Level 101: The Neighbourhood of Echoes

  Dante opened his eyes sharply, with his heart pounding. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was.

  A female figure, her movements gentle yet her face empty, walked away in silence after placing a tray on the bedside table. She didn’t say a word. Only a faint nod accompanied her departure.

  On the tray: a steaming cup of coffee and a jam sandwich.

  — Thanks... I guess — murmured Dante, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer.

  It didn’t surprise him. In other regressions, he had learnt that trying to speak to the Echoes beyond what was necessary was dangerous. Those beings weren’t people — they were memories pretending to be people.

  The coffee had a metallic taste, and the bread an oddly spongy texture, as if it had been baked in a world that had long forgotten the laws of physics. After showering, the clothes he found on the chair were immaculate — washed and ironed in an impossibly short time, as if someone — or something — had prepared them while he lathered up. That excessive attention the Echoes had for their guests never ceased to unsettle him.

  Just before leaving, something made him turn back. The house radiated an artificial calm. It smelt of freshly baked bread; for a moment, it took him back to his grandmother’s kitchen when he was a child, stirring a pang of nostalgia that clashed with unease.

  In the kitchen, the Echo mother washed the dishes with mechanical precision. On the sofa, the Echo father leafed through a newspaper covered in symbols that distorted whenever he tried to read them. In one corner, an Echo girl played with a faceless doll. In another, an Echo boy stood before an old arcade machine.

  Dante approached slowly. The cabinet was massive, with a built-in screen, joystick, and buttons. Soon, a notification flashed before his eyes with the item’s description:

  [Old Arcade Machine — Cursed Relic]

  Allows its bearer to travel to Level 7.

  Warning: you must first play the game for a few seconds to be transported.

  A wry smile crossed Dante’s face. He knew this relic well; the description was deceptive because it left out a crucial detail — the Echo boy reacted violently if you used the machine without his permission. Dante had learnt that the hard way. That was the real reason why the arcade was cursed — and it wasn’t something you could take with you.

  The house they had been assigned to stay in was considered haunted. The previous occupant had died under inexplicable circumstances; in truth, he had been the first to use the machine without permission. The Echo boy had mutated and killed him. Dante had seen it happen first-hand.

  The Echo boy took a small golden coin from his pocket — perfectly round, without any inscription — and held it for a few seconds, as if hesitating. Then he let it drop into the slot with a sharp click. The screen came to life instantly, playing distorted music eerily similar to Super Mario Bros. The character ran across floating platforms under a sunless sky. But the enemies weren’t turtles or mushrooms — they were pixelated human faces, grotesque and twisted, screaming silently as they were crushed.

  Dante’s skin prickled. He didn’t know what disturbed him more: the game itself, or the way the boy played with absolute focus, as though nothing else existed in the world.

  He then remembered why that machine was the most important piece in this place — and why so few understood its true value. It could teleport you to the gates of the Final Level. And that tiny, insignificant golden coin was an essential key to escaping Nullaria.

  Dante pressed his lips together. He needed to get hold of at least two golden coins — by any means necessary. Steal the coin from the boy again in this regression, if it came to that, to secure an escape route from this world. But not now. Not yet.

  He turned around and finally stepped out of the house.

  The air outside was thick, yet warm. The neighbourhood stretched out before him in its unsettling perfection: two-storey grey houses, all identical, each inhabited by Echoes repeating domestic routines with ghostly politeness, never once stepping beyond their doors.

  In the distance, a flagless pole could be seen in the main square. There, among grey benches and lampposts that never went dark, the others awaited him.

  The human camp — the only living anomaly in this place designed to look like home.

  Dante began walking with steady steps.

  Today, he would meet one of the key figures of this camp. Someone he remembered disliking deeply, yet whose existence was necessary to trigger the events that would heighten his perception.

  Horacio.

  One of the few humans who had earned a degree of respect in Nullaria through sheer survival skill. He wasn’t popular. He had a reputation for being competitive, controlling, and envious — especially when Bealuna was nearby. He was always accompanied by his three inseparables: Bebe, Chichila, and Jonathan. A trio as unpleasant as they were effective. They weren’t liked, but they were useful. And in a place like this, usefulness mattered more than likability.

  Dante frowned.

  It was going to be a long day.

  The central square of the camp was a cobbled space, identical to the street layout of the level, enclosed by old lampposts that flickered endlessly, as if forever unable to decide whether to light up or go out.

  He walked over to an empty fountain and saw her there: Bealuna, sitting on the stone edge, idly playing with a small twig between her fingers. Her posture was relaxed, but her gaze — fixed and bright — made it clear she had been waiting for him.

  — And? — she asked with a half-smile —. How was it, sleeping in the haunted house and being treated so kindly by the Echoes?

  The question sounded light, but there was weight in her tone, as though she were measuring each of his reactions.

  Dante shrugged, though he couldn’t help but smile. Every time he saw her, something inside him loosened. It wasn’t indifference he felt, but an unexpected joy, difficult to hide, even when he tried to disguise it as simple politeness.

  — Honestly... I wasn’t ready for that — he admitted —. You’d warned me that the Echoes were strange, but I didn’t expect that level of kindness. And I still don’t understand why they say that house is haunted — he added, feigning ignorance.

  Bealuna tilted her head thoughtfully.

  — I told you there was a boy who claimed to have prophetic dreams — she replied —. He always spoke of things no one believed… until one day, they found him dead beside the arcade machine in that house. Since then, no one’s dared go near it.

  She paused briefly, crossing her arms.

  — Although, to be honest, I think it’s nonsense. Most likely the boy tried to tamper with the machine carelessly. Even knowing it was the Cursed Relic of this level.

  — Yes, that’s most likely — Dante nodded —. He probably disrupted one of the Echoes’ routines… and you know how that ends.

  He lowered his voice, almost conspiratorially.

  — That’s why I asked to stay in that house. I wanted to study it closely. Cursed Relics always hide traps. This one, according to its description, teleports you to Level 7 if you play for a few seconds. But the Echo boy guarding it is... rather possessive of it.

  Bealuna smirked with disdain.

  — Then I was right. That guy was an idiot, and he paid the price for carelessly touching the relic.

  She stretched, arching her back lazily.

  — Anyway, I’ve heard there are other ways to reach that level. I’m not desperate enough to try something like that.

  Dante kept silent. He couldn’t reveal the truth yet — that Level 7 held the entrance to the Final Level.

  Bealuna continued to swing her legs absently and said lightly:

  — Still, I find it all quite boring. I prefer to think that house has something supernatural about it. Gives it more... charm.

  He smiled, amused.

  — You’re using the same words I once did… about living in the bliss of ignorance.

  Bealuna looked up with a playful smirk.

  — Perhaps your ignorance rubbed off on me — she teased, opening her mouth to say more, but a deep voice cut through the air.

  — So, this is the new guy. The one who defeated the Seventh Terror?

  The murmuring was immediate. Several people stopped what they were doing; others looked up, incredulous, as if they’d just heard a legend spoken aloud.

  The name of the Seven Terrors of Nullaria was not uttered lightly.

  Dante turned.

  In front of him stood a man of about twenty-seven, athletic, broad-shouldered, with a sharp jaw and dark eyes. His mere presence carried tension.

  Horacio finally showed up.

  Behind him, like trained shadows, stood his three inseparables: Bebe, Chichila, and Jonathan. They didn’t need to say a word; their cynical smiles spoke for them.

  — Oh my…! — someone muttered in the crowd —. He’s the one who beat it?

  — Yes — another replied —. Bealuna brought him here.

  Silence fell suddenly, heavy as stone. Horacio took a step forward and crossed his arms.

  — Was it luck? — he asked in a low, venomous voice —. Or was the monster simply tired and weakened?

  Bealuna didn’t even look at him. With calm precision, she turned towards the onlookers.

  — Dante also plans to attempt the impossible — to pull the sword from the pedestal.

  The shock rippled through the crowd. Some snickered quietly; others shook their heads. The sword was more myth than object — an impossible symbol. Since the camp’s founding, no one had managed to move it even an inch.

  — Enough! — barked a harsh, commanding voice.

  Matilde emerged from the crowd like a spear. She had the bearing of a leader from another era: a black leather jacket, a dark patch over her left eye, and a long grey mane that flowed in the wind. Around thirty-two years old, she moved with a firm grace, as if each step reaffirmed that the world hadn’t yet ended.

  — Welcome, Dante Montenegro — she said, without enthusiasm but with respect —. News of your feat has reached every level. Defeating a Terror is no small thing. Although, frankly... — she studied him with a frown — I doubt anyone could draw that sword. Still, I’ve no issue with you trying. The pedestal’s in the garden of the first house in the Echo Neighbourhood. Access is open to anyone brave enough to try their luck.

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  He nodded in silence. He could feel the weight of countless eyes on his back — and Horacio’s among them, sharp with barely veiled superiority.

  — I’ll also make another announcement — Matilde continued, addressing the group —. Bealuna brought a device: a mobile phone found inside the tunnel. Our technicians are already analysing it. By this afternoon, we should have access to its contents. Perhaps it’ll hold clues about what’s inside.

  A ripple of murmurs spread through the square — some faces tense, others lit with fragile hope. Matilde turned back to Dante, her tone drier.

  — Basic rules: no wandering around the neighbourhood after nightfall — she said —. Reality distorts here. Don’t disturb the Echoes in the house you’re assigned. And under no circumstances enter the tunnel outside midday, unless you want to die.

  She nodded once and went on.

  — There are around fifty survivors. Ten sectors remain unexplored. We’ll form groups of four or five members. Missions will be assigned shortly. We depart in one hour.

  She paused and fixed Dante with a sharp gaze.

  — Don’t play heroes. Just gather information — recordings, notes, anything you find. Stay in contact.

  As she spoke, Bealuna was switching on her mobile phone. Matilde shot her a knowing glance.

  — Take them with you. Dante, May and Peter will team up with Bealuna.

  A nervous stir ran through the square — people grouping up, refining strategies, checking makeshift weapons. Then a shrill voice called from the back:

  — Let’s all go first! We want to see if Dante can pull the sword!

  Cheers and laughter erupted.

  — Yeah, let’s go!

  — A bit of fun before dying tomorrow!

  — I bet he won’t even move it!

  Horacio smirked faintly at the voices. He said nothing, but his eyes burned with quiet mockery.

  Bealuna, on the other hand, seemed to relish the spectacle.

  Dante didn’t respond. There was no need. He turned and began walking towards the first house of the Neighbourhood of Echoes with the calm of one unafraid of failure — the decision was already made.

  A few minutes later, Dante stood before the garden of the first house.

  The grass, a greenish grey, was perfectly trimmed — too perfect for such a chaotic world. In the centre stood a pedestal of warped black stone, resembling obsidian, rising like a petrified heart, thick and half a metre tall. Embedded at its summit, a sword slumbered within the rock, buried almost entirely. Only the golden hilt protruded. At the centre of the guard, an empty socket seemed to wait for a gemstone... or something else.

  He stopped at the pedestal’s base. A subtle vibration climbed his spine.

  His vision blurred for an instant, and a holographic projection flickered before his eyes:

  [Sword of Light — Legendary Category]

  Grants its wielder the ability to cut through sky and earth.

  The sword evolves alongside its wielder.

  Grants 10% immunity to Curses.

  "Only one who can hear the silence of the world shall be able to wield it."

  Dante swallowed hard. The phrase hear the silence of the world echoed in his mind with unsettling clarity — as though it had been written for him alone.

  He glanced at his right hand, remembering the Violet Divine Stone his body had absorbed… and he understood.

  It wasn’t about strength, nor destiny.

  During the battle against Respect, when all sound had vanished — when even his own screams were devoured by the void — he had learned something no training could teach: to perceive the invisible within silence. In that abyss without noise or air, he understood that true power came from listening to what no one else could hear. The Terror’s judgement had not been punishment but a brutal lesson: only one capable of honouring life even in nothingness deserves to keep it.

  And now he knew — without that lesson, he’d never have been able to move the sword.

  To the others, that final line in the description might have meant nothing.

  To Dante, it meant everything.

  He didn’t think of the crowd.

  He didn’t think of Bealuna, or Horacio, or even the sword itself.

  Each step he took towards the pedestal made the collective silence tremble.

  The murmuring of the people turned into one shared breath.

  Dante stopped before the weapon.

  He reached out his hand.

  When his fingers touched the hilt, a violet flash burst like a heartbeat in the air.

  The pedestal shuddered, and from its cracks spilled threads of light.

  The very ground of Nullaria trembled.

  With a soundless cry, he pulled upward.

  The sword came free as if it had always been waiting.

  The blade sang as it left the stone. A surge of energy swept through the air, piercing skin, fabric, and thought alike.

  The entire crowd fell silent.

  Dante raised the sword to the sky.

  The hilt shone with a deep violet hue, and in the empty socket, a gem of the same colour materialised, pulsing in rhythm with his heart.

  Then, visible only to him, a new projection appeared before his eyes:

  [Sword of Light — Divine Category]

  Grants its wielder the ability to cut through sky and earth.

  The sword evolves alongside its wielder.

  +10% immunity to Poison, Fire, Ice, Lightning, Curses, and Physical Attacks.

  Fragments Found: 1 / 7

  Find all seven fragments to unlock the full Mystical Set.

  Special reward available: “???”

  Around him, astonishment was absolute. Some took a step back.

  Others fell to their knees, as if witnessing something sacred.

  Horacio stared at him, torn between hatred and fear.

  Bealuna, still smiling, held her gaze. Her eyes shimmered with endless admiration.

  She was convinced it had been the energy of her rune of Good Fortune that allowed him to raise the first Divine-class weapon in all of Nullaria.

  Dante, however, knew the truth was different.

  Fortune had nothing to do with it.

  But he chose not to say a word.

  The air seemed to settle, as though Nullaria itself had exhaled after holding its breath for centuries.

  For a few seconds, no one moved. Only the faint hum of residual violet energy lingered in the air, suspended between awe and fear.

  Then, a voice rose from the crowd — trembling, incredulous —:

  — He did it... he pulled it out.

  Like an invisible contagion, the murmur spread. The words passed from mouth to mouth, bouncing between startled gazes. Some crossed themselves with mechanical gestures; others stepped back, as if fearing the ground might open beneath them. A young warrior was the first to clap, and soon the sound multiplied — erratic, chaotic — until it became a wave of fragmented cheers.

  Bealuna was the first to approach. Her eyes, still glimmering, held a blend of emotion and pride.

  — I knew you could do it — she murmured, barely audible.

  Beside her, May and Peter watched in silence, their faces lit by a quiet kind of respect.

  Matilde pushed through the crowd, striding with firm, deliberate steps. She stopped before the shattered pedestal and fixed her gaze upon it, thinking — though she would never admit it aloud — that this boy truly was different. Then, changing her tone, she shouted:

  — Everyone back to your sectors! The show’s over!

  Her orders rang across the plaza, and little by little, the groups began to disperse. Some left in silence; others kept glancing back at Dante, as if trying to etch his image into memory. Something had changed.

  Dante was no longer just another survivor.

  Bealuna, May and Peter gathered around him as he stored the sword in his Dimensional Inventory.

  The heroic moment faded.

  Now it was time for strategy.

  Their next destination was clear: Level -69, known as The Sea of the Horned Whales.

  To reach it, they needed to find a hidden object within that same first house. All the other teams would be doing the same, exploring their assigned homes as Matilde had ordered.

  Still lost in thought, Dante recalled what he had read in the sword’s description after fusing it with the Violet Divine Stone. The elemental attributes had changed — and the text mentioned that this was the first of seven fragments required to unlock the Mystic Set, along with a special reward. He remembered it had never changed in any of his regressions. By defeating each Terror, he would obtain a fragment. This time, he needed to find them all.

  That was when Horacio approached, flanked by his three inseparable shadows.

  He wore a faint, almost polite smile — but there was something sharp behind his eyes.

  — Dante — he said in a relaxed tone, though every word was measured —, does your retina say if that sword is the Blessed Relic of Level 101?

  We’ve been searching for it for ages… and it never appeared.

  Dante looked at him silently. He didn’t answer at once.

  He knew perfectly well what the truth was.

  The Blessed Relic was not the sword. It was a simple gold coin, hidden in the pocket of an Echo child inside that very house he had been assigned.

  It didn’t surprise him that no one else knew. And since it was hidden inside the same home that contained the Cursed Relic — the arcade machine everyone avoided — it was only natural that it remained undiscovered.

  Of course, only Dante knew this, thanks to his many regressions.

  — No. It isn’t — He finally replied, his voice flat and calm.

  Horacio studied him for a few seconds, trying to tell if he was lying. Then he grimaced, irritated, and gestured for his group to leave.

  — Whatever you say… hero — he muttered, before walking off towards the house assigned to them.

  Dante watched him go for a few moments.

  — What’s his damn problem? — Bealuna grumbled, drawing laughter from Peter and May.

  May suggested ignoring Horacio and his group and heading inside the house, since it was precisely the one they had been assigned to explore.

  Once inside, the four of them noticed the Echoes carrying on with their usual routines. The children were playing a clapping game on the floor; the woman was baking what looked like biscuits in the kitchen — a sweet, hypnotic aroma filled the entire house — and the man sat calmly reading a thick, untitled book.

  Peter, observant as always, muttered under his breath:

  — It’s funny how it’s always the same scene in every house. A family of four, same routines...

  May noted that although the interior of all the houses was identical, each one contained one or more unique objects; most of them served to teleport to other levels.

  Dante commented, pretending to curse the situation:

  — And I got the haunted house with the Cursed Relic... — provoking laughter from everyone.

  Bealuna politely refused a tray of freshly baked biscuits offered by the Echo mother and began to walk around the room, observing carefully.

  — This is the only house in the whole neighbourhood with that red door inside... — she said.

  Everyone heard her, and that single phrase was enough to change the air. That door was not ordinary: it was the main entrance to Level 101 from Level -1. A direct access point.

  But it was not the time for contemplation.

  — We’re not looking for that door — said Dante, crossing his arms —. What we need is a green seashell, right?

  Bealuna nodded, without taking her eyes off the place.

  — Exactly. That object is the key. If we listen to the sound of the sea through it, we’ll be transported directly to Level -69. The children usually hide it somewhere in the house... as part of their eternal game. Only they understand the rules.

  May then noticed that the children and the Echo father had sat down at the table to devour the biscuits freshly baked by the mother. Although their faces lacked eyes or mouths, the biscuits disappeared upon contact with their faces, as if they were chewing them. The scene was disturbingly natural.

  And that was when Horacio made the mistake.

  With his group, he entered silently, like a shadow, taking advantage of Dante’s team being distracted. As soon as they crossed the threshold, he made a quick signal to Bebe.

  Bebe nodded with a smile full of malice. The rune of the Claw, engraved on his arm, began to glow. With a thought, he activated his ability: his fingers lengthened, turning into sharp blade-like claws. In a single movement, he tore apart the Echoes sitting at the table.

  The bodies convulsed and went still after a brief spasm.

  Silence fell like a hard blow.

  Everyone turned, alarmed.

  Horacio, eyes burning with a mixture of rage and pride, smiled cruelly and shouted:

  — Have fun now! Let’s see if the great Dante can save you! — he said, his voice dripping with poisonous irony.

  And they slammed the door behind them.

  The Echoes remained motionless. For a second.

  Then their bodies began to mutate. They lengthened, distorted, losing all peaceful form. From their hands emerged black claws covered in thick venom.

  Their heads twisted in unison, immediately facing Dante and his group.

  — Shit... — muttered Peter, his face pale —. Stupid Horacio!

  The atmosphere shattered.

  A tacit pact, an invisible balance, had just been broken.

  Nullaria reacted.

  Dante, despite the tension, remained calm. He observed the scene with quiet composure, almost resignation.

  He already knew this would happen.

  And even so, it had to happen.

  Both the red door leading to Level 101 and the exit door of the house vanished, consumed by a flash that crumpled them as if they were made of paper.

  The walls groaned.

  The floor trembled.

  A new pattern — distorted and anomalous — imposed itself upon reality.

  The rules were no longer the same.

  They had changed.

  Radically.

  Dante did not hesitate.

  He drew the Sword of Light. In a single, clean, precise movement, he cut down the four Echoes before they could reach them. There was no other choice. No other way out.

  Bealuna and May cursed Horacio under their breath as they watched the floor crack open.

  Peter tried to open a window. Nothing. Everything was sealed.

  As if the level itself had locked them in.

  But the death of the Echoes was not merely an act of defence.

  It was a wound.

  An emotional and existential tear in the very fabric of the level.

  From the black mist exhaled by the lifeless bodies, something began to form.

  A silhouette without contour, without face, without name...

  It slid swiftly towards the darkest corners of the house, seeking refuge, as though it weren’t yet ready to reveal itself.

  The entire house creaked.

  Colours began to fade.

  Everything shifted towards black and white, while the atmosphere dimmed faintly.

  And then, a new message vibrated across their retinas:

  [Level “-777”: Axis -X. Class “?” — Survival difficulty: “?”]

  Level information unavailable. Unknown level.

  — Level -777? — murmured Peter, in disbelief.

  — Did a new level just form? — added May, frowning.

  Bealuna, without taking her eyes off the melting walls, replied:

  — It seems so. The Heart of Nullaria holds no record of this level... It was probably generated by Horacio’s actions.

  Dante said nothing.

  He had seen this before.

  In his regressions.

  His attention was not on the message.

  It was on the corners.

  On the shadows that moved too slowly to be seen, yet too alive to be ignored.

  He gripped the hilt of his sword firmly.

  Not out of fear.

  But in preparation.

  The air grew denser.

  The edges of the walls melted, as if the entire level were being rewritten in real time.

  The colours kept draining towards absolute grey, while a dull tremor travelled across the floor and seeped into their bones.

  Dante narrowed his eyes.

  It wasn’t the first time he had seen a level mutate before his eyes.

  But that didn’t make it any less dangerous.

  In Nullaria, every change meant new rules.

  New threats.

  And they almost never came alone.

  Nullaria had spoken.

  The love, patience, and kindness of the Echoes began with respect.

  And someone... had just broken it.

  End of Chapter Seven.

  Echoes

  Welcome to Nullaria.

  The violence of one man births a new layer of existence — a reflection of pride, arrogance, and consequence.

  The realm evolves not through progress, but through corruption.

  The Echoes, once gentle, become instruments of Nullaria’s memory — enforcers of the respect that sustains balance.

  Nullaria always watches.

  And when the balance is broken, it will correct it — no matter the cost.

  — Alberto Báez