Chapter 5
LIORA
Borzen’s pacing again. Metal claws clack against the floor with the kind of rhythm that makes my teeth itch.
Dravven sits against the wall, pretending not to care, but his leg’s bouncing hard enough to rattle the tiles.
Allov’s gone—nothing left but a scorch mark and a bad memory.
The air still smells faintly like cooked ozone and despair.
The civilians huddle together, whispering prayers to gods who clearly stopped picking up their calls. One of them—someone I think was a journalist—rocks back and forth, murmuring, “We’re next, we’re next, we’re next.” I can’t even tell if he’s crying or laughing anymore.
I rub my temples and lean against the cracked panel, trying not to think about how fast this group is falling apart. “We’ve lost one of the wildcards,” I mutter. “And the maze keeps changing layout. I can’t predict anything if it won’t stay still for five damn seconds.”
Dravven smirks. “Welcome to my dating life.”
I glare at him. “Not the time.”
He shrugs, but the corner of his mouth twitches. He needs humor to survive. I need control. We’re both losing.
The ceiling vents hiss. I freeze. The sound is too familiar—too mechanical.
Something drops from above—metallic spheres with blinking green lights. The civilians cheer.
“Oh thank the stars, rescue drones!”
“No!” I shout, but it’s too late.
The spheres split open midair, revealing sleek, silver bodies that look almost insectoid—multi-limbed, perfect teeth gleaming wet in the light. Swarm bots. They land on the nearest man and begin eating.
Not biting. Disassembling.
His screams are animal, raw and unending, until they cut off with a wet snap. The bots strip him to the bone in seconds. Then, like good little predators, they retract their limbs, clean the blood from their chassis, and fly back into the vents.
Dirk Husker’s cartoon face bursts across every wall panel, smiling so wide it’s obscene.
“Oops!” he chirps. “Someone forgot to check their warranty! Don’t worry, players—free replacements are on backorder!”
Borzen roars and punches a console, shattering it into molten debris. Sparks rain down. The Maze Master throws animated confetti.
I tune him out. If I listen, I’ll break.
Instead, I focus on the sealed door at the far end of the corridor. Big, reinforced. It’s not part of the original design. Husker added it.
And I don’t trust what’s behind it.
“I’m opening it,” I announce.
Dravven looks up. “You sure that’s smart?”
“No,” I admit. “But it’s necessary.”
Borzen narrows his eyes. “You shouldn’t go alone.”
I meet his gaze. “You shouldn’t stop me.”
He huffs through his teeth, half warning, half respect. “Your funeral, Engineer.”
“Already RSVP’d,” I shoot back, grabbing my tool gauntlet from the floor. It’s scuffed and half fried, but it’ll do. I approach the sealed door, and the wall hums under my fingertips.
The engineering lock’s Husker’s handiwork—lazy but flashy. Layers of encryption disguised as game code. It’s cute, really, like a toddler trying to hide behind a curtain made of glass.
“I see you, Dirk,” I mutter, running the gauntlet’s prongs across the lock interface. “You’re clever, but I’m meaner.”
A low voice behind me says, “That’s what they all say.”
I ignore Dravven. Focus. The door clicks once. Twice. I’m in.
The chamber beyond is… ordinary.
Square room. Gray walls. One dim light flickering overhead. No traps. No scent of ozone or blood. Just silence thick enough to choke on.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself. “Don’t panic. It’s a staging room. Reset area. Probably fine.”
Then my boot sticks.
“What the—”
I lift my foot, but it doesn’t move. The floor stretches with me, glistening in the light—thick, translucent. Adhesive.
“Shit.”
The more I move, the worse it gets. The gel creeps up around my ankles like living honey. I reach for the nearest wall—my glove sticks instantly.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
The gel rises faster now. It’s warm, sticky, clinging to my legs, my hips.
I can feel it vibrating against my skin like it’s thinking.
My breath catches. The instinct to panic hits like a slap.
No matter how much I twist, the stuff only tightens.
My body is half-sunk, pinned upright, heart hammering so hard it hurts.
Dirk’s voice booms through hidden speakers, gleeful as ever.
“This next challenge is brought to you by… REGRET!”
“Go choke on your own ego, you psycho!” I snarl, thrashing. The gel holds fast, sucking tighter with every movement.
“Oh, feisty!” he coos. “Audience, take note—our Engineer’s in over her head! How’s she gonna wriggle out of this one?”
“By killing you,” I hiss.
But my bravado’s cracking. The gel crawls higher, past my ribs now, thick and clinging, pressing against my chest like wet hands. My throat tightens. There’s a sound—low, animal, and only half of it’s mine. The other half… comes from the shadows.
Because something’s in here with me.
The corner of the room moves.
I freeze. My heart stumbles in my chest. The shadow stretches, peels away from the wall, and becomes taller. Broader. Wrongly shaped.
And then I see them—eyes like molten red glass. Hair white as bone. Skin black and gleaming like obsidian in the flickering light.
He’s not human.
He’s not anything I’ve ever seen.
He’s beautiful, in a terrifying, impossible way.
Dirk’s voice changes tone—mock surprise. “Oh! Look who decided to join the party! Our wildcard guest star! Viewers, you’re in for a treat!”
The creature—no, the man—tilts his head, assessing me like a puzzle he intends to solve violently. My lungs seize. He moves closer, silent as gravity. My pulse pounds in my ears so loud it drowns out everything else.
When he steps into the light, my breath stops completely.
Seven feet of living shadow. Muscle coiled under black skin traced with faint white ridges—bone spurs, like natural armor. His face is angular, alien, almost regal. Fangs catch the light when he exhales, slow and deliberate.
He smells like lightning before a storm—sharp, electric, wild.
And he’s looking at me.
Not like prey.
Like recognition.
The gel locks tighter around my torso. “Don’t just stand there!” I shout, half terrified, half furious. “Help me!”
He doesn’t answer—just watches, eyes flicking to the camera sphere embedded in the ceiling. Then back to me.
He moves. Fast.
His claws slice through the gel like a blade through silk.
It screams—that’s the only word for it—the substance reacts, boiling where he touches it.
He grips my shoulders and rips. The gel tears apart, hissing, splattering across the walls.
I gasp as my legs come free, collapsing forward—he catches me before I hit the floor.
For a second, the world narrows to the feel of his hands on my skin. Warm. Calloused. Alive. Too real for a dream.
“Who—who are you?” I manage, breathless.
His lips curl. His voice is a growl made of smoke and gravel.
“Gyon.”
“Okay,” I pant. “Gyon. What the hell is this—”
He leans closer, so close I can feel the heat rolling off him, the static hum of restrained violence. His breath brushes my ear when he speaks one word, low and strange.
“Jalshagar.”
The sound of it shivers down my spine like electricity. “What does that mean?” I whisper, before I can stop myself.
His red eyes flicker with something I don’t understand—something raw. “It means you’re mine.”
My brain short-circuits. “Excuse me?”
But before I can shove him away, before I can even process, Dirk’s laughter fills the room. “Aw, isn’t that sweet! Inter-species bonding! Unfortunately, unauthorized contact violates the terms of play!”
The ceiling bursts with blue light.
Energy arcs crash into Gyon’s body, one after another, bright enough to blind. He roars—not in pain, but fury. The walls shake with it. The air tastes like burnt ozone and blood.
“Stop!” I scream. “You’ll kill him!”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Dirk says. “You can’t kill what doesn’t belong to you.”
Another surge hits. Gyon snarls, his muscles locking, every line of his body seared with light. He turns his head toward me, eyes burning, fangs bared—not at me, for me. Like he’s warning the world not to touch what it just claimed.
Then the light cuts out.
Smoke fills the room.
And when it clears, he’s gone.
The gel is gone. The traps are reset. The cameras tilt lazily as if bored.
But I can still feel him. The warmth where he touched me. The echo of that word—jalshagar—still vibrates through my skin like a brand.
I stumble backward, my legs shaking. My pulse refuses to slow. The air smells scorched. I press my hand to my chest, half-expecting to find a mark burned there.
Nothing.
But something in me knows that word changed everything.
Dirk’s voice crackles through the intercom again, dripping amusement.
“Well! Wasn’t that exciting? Let’s give our engineer a round of applause for surviving spontaneous intimacy with the enemy! Stay tuned, folks—next round gets even stickier!”
The speakers pop and go silent.
I stare at the empty space where Gyon stood. My mouth is dry. My body’s still trembling, and my mind can’t decide whether to be terrified or thrumming.
Whoever he is, he wasn’t like the Maze.
He wasn’t part of the show.
He broke it.
And for one impossible heartbeat, I think he broke me, too.