed like the higher art, the mark of the elite. Endless possibilities, limitless versatility—it was supposed to be the ultimate weapon. And yet, here I was, every spell a struggle, every incantation a battle against my own waning spirit.

  For all its supposed glory, magic couldn’t conjure the one thing I needed most in that moment: an escape. I couldn’t think of a single spell to end this nightmare. And so, we pressed on, spell after spell, step after agonizing step, into the heart of a place that seemed determined to devour us whole.

  As we pressed forward, the swarm thinned, but the air only grew heavier, thick with rot and decay. It clung to us like a second skin, suffocating and relentless. The cave narrowed, forcing us into a single-file line, the jagged walls scraping against our shoulders as if the underworld itself wanted to flay us alive.

  Zefpyre led the way, his flame-flickering body illuminating the oppressive darkness. The light was faint, barely enough to keep the shadows at bay. Behind him, Mattie walked in silence, her face pale and drawn, her hand gripping the hilt of her small dagger like it was the last tether to sanity. I brought up the rear, casting wary glances over my shoulder, half-expecting the swarm to return, or worse, for the cave itself to collapse and entomb us.

  The ground beneath us began to change. The rough stone turned slick, damp with some foul, unidentifiable substance that oozed between the cracks. Each step became treacherous, and more than once, I felt my foot slip, my heart lurching as I caught myself on the jagged walls.

  A sound broke the suffocating silence—a low, guttural growl that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It reverberated through the cavern, vibrating the very bones in my chest. Mattie froze, her eyes wide, her lips moving in silent prayer. Zefpyre’s flame flickered brighter for a moment, his hands igniting with a fiery readiness.

  “Keep moving,” I whispered, my voice hoarse and low. My own words felt hollow, but what choice did we have?

  We came to a widening in the cave, a chamber with no clear exits. The air here was suffused with a faint, sickly green glow emanating from cracks in the walls. The glow was unnatural, unsettling, casting eerie shadows that danced and twisted like specters.

  In the center of the chamber lay a carcass—or what was left of one. It was massive, its flesh rotted and torn, exposing bone and sinew. The smell was unbearable, a nauseating blend of death and something far older, more malignant.

  As we approached, the growling returned, louder this time, closer. The shadows at the edges of the chamber began to shift, coalescing into forms. Eyes appeared in the darkness, glowing yellow and red, unblinking and full of malice.

  “Stay close,” Zefpyre said, his voice steady despite the tension in his jaw.

  The first figure stepped into the dim light—a hulking beast, its body a grotesque amalgamation of fur, muscle, and decay. Its maw was filled with jagged teeth, dripping with saliva that hissed as it hit the stone floor. Behind it, more shapes emerged: creatures that defied logic, their forms warped and unnatural as if they were the rejected sketches of some mad god.

  “They’re testing us,” I muttered, more to myself than to the others. “This is another trial.”

  Zefpyre snarled, his flames roaring to life, illuminating the chamber in a burst of orange and red. “Then let’s pass it.”

  The beasts lunged, and the chamber erupted into chaos. Flames streaked through the air as Zefpyre unleashed his fury, incinerating the smaller creatures that dared approach. Mattie darted and weaved, her dagger flashing as she slashed at anything that got too close.

  I drew on my magic, summoning a barrier to shield us from the worst of the onslaught. But the creatures were relentless, their claws scraping against the shimmering field, their growls and shrieks filling the air. Each spell I cast felt like a piece of my soul was being torn away, the underworld’s oppressive aura feeding on my strength.

  The battle raged, and the chamber became a battlefield of blood, fire, and shadow. The beasts seemed endless, their numbers replenished as quickly as we cut them down. My vision blurred, my body screaming for rest, but I knew stopping meant death.

  As the largest of the beasts charged, its maw wide and its eyes filled with hate, I summoned everything I had left. My magic surged, a blinding light erupting from my hands, consuming the creature in a torrent of raw power. The force of the spell sent me stumbling back, my knees hitting the stone floor.

  When the light faded, the chamber was silent. The beasts were gone, their remains reduced to ash and shadow.

  Mattie knelt beside me, her face streaked with dirt and blood. “You did it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Zefpyre stood over us, his flames dim but steady. “No,” he said, his gaze fixed on the far wall, where a new passage had appeared, carved into the stone. “It’s not over yet.”

  I forced myself to stand, my legs trembling beneath me. “It never is,” I said, the words bitter on my tongue.

  Without another word, we moved toward the passage, the green glow fading behind us as we descended further into the depths of the underworld.

  The new passage was narrow and suffocating, forcing us to walk single file again. The air was thick, carrying a faint metallic tang that clung to the back of my throat. Each step echoed ominously, the sound bouncing off the walls in a way that made it impossible to tell how far the tunnel stretched. The oppressive weight of the underworld seemed to grow heavier with every breath, each exhalation feeling like a surrender to the inevitable.

  Zefpyre took the lead, his flickering light casting distorted shadows that seemed to dance with malice along the jagged walls. Behind him, Mattie moved with a weariness that wasn’t just physical; her steps dragged with the weight of everything we’d endured. I followed in silence, my hands trembling from exhaustion, my magic barely a whisper in my veins.

  The tunnel began to slope upward, the incline steep and relentless. The ground beneath our feet was uneven, loose stones shifting treacherously with each step. The air grew hotter, a dry, stifling heat that made it hard to breathe.

  “What is this place?” Mattie murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of our labored breathing.

  “Somewhere worse than where we’ve been,” Zefpyre replied grimly, his flames flickering weakly as though even they were weary of this journey.

  The incline finally leveled out, and we emerged into a vast, open space. The ceiling of the cavern was lost in shadow, but the air here was different, charged with an energy that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Ahead of us, the ground gave way to a vast stone plateau, its surface carved with intricate patterns that seemed to pulse faintly with an inner light.

  And beyond it, dominating the far end of the plateau, stood a towering gateway. The labyrinth.

  Its entrance was a massive archway, carved from black stone that seemed to drink in the light. The walls of the labyrinth stretched impossibly high, disappearing into the darkness above. The air around it was alive with a strange hum, a sound that was less heard and more felt, resonating deep within my chest.

  Standing at the base of the archway was a figure, their presence both commanding and unsettling. They were tall and statuesque, their form shifting subtly as though they existed in multiple realities at once. Their face was a dichotomy: one side young and smooth, filled with the vigor of beginnings; the other old and lined, marked by the weight of countless endings.

  Janus.

  We approached the god, his form both luminous and shadowed, an unsettling blend of youthful vigor and ancient weariness. Janus stood there, a figure of duality made flesh, each side of his face telling a different story—one vibrant with the promise of beginnings, the other carved with the weight of endings. His presence was suffocating yet oddly inviting, a paradox I couldn’t untangle.

  “Welcome, weary travelers,” Janus said, his youthful voice carrying a strange warmth that didn’t belong in this hellish place. “Come, rest at my feet.”

  It wasn’t a suggestion. The compulsion was undeniable. My legs gave out beneath me before I even realized what was happening. Mattie and Zefpyre settled down as well, the three of us like children at a storyteller’s fire. I pulled a cigar from the inner pocket of my battered leather trench coat and snapped my finger, my thumb erupting in a small flame. The flame flickered in the suffocating air as I lit the tip, the first drag settling the storm inside me.

  “You know,” the older Janus said, his voice a grave counterpoint to the youthful one, “smoking is bad for you.”

  Zefpyre let out a sharp laugh, his embered body briefly flaring in amusement. “Funny, coming from someone who sees the end of everything.”

  Janus didn’t smile. His faces, young and old, stared down at us with unblinking intensity. “Before you is a choice,” he said, his voices harmonizing in a dissonant cadence. “Enter the labyrinth and face almost certain death—or turn back and join purgatory, to linger for eternity.”

  Mattie’s voice cut through the weight of his words. “That doesn’t sound like much of a choice.”

  Janus shifted slightly, the younger side of his face softening, while the older remained an impassive mask. “If you knew what was waiting for you,” he replied, “you might reconsider.”

  I leaned forward, the glowing tip of my cigar casting a faint, smoldering light. “We both know,” I said, shaking the basket of soul gems we’d collected, their faint luminescence a reminder of why we were here. “There’s no turning back.”

  Zefpyre’s voice broke the tense silence. “Lord Janus, if you don’t mind me asking—how are you here, in another god’s domain?”

  Janus’s younger face tilted slightly, as if amused. “Whenever the living face a choice, I am there,” he said. “Every doorway that opens, every threshold that must be crossed—that is my domain. I am everywhere, and nowhere.”

  The older Janus picked up the thread seamlessly, his tone heavier. “Lord Hades permits my presence. Surviving this far, through the rivers of the dead and the cursed woods, is a feat few can claim. But what awaits you in the labyrinth will test you beyond anything you’ve faced.”

  I stood, the weight of my exhaustion barely holding me back. “No offense, Lord Janus,” I said, exhaling a cloud of smoke that curled into the oppressive air, “but the only choice I see is forward.”

  Janus inclined his head, both faces gazing at me as if seeing through the fabric of my soul. “Your choice is accepted,” they said in unison, their voices a finality that echoed in the cavern.

  In the next breath, the god faded from view, dissolving like smoke into the stale air. Where he had stood, a dark archway now loomed, its edges marked by faintly glowing runes. The labyrinth’s entrance.

  We exchanged a glance, no words needed. This was it. The door into the unknown stood open, waiting to consume us. And so, we stepped forward, leaving whatever hesitation we had behind.

  As we stepped into the suffocating darkness, a thick grey fog swallowed us whole, blurring the boundaries of sight and sense. Shadows drifted within it—spirits, aimless and forlorn, their forms flickering like dying embers. They wandered without purpose, their cries cutting through the fog like jagged glass. Each wail carried the weight of infinite despair, a reminder that this was their punishment—the souls of those who committed to neither good nor evil in life, cursed to forever search for something they’d never find.

  Above us, harpies circled, their ragged wings slicing through the mist. They tormented the lost, their laughter a shrill cacophony as they descended upon the wandering spirits. Clawed hands lashed out, talons ripping into spectral flesh as the harpies toyed with their prey.

  “Try to find a wall we can follow,” Zefpyre whispered, his voice barely audible over the muffled cries. “That’s supposed to be the best way to solve a maze.”

  I turned to him, my voice sharp as a blade. “Oy, that might work in some mundane hedge maze, but this—this is the labyrinth of the damned. It doesn’t follow rules.”

  Mattie hissed, her breath shaky. “Then what do you suggest?”

  I took a long drag from my cigar, letting the acrid smoke burn my lungs. “Stick close to each other,” I said through gritted teeth. “And keep moving forward. Pray we don’t draw any attention.”

  Mattie’s voice was low but edged with bitterness. “The sickest part of this? Everyone in power told us they’d make the underworld easier for us. That they’d pave the way, make our mission manageable. If this is their idea of easy, I don’t even want to imagine what the underworld is like when it’s less inviting.”

  A dry chuckle escaped my throat before I could stop it, the sound breaking the oppressive silence like a gunshot. I froze as the ripple of sound spread outward, a disturbance in the heavy fog.

  Every soul in the fog turned toward us, their hollow eyes burning with desperate hunger. The harpies above screeched in unison, their heads snapping in our direction as their wings beat furiously, propelling them toward us.

  Zefpyre’s voice was a growl of urgency. “Run. Run, you fools, run!”

  We bolted, our boots pounding against the uneven ground. The spirits lurched toward us, their translucent hands grasping for even a sliver of the hope they sensed within us. To them, hope was a treasure—rarer and more precious here than diamonds on the surface.

  The harpies swooped low, their whips cracking through the air as they screamed in a language we couldn’t comprehend. Their talons swiped at us, each pass a near miss that sent us stumbling. The fog became a living thing, thickening around us, slowing our every step as if it too wanted to drag us down into despair.

  Ahead, the path split in two. There was no time for debate, no moment to pause. Instinct took over, and we veered right as one, our feet carrying us forward without hesitation.

  Behind us, the cacophony of screeches and wails grew louder, an orchestra of hell itself. But we didn’t stop. We couldn’t stop. The labyrinth demanded we move forward, no matter what awaited us in the dark.

  As we tore through the fog-drenched maze, a figure emerged from the shadows ahead—a frail old man with sunken eyes that gleamed like fractured moonlight. “Follow me!” he bellowed, his voice cracking yet insistent, cutting through the cacophony of chaos behind us.

  Mattie didn’t hesitate, bolting after him with blind trust. “Damn it!” I roared, my voice hoarse as the words ripped out of me. Zefpyre and I had no choice but to follow, our legs pumping, lungs burning.

  “Oy! Who the hell are you?” I shouted, struggling to match his pace.

  “I am Virgil,” he called back, his voice steady despite the storm of madness around us. “A poet of the ages. A guide to lost travelers.”

  Virgil. The name hit me like a hammer to the chest, reverberating with an eerie familiarity. My mind clawed through fragments of half-remembered stories, ancient whispers of another journey through hell led by this very name. Had he done this before? Was he some spectral echo of salvation—or damnation?

  The labyrinth twisted and turned with dizzying speed, lefts and rights blending into a nauseating blur. Virgil moved with purpose, his steps precise as if he knew every crevice of this accursed place. But the question burned in my mind: Did he truly know the way, or was he leading us deeper into despair, ensuring we’d never escape?

  Behind us, Tartarus unleashed its fury. The Harpies’ shrieks pierced the air, their talons scraping against stone as they dove closer. Hellhounds joined the fray, their glowing red eyes and gaping maws dripping with saliva that hissed like acid. Their snarls rumbled like thunder, shaking the ground beneath us.

  “Hellhounds!” Zefpyre spat through gritted teeth. He flung firebolts with precision, each impact reducing the beasts to smoldering ash. Their blood sizzled on the ground, black and steaming, but for every one we felled, two more seemed to take its place.

  Above, the Harpies twisted and dodged with a grace that made them nearly impossible to hit. Their claws tore into the air, their screams summoning reinforcements—worse reinforcements.

  A lumbering Cyclops stomped into view, its single eye gleaming with murderous intent. Beside it, a Campe hissed, its snake-like body slithering forward with horrifying speed. Behind them, a Hecatonchires loomed—its hundred arms already constructing war machines from the labyrinth’s very walls. Boulders and jagged missiles began to rain down, their aim indiscriminate. They crushed beasts and stone alike, but it was clear they were dialing in on us.

  “Bloody hell!” I cursed as a boulder shattered mere inches from my path, sending shards of rock slicing through the air.

  Virgil, unfazed, barely glanced back. His expression was calm, almost serene—a man on a morning jog along Lake Shore Drive, utterly oblivious to the literal apocalypse raging around him.

  “Virgil!” I snarled. “You better know where the hell you’re going, or so help me—”

  “Calm yourself,” he replied, his voice as steady as the unyielding tide. “Your path is yours to walk. I merely illuminate it.”

  A harpy dove low, its whip snapping inches from Mattie’s head. She ducked, casting a gust of wind that sent the creature spiraling into a wall. It screeched in fury as it crumpled, but another quickly took its place.

  “We can’t keep this up!” Zefpyre barked, his flames flickering, his energy waning.

  Virgil’s pace never faltered. “Keep moving,” he said with maddening calm. “The labyrinth does not tolerate hesitation.”

  It was madness—utter madness—but what choice did we have? The beasts behind us wouldn’t stop, the labyrinth itself seemed to conspire against us, and Virgil… Virgil was the only thread of hope we had, however fragile it might be.

  And then, just as my lungs threatened to give out and my legs burned like molten lead, we saw it. A vast, towering gate rose from the mist—a monstrous construction of iron and stone, its surface etched with incomprehensible symbols that glowed faintly in the darkness.

  The black gate towered above us, a monolith of shadow and iron that seemed to drink in the faint light around it. My feet slowed, instinct dragging me to a halt as the sheer weight of its presence pressed against my chest.

  “Do not hesitate!” Virgil’s voice cut through the suffocating air like a blade. “Run through the gate as if it isn’t even there! If you lose focus for even a moment, if you allow even a sliver of doubt to creep in, the gate will reject you!”

  I barked back, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” My voice trembled despite my defiance, the sheer absurdity of it all gnawing at my resolve.

  “Boss, shut up and hope!” Mattie screamed, her voice laced with desperation and fire.

  Hope. The word felt like ash in my mouth, a fragile, intangible thing that had no place in a world as bleak as this. But as the gate loomed closer, its oppressive aura swallowing us whole, I realized there was one thing I could hope for—one person I could believe in.

  Mattie. My apprentice, the greatest gift the fates had ever deigned to give me in these endless years. I’d taught her spells, discipline, the art of wielding magic, but she’d taught me something far greater. She’d taught me to care again, to see a glimmer of meaning in this wretched existence. Sometimes, I wondered if she wasn’t the real mentor in this twisted partnership.

  The gate was mere inches away now, its surface alive with dark energy, pulsing with an otherworldly hum. My gut twisted, my mind screaming at me to stop. Instead, I closed my eyes, grit my teeth, and picked up my pace, placing every ounce of trust, every shred of belief, not in Virgil’s cryptic words, but in Mattie.

  The sensation was indescribable. It wasn’t pain, but it wasn’t painless either. It felt like I was forcing my body through solid iron, every inch of me stretching and compressing at once. For a brief, agonizing moment, I thought Virgil had lied, that I’d miscalculated, and the gate would crush me into oblivion.

  But then it was over.

  We stumbled forward, the oppressive weight gone, the air somehow colder yet lighter. Behind us, the gate stood as silent and immovable as ever, as if mocking us for doubting its challenge.

  Virgil stood waiting, his expression unreadable. “Welcome,” he said with a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve passed into the second section of the labyrinth.”

  I looked around, the landscape shifting into something far more insidious. The walls of the maze seemed alive, shimmering with faint images that flickered and danced at the edge of perception. Whispers coiled in the air, soft and inviting, pulling at the corners of my mind.

  Virgil’s tone darkened, his voice like a tombstone etched with warning. “Here, temptation lies at every corner, every turn. It will call to you, beg you, entice you off the path. Resist, or be lost forever.”

  Mattie glanced at me, her face pale but determined. Zefpyre’s flames crackled weakly, reflecting the flickering shadows around us. I took a long, slow drag of my cigar, the bitter smoke grounding me in the reality of what lay ahead.

  “Temptation, huh?” I muttered, exhaling the smoke like a prayer to no one. “Story of my damn life.”

  With that, we moved forward, deeper into the labyrinth, where even the light seemed a lie and every shadow carried the weight of a thousand broken promises.

  The labyrinth had changed. Gone were the cold, stony corridors of desolation. Now, the air hung thick with the scent of honeyed promises and dreams too perfect to be real. The walls shimmered like liquid gold, reflecting visions of paradise in their surfaces, flickering with phantoms of joy and contentment. Each step we took seemed to echo louder than the last, as though the maze itself was aware of our presence, adjusting to lure us into its grasp.

  Virgil led the way, his pace unwavering, his expression calm yet sharp as a blade. “Keep your eyes ahead,” he warned, his voice cutting through the whispers that began to rise around us. “This place is alive, and it will use everything it can against you.”

  I tried to heed his words, but the labyrinth had a will of its own. To my left, the air rippled, and there she was—my love, as beautiful as the day I last held her. Her laughter, soft and sweet, brushed against my ears like a melody I hadn’t realized I still remembered. She was standing in the doorway of the home i built for us, her hand outstretched, her face full of love and forgiveness.

  “Come home, my love,” she whispered, her voice cutting through the grim air like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “You’ve suffered enough.”

  My feet hesitated, my heart hammering in my chest. But then, a hand gripped my shoulder. Mattie’s eyes burned with determination as she pulled me forward. “It’s a lie,” she hissed. “Don’t fall for it.”

  Virgil turned his head, his voice as sharp as a whip. “Move! The labyrinth preys on your weakness. Every second you linger feeds it more power!”

  The walls pulsed with the light of temptation. Around us, figures emerged, stepping from the shimmering visions. Mattie gasped at a young boy, his arms outstretched. “Mattie, it’s me,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “You can save me. Just step off the path.”

  She faltered, her hands shaking, but I grabbed her arm. “Mattie, he’s gone. Whatever that thing is, it’s not him.”

  Zefpyre growled low, his flames sputtering weakly. His eyes darted from left to right as the visions closed in on him—a throne of obsidian, a crown waiting to be claimed, and a voice echoing in the air. “You were meant for greatness, Zefpyre. Take your place among the gods.”

  Even he hesitated, his fiery form flickering. “It knows me too well,” he muttered.

  And then the whispers grew louder, the labyrinth pressing in around us like a living entity. The air was thick with promises: power, love, vengeance, peace. Each temptation tailored to pierce our hearts, to weigh down our feet and pull us from the path.

  But Virgil, his calm unbroken, raised his voice above the cacophony. “These are shadows!” he shouted, his voice a thunderclap in the chaos. “Nothing here is real but the path beneath your feet. If you falter, you are lost.”

  We pressed forward, the labyrinth’s tricks growing more desperate. The floor itself shifted, changing from solid stone to soft, warm earth that threatened to swallow us whole. The walls closed in, each surface now alive with memories—my failures, my regrets, the moments I’d never live down. I saw every choice I’d ever made, every wrong turn, every moment I’d wanted to undo.

  Mattie cried out, tears streaming down her face as she reached toward an apparition of her mother, whose soft voice was full of love. Zefpyre’s flames flared angrily as he growled at the visions of those who had betrayed him, their mocking laughter echoing in his ears.

  “Eyes forward!” Virgil roared, his voice carrying the weight of unshakable resolve. “Temptation is a siren’s song. Ignore it and walk.”

  I gritted my teeth and dragged Mattie along. “Come on, kid,” I muttered, my voice hoarse. “This place won’t take us. Not today.”

  With every step, the labyrinth grew angrier. The walls trembled, the light twisting into shadows that clawed at our heels. The whispers turned to screams, promises to curses. And yet, we pressed forward, each of us leaning on the fragile strength we still had.

  The labyrinth had grown cleverer, its deceptions more insidious. The air grew sweeter, tinged with the perfume of ripened fruits that seemed to glow with an unnatural light. The dark stone floor was now scattered with crystalline goblets filled with water so pure it shimmered like liquid diamonds. Temptation was no longer just a whisper—it was a feast laid out before us.

  Clusters of fruit trees lined the path, their branches heavy with plump, luscious offerings. Each fruit glistened as though freshly washed, the juice practically dripping from their skins. The scent was intoxicating, rich and sweet, promising to quench thirst and banish hunger in a single bite. Mattie reached out unconsciously, her eyes wide with longing, her fingers brushing a golden pear.

  “Don’t,” Virgil’s voice was sharp, snapping her back to her senses. “Those fruits will rot you from the inside out. They’re poison wrapped in paradise.”

  Further down, pools of water appeared, bubbling gently as if beckoning to weary travelers. My throat burned with thirst at the sight, and I wasn’t the only one. Zefpyre’s flames flickered weakly, his form wilting as if the heat of his core was draining away.

  “Crystal-clear water in the labyrinth?” I growled, shaking my head. “That’s the most obvious trap I’ve ever seen.”

  But it wasn’t just the food and drink. The path widened into a glittering hall, its walls adorned with treasures beyond imagination. Piles of gold coins and gemstones sparkled in the dim light. Beautiful men and women lounged against the heaps of riches, their eyes sultry, their smiles inviting. Their voices were low and melodic, each one calling our names as if they’d known us all our lives.

  “Come to us, Mattie,” one whispered, holding out a necklace that seemed to pulse with power. Its chain was woven from silver starlight, its pendant a ruby that blazed like a tiny sun. “This is yours. It was meant for you. Take it, and the labyrinth will hold no power over you.”

  Mattie stopped, her hand trembling as she reached toward it. “It’s so beautiful,” she murmured.

  I grabbed her arm, pulling her back with more force than necessary. “Snap out of it! That thing’s probably cursed six ways to Sunday.”

  She blinked, shaking her head. “I... I don’t know what came over me.”

  But the labyrinth wasn’t done. For Zefpyre, it conjured a towering shelf filled with rare tomes. Their spines were embossed with ancient symbols, their pages crackling with secrets waiting to be unleashed. One book hovered closer, its leather cover worn with age, its title glowing faintly: The Art of Perfect Flame.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Zefpyre froze, his eyes locked on the book. “That... that’s impossible,” he whispered. “That text was lost centuries ago. It could teach me... everything.”

  “Don’t fall for it!” I barked. “The labyrinth’s just playing with you.”

  But Zefpyre’s hand was already outstretched, trembling as he reached for the book.

  Virgil stepped between him and the shelf, his presence like an unyielding wall. “The labyrinth doesn’t give. It takes. Remember that, and keep walking.”

  Then, the final insult—the trap laid for me. A small table appeared, draped in dark velvet. On it was a stack of books, but not just any books. Smutty, dog-eared romance novels, the kind I’d secretly hoarded. The titles seemed to glow: The Sorceress and the Street Rat, Passion’s Abyss, The Duke’s Forbidden Flame. Each one seemed to radiate warmth, promising comfort, laughter, and distraction.

  I clenched my jaw, my face burning with embarrassment. “Oh, come on,” I muttered, flicking ash from my cigar at the pile. “Really?”

  Zefpyre snorted. “Boss, I think the labyrinth knows you a little too well.”

  I glared at him but didn’t slow my pace. “Laugh it up, fireboy. At least I’m not about to sell my soul for some musty old tome.”

  The labyrinth hissed in frustration as we ignored its temptations, the voices of the beautiful men and women growing louder, more desperate. Gold coins began to roll across the floor toward us, the treasures rearranging themselves into enticing shapes—a throne, a crown, a staff glowing with arcane power.

  Virgil glanced back at us, his face grim. “It will keep trying. The more you resist, the more personal it will make the temptations. Don’t let your guard down.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, though my hands were clenched into fists to keep from reaching for the nearest distraction. “Let’s just get out of this damn place before it figures out something really clever.”

  And so we pushed forward, past the glittering riches, the impossible books, the alluring figures. The path narrowed again, the treasures fading into darkness, but I could feel the labyrinth’s fury behind us. It wasn’t done yet—not by a long shot.

  As we stumbled forward, exhaustion clinging to our every step, the path widened into a scene out of an impossible dream. Before us stretched a vast, serene body of water, its surface like liquid gemstones, shimmering with colors that danced and shifted with every ripple. It wasn’t water; it was something beyond comprehension, its beauty so profound it hurt to look at.

  At the center of this ethereal lake stood an island paradise. Towering palms swayed in a gentle breeze, their leaves catching the iridescent glow of the water. The sand glittered like powdered gold, and fruit hung heavy from trees that seemed to hum with vitality. The air grew warm, inviting, as though every worry and fear could be left behind if we just set foot on that island.

  Then came the singing.

  The song was unlike anything I’d ever heard, a melody that was both familiar and alien, piercing and soothing all at once. It reached into the marrow of my bones, stirring emotions I didn’t even know I had. It wasn’t just a song—it was a promise, a beckoning.

  “Do you hear that?” Mattie whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes glistened, and I wasn’t sure if it was the light from the water or tears. “It’s... beautiful.”

  I clenched my teeth, trying to drown out the sound with the memory of anything—pain, fear, rage—but the song slithered past every defense, filling my mind like a lover’s whisper.

  Zefpyre’s flames dimmed further, his body slack. He took a step forward, toward the water, his hand outstretched. “We’ve been fighting for so long. Maybe this is it... the end of the struggle. A place to rest.”

  “Stop!” I barked, my voice a raw growl, though it barely cut through the music. I grabbed his arm, my grip like iron. “You think paradise just shows up in the labyrinth? It’s another trick. Snap out of it!”

  But even as I spoke, the melody twisted, targeting me. The sirens weren’t just singing—they were calling me. Promises of peace, of release from the unending fight, laced every note. Images flashed in my mind: a quiet cabin in the mountains, a warm fire, a simpler life far from magic and monsters.

  My cigar burned down to nothing, the ash crumbling to the ground. My grip faltered. I took a step toward the shore, my boots crunching against the stones.

  Virgil’s voice sliced through the air like a whip. “Cover your ears! Now! Do it, or you’re done for!”

  I forced my hands to my ears, the motion sluggish as though the song itself resisted me. The muffled sound was still there, but the spell it wove was weaker now.

  “Mattie! Zefpyre!” I shouted, but they were both entranced, their eyes fixed on the island. Mattie was already wading into the water, her boots kicking up gem-like droplets, her hand reaching for the nearest boat docked at the shore.

  Virgil stormed forward, his face thunderous. With a strength I didn’t think possible, he yanked Mattie back by her collar, dragging her onto the dry ground. She screamed at him, her voice shrill, like a child robbed of a beloved toy.

  Zefpyre was harder. His flames flared suddenly, a defensive reflex, and Virgil recoiled for a moment. But the old poet’s voice was unyielding. “Look at me, Zefpyre! Look at me! The song is a lie. Do you hear me? A lie!”

  Zefpyre blinked, his flames flickering erratically, but the spell broke just enough. He stumbled backward, confusion clouding his face.

  Meanwhile, the song changed, growing sharper, angrier. The water began to churn, the calm surface rippling as dark shapes moved beneath it. The island’s perfect image began to twist, the trees becoming skeletal, the sand gray and ashen.

  From the water, they rose. The sirens. Their bodies were impossibly long, their limbs unnaturally thin. They were beautiful in the way a dying star is beautiful—terrible and mesmerizing. Their eyes burned with hunger, their mouths filled with jagged teeth.

  “You’ve refused our gifts,” one of them hissed, its voice dripping with venom. “But you cannot leave without a price.”

  The water surged forward as if alive, tendrils of liquid crystal reaching for us. Virgil shouted, “Run! There’s no fighting this! Run!”

  We bolted, the song now a cacophony of rage, the tendrils snapping at our heels. The path ahead twisted and turned, but Virgil led us with uncanny precision, his voice cutting through the chaos.

  Behind us, the sirens wailed, their cries a mix of fury and despair as we escaped their grasp. The paradise dissolved into darkness, the shimmering water fading to a black, viscous sludge.

  When we finally stopped, gasping for breath, the song was gone, replaced by an eerie silence. Virgil turned to us, his face as grim as ever. “That was the labyrinth’s kindness,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Pray you’re ready for its cruelty.”

  I lit another cigar with shaking hands, my breath ragged. “That... was kindness?”

  He didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes.

  We trudged onward, the oppressive weight of the labyrinth pressing harder with every step. The sirens’ cries had faded into the distance, but their venomous allure still lingered in our minds like a foul aftertaste. The temptations that once filled this cursed maze—the fruits, the jewels, the tomes—began to wither and crumble. The vibrant colors dulled, turning to ash and dust that swirled around our feet.

  “Looks like the labyrinth is done playing nice,” Mattie muttered, her voice ragged but steady. Her eyes, though weary, glinted with a spark of defiance.

  “Good,” Zefpyre growled, his flames reigniting with renewed intensity. “I’d rather face something honest for once, even if it tries to kill me.”

  Virgil led us in silence, his expression grim, as though he could sense what lay ahead. The labyrinth’s walls grew tighter, the air thicker. The path beneath our feet began to crackle with bursts of energy—small sparks of fire, droplets of water, and shards of ice that seemed to rise and vanish as quickly as they appeared.

  The temptations were gone, but their absence only heightened the tension. Each step forward felt like moving closer to a storm's eye, where calm belied chaos.

  Finally, the corridor opened into a massive chamber, and at its center stood the second gate. It was a towering monolith of raw elemental fury.

  The Gate of Elements was alive. Fire roared along one side, its flames twisting and dancing as though hungry for flesh. Water cascaded in a torrent beside it, a roaring river suspended in midair. Earth jutted out in jagged spikes, vibrating with a low, menacing hum. Air swirled violently, forming a cyclone that tore at the edges of the chamber.

  Mattie’s voice was barely a whisper. “What... what is this?”

  “The gate,” Virgil said, his tone devoid of the poetic flourish he’d shown before. “The second section is done, but to move forward, you must prove your resolve. The elements will not simply let you pass.”

  “Prove our resolve?” Zefpyre repeated, his flames dimming again as he regarded the gate with suspicion. “What’s that supposed to mean? Walk through and get burned alive? Drown? Be torn apart by winds or crushed by stone?”

  Virgil didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned to me, his piercing gaze cutting through the tension. “You’ve survived the temptations of the soul, wizard. Now you must survive the elements of creation. Step forward. If you are worthy, you will pass. If not...” He didn’t need to finish.

  I took a long drag from my cigar, the ember flaring bright. My legs felt like lead, but I stepped forward regardless, ignoring the pounding of my heart in my chest.

  “Wait!” Mattie shouted. “We can’t just—”

  “Stay back,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt. “This is something I need to do.”

  The gate loomed over me, its chaotic symphony of elements deafening. The fire hissed and spat as I approached, the air whipping at my trench coat like an angry beast. The ground trembled beneath me, and the water surged forward, spraying me with icy mist.

  I closed my eyes, forcing myself to focus. Hope had carried me through the Black Gate, but this was different. The elements didn’t demand hope—they demanded balance.

  The fire licked at my boots, but I didn’t falter. I thought of Zefpyre, his unyielding flame that had guided us through darkness. The water surged higher, its cold bite stinging my skin, but I let it wash over me. Mattie’s resilience came to mind, her ability to adapt and flow like a river. The earth groaned, its jagged spikes pressing against my sides, but I stayed steady, grounding myself in the knowledge that I had come too far to stop now.

  The air screamed, tearing at my lungs, but I inhaled deeply, feeling the breath of life fill me.

  The gate roared, its elements converging into a blinding light that engulfed me. For a moment, I felt nothing—no pain, no fear, no sound. Then, the light faded, and I found myself on the other side, unscathed.

  I turned back to see Mattie and Zefpyre staring at me, their faces a mix of awe and determination.

  “Your turn,” I said, my voice steady.

  Mattie stepped forward first, her shoulders squared despite the trembling in her hands. She moved through the gate as if carried by an unseen current, her resolve unwavering. Zefpyre followed, his flames flaring brighter than ever, carving a path through the chaos with sheer will.

  When we were all on the other side, the gate shimmered and began to dissolve, its elements scattering into the air.

  Virgil stood before us, his expression unreadable. “Welcome to the third section of the labyrinth,” he said, his voice heavy. “The realm of power. Here, strength alone will not save you. Be prepared to confront the cost of what you seek.”

  I lit another cigar, the flame steady in my hand despite the tension in the air. “Let’s get this over with.”

  And with that, we stepped into the next chapter of our torment.

  As we followed Virgil, the surroundings offered little of note—just the same dark stone walls, the same oppressive air, and the same dim, flickering light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. It felt like we were walking in circles, though Virgil’s pace never faltered, his steps steady and deliberate.

  “The challenge in this section is humility,” Virgil finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of ages. “To succeed, you must overcome your hubris and know the limits of your strength.”

  I rolled my eyes, exhaling a plume of smoke from my cigar. “Poet, do you always talk in riddles and pointless anecdotes? Maybe you could save us some time and just get to the point for once.”

  Virgil didn’t respond, which was somehow more irritating than an answer. He simply kept walking, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corners of his lips.

  Then we came to a clearing, and I stopped dead in my tracks. In the center of the open space was a sight so absurd, so blatantly theatrical, that I almost couldn’t contain myself. Embedded in a massive stone pedestal, gleaming under an impossible shaft of light, was Excalibur.

  I let out a harsh, guttural laugh, the kind that makes your ribs ache. The sound echoed through the space, bouncing off the walls like a taunt to the labyrinth itself.

  Mattie shot me a confused look, her brow furrowed. “What’s so funny? That’s Excalibur. One of the most powerful weapons in history!”

  “Oh, kid,” I said, shaking my head as I flicked ash from my cigar. “The labyrinth’s trying to pull a fast one. It’s offering us something it can’t possibly have. I know exactly where the real Excalibur is—I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Lord Pendragon himself has it, tucked away in his vault. This?” I gestured at the sword in the stone. “This is a cheap knockoff. A carrot on a stick for the gullible.”

  Virgil’s smirk grew into something resembling pride. “You are wise to see through the illusion,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically warm. “Many would reach for it, tempted by the promise of power, even knowing it could not be real.”

  Mattie glanced between me and Virgil, her curiosity getting the better of her. “So... what’s the test?”

  “The test,” Virgil said, stepping closer to the pedestal, “is to do nothing. To see it for what it is—a false promise—and walk away. That is all.”

  Mattie frowned, clearly expecting something more grandiose. “That’s it? We just... leave it here?”

  “That’s it,” Virgil confirmed. “But I promise you, not all the tests will be this easy.”

  I took one last look at the sword, the gleaming blade practically begging for someone to try their luck. But I knew better. I’d been burned by promises of power before. Without another word, I turned and kept walking, my boots crunching on the stone floor as I left Excalibur—and its lie—behind.

  Mattie and Zefpyre followed, though not without a few hesitant glances back at the pedestal.

  Virgil fell into step beside me, his expression unreadable once more. “Hubris is the downfall of many,” he said quietly, as though to himself.

  “Yeah,” I muttered, blowing smoke into the dim air. “Let’s just hope we don’t meet something worth falling for next.”

  We pressed onward, the labyrinth tightening its grip around us once again.

  The labyrinth twisted into something new, something unsettlingly serene. We stepped into a chamber that was equal parts library and armory—a fusion of knowledge and destruction. Ancient tomes lined the towering walls, their spines glowing faintly with an eerie, forbidden light. Each book seemed alive, exuding an aura that whispered promises of power. Around the room, scepters and staves radiated raw, unchecked energy. They shimmered, their voices soft and insistent, calling to anyone foolish enough to listen.

  But the three of us barely stirred. The allure fell flat, like an old trick we’d seen too many times before.

  Zefpyre broke the silence first, his voice cutting through the oppressive hum of magic. “Something about this just doesn’t seem as enticing as it should.” He tilted his head, scanning the room. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been to the Grand Library before. Compared to that? This feels... hollow.”

  Mattie yawned audibly, rubbing at her eyes. “Have we built up a resistance to temptation?” Her tone was more curiosity than concern, as if the dangers of the labyrinth were becoming routine.

  I took a long drag of my cigar, letting the smoke curl into the still air. “I thought this section was supposed to be about humility,” I said, my voice cutting like gravel. “Not overcoming temptation.”

  Virgil’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable—pride, perhaps, or the quiet satisfaction of a teacher seeing his students pass the test. “Humility,” he said, his tone steady as always, “is knowing when to walk away from something that isn’t yours to take. Most who pass through here would snatch at the first glimpse of power, thinking themselves worthy. They crave it, feel entitled to it. That hunger blinds them.”

  I glanced around the room, the glow from the tomes casting long shadows that danced across the stone walls. I could almost hear their whispers, each one tugging at a corner of my mind. Secrets of the ages. Spells that could rewrite the fabric of existence. Power enough to challenge the gods themselves.

  But it all felt cheap, like a con artist’s sleight of hand. Maybe the labyrinth was losing its touch, or maybe we’d seen too much to be fooled anymore.

  “Let’s keep moving,” I said, exhaling another cloud of smoke. “This place has nothing for us.”

  Mattie and Zefpyre didn’t hesitate, falling in step behind me as we left the library-armory hybrid behind. The whispers of power faded into silence, leaving only the echoes of our footsteps.

  Virgil lingered a moment longer, his gaze sweeping across the chamber. When he finally rejoined us, his expression was as unreadable as ever. “Well done,” he said softly. “But the labyrinth has more to offer yet.”

  “Of course it does,” I muttered, flicking ash from my cigar. “Let’s just hope it’s something we can actually fight this time.”

  And with that, we pressed on, deeper into the labyrinth’s shadowed heart.

  What stood before us almost made me lose my composure. It was him. The founder of my House, the Sire of the Holmes bloodline—Abernathy Holmes. He was dressed in ancient wizard robes, a relic of a bygone age, and perched atop his head was that infamous double-billed deerstalker hat. Smoke curled from an old copper pipe clenched in his teeth, the scent of it oddly familiar, like ash and damp earth.

  Mattie snickered at the sight, her voice light despite the oppressive atmosphere. “So, you come by smoking genetically.”

  I shot her a glare, but before I could respond, Abernathy’s bark cut through the haze like a whip.

  “Boy, come here!”

  The tone—the sharp command in his voice—it hit me like a slap. It sounded just like my father, and instinct took over before I could think. My feet moved of their own accord.

  “Yes, sir,” I managed, the words reflexive, as though I

  were a child again, standing in my father's study under that same weight of expectation.

  Abernathy puffed on his pipe, the embers glowing like malevolent stars. Smoke coiled around his face as he spoke, his voice dripping with authority and disdain. “It’s time you took up the head of this House. I cannot fathom why your father allowed his wife to lead—a woman who’s an outsider, no less. A Holmes should always be at the helm. Your sister is pursuing pursuits worthy of our lineage—a true credit to this bloodline. And yet here you are, gallivanting through the Underworld like some common vagabond, keeping company with lowborns and elementals.”

  I clenched my fists, my jaw tight. “Now hold on a moment—”

  He silenced me with a glare that carried centuries of authority. “Enough. Mattie may have been adopted into this House, but in my day, such things were unthinkable. Still, she shows considerable promise, I’ll grant you that. Your power-hungry mother might’ve made one wise decision in her life. But this—” he gestured at me with the pipe, smoke curling through the air like a serpent— “this soul gem nonsense is beneath you. Your duty is here, with your family. Take up your birthright. Lead this House.”

  He stepped aside, and there it was: the Throne of House Holmes. I hadn’t seen it in decades. The seat of our power, polished to a sinister gleam, waiting like a viper coiled to strike. It radiated a dark pull, a tangible weight that whispered promises of glory and dominion.

  I almost stepped forward, almost succumbed to the gravity of it.

  “Wait,” I muttered, something gnawing at the edges of my mind.

  Abernathy’s voice lashed out again. “Nonsense, boy! Stop being a lazy, good-for-nothing coward. Take your rightful place and fulfill your duty to this House!”

  “No,” I said, louder this time, shaking my head. “This... this isn’t right.”

  Zefpyre, leaning casually against the doorway, smirked. “Well, duh. Your mother would die before letting you sit on that throne. And if she was dead, we would’ve run into her down here already.”

  That broke the tension, and I laughed—a sharp, bitter sound. “You’re right. I almost fell for it.”

  Mattie, though, looked stricken, her face pale and drawn. Her voice was quiet, almost trembling. “Do you... do you want to lead House Holmes someday?”

  I turned to her, still chuckling. “Kid, every child dreams of being the head of their House. But I knew, even when I was young, it would never be mine.”

  Abernathy snarled, the pipe clenching between his teeth. “Pish posh! Boy, I am offering it to you now. Sit upon the Throne as is your right, and lead this House to glory! The Pendragons have held the Council of Nine for far too long. It is time for the Holmes to claim the power we deserve!”

  “And that,” I said, exhaling a plume of smoke, “is exactly why we’ve gone to war with the Pendragons seven times in the last two hundred generations.”

  Mattie tilted her head, still looking faintly troubled. “That doesn’t seem like a lot of times.”

  “Yeah,” I said dryly, “but those wars lasted hundreds of years.”

  I turned on my heel. “Alright, let’s move on, boys and girls. This show’s over.”

  As we walked past the throne, Abernathy’s voice roared behind us, filled with venom and rage. “Coward! Get back here! You’re no Holmes—you’re a disgrace to this House!”

  His words faded as we moved deeper into the labyrinth, the oppressive pull of the Throne fading with every step.

  Mattie glanced at me as we walked, her expression somewhere between a smirk and concern. “You know,” she said, “it’d be hilarious if that wasn’t a trap, and you just passed up being the head of your House.”

  I shot her a look, flicking ash from my cigar. “Kid, how about you shut up and focus on something useful for a change? And remember it is now our house!”

  Behind us, Zefpyre’s laugh echoed off the stone walls.

  As we continued our way through the labyrinth, the air thickened as we stepped forward, our boots sinking slightly into a charred, ashen ground that hissed with embers. The world around us was aflame, a searing inferno stretching endlessly, the sky above a rippling canvas of molten red and smoldering black. The heat was relentless, crawling under our skin, seeping into our very bones as if the world itself sought to ignite us from within.

  At the heart of this fiery hellscape loomed the colossal rock. Its surface was jagged and raw, shimmering faintly with an oily sheen, as though the coal itself was alive, pulsing with a dark, rhythmic energy. Waves of oppressive heat radiated from it, distorting the air like a living mirage. The rock was no ordinary stone—it was a monolith of despair, an anchor in this flaming

  At the heart of this fiery hellscape loomed the colossal rock. Its surface was jagged and raw, shimmering faintly with an oily sheen, as though the coal itself was alive, pulsing with a dark, rhythmic energy. Waves of oppressive heat radiated from it, distorting the air like a living mirage. The rock was no ordinary stone—it was a monolith of power, raw and unrestrained, calling out to something primal, something deeply buried.

  Zefpyre walked ahead of us, his form vibrant and alive in a way I’d never seen before. His flames, which usually flickered with barely contained fury, now burned brighter, more controlled but no less intense. He seemed to drink in the inferno around us, his movements surer, his posture bolder. "This place..." he said, his voice a low growl, "...it feels like home."

  Mattie cast a nervous glance at him, her face glistening with sweat. "Home? Zefpyre, this is hell. Literal hell. How could this feel like home?"

  But Zefpyre wasn’t listening. His eyes—those ever-burning embers—were locked on the monolith, and I could see it: the connection, the magnetic pull. The coal-like rock pulsed faintly, its glow syncing with his own mana core, the rhythm almost hypnotic. He took another step forward, and then another, as though the very ground beneath him demanded it.

  "Zefpyre, hold on," I barked, the edge in my voice cutting through the roar of the flames. "We don’t know what that thing is. It could be a trap, another trick to pull us under."

  "It’s not a trick," he said, his voice sharper, more fervent. "It’s power. Pure, untapped power. Can’t you feel it?" He turned to us, his face alight—not with the weary struggle we all carried, but with something far more dangerous. Ambition. "This is meant for me."

  Mattie shifted uneasily, her hand on her staff. "Zefpyre, don’t let it take over. This place... it messes with your head. You’re stronger than this."

  But Zefpyre only smiled, a slow, burning grin that sent a chill through me despite the inferno. "Stronger? This doesn’t make me weaker, Mattie. It makes me whole."

  The flames around the monolith seemed to bow to him, twisting and curling as if drawn to his presence. I took a slow drag from my cigar, the bitter taste grounding me against the suffocating heat. "Zefpyre," I said, my voice cold and even, "step back. That rock is playing you, and you’re too blind to see it."

  "You don’t understand," Zefpyre snapped, turning back toward the coal-like monolith. "All my life, I’ve fought for scraps of power. This... this is what I was made for. My core is screaming for it, Holmes. It’s not a trick—it’s destiny."

  The monolith pulsed again, stronger this time, and the ground beneath our feet trembled. Mattie tightened her grip on her staff. "Zefpyre, listen to yourself," she pleaded. "This isn’t you. This is the Labyrinth twisting your desires, your weaknesses. You’re better than this."

  But he was already moving forward, his flames flaring higher with every step. The heat around us grew unbearable, the air thick with ash and embers, and yet Zefpyre seemed untouched, almost invigorated. The coal-like rock shimmered, its glow growing brighter, feeding off his approach like a predator savoring its prey.

  I stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "You take one more step, and I swear I’ll knock you flat," I said, my voice like steel. "You think this thing is destiny? That it’s calling to your core? Fine. But if it was worth anything, it wouldn’t need to trick you to get you close."

  Zefpyre’s eyes burned brighter, the fire within him threatening to consume us both. "Holmes, get out of my way. You don’t understand what this means for me."

  "Maybe not," I said, taking another drag from my cigar. "But I do understand one thing: power like that always comes with a price. And whatever this place is selling, you can’t afford it."

  For a moment, the two of us stood there, the inferno raging around us, the monolith pulsing in time with his core. And then, slowly, reluctantly, Zefpyre stepped back, his flames dimming ever so slightly. "Fine," he muttered, his voice tight. "But if that thing turns out to be the key to getting out of here, you’ll regret this."

  "Maybe," I said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "But at least we’ll still be ourselves when we do."

  We turned away from the monolith, its glow fading as we walked. Zefpyre’s steps were heavy, his flames subdued, but he followed. The labyrinth wasn’t done with us yet, but for now, we’d survived its latest test.

  Virgil led the way in silence, his back to us as always, his form a faint silhouette against the flickering shadows of the labyrinth. The oppressive air clung to us like wet ash, but it wasn’t just the heat weighing us down anymore. Zefpyre was seething, his anger radiating off him like a furnace barely contained, his flames flickering with an erratic fury. I could feel his hatred burning into my back, his rage a constant, simmering presence. He hadn’t spoken since we dragged him away from the coal monolith, and the tension between us hung thick and heavy.

  The next sections blurred together, the labyrinth tightening its grip with each step, wearing us down like water eroding stone. Greed was the first test, a display of riches and power meant to bring us to our knees. Gold, jewels, promises of kingdoms—all of it felt hollow. Maybe we’d grown numb, or maybe we’d already lost too much to care. Either way, we passed through unscathed.

  Wrath came next, and it was far more personal. Shadows of the dead emerged from the walls, figures I recognized, their faces twisted with fury. The people I’d hurt, the ones who’d fallen because of me, all of them unleashed their rage. I bore the brunt of it, as I should have. Zefpyre and Mattie had their demons, sure, but I’d caused more grief than the two of them combined. Every scream, every accusation cut deep, but I didn’t flinch. I couldn’t afford to.

  Then came Fraud, a hall of mirrors reflecting nothing but lies. Every step, every word, every sight was a deception. But by now, we’d learned to distrust the labyrinth, to question everything it offered. Lies only have power if you want to believe them, and we wanted nothing this place had to offer. We moved through it quickly, unwilling to linger.

  By the time we stumbled into the octagonal room at the end, we were wrecked. Each of us bore the marks of the labyrinth’s trials—Mattie’s face was pale, her eyes ringed with exhaustion; Zefpyre’s flames flickered weakly, their usual ferocity dulled; and I… well, I was down to my last cigar, the taste bitter as soot on my tongue.

  Mattie broke the silence, her voice trembling but determined. "I thought there were supposed to be nine sections. I only counted eight."

  Zefpyre’s brow furrowed, his flames sparking as he went over the trials in his mind. "Greed, Wrath, Fraud…" he muttered, his voice low, "What’s the ninth section?"

  I didn’t answer. I just stood there, smoking, watching Virgil. He hadn’t said a word since we entered the room, hadn’t so much as glanced back at us. That’s when it hit me. The name, the demeanor, the endless riddles—it all clicked into place like a lock turning. Virgil. Dante’s guide through hell.

  My stomach twisted as the realization settled in. The ninth circle—the final section of hell. It wasn’t a place. It was a truth. The betrayal of trust, the mutiny of those closest to you.

  I flicked the cigar’s dying embers to the floor and ground them under my boot. "Mattie," I said quietly, "you ever wonder why Virgil was so damn eager to guide us through this place?"

  She looked at me, confused, but Zefpyre stopped pacing, his flames flaring brighter for a moment.

  "What are you saying, Holmes?" Zefpyre asked, his voice sharp, dangerous.

  I took a slow step forward, my gaze fixed on Virgil’s back. "I’m saying that the ninth section isn’t behind us. It’s right in front of us."

  Virgil turned then, slowly, his face as calm and unreadable as ever, but there was something different in his eyes now—a glint of malice, a shadow of a smile that didn’t belong. "Ah," he said softly, "so you finally figured it out."

  The room seemed to darken, the flames on the walls dimming as if sucked into some unseen void. The air grew colder, the oppressive heat of the labyrinth replaced by something far worse—a creeping chill that gnawed at the edges of the soul.

  "The ninth circle," Virgil said, his voice smooth, almost gentle, "is betrayal. And I am its gatekeeper."

  Zefpyre’s flames roared to life, brighter and hotter than they’d been in hours. Mattie tighten her fists, her knuckles white, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

  And me? I lit my last cigar, the flame trembling in the cold air, and exhaled a plume of smoke. "Of course you are," I said, my voice steady despite the weight pressing down on my chest. "It always comes down to betrayal, doesn’t it?"

  Virgil’s smile widened, his form shifting, growing darker, his shadow stretching out to consume the room. "You’ve made it this far," he said, his voice echoing like a thousand whispers, "but to pass this test, you’ll need to decide: who do you trust, and who will you leave behind?"

  The labyrinth wasn’t done with us yet. And neither was he.

  Mattie’s voice wavered as she asked, "Why are you doing this, Virgil?"

  Virgil turned to face us, the flickering flames casting shadows that danced across his face, now twisted with something dark and feral. "Isn’t it obvious?" he sneered, his voice thick with bitterness. "I want what you have. I want life."

  Mattie recoiled slightly, but Zefpyre and I stood our ground. Virgil continued, his tone laced with venom, "How rude of you, prancing in here with your warm, living bodies, your hearts beating, your lungs breathing. Do you know how long I’ve been here? Do you have any idea how long I’ve suffered in this wretched place? I’ve forgotten the taste of time itself."

  I took a drag from my cigar, the ember glowing faintly in the suffocating darkness. "You’ve been feeding off us," I said, my voice low and steady. "I thought I was seeing things—how you started looking more solid, more... alive. I figured it was the labyrinth messing with my head. But no, it was you. Feeding off our souls, our emotions."

  Virgil let out a sharp, guttural laugh that echoed through the chamber. "Oh, and what a feast it’s been! The three of you, so ripe with power, so full of fire and fury. But it’s not enough. I need more. I need it all." His eyes burned with desperation as he hissed, "Only one of you has to stay behind. One sacrifice, and the rest of us can finish the task and return to the land of the living."

  I chuckled, the sound dry and hollow as I exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Tempting offer, Virgil. But no. I think it’s going to be you who stays behind."

  Virgil’s expression shifted, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. He didn’t notice my hand moving subtly, my fingers tracing the air in intricate patterns. He was too drunk on our pain, too glutted on his feast to see the trap being set.

  "You’re bluffing," Virgil snarled, his voice growing shrill, his form rippling with shadows.

  I gave him a slow, cold smile. "Oh, Virgil. You’ve been so busy gorging yourself on our emotions, you forgot who you were dealing with. We’re not just survivors. We’re practitioners of magic. Powerful ones."

  With a snap of my fingers, the spell I’d been weaving let loose. The air cracked like thunder, a shimmering burst of light tearing through the darkness as the banishment spell struck Virgil. He screamed, his voice a mix of rage and terror, as his form began to dissolve into nothingness. The echoes of his cries faded into silence as he vanished from sight.

  The chamber groaned and shuddered, the walls trembling as two massive stone doors at the far end began to grind open, revealing the path forward.

  Mattie turned to me, her eyes wide. "How did you know?"

  I took a final drag of my cigar, letting the smoke curl lazily from my lips. "Oh, my dear summer child," I said with a smirk, "I’ve been around a long time. Long enough to recognize a parasite when I see one. And before I got hooked on romance novels, I was quite the fan of the classics. Dante’s Inferno is a hell of a read—and based on a very real story."

  Zefpyre snorted, his flames flickering faintly as he gave me a grudging nod of approval. Mattie still looked a bit shaken, but she managed a weak smile.

  We stepped through the opened doors, leaving the labyrinth behind us. In the distance, the next lake stretched out before us, dark and still, its surface glimmering faintly under an ominous red sky. Whatever awaited us beyond it, we knew one thing for certain: the worst was yet to come.