It was the darkest and coldest night anyone had seen before in the corridors of the labyrinth. Although one could not feel nor see the light within the twisting maze, they knew that night was when the more vicious, and bloodthirsty creatures prowled.
Flames flickered, dying as a Firefang desperately warded off the cold air, its life on the line as it knew it would perish should the flames on its back be extinguished. It coiled around itself as the air froze, frost permeating through its scales. It breathed its last before the flames soon died out, its scarlet body soon turning to black before it shattered, like all creatures did in the labyrinth.
Footsteps could be heard as the air grew colder, as if the cold originated from the being whose footsteps reverberated through the halls. ‘Tap, Tap,’ they went, slowly yet surely moving towards higher ground, attempting to reach somewhere, anywhere other than where it currently was.
The prowling Firefangs and Wilderhounds all died slowly, freezing as the footsteps brought forth their demise. Cold air roiling, pushing the warmth away and upwards as the footsteps chased it.
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Eventually the footsteps reached a stairway, old, and ruined, yet gilded with precious metals and wrought by the finest craftsmanship, the footsteps coated the entire area in ice as it reached upwards, up towards the light.
As two pale hands pushed, cracking and destroying an old marble door that seemed to be immovable, starlight beamed through the cracks, illuminating a haggard, decrepit cadaver like face, as its eyes seemed to eat up the light hungrily.
The pale body moved forward slowly, relishing its freedom from darkness, as it stood on the highest floor of the labyrinth, the top of the tower named cruelly, The Pinnacle of Hope. The cold mist seemed to die out as the decrepit body stared out, slowly moving towards the balcony of the tower. As it stared out, bright lights could be seen, mirroring that of the stars, and the body felt an unquenchable hunger, a thirst.