Level -777: “ ? ”

  Reality on this level obeyed no logic.

  Time folded over itself, sounds blurred with other people’s thoughts, and space stretched or shrank like a living organ breathing out of time.

  Nothing made sense.

  Or worse: everything seemed to hold a hidden meaning, inaccessible — as if every mistake, every turn, every wrong decision had been written beforehand by a force that fed on chaos.

  In this place, finding an exit did not depend on reason.

  It was a matter of will, intuition… or luck.

  Bealuna was the key. The mere presence of her rune of Good Fortune proved essential to help them survive.

  The four of them realised almost immediately that this level should definitely be classified as Class 4, with a Survival Difficulty: Distorted.

  A place where the real and the unreal merge, where the most dangerous thing is not what you see, but what you think.

  This was Level -777.

  Dante already knew it. He had lived it many times through his regressions, trapped in a cycle of inevitable mistakes.

  But everything had to happen.

  The birth of this new, terrifying level was necessary to reach another of the key people he had to find: Virellian and his Compass rune.

  Bealuna saw him running without saying a word.

  There was something strange in his eyes: a mixture of urgency, fear… and resignation.

  — Quick, to the second floor! — shouted Dante.

  Peter and May followed without question.

  Bealuna hesitated only for a moment… then ran after them.

  They went up.

  The second floor made no sense.

  An infinite, winding corridor unfolded before them.

  Countless doors appeared along it. Perhaps hundreds, each painted a different colour.

  There were no signs or symbols. Just coloured doors.

  As if each one represented access to a new level… or to a trap.

  Level -777

  The floor, the ceiling and the walls… everything else was grey, white and black.

  As if the world had lost its colour, except for those doors.

  Dante did not stop. He ran.

  Each step brought him closer to something the others did not yet know.

  He was looking for a specific door.

  And yet, the corridor seemed to stretch, undulate, twist, more and more with every metre he advanced.

  As if the level itself was trying to prevent him from arriving.

  After several minutes, Dante finally stopped in front of a yellow door.

  At first he did not notice, but the corridor began to shift: the black and white that surrounded them faded slowly, as if someone had spilled rust over reality itself.

  The countless doors lost their colour one after another, and a coppery, aged, sickly tone stained every corner of the place.

  It was like walking inside a dead organism, forgotten for centuries.

  Behind them, in the distance… the light fittings that illuminated the corridor began to explode one after another, devoured by a living, ravenous darkness.

  Bealuna, looking back, caught sight of something:

  A dark, twisted, enormous claw closed over the last light fitting, crushing it in an explosion of glass and shadow.

  — This is it! Quick, get in! — yelled Dante, pointing at the door that had been yellow moments before.

  — How do you know? — Bealuna asked, but Dante didn’t respond.

  The four of them lunged into the room.

  They slammed the door shut and bolted it with the old rusty latch.

  The interior looked like a bedroom forgotten by time.

  A ramshackle bed dominated the centre of the room.

  A large mirror, covered in dust and stains, hung crooked on one wall.

  A wardrobe, swollen with damp, refused to open.

  At the foot of the bed, a locked chest — too heavy to move, too sturdy to force.

  On the floor, a worn round rug hid part of the floorboards.

  A bedside table held a small vase with a withered flower, petrified in its agonised farewell.

  And a window, sealed shut, offered a view to the outside.

  Peter, curious, approached the window.

  He froze.

  — No… it isn’t the Neighbourhood of Echoes — he murmured.

  Beyond the glass there were no houses, no streets, no life.

  Only the void of outer space.

  A shooting star crossed the firmament and Peter stepped back, terrified.

  Bealuna hugged herself, uneasy.

  — Are we going to stay here… waiting for that thing to reach us? — she asked, her voice barely trembling.

  Dante still did not answer.

  He simply stood by the door, his hand pressed to the splintered wood, as if his will could keep it closed.

  Meanwhile, May knelt and checked under the bed, searching for a secret exit, a trapdoor, any object — anything.

  She found nothing.

  Everything was soaked in the same coppery colour of decay and oblivion.

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  The silence was unbearable, broken only from time to time by a dry, violent sound: the noise of the entity destroying doors one by one, each time getting closer.

  Bealuna broke the silence, unable to hide the tremor in her voice.

  — What’s the plan now?

  Dante, his gaze fixed on the door, answered in a dry whisper:

  — Wait.

  — Wait for what!? — she almost shouted.

  He did not reply.

  His jaw was tense. His eyes, fixed on the rusty latch, seemed to refuse to look elsewhere.

  May went to the window, staring at the infinite space on the other side.

  — What if we break the glass? — she proposed, groping desperately for an exit.

  Peter shook his head immediately.

  — That’s madness — he said, more frightened than he cared to admit —. How would we survive out there? There’s no oxygen… nothing in outer space… or is there?

  Bealuna, clenching her fists, tried to think clearly.

  — Maybe… maybe all of this is an illusion — she ventured —. Maybe it isn’t even real.

  Dante, silent, knew the truth thanks to his regressions.

  He remembered it clearly:

  They were not to do anything at all.

  Just wait.

  Thirty minutes.

  Thirty interminable minutes until the environment changed… once again.

  And on the bedside table, where the withered vase now rested, something new might appear.

  A pamphlet.

  An invitation.

  The only exit.

  One which would take them to the level of the Eternal Party.

  That's why Bealuna's rune was key to increase the probabilities.

  He just hoped that, as in his previous regressions, the dark entity formed from the four killed Echoes would not reach them.

  That was their goal.

  That was the plan. No matter how desperate it seemed.

  Now the real challenge was another:

  Prevent their companions from doing something foolish before that moment came.

  May, as if reading his anxious thoughts, proposed a new idea:

  — What if Peter uses his Tremor rune? — she said, turning to him, eyes alight with excitement —. You could shake the whole room! Maybe that would open another exit!

  Dante snapped out of his thoughts abruptly.

  — No! — he ordered, raising his voice for the first time. — Do nothing!

  — But…? — muttered May, confused, pushing her long fringe aside.

  — Listen carefully — Dante said in a firm, cutting tone. — Just… stay silent.

  Do not touch anything.

  Do not use your runes.

  Do nothing.

  The silence that followed was almost as heavy as the atmosphere itself. The three of them were bewildered.

  Bealuna, after a few seconds of doubt, understood.

  Or at least, she wanted to believe it.

  If Dante asked for calm, there had to be a reason.

  Perhaps her rune of Good Fortune — if it still worked in this rotten world — would act if they remained still.

  Perhaps there was still hope.

  She nodded, and Peter and May, though reluctant, did the same.

  But the illusion of calm lasted only a short while.

  From the corridor, the sound returned.

  Louder.

  Closer.

  CRACK.

  A door shattered.

  Then another.

  The Nightmare threatening this level was drawing ever nearer.

  The minutes had barely started to fall, one by one, like dry leaves carried by an endless wind.

  The seconds stretched like thin threads of silk, vibrating in the air, about to snap.

  Every small heartbeat of time brought them closer to disaster.

  Peter paced from side to side, his boots raising small clouds of coppery dust from the worn carpet.

  May had curled up in a corner, covering her ears, her body trembling involuntarily.

  Bealuna, meanwhile, inspected every corner of the walls meticulously, searching for cracks, air vents, any anomaly that might reveal a hidden exit.

  And Dante…

  Dante remained by the door.

  Counting the seconds mentally.

  Praying silently that everything would unfold as he remembered.

  With slow, solemn movements, he raised his Sword of Light, its edge trembling slightly in the growing darkness, awaiting something that never came.

  — This isn’t working — Peter muttered under his breath, his voice on the edge of panic —. We have to do something! — he said, seeing Dante draw his sword.

  Dante did not respond.

  Another crash in the corridor made them jump.

  The entity — whatever it was — was only a few doors away.

  CRASH.

  A new explosion of splinters and metal.

  CRASH.

  Another one.

  The door handle vibrated weakly, as if reality itself were already yielding.

  Peter, jaw clenched, approached Dante.

  From his waist, he drew a small, irregular-bladed knife, holding it with both trembling hands, preparing to fight alongside him, his forehead slick with sweat.

  Bealuna covered her mouth to keep from screaming, staring at the door with wide eyes.

  May, with her head bowed, swayed slightly. She did not even notice the activation of her Night Vision rune tattoo on her arm, which detected a change in light.

  Dante felt desperation climb his spine like a living shadow.

  One mistake.

  A single false move… and everything would be ruined.

  He closed his eyes.

  Please, he told himself.

  Please.

  Then, the room began to darken.

  Dante noticed it with a measure of relief.

  First imperceptibly, as if an invisible mist seeped through the walls.

  Then, faster. Denser.

  Peter stopped dead in his tracks, noticing it.

  Bealuna also raised her head, alert.

  The window, which had previously shown the sombre expanse of outer space, was now a black void.

  A dead pane of glass.

  May, however, did not notice the change. Thanks to her Night Vision rune, she still saw the surroundings as if everything were normal.

  — The darkness is advancing — Dante said in a low voice, gripping his sword —. Pay attention! There is always a way out in Nullaria. Observe everything! Now is when you must focus more than ever.

  Bealuna nodded, understanding immediately.

  Peter swallowed hard and raised his knife.

  May lifted her head, scanning with her eyes.

  The entity finally reached their door.

  Dante remembered, from his regressions, that this very presence had killed him several times before.

  He knew he could not destroy it, but at least he could buy time… make it retreat.

  A massive claw splintered the wood as a horrid, deformed, elongated hand tried to squeeze through the gap.

  In a desperate act, Peter plunged his knife blindly into the hole, feeling it cut through something soft.

  A guttural roar echoed through the room.

  Another swipe.

  This time, the claw pierced the wood and struck Peter brutally, sending him crashing into the solid chest at the foot of the bed.

  He fell with a groan, clutching his wounded arm.

  Without thinking, Dante slashed the air with his Sword of Light.

  The entity shrieked and recoiled, vanishing into the darkness like a patient predator, waiting for the last spark of clarity to fade.

  The room was barely an outline of shadows.

  Dante backed slowly towards the bedside table, his eyes fixed on the darkness consuming the walls.

  Then, a sound was heard.

  Not an explosion.

  Not the crack of splintered wood.

  But a faint, almost imperceptible “fup.”

  Like paper brushing a table.

  Thanks to her rune, May was the first to see it.

  An impossible object.

  An infrared glimmer in the middle of the darkness.

  — There! — she shouted, pointing. — Follow my voice, COME HERE!

  On the bedside table, where only a withered vase had rested before, now lay something different:

  a pamphlet that seemed to emit its own light, an intense orange tearing through the gloom like fluorescent fire.

  A small promise of escape in a place without hope.

  Drawn balloons, silent music, and words that seemed to dance across the paper:

  “You’re Invited! Come to the Eternal Party”

  The entity, sensing the change, slithered into the room, advancing along the ceiling, its claws scratching the concrete.

  Peter struggled to crawl towards May.

  Bealuna ran without hesitation, her hands brushing the wall to guide herself through the darkness.

  No one touched the pamphlet yet. They knew objects like this had to be activated simultaneously to transport everyone.

  May took Bealuna’s hand, and Bealuna took Peter’s.

  Dante ran and, at the last second, grabbed Peter’s hand as the entity dove towards them.

  May brushed against the pamphlet.

  In an instant, the world exploded into a million fragments of light.

  An invisible force lifted them from the ground.

  The creature’s scream was left behind, fading into a distant, hollow echo.

  The room, the bed, the walls: all of Level -777 crumbled like a castle of dust.

  And they fell.

  But not into a void.

  They fell through a vast celestial space, where millions of transparent cubes with glowing, pulsating edges descended in all directions.

  An ocean of impossible geometry, infinite, serene, and terrifying at the same time.

  A labyrinth of living glass in eternal freefall.

  May, Bealuna, and Peter screamed in horror… only to discover they had no voice.

  They could barely comprehend what they were seeing.

  The experience did not last long.

  Within seconds, everything changed.

  The pamphlet guiding them disappeared, and they found themselves standing in a room covered with small balloons scattered across the floor.

  The room had no doors.

  May was the first to react, looking at her hands and screaming hysterically, convinced they were still falling.

  Peter raised his gaze and looked at his trembling hands; then he noticed pale yellow walls, decorated with countless childish characters: smiling princesses, happy cartoon animals… all with unsettling eyes that seemed to follow them.

  The level assessment appeared in Dante’s retina:

  [Level “α”: Axis +Y. Class 4 — Survival Difficulty: Distorted]

  Reality within the level obeys no known logic.

  Time, space and perception may suffer extreme alterations. The mind is put to the test.

  Few have ever returned from these levels.

  Finding an exit is a matter of will, intuition… or luck.

  He blinked, trying to absorb the warning.

  Everything was unfolding exactly as he had seen in his regressions.

  The childlike room, saturated with clashing colours, balloons, and smiling characters, seemed to pulse to the rhythm of music that did not exist.

  The air smelled of cake, old sugar, and something else… something sour, hidden beneath the sweetness.

  May, Peter, and Bealuna looked around, tense, aware of the falsity around them.

  It was illogical to encounter something like this.

  Here, the concept of “reality” was merely another disguise, as fragile as the balloons floating stuck to the ceiling.

  And, somewhere behind the yellow walls, something — or someone in the form of a white two-metre-tall rabbit — had already noticed their presence.

  Its black, shining eyes reflected cruel delight, and its smile stretched from ear to ear, impossibly wide.

  Its cluster of balloons held in its hand shook with joy.

  Level “α” would not let them go so easily… the Eternal Party awaited.

  End of Chapter Eight.

  Welcome to Nullaria.

  Level –777, escape stops being physical and becomes something psychological.

  The presence at the door, the fading light, the strange promise of the Eternal Party — all of it serves one purpose: to break awareness itself.

  Nullaria teaches that even comfort can deceive you, and that hope can hurt more than despair.

  Level “ α ” isn’t rescue; it’s another trick.

  Still, even in this madness, Dante, Bealuna, May, and Peter manage to hold on to something real — a trace of trust, of humanity, of resistance.

  Nullaria is always watching. And when something threatens its balance… it simply changes the rules.

  — Alberto Báez