My heels ground into broken glass. I shoved Lena backward, stepped between her and the seething tide. Shield up, spear level. A fragile line in the sand.
"Wall's at our backs!" My voice came out sharper than intended. "They can't surround us! Control the flow!" Finnik's second rule: When outnumbered, make them come at you one at a time. Or in this case, three at a time. Still better than a dozen.
A phantom lunged. My spear lashed out—wide arc. The thing pulled back, buying me a second.
Lena erupted. Her flaming fist punched through a phantom's core—it burst from within, consumed by fire. Embers scattered. A second strike sent another staggering back three steps, form dissolving like wax in a flame.
The horde didn't care. It surged. Maybe ten still swarming. Too many to fight head-on. Three rushed my position in a tight wave—we were back-to-back, separated by half a step.
The lead phantom impaled itself on my ready spear, dissolved into cold mist. The other two pressed forward, claws scraping against bronze—a grinding shriek that set my teeth on edge. The line held. For now.
"We need to leave, Lena! Push them!" My voice cracked. I shot her a weak wink. I hoped she saw guts, not tremors.
I put my weight into a wide sweep. My foot slipped on glass. A phantom seized the opening. A chitinous claw raked across my exposed ribs—cold fire bloomed across my side. Agony stole my breath.
Lena saw me stagger. Saw the blood darkening my tunic. "GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Her eyes ignited.
She became a whirlwind. Her fist shattered the phantom that cut me—it unraveled into black smoke. But for every one she destroyed, two more glided forward. Blank faces showing nothing. No anger. Just silent, relentless advance.
A claw phased through her guard. Ice spread from the cut on her arm. Blood welled dark. She grunted, flames sputtering.
"Lena! Your left!" She pivoted, barely avoided the next strike.
The line didn't buckle. It shattered.
We were being pushed, herded toward the corridor. "THEY'RE CUTTING US OFF!" Lena roared, deflecting a blow with her forearm. The escape route narrowed, sealed by advancing forms.
"Nihl! GO!"
"R-roger!" The sound came out shaky.
We didn't break through. We were flushed out—a desperate lunge into the dark tunnel as the tide closed behind us. Running away. Finnik would be so proud. My favorite tactical maneuver.
-?-
Each breath burned. My side was wet, warm. I didn't look down. Didn't want to know how bad it was.
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Lena was worse. Her leather armor hung in ribbons, blood seeped through the cuts, dark against pale skin—but she was still moving, still pushing forward.
We staggered to a halt against the pulsating walls. The corridor was narrower here, darker. Lena slid down, clutching a deep gash on her arm.
The phantoms hadn't followed. They were circling the chamber entrance like guards.
"Okay." She panted, head leaning back. "New plan. We find this thing's core..." A fierce, tired grin. "...and make it wish it had left the damn door open." She looked over, her face pale. "You still with me, slowpoke?"
"Define 'with you.'" I slid down next to her, my ribs screaming protest. "If you mean physically present, yes. Mentally? I'm counting how many are following us."
She snorted. "Close enough."
I watched the phantoms. They weren't pressing the attack. Not following us deeper. Why? They weren't acting like hunters. They were acting like herders.
Something was wrong.
"Lena, we need to hide. Stop your flames." My voice dropped, urgent. "This is an attrition war. Describe what you see. How do they look to you?"
Lena's fiery aura guttered out. Without her fire, the darkness pressed in harder. Suffocating.
"Attrition war... gods, you sound like Lady Dia." She muttered, closing her eyes. Replaying the fight.
"They're... hollow. Like an echo. You hit them, and it feels like punching through fog until you find the... memory of something solid inside." Her eyes opened. Gaze sharpening.
"Their limbs shatter like glass. And their faces..." A pause. "For a second, I saw a man's face when your spear went through the first one. They don't fight to kill. They fight like they're trying to... remember something."
She shivered, looking at her cuts. "The wounds are colder than they should be."
"They're not monsters, Nihl. They're ghosts." She met my eyes.
I leaned forward. "I don't see them the same way at all." My voice was quiet. "What I see is stark black. Featureless. Two enormous claw-tipped hands. No face. No humanity."
A pause. "It's in our heads. Different for each of us."
Lena stared. Exhaustion drained from her face, replaced by dawning horror. "What? No... that can't be right. I saw them. I felt them." She looked from my face to her own wounds.
The realization hit us both at once.
"We're... being charmed?" My breath caught. "The door... it was there all along, wasn't it?"
Lena's face went slack. Then it hardened into pure fury. She looked at the cuts on her arms—so real, burning with cold that seeped into bone.
"No." A snarl at the walls. "It's not a charm. It's a lie."
She was right. The wounds were real. The phantoms existed. "But they feel weak. Too weak." Her eyes narrowed. "It's wearing down our bodies and our minds."
A lie wrapped around a truth. The worst kind of trap.
"So." I gave a weak chuckle. "What's the plan, silly Pyraei cat?"
I sighed, wincing as my ribs protested. "We're not exactly compatible with this kind of enemy."
Lena latched onto the sarcasm. The familiar ground. "Fine. You're the smart one. So think."
She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "This place feeds on fear. So we stop feeding it." A finger tapped against my chest. "You think the door is still there? We believe it back into existence."
I frowned. "If we stay here, we die without food or water. That's why they don't push us. They can just wait."
Lena's grin collapsed. "...Oh. Right. The food and water thing."
"So what's your move? We can't stay. We can't go back. That leaves forward." She slumped.
"No." I stretched sore muscles, pulling her backward. "We go back to the normal room, kick the phantoms out, and search for the wall with the entrance!"
"By the gods, you're dense!"
The sheer absurdity stopped Lena dead. She whirled. Her expression was a tapestry of outrage and dawning admiration.
"I'm dense? I'm DENSE?!" Her voice rose. "You want to go back to the room full of nightmare monsters... to redecorate?!"
"Exactly."
"That's—" She paused. Processed. "Wait."
Then she got it. The wolfish grin returned, wider and more unhinged. "You glorious, stupid, brilliant idiot." She was almost laughing. "You think the door is hidden behind their moping."
Her feet planted, sharp focus coursing through her. "Alright." She cracked her knuckles.
"New new plan. We clear the room. We don't just believe the door back—we dig it out from under their misery."
She looked back toward the chamber, then at me. "They think they've won. They think we're scared little rabbits."
Her gaze met mine, a fierce whisper.
"Let's go prove them wrong."
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