Chapter 16
GYON
Itaste ozone and metal when the doors behind me shut.
The corridor’s lights blink off and on, rearranging themselves like the maze’s mocking grin. The path I came down no longer exists. I’m faced with two diverging halls—one leads to a chamber echoing with screams and chemical hiss, the other hums toward the core hallway where I know she is.
The Maze is folding itself. Looping me back onto itself.
My gut twists: I can save the civilians—or get to her.
I pause. The stink of the gas chamber leaks past the walls. I hear them coughing. The veil of guilt tugs at me.
I step forward, decision made, pushing toward the core hallway.
Every step is a squeeze of pain. My ribs flare; my lungs burn.
Plasma arcs in vents overhead. The corridor walls flicker in and out, cheating geometry.
I chase the faint scent of her—faint, softer than before, like a lullaby in a thunderstorm.
Behind me, the gas chamber roars in distant death. I hear choking, screaming, then silence. The air flushes. The maze swallowed them.
No regrets.
The corridor narrows. Doors slide open, close. I race. My claws rake metal edges, leaving red trails. Heat presses on me. Jagged lights cast monstrous shapes.
Then Dirk’s voice, smooth, resonant, creeping into the vents: “Oh, look who’s found his way back. Didn’t think you had it in you, co-conspirator.”
My fists clench. My shadow warps.
He continues: “You think you're a wild card? The jalshagar twist?” He chuckles. “That was mine too. I seeded your path. You walking this maze is my design.”
My spine tightens. The lies taste sour. The maze pulses around me, seeking reaction.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I grunt.
Dirk laughs. “You forget who made the corridors, the traps, the heartbeats. I poured your legend into every line of code. I made you part of my show.”
A door ahead slides open. Light leaks. I bolt.
I burst into a chamber—the core hallway, massive and brutal. The floor vibrates. Bulkhead doors line both sides. At the far end, a raised ledge and a terminal. Liora stands before it, fists on the interface.
Behind her, Dravven.
Only seconds left.
I blossom into the chamber, roaring like an avalanche.
She whips around. Our eyes lock.
But Dravven slams his hand onto the terminal.
The doors—iron cantilevers—growl shut behind Liora.
She spins. Reaches. The seal clangs.
She’s inside. Again.
The heat of betrayal burns me. The Maze pulses with glee.
I pound the sealed doors with my fists.
“Let her out!”
Dravven steps back, weapon raised. His eyes flick to me. Pain, fear, resolve—all tangled there.
Liora presses her forehead against the panel. Tears in her eyes.
I dig claws into the wall beside me, fracturing metal. Sparks rain. The wall gives way little by little. The Maze fights me. Panels shift, realign. Guards, drones activate.
I roar again, strike harder. The wall blisters, cracks.
Between me and her: steel, shock fields, labyrinthinal cruelty.
I tear a hand through the wall, reach her, feel the heat, the barrier.
She presses her palm to the cold glass. Our fingers mirror each other.
I scream—“Liora!”—and the wall fractures in a jagged seam.
Metal rips apart. The door groans. The chamber trembles.
She’s inside. I’m out here.
We’re closer than ever—but closer still than the maze wants us to be.
I pull back, chest heaving. The Maze roars. The corridors tremble.
I will break this barrier. I will.
Because she’s not trapped forever.
And I am not powerless.