They reached the door at the other end of the crypt room. It was tall and closed, deep red in color. Nathan’s skin crawled. He could feel… something on the other side. A pushing like that of a Veil. If doors had levels, this one would be higher than anything they’d yet faced. And from the looks on the faces of the two beside him, they felt the same thing.

“Is this standard for dungeons?” Nathan asked, inspecting the menacing door.

“No,” Saleh said with a shake of his head. “The door is acting as a shroud. But trying to say what is standard about dungeons is like trying to say what is standard about animals. Sure they’ve all got some similarities, but a rat isn’t a dog just because they both have fur.”

“So we have no idea what we’re about to walk into?” Cleo asked, her expression souring further than usual.

“Correct.”

“Comforting.”

“There usually isn’t much about dungeons that is comforting,” Saleh said, his grin cracking. “People don’t go into them because they’re fun.”

The white haired man held up a finger, stopping Cleo from saying some sort of retort. “But,” he said, “The stronger the enemy, the greater the rewards.” He turned to Nathan, a glint of eagerness in his eyes. “That’s one of the few standard things about dungeons. Now, please, open the door, Colonel.”

A tingle rushed through Nathan’s mind. He nodded and stepped forward. “We’re here,” he said to Cleo. “May as well take a peek inside.”

“Lead the way,” Cleo groaned.

“How kind of you.” Nathan knew she wasn’t being polite. She just wanted to make sure that someone besides her would be the first one attacked if something was waiting on the other side. Not that that would save her much. They were bound, afterall.

The assassin grinned and reached toward the door, grasping the round handle in his palm. He immediately felt the pushing grow in intensity, threatening to overwhelm. He pushed it down and swung the door open inward.

It moved easily, gliding across the ground, revealing a circular interior chamber much smaller than the one they were leaving, but still large in its own right. Sconces of flame were set into the chiseled walls around the room, lighting everything in flickering torchlight. Clean tiled floors extended into the room, polished and white, reflecting the yellow of the fire. Like a temple.

Nathan couldn’t help but be impressed by the room's beauty. Compared to that of the crypt room, this one was a work of art.

At the far end of the room, sat in an almost contemplative pose, was a singular statue of a man. A real statue this time, not just an unmoving monster. It looked like the marble statues of ancient greece. The man was lean and muscular, sitting in a large chair made of the same stone as him. He was slouched, his head lilting to the side, curls of rocky hair flowing down. It didn’t even look like stone. Whoever had made this was surely a master of their craft.

Something about it seemed… familiar. He’d seen this figure before.

Despite Nathan’s strange feelings about it, he could tell that the statue was the source of the pressure in the room. Waves like gravity pulsed off of it, washing over him. It felt like the entirety of the dungeon’s Threads had culminated in this one final spot. The decades of growth and mutation all amassing here.

“What the hell is that?” Cleo asked from over Nathan’s shoulder.

“I believe it is the end of the dungeon,” Saleh said, pushing past Nathan and striding into the room. “The place where all of that energy has coalesced over the years.”

“End of the dungeon?” Cleo didn’t look satisfied with that answer, and frankly, Nathan wasn’t either. “Already? Shouldn’t there be something more? I thought this place had been growing for decades. You’re trying to tell me that it’s already over?”

“Dungeons work in mysterious ways, my friend.” Saleh smiled back over his shoulder. “It’s best not to question it.”

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“You said there was more after that last enemy we fought. Either you’re a fool, or a liar.”

Saleh shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Or perhaps I was just wrong.”

“Bullshit.” Cleo shoved roughly past Nathan, following Saleh into the room.

The white haired man continued to walk toward the statue, paying no attention to Cleo until she grabbed him by the back of his collar and threw him roughly to the ground. He tumbled hard on his shoulder and slid across the polished tiles, coming to a stop against the wall, underneath a flickering sconce.

How many points has she been investing in strength? She did that so casually.

“What are you doing?” he yelled, looking up from the ground, wincing as he held his shoulder. But before he could do anything to react, Cleo was already upon him, one hand holding him down. He looked to Nathan. “Stop her!”

Another tingle washed over his skin. Nathan stepped forward to put a stop to it, but then stopped himself. Had that been a command?

“I don’t trust you,” Cleo hissed as she crouched down in front of Saleh, one hand on the dagger in her belt. “I haven’t trusted you since the moment I saw you.”

Saleh’s eyes flicked over to Nathan but he would find no help within them. The truth was, he didn’t trust Saleh either. He hadn’t since he’d first met him back in the forest.

“So,” Cleo continued, glancing down at her now drawn blade, inspecting it in the firelight like a surgeon would a scalpel. “It would be best for you if you started telling the truth before I start cutting it out of you.”

Saleh let out a long breath from his nostrils, eyeing both assassins. “I have told you no lie,” he said, his words slow and careful. “I said you could have whatever we find in the dungeon and you can. You have my word.”

Not sure I trust his word after seeing what it is capable of.

“Not good enough,” Cleo said. She pressed her blade up firmly against Saleh’s throat, forcing his head back and locking eyes with him. “You’ve been fucking with our heads from the start, haven’t you? Why are you here? What do you have to gain?”

“We all have our secrets,” Saleh said with a scoff, his neck craned in an uncomfortable position. “For gods sakes, you don’t even tell your partner everything. The two of you didn’t know the other’s abilities until hours ago.”

Cleo’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I may not trust Nathan, but I know him.” The blade pressed deeper into Saleh’s skin, causing a trickle of red to appear. “I don’t know you. And that’s all that matters. Now start talking.”

“Are you really going to do this now?” Saleh’s eyes grew cold. He had to speak carefully to avoid getting his throat sliced open.

“You think I’m letting you take another step unless we do this now?” Cleo growled.

Saleh’s eyes flicked down to the blade at his chin, then back up to Cleo’s. “No,” he said after a time. “No, I don’t. I can tell you’re quite serious. I didn’t want to have to do this, but…”

Nathan realized what the man was doing but it was too late. He had barely been able to notice the subtle tug of power above the pounding pulse of the statue’s.

Slouched low and pitifully against the wall, blade to his throat, eyes boring into Cleo, Saleh’s lips parted and uttered a single word.

“Die.”

The cursed word pierced the air like a dagger. Nathan felt as if the world had suddenly flipped upside down. The power of the statue faded as a sense of dread filled his mind, polluting it. His heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat as a wall of despair crashed over him and he collapsed to his knees.

A voice cried out in the air, sharp and full of pain. His voice? No, Cleo’s. Nathan lifted his head, muscles shaking and straining.

Cleo staggered backward as if desperately trying to get away from the man, but she could not. Her dagger was protruding from her own stomach. Her own hands were stained with vibrant red blood.

In seconds, Nathan felt that same wound in his own chest. A killing wound it is, then. Soulchained only shared the injuries among the two of them when they were strong enough to kill. He didn’t have much time.

Through blurred vision, Nathan saw Saleh push himself to his feet. He was coughing violently, lines of blood dripping from the corners of his mouth, staining his uniform. The command certainly had not been an easy one for him to say.

Cleo, being the target of the command, had been affected by it more, that just left Nathan. I have to do something.

Emerald flames ignited on his hand. The calls of his Echoes sounded loudly in his mind, along with the sound of a rushing river. The river of death. He was the Ferryman. He controlled it. Death would not take him so easily.

With as much strength as he could gather, Nathan roared, his flames growing higher and hotter. He had no time. Act now or die.

“Stop.”

Nathan’s flames died on his fist. His muscles locked in place. The Echoes receded, and he fell back down onto his knees. Just like that.

He’d been beaten with but a word.

Saleh grimaced in pain, holding his throat with one hand after saying the word.

“Apologies, Colonel,” Saleh said, his voice hoarse. He wiped at the blood on his lips, but only served to smear it further across his cheek. “I didn’t mean for my command to affect you as well. Hopefully you can overlook the unfortunate demise of your companion, but my hands were tied. If you survive this somehow, I hope we can still be friends.”

Nathan grunted, forced to watch, unable to do anything as Saleh pulled a small red vial from a pocket in his coat.

“Oh,” Saleh said, giving Nathan a smile. “And thank you for unlocking the door for me. That was very kind.”

Lying bastard.

Then, against his will, Saleh threw the healing potion toward Nathan.