Ethan gasped awake. His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths, his body drenched in sweat. The air was thick and damp, pressing against his skin like a suffocating weight. The scent of burnt metal and rotting stone filled his lungs, sharp and bitter. Something was wrong.
He pushed himself upright, his hands pressing against cold, unyielding stone. The ground beneath him was smooth but unnatural, like it had been polished by something that wasn’t human. His fingers twitched toward his daggers, but the familiar weight of his weapons was missing. A chill ran through him as realization set in—he had nothing. No blades, no supplies, no allies.
Panic threatened to claw its way up his throat, but he swallowed it down, forcing himself to focus. This wasn’t Portland. It wasn’t the ruins. He wasn’t in any place he recognized. Wherever he was, the Master had brought him here for a reason. That meant this wasn’t just a prison.
This was a test.
He slowly got to his feet, scanning his surroundings. The corridor stretched endlessly in both directions, its walls carved from dark obsidian stone. Torches burned with an eerie blue light, flickering unnaturally, casting twisting shadows against the ground. The ceiling arched high above, covered in crimson runes that pulsed with an energy Ethan didn’t recognize. The whole place felt wrong.
Something was watching him.
Ethan placed a hand against the wall. The stone was cool under his fingers, but as he held it there, he felt a faint pulse beneath his palm. A rhythm, like a slow heartbeat. He jerked his hand away. The walls weren’t just stone. They were something else. Something alive.
A whisper drifted through the air.
"Little predator…"
Ethan froze, his muscles tensing. The voice wasn’t coming from any direction—it was everywhere at once, seeping into his bones like an infection.
"Still so blind. So weak."
His jaw clenched. "Show yourself."
A soft chuckle echoed through the corridor.
"You have much to learn."
The air grew colder. A low growl rumbled behind him.
Ethan turned sharply. The shadows ahead shifted, bending unnaturally, and then something stepped forward. A creature, tall and twisted, emerged from the darkness. Its body was skeletal, wrapped in rotting black tendrils that pulsed like veins beneath decayed flesh. Its mouth stretched too wide, jagged fangs dripping with thick black ichor. Hollow blue light burned within its empty sockets, staring at Ethan with something that wasn’t quite intelligence—but wasn’t mindless, either.
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A Corrupted Warden. One of the Master’s creations.
The thing inhaled slowly, its body jerking as though it wasn’t fully in control of itself. And then it lunged.
Ethan barely had time to react. He threw himself to the side, rolling across the cold stone floor as the Warden’s claws carved through the air where he had just stood. He came up quickly, instinctively reaching for weapons that weren’t there. His breath was ragged. No blades. No backup. Just himself.
Think.
The Warden turned its head toward him, its mouth twisting into something that almost resembled a grin. It moved slowly now, studying him, knowing he was unarmed. It was toying with him.
Ethan’s eyes darted to the torches lining the walls. Blue flames flickered, casting just enough light to reveal the creature’s shifting form. He saw it then—the way its body recoiled slightly whenever it moved too close to the fire.
It was weak to fire.
His gaze locked onto the nearest torch. It was his only shot.
The Warden lunged again, faster this time. Ethan surged forward, ducking beneath its swipe and reaching for the torch in one fluid motion. His fingers closed around the wooden shaft, yanking it free from its iron holder. The blue flames danced violently, but they didn’t go out.
The creature hesitated. Its hollow eyes flickered, its body shuddering.
Ethan raised the torch. "Come on, then."
A shriek tore from the Warden’s throat, and it attacked.
Ethan swung the torch wide, the flames slicing through the air. The fire caught on the Warden’s tendrils, spreading across its decayed flesh in an instant. The creature screeched, convulsing as its body blistered under the flames. It staggered back, limbs twitching uncontrollably.
But it wasn’t dying.
It was weakening, slowing—but not enough. The fire wasn’t enough to kill it.
Ethan’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. He had to finish this.
Pain flared across his chest. The mark—the sigil the Gate had burned into him—was pulsing violently now, a deep, resonant hum that filled his mind. He felt something stir inside him, something ancient, something waiting.
Use it.
The thought came unbidden, but he didn’t question it. He let the power rise, let it fill his limbs, let it flow through him like a current.
Dark chains erupted from his palm, coiling around the Warden’s limbs like living tendrils. The creature howled, thrashing violently as the chains constricted, pulling tighter and tighter. The strain of holding the power was immense, his body screaming in protest, but Ethan refused to let go.
The Warden’s body convulsed once, twice—then shattered into a heap of blackened ash.
Silence filled the corridor.
Ethan staggered back, gasping for air. His arms felt like lead, his vision swimming. Every muscle in his body ached. But he had won.
A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the air.
Ethan turned, chest still heaving.
The Master stood a few feet away, watching with that same infuriating smile. His coat billowed slightly, though there was no wind, the fabric shifting like living shadows.
"Impressive," the Master mused. "For a first attempt."
Ethan clenched his fists. His body was still recovering, but his mind was sharp. "You did this."
The Master tilted his head. "Of course I did." He stepped forward, the ground beneath him rippling like liquid darkness. "You are in my domain, little predator." His voice was smooth, filled with something almost like amusement. "And I will break you down—"
He raised a hand, and the walls around them shattered like glass.
"—so I can rebuild you properly."
The world spun.
Ethan’s vision darkened.
And then he was falling.