They hauled me up in time, laughing the whole way up. When I was safely on the ledge, they threw me on the ground in a puddle of mirth. I couldn't help but join in as they informed me how stupid my face looked when I realized I wasn’t making it. My body made a ‘good plop’ upon colliding with the wall. I decided my team needed some time, so we stayed there for a short rest.
“What are all of your names?”
“I be chief,” the chief reminds.
“I be Gleb.” the smallest— and youngest?— announces.
“I be Darko,” the darkest comments with disinterest.
“Pointy,” The big-eared one mumbles.
“I be Big,” The second largest of the goble-kin brags.
“Yous can call me Keeper,” The only other grey-haired goble-kin finishes.
“How exactly do you survive here?” I ask the chief.
“That is a silly question. We exist here as we have for many times,” The Chief barks.
“Generations,” Gleb adds.
“Yes, lots of times. Things have not changed for us until you came,” the keeper agrees.
“I am the first you have met?”
“No, there have been others. They kill us. You evil races come, only those kinds,” The Chief answers.
“You have encountered other races than the Haimen?”
“Yes, all the evil races. Parths, Alvs, and Haims all comin' in to kill decent Goble-Kin.”
“What changed when I came?”
“I guess we don't get killed, so we change. The panther comes back when the door fixes,” the chief adds.
“Hmm. Do you remember anything from your life before?”
“I am the keeper. Our people come from bountiful lands that are endless until it ends. Time before the collapse is lost; its keepers fell with the world. When we can not survive in our space, there is a great fleeing to Jarah. We must tribute people to the great gem to live,” the keeper states passively.
“That is a terrible choice,” I try.
"It wasn't, just a way life flowed. We forget in time, allowing ours to exist in stillness. It is better to keep this truth, for I know no escape." The keeper finishes with a dry sort of sorrow.
“I feel empathy for what you and your people have endured.”
"It is noted but does little for us. Not that it is yours to deal with; we may never be able to free ourselves, and that still won't make it your responsibility," The keeper assures, lifting their chin.
“I understand. Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“You are welcome, Haiman.”
Continuing our journey brings us to the door that leads to the fourth floor. Pushing it open, we file into a small room. There is an archway and a hallway with three turns, and the walls are so black that it's hard to see the end of the passageway. Determining to avoid making the same mistake as my midterms, I run down the middle hallway. I mark the corner as we make turns, building a model in my mind palace. While scanning the ground for traps, I spot a niche. My hand goes up, but the group still runs into me. Should I trigger or move past it? Seeing no benefit to triggering the trap, I motion for everyone to move past.
We spend a couple of hours moving through corridors, avoiding the traps, and doubling back when we can't continue. Every trap we encounter is the same as the first. It is odd compared to everything thus far, which increases in difficulty. These increase in frequency but are no more difficult to spot. We have traveled primarily in one direction, worsening my nervousness.
My primary concern is with the intent of these winding paths, not aiming to confuse, merely to slow progress. The worry is that triggering the trap will initiate something coming after us, making the slower progress matter more. For now, though, we must focus on avoiding the pressure plates. A hissing click comes from the pressure plate behind the one I stepped over. Bracing for an impact that will disprove my theory, I feel only a cold dread creep in.
“Wasn’t something spose to happen?” Gleb whispers.
“Whatever happened should be catching up soon,” I mumble.
The pressure plate I had avoided is no longer responsive to pressure. How can I plan without the essential factors? What is most important? Speed. Cursing, I call over the group, sputtering orders.
“Each turn has been the same, two dead ends and one pathway that leads on. We will move to each turn and take all three turns. If you come to a dead end, come back, mark the hallway, and move down the next unmarked one. I will be playing rear guard, ensuring no one is left behind. If I am waiting at your intersection, you won't need to mark dead ends. Any questions.”
“We got it.” The chief assures.
“Let's move.”
We run for the next turn, fleeing an unknown threat. Something about having an enemy without a face seeps into my confidence. The bane to my pinnacle defense of preparedness. It nips at my heel, egging me on with our echoing steps. We come to the next set of turns, splitting up as I stay in the intersection. We work through the corridors in a coordinated formation. Coming to the third set of turns, I find both dead ends are already marked. I am running with the chief, the mightiest but not the fastest of his people.
The next few turns start to form a pattern. As we catch up to a few, there will be an unmarked passageway, and we will wait as the chief catches their breath in these welcome instances. These moments also reveal that I have been slacking on my physical training. Soon enough, we are running again to the next turn, the next decision.
We finally spot our advisory while running between intersections. It is a wisp of something, only glimpsing it as it fools with the dim light. A gas of some kind, strands of smoke stretch out to grasp us. How do you fight gas? I call out the danger as we pick up our pace. The point of this plan is that when the threat reaches us, whoever it catches will be less affected by the deterrence of the maze.
The chief starts falling behind, and I help them by supporting their side. After they become completely exhausted, I haul them up. Carrying the broad fellow over my shoulder slows our movement. The gas is gaining at this speed, worsening as we check turns for markings. I dig deep into myself and find something I hadn’t felt cramped into that small campus. My second wind, a glorious triumph of relief, pours into my body, forging my will as I shoulder my burden and pick up my fucking knees.
We finally come to the door with the rest of our comrades, all cheering as they see us in the distance. Now, they are calling in fear and sadness. I can't distinguish what is said, but I notice we are one member short, hearing the name Gleb. I think back to our last turn, where one of the marks denoting the right corridor is difficult to see. We had to touch the wall to make sure it was there.
“Can you make it the rest of the way?” I ask, setting the chief down.
“Do you have a death wish? Gleb is a good friend, but he knew-” The chief starts as I take his dissuading as assurances and dash at the smoke.
Without the Chief, I fly, hardly touching the ground, with a large handful of charcoal in my mouth. Some reinforcement allows me to activate the charcoal with heat. I close my nostrils entirely and create a screen in my throat so I don't choke. Breathing is more challenging, but it cancels out any adverse effects of the gas.
Reaching the postulated turn, I take it quickly, scraping against the confines of time that entrap me. Hearing a retching cough as I scan my surroundings; the smoke obscures detail. The source, Gleb, huddles in the dead end, covering their mouth as they retch. I grab them and throw them over my shoulder, earning myself several kicks and punches. I can't speak to stop the flailing person, resigning to confine them as much as possible. A stray blow slips through every few seconds.
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I am running on memory, and the way is smoke. Gleb is starting to weaken, becoming unconscious from lack of oxygen, dying from poison, or both. Sweat drenches my every inch, clothes stick and detach with each stride. The edge of my ability comes as I sprint toward the cliff. The next step on the ground will crumple my entire body. Then it's over, the smoke is gone, and I finally collapse.
There's still work to do. I wave off the others, telling them to guard. Looking at Gleb, their breaths are frayed things, winding out with wisps of smoke. If we weren't in the test, there would be nothing I could do to help them. Here, though, I have more power. I change my eyes to see inside him, feeling my creation magic running low. Smoke rests in their lungs, depriving and destroying them. A poison in the blood, a paralytic that is shutting down the organ function. Removing the smoke and poison is the first step, and it takes the rest of my creation magic, leaving a wrecked body in its wake.
Frantically considering options, most magics have a healing capacity, but only one can recreate damaged tissue. There isn’t any more magic, and I can’t solder everything shut. I must destroy and recreate the damaged tissue, but my creation magic is empty. But that is in the world. Here, things aren’t physical. Then, a piece of the story the keeper told me comes into my mind. They have to give a portion of their population. These aren’t creatures; these are souls. I pour soul magic into repairing the bronchi and bronchus, using death magic to restart the organs. Gasping from Gleb proves the success, and with that, I lay on the cold stone floor, finally spitting out the soot.
“Strange sight to find, even in this pit,” A delicate voice snickers.
“How so?” I gurgle, rolling to a sitting position, and the rest slip deeper into their guard.
“A haimaphrodite saving sub-kin.”
“Stupid lady doesn’t know our kind,” Gleb giggles.
“Do you know her?” I ask.
“No?” Gleb asks confusedly.
“Then how do you know they are she?”
“Are you stupid, Haimen?” The chief asks.
“Let’s circle back-” I mumble to the chief, rubbing the soreness from my temples.
“It seems you have betrayed your species and thrown in with this despicable lot.”
“Why do you harbor such hatred? And what is the goal of this room?”
“You walk with corruption and ask of my seething. Your attitude is offense.” The last bark punctuates with the sound of metal scrapping a sheath.
“I do not wish to fight you. We can come to an understanding.” I coo, unsheathing my rapiers in turn.
“Then you will hate the goal of this room: kill me.” The voice soothes with a tinge of something I can't place, almost frantic but not quite.
I stand beside my friends, closing our flanks with the wall at our backs, forming a half circle. The light in this room is dim, precluding the view of anything outside of a few meters. The Goble-kin pull torches from my pack and toss them around us to provide visibility. The eyes of my group are needles stabbing at the stranger. I will shape this outcome, truly a test of my merits and morals. But can I kill someone? I know that, morally, all life is equal, but there is an unnerving feeling when it comes to killing someone who has a consciousness similar to my own. If I know no other way, I must. Necessity is the justifier of all evil.
“We have other options,” I plead for the final time.
“I do not,” whispers a voice to my left.
Hearing this, I pull back, and a glint of metal slices in from that direction. Putting up my guard stance and focusing on my senses readies me for the lethal stakes. Welcome to a bad situation, with no creation magic and a body at the edge of ragged. Coal still sticks to the inside of my mouth, my legs tremble, and my ends drip with sweat. Using a small amount of soul magic, I rejuvenate my body slightly, doing the same to each of my friends.
The attacks make Shannai look slow. They probe each link of our chain, finding only solid resolve to meet their steel. Gems light our assailant, casting the details of a small figure drenched in a black robe. Their movements are concise and powerful. Only our numbers and superior position allow us to maintain an advantage. With each jab, their speed steadily increases.
“Do not attack, just defend. Attacking will get you killed,” I call.
“So you see through me then? I’ll change it up.”
With that, they hone in on me; a single sword is enough to push back both of my rapiers. Their robes billow in a way that connects them to the darkness. My defenses barely retain with the help of those around me. The disadvantage to our superior position is my inability to access the most useful tool of a rapier duelist: movement. Standing still forces me to change the trajectory of their blade as I shift the rest of the way.
“You can not win if you don't attack.”
“Who said I wasn’t going to attack?” I huff as my parry gives me the slightest opening.
Pointing one of my rapiers at their chest, I unleash my elemental magic directly at them. They avoid most of the hit, but it still hits, Throwing them back into the darkness. My mental magic forms a command word, and I shout my fury. Doing this has an unexpected effect as I brush against pure insanity. This person has spent too much time alone with nothing but hate, corrupting every aspect of them. There is a whiplash as my mind retreats.
“I am so sorry. Your time here must be torture,” I relent as a tear trickles down my cheek.
“Do not pity me!” They shout with something I can now place: madness.
A barrage of attacks for me alone, strikes emphasize a barking laugh. How long have they been in this state? How long have they been alone? I know now that killing this person will be a release for them, but it won't help. I will help them. I will do everything in my power to help.
“Back off, I will fight this battle,” I call my friends.
“Oh? Your belief so easily dashed by seeing into my mind?” They laugh.
“Not in the slightest. I am now more determined to help you.”
“To help me?” Their laugh streams tears down their cheeks. “You will be lucky to survive this ordeal. With no overseer, you are mine to pick apart as I wish.”
“I will defeat you, and I will save you.”
I finally let myself attack the figure. My striking forms are non-fatal. I keep my remaining soul magic in reserve. Bleeding off some time magic slows the fight, allowing me to deal with their superior reaction time, though my time magic falls away fast. Space magic gives me one teleportation within a few feet, with which I appear behind them and deal a crippling blow to their leg. The last of my destruction magic enhances the blow with a necrotic effect.
“You fool. The door will not open unless I am dead.” They huff, falling to a knee.
“There are— always— options.” I gasp out.
“You are too optimistic, and it will be your death.”
They rise, an extension of the darkness that pervades. I have a little soul magic and am not ready to use it. My body shakes as the pressure of standing bows my head, and I heave. Cuts skim my body, where blood stains my torn robe. I raise rapier unsteadily, holding all that I love close. This form isn’t my body; it is my will. My will never fails, so I will fight as long as I am alive.
“You will die.”
“I will, but probably not here,” I smile.
I see something more than furious anger in the figure's stance for the first time. The stout shadow bows for a moment, possibly reconsidering. The moment vanishes as they lunge, as strong as before but losing speed. I make contact at the end of my rapier, resigning to my final move, one that will break me if I am unsuccessful. I parry a blow, and instead of pinning a shoulder, my rapier pierces straight into their chest.
The shadow stutters in place a bit, shaking to stay upright. They face me, and I see beneath the flowing cowell. An x-shaped scar takes up most of the soft face, both eyes forced shut by the wound. The rest of their features are a delicate collection of proportional accouterments. A knowing smile adorns the visage.
“Your choice is made.”
“Not exactly.”
I pull my rapier, rushing forward, catching the person before they collide with the ground. The hole is in their heart, so I flood it with the rest of my soul magic and the small amount of creation magic that has regenerated. Moments pass, and nothing happens. I repaired critical damage from the fight with the last of my defenses, but they remain still. Checking them, I can feel no pulse— But I can’t give up. I flood the being with even more of my magic. Pushing my body past depletion does nothing to affect theirs. Their lifeless face is calmly unaltered as the red trickles out of their lips.
“Are they dead?” The chief asks.
“They are...”
“What will you do now?” The keeper asks.
“I do not know.” I consider, staring at my victim.
“Did you pass this floor?” The chief asks.
“I’m not sure. Check the door,” I ask, finding it did indeed open.
I am sitting on the floor staring at the body, and then I am not. I am floating in darkness. The viscous mire sticks to me, perforating the pretense that had previously contained my apathy. Now, the walls fall and expose a piece of me.
“You are a strange case,” an amused voice comments.
“Where am I?” I ask, seeing a yellow light that corresponds with the voice.
“You have not moved. We are communicating with your mind.”
“Oh? And we are?”
“We are the labyrinth.”
“How does that work? Soul magic, but how exactly?”
“You are presumptuous. We do not divulge the workings of our labyrinth, though there is something we give you.”
“What is that?”
“It depends on what you want. Your success has permitted me to offer you a boon.”
“What is the nature of this boon?”
“Hmm. The few who have won this have asked for some kind of weapon or other device, power, wealth, the usual.”
“Hmm. I thought— Can I help the person on the fifth floor if I can take the soul with me to find some repair.”
“We cannot do that.”
“Can you think of a better way to help them?”
“We can not.”
"A way to come back. Could I receive that? A way to come back. There are more floors, right?"
“It is possible for us.”
“Hmm, I have to check with my comrades.”
“The gobble-kin?”
“Correct, they made this possible. I can’t take the reward without even talking to them.”
“You are a strange one. Okay. Once you are ready, we will pull you into your own body. We will know your decision when you’re ready.”
“Thank you... labyrinth.” I thank.
“Thank you, contestant. You have done something few have had the will to do.”
“Are you up?” The chief frets, smacking my face.
“I am now.” I curse, cradling the offended cheek.
“You are talking in your sleep.”
“Thanks? I spoke to the maze, and they offered me a prize for completing the trial.”
“What did you choose?” Gleb asks.
“I am hoping to be able to help this person unless you want to use the reward for something else?”
“Us?” They question.
“Yes, you all are integral to completing this task. It is only fair that you have a say in what is received.”
“We don’t care for tokens. So you can take the reward.” The chief laughs with a smile on their face.
“Are you sure?”
“Indeed,” The keeper seconds.
“You can give us one of those pointy swords,” Gleb adds.
“Gleb,” The chief scolds.
“It is fine, and these are mental recreations. Your tribe can have both.” I agree, offering the blades.
“What a treasure to receive.” The chief exclaims, taking both.
“Make sure to share.” I scold.
“I don’t know how long until I return.” I relate, handing over the rest of my belongings.
“We will hold the fort. Come back and see. The goble-kin will rule this maze,” the chief calls.
“I thank you for your help. Goodbye, my friends.” I thank as my consciousness shifts out of the crystal.