Villain's Last Chance

The labyrinth did not take kindly to hesitation.

The moment we stepped past the pedestal, the chamber around us shifted. The walls groaned, contorting into jagged arches of blackened stone, as if the labyrinth itself was reshaping in response to my choice. Shadows slithered along the floor, stretching like grasping fingers, eager to reclaim what had been denied.

A test. A punishment. Or both.

Marek cursed under his breath. "This place really has a thing for dramatic reactions, doesn't it?"

Cairon's sword was already in his hand, his stance poised for whatever was coming. "Stay close."

I barely had time to nod before the darkness surged.

A wave of pitch-black mist erupted from the walls, swallowing the torches in its path. The chamber became a void, sightless and suffocating. My heartbeat thundered. The Codex burned against my chest, reacting instinctively.

Then, out of the abyss—eyes.

Dozens of them. No, hundreds.

Luminous slits of silver and violet, hovering in the void. Watching. Judging. Waiting.

Then, a voice, low and guttural, ancient as the bones of the labyrinth itself.

"You deny the Blade."

The words slithered through the air, curling around my thoughts like iron chains.

"You reject the path offered."

A figure began to take shape within the mist. Massive, wreathed in swirling darkness, shifting between forms—a beast, a shadow, a towering specter of ruin. Its voice was not one, but many, overlapping in a chorus of echoes.

"And yet you still walk this path."

The Codex pulsed in warning.

I clenched my jaw. "I didn't reject anything. I made my choice."

A pause. The mist stirred.

"A choice… but not the right one."

Without warning, the mist struck.

Tendrils of darkness lashed out, too fast to react. One wrapped around my wrist, ice-cold and suffocating, while another coiled around my throat, lifting me off the ground.

Cairon's shout barely reached my ears. Marek's blade flashed, cutting through the tendrils, but more took their place.

Pain lanced through me. The mist wasn't just holding me—it was pulling. Dragging something out of me.

Not flesh. Not bone.

Essence.

The Codex flared to life, reacting in defense. Heat burned through my veins, fighting against the mist's grip. I gasped, the pressure lessening, but only slightly.

Then—a whisper.

Soft. Insidious. Directly in my mind.

"Give in. The weight is too much. Let go."

It was my voice. But twisted. Warped.

"You are not meant to exist."

The pain worsened. My limbs shook. The labyrinth wanted to erase me, to undo what the Codex had done.

And for a moment, I felt it—the pull.

The temptation to let go. To surrender.

But then—a hand grasped mine.

Warm. Strong. Real.

Cairon.

His grip was unyielding, his golden eyes fierce in the consuming darkness. "Fight it," he growled.

The mist twisted around him, but it could not hold him the same way. As if it feared him.

Or… respected him.

The realization hit like a strike of lightning. The labyrinth was not only testing me. It was testing him. Testing us.

I met his gaze, and something unspoken passed between us.

A choice.

A defiance.

I gritted my teeth, forcing my voice past the crushing weight of the mist. "You don't get to decide what I am."

The Codex roared to life, burning away the tendrils, severing their grasp. The mist screeched—a high, keening sound, like metal scraping against stone.

I dropped to the ground, gasping.

Cairon didn't hesitate. His sword flashed in the dim light, cutting through what remained of the mist. The monstrous presence reared back, its many eyes narrowing.

The whispers turned to hisses. Then to silence.

The mist began to retreat, folding into itself, dissolving into nothingness.

And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared—it was gone.

The torches reignited. The chamber stilled.

Marek let out a ragged breath. "I swear, I'm getting real tired of all these tests."

I pushed myself to my feet, legs shaking. The Codex had stopped pulsing, but the weight of its presence lingered in my chest.

Cairon was still watching me. Not with suspicion. Not with doubt.

With understanding.

"You were almost lost." His voice was low. Careful.

I swallowed. "But I wasn't."

His gaze held mine for a moment longer. Then, with a quiet nod, he turned back toward the path ahead. "We need to keep moving."

Marek groaned. "Of course we do. Because why would we ever get a break?"

But there was no jest in his tone.

Because we all knew it now—the labyrinth had changed.

The deeper we went, the higher the stakes became.

And whatever waited at the end of this path?

It would not let us walk away so easily.