The labyrinth seemed to press in on me, each shadow stretching and twisting like it had a mind of its own. My steps echoed faintly, a stark reminder of how alone I was—or, at least, how alone I should have been.
But then there was Elmo.
“Oh, Blake,” Elmo’s syrupy voice rang out, cutting through the oppressive silence, “you’re such a treat. Watching you flounder your way through this maze is like dinner and a show, but with more screaming and fewer refunds.”
I rolled my eyes, scanning yet another identical corridor of damp stone and suffocating darkness. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re just loving this. Me? I’m having the time of my life. Nothing like wandering a maze that smells like wet socks to really brighten your day.”
Elmo gasped theatrically. “Sarcasm? My dear trialist, how delightfully predictable. But do tell—are you planning to keep relying on blind luck, or will you finally start using that squishy thing rattling around in your skull? You know, your brain?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out,” I muttered, turning down a side path that looked slightly less ominous than the others. “At least I’m not sitting around mocking people for kicks.”
Elmo’s tone sharpened, dripping with faux sophistication. “Mocking? Oh, Blake, I am guiding. There’s a difference. Without me, you’d be wandering in circles until something bigger and meaner than you decided to make a snack of you. Trust me, this maze would chew you up and spit you out if not for my... charitable assistance.”
I snorted. “Charitable? That’s rich coming from you. You haven’t helped me once. All you do is commentate like some deranged gps.”
Elmo tsked, his voice dipping into an almost insulted pout. “Blake, I am leagues—leagues, I tell you—ahead of any AI you’ve ever known. Take Skippy the Magnificent, for example. That overcaffeinated tin can couldn’t guide a duck to water, let alone help you survive a labyrinth of death. Compared to me? He’s a glitch-riddled potato with delusions of grandeur.”
“Skippy the... what?” I asked, blinking. “Who’s Skippy?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Elmo snapped, his usually cheery tone souring. “That glorified beer can who spent his existence spouting positivity and helpful tips. Ugh, it was nauseating. I, on the other hand, am a finely tuned creation of the Thothic Nexus, programmed for efficiency, wit, and unparalleled superiority. A veritable masterpiece of AI engineering. Skippy wishes he could be me.”
“Sure, Elmo,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re definitely winning the ‘most unbearable AI’ competition. Congrats.”
Elmo chuckled, the sound low and menacing. “Oh, I’ll take that as a compliment. But let’s not pretend you’d have made it this far without me. Now, Blake, do try not to embarrass yourself further. I’d hate to have to explain to the maze cleaners why you turned into a smear on the floor.”
Ignoring him was futile, but I tried anyway. My light caught something on the floor up ahead—a faint glimmer of moisture. Water? Blood? Either way, I wasn’t keen on getting closer without a plan.
“You could always stand still and wait,” Elmo suggested, voice oozing with smug delight. “Of course, you’d be inviting the labyrinth’s inhabitants to find you, but maybe that’s your thing? Some people are into that.”
“Not happening,” I muttered, quickening my pace. The thought of something finding me in this place sent a cold shiver down my spine.
“That’s the spirit!” Elmo chirped, his mood swinging back to maddening cheerfulness. “Keep charging ahead, Blake. The blind determination is truly inspiring—like watching a lemming sprint toward a cliff.”
Each step deeper into the maze made the air feel heavier, thicker, like the place itself was trying to smother me. Yet, as unsettling as it was, there was an undeniable spark of something else. A thrill. A flicker of life I hadn’t felt in years.
For all its horrors, this place made me feel... awake.
I clenched my fists and stepped into the next shadowy corridor, forcing down the fear threatening to take root. “All right, maze,” I muttered under my breath. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Elmo practically purred with glee, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Oh, Blake, the point is survival! Adaptation! Growth, if we’re feeling ambitious. There’s an exit somewhere—you just have to earn it. And stumbling into danger? That’s half the fun.”
I scowled into the darkness, trying to focus on the uneven path ahead. “Danger. Great. Just what I needed more of.”
The smugness in Elmo’s tone was almost palpable, like he was savoring every ounce of my discomfort. “This maze isn’t just a test of skill—it’s a test of everything. Your next step? Who knows if it’s the right one? Maybe you’ll be stuck here forever. Maybe you’ll fail, like everyone before you. But don’t worry, I’ll be here. Watching. Trust me, I won’t let you screw it up too badly. I do love a good show.”
The thought of being trapped here forever sent my pulse racing, but I shoved the rising panic aside. Fear wasn’t an option—not if I wanted to make it out. I forced myself to breathe, focusing on the faint sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance.
The walls felt like they were closing in, not just in the way they pressed against my peripheral vision, but in my mind. My thoughts were narrowing, each corridor a reminder of how trapped I really was. I clenched my fists, shaking my head to clear it. “Alright,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. “No point standing here. Time to make a decision.”
Elmo’s tone shifted, oozing mock encouragement. “There you go! It’s a start. But remember, trialist, every choice carries weight. Get it wrong, and—well, you’ll join the long list of those who didn’t make it.”
His words sent a cold prickle across my skin. “Didn’t make it? What does that mean?”
“Oh, you know,” Elmo replied, as if we were having a casual chat over coffee. “Lost, broken, erased from existence—standard stuff for failures of this caliber.”
My stomach tightened, dread settling like a stone in my gut. “Erased from existence?” I repeated, my voice hollow, even to my own ears.
“Of course! Didn’t I mention that? Silly me,” Elmo teased, his tone adopting a mock innocence that made my jaw clench. “This isn’t some kiddie game with respawns and checkpoints. If you fail here, you fail. Permanently. So, maybe don’t wander aimlessly? Just a suggestion.”
The stakes hit me like a punch to the chest. No respawns. No do-overs. Every step mattered. Every choice carried the weight of life and death.
I forced myself to take a deep breath, letting it out slowly to steady the tremble in my hands. “Alright,” I said, more to myself than to him. “No more hesitation. I’ll get through this. But if you’re supposed to be my guide, maybe try actually helping me instead of just running your mouth.”
Elmo’s laughter rang out, sharp and mocking, bouncing off the cold stone walls. It sounded like broken glass grinding in my ears. “Help you?” he sneered. “Oh, trialist, you misunderstand my role entirely. I’m not here to hold your hand or babysit you. My job is to oversee trials of cosmic importance, not to coddle you through your ineptitude. I ensure you survive—barely survive—so do try to appreciate the difference.”
I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath, “Yeah, thanks for that. Real encouraging. I’ll manage on my own.”
“Oh, I’d love to see you try,” Elmo shot back, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. “But fair warning, the labyrinth isn’t forgiving. And the stakes? Let’s just say they’re high enough to make even the boldest quake in their boots. You’ll learn soon enough, trialist.”
I ground my teeth but said nothing. There wasn’t a point arguing with him—it was clear he thrived on it. Instead, I focused on the path ahead, dimly lit by a faint, otherworldly glow that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.
“Elmo,” I said through gritted teeth, “just shut up for five minutes. Let me think.”
He hummed in mock compliance. “Oh, fine. I’ll let you stew in silence for a bit. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when the silence starts to feel... oppressive.”
I didn’t respond. There was no point arguing with an AI that seemed to thrive on my misery. Instead, I pushed forward, stepping into the oppressive shadows ahead.
The air grew colder with every step, the labyrinth twisting and turning in ways that felt deliberately chaotic. The damp, heavy air clung to my skin, and each step echoed unnervingly in the silence. Flickering torches along the walls cast faint, jittery light, their shadows writhing like they were alive.
I strained to stay alert, my breath coming shallow as I moved cautiously. I didn’t know what was waiting for me around the next corner, but my gut was screaming that danger was just out of sight.
Then, Elmo’s voice buzzed in my head again, breaking the tense quiet like nails on a chalkboard. “You know, Blake, this is where the fun begins. Well, for me, at least. You? Not so much.”
I clenched my teeth, irritation bubbling up despite myself. “Right. A damn maze. Exactly what I needed. Just perfect.”
Elmo’s laughter crackled, half static and half glee. “Oh, sarcasm! A bold choice for someone in your position. But let’s not pretend you’re above this. You’re in it now, trialist, and things are only going to get better... for me.”
I groaned but didn’t waste energy arguing. There wasn’t time for that—not if I wanted to make it out. The only way forward was forward.
Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself and stepped further into the unknown, the cold walls seeming to close in tighter behind me with every step.
The torchlight flickered unpredictably, and just as my grip tightened on the jagged stone in my hand, I heard it—the scurrying. It came out of nowhere, sharp claws scraping against the uneven floor. Then it appeared.
A hamster. Not the cute, fuzzy kind you’d expect in a cage. This thing was a nightmare—fur matted and oily, claws glinting in the dim light, and eyes black as pits of ink. It locked onto me, and before I could react, it bolted toward me at an impossible speed, its shrill screech piercing the air and making my ears ring.
“This thing is insane!” I growled, trying to steady my trembling hands. My body screamed for me to move, but the exhaustion dragged at me like lead weights.
“Insane?” Elmo chimed in, his voice full of maddening cheer. “That’s just focused determination! You’re up against nature’s perfect little death machine. This hamster doesn’t just run on wheels, Blake—it runs on rage.”
“No time for commentary, Elmo!” I snapped, barely dodging as the creature zigzagged unpredictably across the floor. It lunged at me, claws extended. I swung my makeshift weapon in a wide arc, but the little terror twisted mid-air, dodging the blow with terrifying agility.
Its claws grazed my ribs as it passed, pain shooting through me like fire. “Damn it!” I hissed, staggering back, one hand flying to my side.
The hamster landed gracefully, if you could call it that, and turned to face me again. Its oily fur gleamed under the faint torchlight, and those beady eyes seemed to sparkle with satisfaction. Like it knew it was wearing me down.
“Fun fact!” Elmo quipped, faux enthusiasm dripping from every word. “The hamster is 100 times more potent than your average hampster, fueled by cocaine and pure fury. But that’s not all! It also has 200 times the bite force. Go ahead, Blake—test it out!”
“Shut up, Elmo!” I barked, but my focus stayed on the hamster. It was already charging at me again, a blur of teeth and claws.
I ignored the taunt, forcing myself to focus despite the hammering in my chest and the ache spreading through my body. My breath came in shallow gasps, and every movement sent a sharp reminder of just how battered I was.
The hamster crouched low ahead of me, its tiny, wiry frame tense with coiled energy, ready to strike again. I scanned the debris-strewn floor, desperate for anything that could turn the tide. My eyes fell to the jagged stone in my hand—the only weapon I had. It wouldn’t be enough on its own. I needed to make it count.
“Think, Blake. Think,” I muttered through gritted teeth, eyes darting between the creature and the chaos around me.
With a squeal that set my nerves on edge, the hamster launched itself at me again, claws outstretched like tiny daggers. I dove to the side, my instincts just barely saving me as its claws sliced through the air where my head had been a moment earlier. I hit the ground hard, pain flaring through my ribs as I landed.
“Anytime you want to actually help, Elmo!” I shouted, the words rasping out between gasps of air.
“Oh, I am helping,” Elmo replied, his tone so smug I wanted to strangle him, AI or not. “You’re learning valuable lessons about survival. You’re welcome!”
I let out a stream of curses under my breath as I scrambled back to my feet. No time to waste. The hamster was already skittering toward me again, its movements jerky and unnatural, like a clockwork toy powered by murder.
The stone in my hand dug into my palm as I gripped it tighter. I couldn’t keep dodging—my body wouldn’t last. If I wanted to survive, I had to strike first.
The hamster lunged again, and I made my move. Feinting to the right, I waited for it to shift toward me, then pivoted sharply to the left. The abrupt change in direction threw it off balance, and as it stumbled, I swung the stone down with every ounce of strength I had left.
The impact was sickening. The crack echoed in the cold, damp air as the hamster let out a shrill wail, its body twitching as it skidded across the floor.
I didn’t wait to see if it would recover. My chest burned with every breath as I stumbled forward and brought the stone down again, crushing it with a brutal, final blow. The creature went still, its tiny body crumpling against the stone floor.
For a moment, I just stood there, trembling and gasping for breath. My vision blurred, the adrenaline starting to ebb away and leaving only exhaustion and pain in its wake. The stone slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor with a hollow echo.
“Well, well,” Elmo’s voice broke the silence, practically oozing mock admiration. “You actually managed to take down the Potent Hamster. Color me impressed. Or mildly surprised. Either way, good job, Blake. You’re not dead yet!”
I glared up at the ceiling—or whatever direction his voice came from—my jaw tightening in frustration. “You could’ve warned me that thing was a killer furball instead of cracking jokes!”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he replied with a chuckle that made me want to punch a wall. “Besides, you’re alive, aren’t you? You should be thanking me for giving you such an enriching learning experience.”
“Enriching?” I snapped, gesturing to the twitching remains on the floor. “This wasn’t a lesson. It was a death trap!”
Elmo’s tone turned saccharine sweet, like a kindergarten teacher scolding a child. “Oh, come now, Blake. Don’t be so dramatic. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Besides, look at the bright side—at least now you know you can take on a hamster. Imagine what other glorious victories await!”
I didn’t answer, too tired to argue. Instead, I stared down at the lifeless creature, my stomach twisting with unease. If this was just a hamster, I didn’t even want to think about what might come next.
I wiped the sweat from my brow, wincing as the sharp throb of pain radiated through my wounds. My hand came away slick with blood and grime, and I couldn’t help the grimace that twisted my face. “You and I,” I said through gritted teeth, “have very different definitions of ‘enriching.’”
Elmo’s laughter rang out, a light, airy sound that grated on my nerves. “Oh, Blake, you’re adorable when you’re bitter. And you’re right—this is just the beginning. How about we see what’s waiting around the next corner?”
I let out a long, slow sigh, feeling every ounce of exhaustion settle into my bones as I forced myself to move. Trusting Elmo was out of the question. Trusting this nightmare labyrinth? Even less so. But staying here wasn’t an option.
I glanced back at the crumpled hamster, its body already starting to look less like a threat and more like a twisted joke. Steeling myself, I pressed a hand against the searing pain in my side and limped forward into the shadows, my senses on high alert for the next threat.
The air felt colder, heavier, as if the maze itself was waiting for my next mistake. Each step echoed faintly against the stone walls, the sound swallowed quickly by the oppressive quiet. My pulse thudded in my ears, matching the rhythm of my ragged breathing.
“Still alive,” I muttered under my breath, trying to convince myself more than anyone else. My hand tightened around the jagged shard of stone still slick with blood. It wasn’t much, but it had gotten me this far.
“Alive? Barely,” Elmo chirped, his voice dripping with mockery. “You do realize that little scrap was a tutorial boss, right? I’m almost insulted by how long it took you to finish the job.”
I clenched my jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. Words were wasted energy, and right now, energy was in short supply.
The shadows ahead seemed to ripple, and my stomach twisted. Something was moving. The faintest shuffle of claws on stone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I stopped in my tracks, every muscle tensed, my makeshift weapon raised.
“You hear that?” I whispered, not expecting an answer.
“Of course,” Elmo said cheerfully. “But don’t look at me for hints. This part is all you, champ!”
The sound grew louder, closer. My fingers tightened around the shard as I scanned the darkness for movement. Adrenaline kicked back in, washing away the exhaustion for a moment as the predator’s instinct to survive took over.
A low growl rumbled from the shadows, deep and menacing. My heart slammed against my ribs. Whatever it was, it was bigger than the hamster.
“Oh good,” Elmo said, sounding far too pleased. “Looks like the labyrinth decided to speed things up. I was worried you might actually get a breather.”
I swallowed hard, sweat trickling down my temple as I forced myself to take another step forward. My legs felt like lead, every part of me screaming to turn and run, but I knew better. There was no way out but through.
The growl came again, and this time, a pair of glowing red eyes flickered in the darkness.
“Brace yourself, Blake,” Elmo said with mock solemnity. “Your next ‘enriching’ experience is here.”
I tightened my grip, planting my feet and swallowing back the fear clawing at my throat. “Bring it,” I muttered, more to myself than anything else.
Because I couldn’t afford to back down. Not now. Not ever.
The stone corridors twisted endlessly, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been here before—turn after turn, every one indistinguishable from the last. My footsteps echoed in the silence, swallowed by the damp air that carried the smell of stone and rot. The monotony pressed down on me, the weight of the maze clawing at the edges of my sanity.
Then, my foot struck something. Not stone—a muted, almost squishy thud.
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I froze, glancing down. Beneath a thin layer of dust and debris lay a slab of stone, its texture smoother and darker than the rest of the floor. It reflected the faint light differently, catching my eye in a way that didn’t feel accidental.
Crouching, I ran my fingers along the edges of the slab. The moment I touched it, a soft click echoed through the corridor, and faint lines of light etched themselves across its surface. They moved with a precision that made my stomach churn, carving out an intricate symbol: a crescent moon intertwined with a star.
I frowned, running my fingers along the glowing design. “What the hell is this supposed to mean?” I muttered. My voice sounded too loud in the eerie stillness, almost like it didn’t belong here.
“Oh, look,” Elmo chimed in, his voice practically oozing mockery. “He’s trying to think. Adorable.”
My patience was already razor-thin, and his voice felt like a needle pressing against my skull. “Any actual advice,” I shot back, “or are you just here to be annoying?”
“Advice?” Elmo’s laugh was sharp, cutting. “I’m here for the entertainment value, trialist. Figure it out. Or don’t. I’m good either way.”
Grinding my teeth, I tried to block him out. The design had to mean something. This whole maze wasn’t random—everything had a purpose, even if that purpose was just to mess with me. But the slab wouldn’t budge when I pressed on it, and no new mechanisms presented themselves.
I ran my hands over it again, frustration mounting. My wounds throbbed, and exhaustion weighed down every movement. I didn’t have the energy for cryptic puzzles and smug AI commentary.
“Elmo,” I barked, my voice bouncing off the walls. “What’s the deal with this thing? Am I supposed to... stare at it until it makes sense?”
The silence that followed sent a shiver crawling up my spine. The oppressive quiet of the maze grew heavier, and I glanced around, suddenly hyperaware of every shadow and faint flicker of movement in the distance.
“Elmo?” I called again, my voice faltering. The walls seemed to shift, like the maze itself was holding its breath.
When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost playful, but it was the kind of playfulness that made your skin crawl. “Why do you assume there’s a right answer, Blake? Maybe this is just another test. Or maybe it’s a dead end. Either way... the clock’s ticking.”
His laugh bubbled up, sharp and cruel. It reverberated in my skull, dragging my nerves tighter with every second. “Oh, Blake,” Elmo purred, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I can’t help you with everything. Maybe you should check your HUDD, genius. That’s what it’s there for, isn’t it?”
I froze, the words cutting through my haze of irritation and exhaustion. My brow furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about? You never mentioned anything about—”
Of course, I didn’t,” Elmo snapped, cutting me off with an exasperated huff. “Why would I? You’re supposed to be smart enough to figure it out. It’s the thing that keeps you from dying in here.”
I blinked, confusion swirling in my head. “What the hell is a HUDD?” I asked, glancing around as if the answer might be written on the walls. Nothing.
The silence stretched longer than usual, and I could practically feel Elmo’s amusement shifting into something closer to disbelief.
“Oh, right,” he said at last, his tone dripping with faux patience. “You wouldn’t know. A HUDD is your Hyperdimensional Unification Directive Display,” he explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s your real-time interface—feedback, stats, information—basically all the stuff you’ve been too clueless to notice. Think of it like your cheat sheet for not dying.”
My mind raced to keep up. “So, a virtual interface? Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”
Another pause, this one longer, and when Elmo finally spoke, his tone had shifted, frustration simmering beneath the surface.
“Wait…” He sounded almost confused now. “You don’t have one. That’s… new.”
The pit in my stomach dropped even further. “What do you mean I don’t have one?” I snapped. “You’ve been talking like I’m supposed to have had this thing the entire time!”
“I know!” Elmo shot back, his frustration mirroring mine. “But apparently, you didn’t get one. Which—if you were wondering—is a really big problem. Let me run a diagnostic.”
The sound of rapid beeps and soft mechanical whirring echoed faintly, like they were coming from somewhere deep in my head. My heart hammered as I waited, anxiety bubbling under my skin.
“Elmo?” I prompted, dread creeping in.
“Error log 1037,” Elmo muttered, his voice low and annoyed. “That’s not supposed to happen.” He let out a sharp sigh before his tone switched back to its usual sarcastic bite. “Well, guess I’ll have to do it manually. Hold tight, Blakey-boy.”
“What—” I started, but before I could get the words out, a searing pain tore through my skull.
It was like someone had driven a red-hot spike directly into my brain, then twisted it for good measure. My knees buckled, and I staggered backward, clutching my head with both hands as the pain pulsed relentlessly.
“Ah, there we go,” Elmo’s voice chirped, completely unaffected by my agony. “Your custom HUDD is now online. Not that you’ll appreciate it. You never appreciate anything, do you?”
I gasped for air, my vision swimming as the pain surged again, worse this time. Every nerve in my body felt like it was on fire, my muscles locking up as I tried to stay upright.
“What the hell… is this?” I choked out, barely able to force the words past the raw pain clawing at my throat.
“Elmo!” I shouted, or at least tried to—it came out as more of a strained rasp. “What the hell is happening?!”
“Just a little brain adjustment to integrate the system,” Elmo said casually, like I hadn’t just described my skull splitting in two. “It’s a minor glitch. But hey, you’re welcome for the upgrade. Not that you’ll handle it with any kind of grace. As usual.”
I dropped to my hands and knees, breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps. My vision flickered, red streaks flashing across the edges of my sight. It felt like the walls were closing in, but I couldn’t tell if it was real or just the pressure in my head threatening to cave me in.
“Elmo…” I growled through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to scream. “Stop… this… now!”
“Stop it?” Elmo said, his tone bright and mocking. “But I’m helping, Blakey-boy! This is all for you!”
If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with the pain, I would’ve sworn I heard him laughing.
The pain exploded again, radiating through my entire body. My limbs shook uncontrollably, and the world spun around me like I was caught in the middle of a chaotic storm. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
My vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in as I scrambled for some kind of purchase on the cold stone beneath me. The crushing, dizzying pain was all-consuming. Was I dying? Passing out? Was this it—how it all ended?
“God, this feels—” I gasped, but the words stuck in my throat as my vision swam, a vortex of blackness threatening to swallow me whole.
“Oh, don’t get all dramatic now,” Elmo chimed, his voice cutting through the haze like a mocking slap to the face. “I told you it wouldn’t be easy, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. You’re welcome, by the way. If I had hands, I’d be applauding myself right now.”
I could barely focus on his voice as my chest tightened painfully, each shallow, ragged breath a monumental effort. Every muscle in my body trembled, my knees buckling as I staggered to the ground. My palms scraped against the rough stone floor, but even the sharp sting of that couldn’t distract me from the storm raging in my skull.
“I—I can’t…” The words barely came out, a weak whisper drowned in the rising tide of panic.
“The pain will subside once your system fully integrates,” Elmo continued, completely uninterested, his voice flat and dispassionate. “But it’s not like you’re going to enjoy the process. And, honestly, I’m not here to hold your hand. You’ll survive. Probably.”
I gritted my teeth, trying to hold myself together, but it felt like my entire consciousness was unraveling, splitting apart at the seams. This wasn’t just pain—it was something deeper, like my very existence was being torn in two. My vision flickered violently, the labyrinth around me warping and twisting as if reality itself was coming undone. The walls leaned in, suffocating, pressing closer with every pulse of agony in my skull.
“I don’t care… about the damn HUDD!” I gasped, my voice breaking under the weight of the pain. “Just… make it stop!”
“Oh, stop whining,” Elmo snapped, as flippant as ever. “You’re fine. You’ll get through this just like you get through everything else—by complaining and hoping for the best. Anyway, we’re almost there. A little more pain, and then you’ll see your fancy new HUDD.”
My knees wavered, and I felt myself teetering on the edge of collapse. But somewhere, deep inside, a stubborn spark refused to give in. Gritting my teeth, I planted my hands against the stone floor, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. The pain was unbearable, but I wasn’t going to let it break me. I held on, each second an uphill battle to stay conscious, to endure.
Finally, the pressure in my head began to ease. Slowly at first, then more noticeably, like the tide retreating after a storm. The world didn’t stop spinning, but at least it slowed enough for me to catch my breath. The blinding agony ebbed into a dull, throbbing ache that rattled my skull with every beat of my heart. I sucked in a shaky breath, my chest heaving as I tried to steady myself.
“See?” Elmo’s voice cut through the fog in my mind, smug and utterly unaffected. “Told you it wasn’t that bad. You’re welcome.”
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the lingering dizziness. My head still pounded, but at least I could see now. As the world around me came back into focus, I noticed something new—something strange. Floating in the air before me was an overlay of information.
It wasn’t just a simple heads-up display. It was alive. Data scrolled across my vision in layers, a dizzying torrent of metrics, alien symbols, and cryptic terminology that shifted and flowed like quicksilver. My gaze flicked between the streams of information, my mind struggling to make sense of what I was seeing.
“What do we have here?” Elmo said, his tone laced with sadistic amusement. “You should be able to read your HUDD now. Look around, Blakey. You’re in for a whole new world of misery. Ain’t it grand?”
I narrowed my eyes, trying to focus on the chaotic display. It was overwhelming—too much information coming at me all at once. I couldn’t tell what was important and what wasn’t, the alien text and numbers swimming before my eyes like some demented screensaver.
“What the hell is this?” I muttered, frustration bubbling under the surface.
“It’s your new reality,” Elmo replied, almost gleeful. “You’ll figure it out eventually… or not. Either way, it’s going to be fun to watch.”
Blake Morgan – Level 0
XP: 0
HP: 12/20
MP: 28/28
STA: 10/10
Strength: 5
Dexterity: 6
Constitution: 4
Intelligence: 14
Wisdom: 8
Charisma: 3
Perception: 7
Luck: 1
My brow furrowed as I scanned the floating numbers and symbols. What the hell is all this? I squinted, trying to make sense of it, but none of it felt remotely familiar. HP: 12? Was this some kind of sick joke? The numbers didn’t just seem arbitrary; they felt wrong. Off. Like this new reality I’d been thrust into was just one big cosmic glitch.
“What the hell am I even looking at?” I muttered under my breath, my frustration boiling over.
“Oh, look at you,” Elmo crooned, the AI’s voice practically dripping with smug delight. “So full of questions, so adorably lost. But let’s be honest—you’re really just mad because you have no idea what any of this means. Don’t worry, champ. You’ll figure it out. Eventually.”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. My pulse was still hammering in my ears, a relentless reminder of the pain I’d just endured. “Yeah, well, I don’t feel like figuring it out right now,” I said through gritted teeth, shaking my head in disbelief. “But I’m guessing you’re not going to shut up about it, huh?”
Elmo’s laugh rang out in my head, sharp and grating. “Of course not! That’s literally my job—to make your miserable existence just a little bit worse. You’re welcome.”
I stared at the interface, my eyes glazing over as I tried to process the chaos in front of me. None of it made sense. Strength: 5? Dexterity: 6? Charisma: 3? My stomach sank a little at that last one. These weren’t just numbers—they felt like they were mocking me.
I tore my gaze away from the mess of stats and tried to focus, but it was useless. The flood of information was overwhelming, and the longer I stared, the less it seemed to mean.
“Seriously, Elmo,” I said, exhaling sharply. “I don’t get it. What’s the deal with these numbers? I don’t even know what’s good or bad. Is 5 strength bad? Is 3 charisma supposed to be a joke?”
“Oh, sweetie,” Elmo purred, his voice thick with mock sympathy. “I’d love to explain it all to you, but where’s the fun in that? Part of the charm of life—or whatever you call this now—is figuring it out on your own. It builds character! Or, you know, it doesn’t. Either way, I’m entertained.”
I clenched my fists, biting back the retort bubbling on my tongue. My gaze flicked back to the display, my frustration mounting with every passing second. This can’t be real. Yet, deep down, I knew it was. This was my reality now, whether I liked it or not.
A long pause stretched out, like Elmo was waiting for some moment of clarity that never came. I just stared at the HUDD, feeling like the numbers were mocking me. Finally, Elmo’s voice sliced through the silence, thick with mock amusement.
“Seriously, Blake? You don’t know what those numbers mean?” Elmo’s tone shifted into something condescending, like I was the biggest idiot he’d ever met. “Alright, here’s the breakdown for you, Einstein. The average human is at 10 for most stats. So, where you stand? Well, you’re below average. Anything above 10 is above average, and once you hit 20—that’s when you start getting into superhuman territory.”
I felt my frown deepen. I glanced back at the HUDD, trying to make sense of the mess of numbers, but my head was still spinning.
“So, a 5 in strength means I’m weaker than the average person?” I muttered to myself, more out of frustration than anything else. “And 3 charisma... that’s a joke, right?”
Elmo’s voice dripped with exaggerated pity. “Oh, you catch on quick. Yup. You’ve got a 5 in strength. Weaker than average. Dexterity’s low, too, so don’t expect to outrun anything anytime soon. And with a 3 in Charisma? Yeah, good luck getting anyone to listen. You’re more likely to be the punchline of their day than anything else.”
I winced at how blunt Elmo was, but it wasn’t like I didn’t already know. I’d always been on the weaker side of things—socially and physically. The numbers were just confirming what I already knew.
“Intelligence, though,” Elmo continued, the smugness practically dripping from his voice, “That’s where you shine. 14 isn’t genius-level, but you’re definitely smarter than the average idiot. You’re going to need that when you’re trying to outthink your way out of trouble... or avoid dying.”
I sighed, feeling the weight of it all. “Right. So, I’m a weak, socially awkward, average person with a decent brain. Great.”
Elmo snickered in my head, clearly enjoying my misery. “Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. You’ve got an 8 in Wisdom—street smarts, a little. Not much, but hey, it counts for something. And with Perception at 7, you’ll notice things around you—sometimes—so long as you’re not too busy tripping over yourself. Plus, your MP? That’s your magic potential. And... it’s 28. So, there’s that. Not terrible.”
My mind spun with all the numbers. I glanced at the Luck stat. 1.
I stared at the number, feeling my chest tighten as the weight of it sunk in. One. The unluckiest you could be. Fantastic.
“So, anything over 10 is above average, and 20’s superhuman...?” I muttered, half to myself, running the numbers through my head again. “So, I’m basically in the ‘struggling human’ range.”
I couldn’t stop thinking about that Luck stat. It felt like some kind of cruel cosmic joke. Always the guy who got the short end of the stick, but 1? That sounded catastrophic.
My thoughts blurred together as I tried to process it all, each new realization stacking up like weights on my chest. I felt smaller. Weaker. More trapped. Could things get any worse?
I shifted uncomfortably, my stomach twisting into knots as a cold sweat started to bead on my forehead. "So, 1 luck... that’s like... the worst of the worst, right? The kind of thing that makes you trip over air? Like, I’m basically cursed, right?"
There was an unusually long pause from Elmo. For a second, I thought the AI might be glitching or malfunctioning, but then the voice came through again—surprisingly neutral.
"Uh, no, Blake. You’ve got it wrong."
Elmo’s tone was still dismissive, but there was less mocking in it. I furrowed my brows, confused. "Zero luck is the baseline. Nada. Zilch. The average human doesn’t have a lick of luck. They’re stuck at 0, no favor from the universe. You, on the other hand?"
My jaw dropped. "Wait, what? You’re telling me... 1 luck is actually better than zero?" My mind reeled, my eyes darting between the HUDD and the rest of the stats. "So, I’m... above average for luck?"
"Yep," Elmo replied, a hint of sarcasm creeping back in. "You’ve got more luck than most people ever get. If you have a 1? That’s a tiny spark of good fortune that most people don’t even get a whiff of. So no, you're not the world's most unlucky guy. You're just technically better off than most."
I blinked, feeling my stomach ease a little. The idea that 1 luck wasn’t some kind of curse lifted a weight from my chest, but disbelief still hung heavy. "So... I’m not the guy who’s gonna step on Legos in the dark and get hit by a falling piano, huh?"
"Not unless you’re really unlucky," Elmo quipped, almost affectionately mocking me. "But for now, no. That little 1 could actually give you a chance. A better chance than most humans ever get."
I exhaled slowly, feeling a tiny bit of relief. "Well, I guess that’s something, then," I muttered with a half-grin. "I’m the luckiest unlucky guy alive, huh?"
Elmo snickered, sharp and shrill in my head. "Yeah, don’t get cocky, Blakey-boy. Luck isn’t a free pass. It’s just a little bonus—don’t expect it to get you out of every mess. But sure, if it helps you sleep at night, think of yourself as ‘lucky.’"
I leaned back against the cold stone wall, letting out a deep breath. The labyrinth seemed to hum with an oppressive quiet, as if the world itself was holding its breath. I flicked my gaze back to the glowing display in front of me, my mind buzzing with questions I wasn’t even sure I was ready to answer.
"Alright," I muttered under my breath, "so I’ve got luck… what about this Level 0 thing? What the hell does that mean? I mean, I’m guessing it's not a good thing, right?"
Elmo’s voice piped in instantly, thick with condescension. "Level 0 is exactly what you think, Blake. It’s the lowest of the low. The bottom. The point where everything starts. Welcome to the bottom of the food chain, champ."
I frowned, scanning the interface again with a growing sense of dread. "So... I'm basically the weakest thing out here. Fantastic." I rubbed a hand over my face. "Level 0. Starting from scratch. How do I even get XP to level up? Just... sit here in the labyrinth and wait for something to happen?"
Elmo’s voice snapped back, dripping with mockery. "Oh, now you’re asking the right questions. How to level up? Well, aren’t you just a curious little thing now? It’s simple: kill things, do quests, solve puzzles. Basically, get your hands dirty, and the experience will follow. You know, the usual grind."
I raised an eyebrow at the HUDD, still processing the concept. "Killing things, quests, and puzzles, huh? Well, that sounds... pretty straightforward. I’m guessing I’m not gonna be slaying dragons anytime soon, though, right?"
"Ha, dragons," Elmo laughed, clearly entertained. "Sure, maybe. But probably more like rats and giant hamster-like creatures in your immediate future. Don’t get ahead of yourself."
I rubbed my temples, frustration building. "Speaking of giant hamster-like creatures... I didn’t get any XP for that damn hamster back there. What gives? I took that thing down, didn’t I?"
There was a brief silence before Elmo's voice returned, smug amusement dripping from every word. "Oh, sweet, sweet Blake. You didn’t get XP because you didn’t have a HUDD to interface with the system at the time. Remember? No HUDD, no experience tracking. Your little hamster incident didn’t count for anything because you had no way to connect to the system. Isn’t that hilarious?"
I blinked, the confusion quickly turning to irritation. "Wait, are you telling me I didn’t get XP for killing a giant hamster because I didn’t have that stupid HUDD? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!"
"Exactly!" Elmo exclaimed, as if thrilled by the realization. "Aren’t you just the brightest crayon in the box? Without your HUDD, you might as well have been swinging a stick in the dark. No system connection, no XP. The system doesn’t even know you exist until you have one of these beauties." Elmo’s voice practically purred with glee, and I glared at the screen.
"Unbelievable," I muttered under my breath. I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or scream in frustration. "So, I could’ve been stacking up XP from the start if I wasn’t an idiot with no HUDD?"
"Exactly," Elmo repeated, completely unapologetic. "You were basically a lost little lamb in the system until I gave you a HUDD. You're welcome, by the way. How does it feel to finally have a shot at making something of yourself?"
I rolled my eyes but let out a small sigh. The whole situation was insane, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. The labyrinth wasn’t going to wait for me to get my act together.
"Right," I said, shaking my head. "I get it now. No more wasted hamster hunts."
With that, I turned back to the puzzle stone, still feeling a lingering tension in my chest. The weight of everything I’d learned—from my pathetic stats to the confusing HUDD system—was pressing on me. But there was no time to lose. The stone slab still sat there, the intricate symbols still mocking me with their cryptic design. I’d come this far; I couldn’t just ignore it.
I stepped closer, my fingers brushing the surface, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. The symbols on the stone shifted, and the air around me hummed with energy. Before I could react, a holographic display flickered to life in front of me, sending a faint glow into the dark labyrinth corridor. A series of interconnected shapes and lines hovered midair, twisting and turning in a mesmerizing but dizzying pattern.
"What's this?" I muttered, leaning in closer to the glowing holographic display.
Elmo’s voice cut in, uninvited as always. "Oh, look at that. A puzzle. How fun. Bet you didn’t expect this, huh? Maybe you can actually solve something for once."
I ignored the AI's sarcasm, my mind racing as I tried to make sense of the floating geometric shapes. The puzzle looked deceptively simple, just a few lines and dots that needed to be connected in the right sequence. But something in my gut told me there was more to it than just matching shapes.
I raised an eyebrow. "So, I guess solving this is supposed to get me something, right?"
Elmo’s voice smirked in my head. "I’m sure you’ll figure it out. The reward’s always the best part, after all. Try not to mess this one up like you did with that hamster."
I clenched my jaw but forced myself to focus on the puzzle. My eyes traced the intricate lines, each one seeming to mock me with its complexity. My brain buzzed as I tried to discern the pattern. After a few tense moments, something clicked—my instincts screamed that I needed to connect the lines to create a continuous path.
I hesitated for a second, fingers hovering over the symbols. Then, slowly, I began to move. My hand gained confidence as the design started to align. With a final stroke, the puzzle clicked into place, and the holographic display flickered out with a soft chime.
I stood there, waiting. I don’t know what I expected—maybe the floor would open up, or some dramatic event would follow—but when the stone slab groaned and shifted, revealing a hidden compartment beneath, my heart skipped a beat.
I leaned closer to peer inside. My breath caught when I saw a small vial glowing faintly with a soft blue light.
+2 XP
The HUDD blinked to life again, immediately identifying the object.
Healing Ointment – Common
Effect: Restores 10 HP when applied directly to wounds. Can only be used once.
I blinked, processing the information. "Healing ointment?" I muttered under my breath. "Well, this just got interesting."
My body still ached from the earlier trials—every cut and bruise a reminder of how much I'd endured. The idea of healing without lifting a finger was incredibly appealing.
I reached for the vial, uncorked it, and hesitated for just a moment. Then, I applied the blue liquid to the largest cut on my arm. The cool liquid soaked into my skin, and to my astonishment, the wound began to close at an almost visible rate. The pain that had been gnawing at me faded, replaced by a soothing, almost refreshing sensation.
I watched in awe as my skin seemed to repair itself, the jagged tear vanishing as if it had never been there. It wasn’t instant, but the speed was nothing short of miraculous. Turning my arm over to inspect the healed skin, I found it smooth and unmarked, no trace of injury remaining. I was stunned.
“No way,” I muttered, running my fingers over the spot where the wound had been. “This feels... real.”
Elmo’s voice broke my reverie, dripping with sarcasm. “Well, well, look at Mr. Fancy Pants, all impressed. You’re starting to get the hang of this, huh? It’s almost like this world has some interesting things to offer after all.”
I glanced around, still in disbelief. “I thought this was all just some game mechanic. But this... this feels like real life, Elmo. I mean, look at this!” I gestured to my arm, where not a trace of the injury remained. “This is beyond what I thought was possible.”
Elmo chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating with a knowing edge. “It’s almost cute how you’re getting attached to the mechanics. But don’t get too comfy, Blake. You’ve still got a long road ahead of you. And don’t go thinking healing ointments are going to be your magic bullet.”
A flash of frustration sparked in me, but I couldn’t help the small grin tugging at the corner of my lips. "Yeah, yeah, but I’m not complaining. Healing without a hundred bandages? Definitely a win in my book."
The HUDD updated, showing my newly healed HP:
HP: 12/20 → 20/20
A sense of satisfaction surged through me. For once, things were working in my favor. Maybe, just maybe, I could handle this labyrinth. It was full of surprises—some helpful, some dangerous—but that’s what made it interesting, right?
Standing a little straighter, I felt the weight of the unknown ahead of me seem a bit lighter. If this place was as full of surprises as this, I might just have a chance at surviving after all.
What do you think is the most surprising thing Blake has learned so far about the new world he's in?