My hands wrapped around the hilts of twin swords—blades that gleamed under the dim, strobe-like pulses of the jellyfish lightning. My breath slowed. My mind honed in.
I closed my eyes, remembering the sensation from the second game—the muscle memory, the rhythm, the flow.
"People might say it's impossible…"
I slid into a low stance, the blades humming in my grip.
"But nothing's impossible for me. I am—"
My eyes snapped open, blazing with resolve.
"Llyne."
They struck.
A wall of tentacles surged toward me like a blooming flower of death.
I dodged left—spun right—flipped over one—but a few lashed across my legs and arms. The stinging pain lit my nerves on fire, but I didn't waver.
'Doesn't matter.'
I could see them now.
The patterns. The openings. The faint twitch before a lunge. Their rhythm was chaotic—but not unreadable.
"Too slow."
A monster lunged—too eager. I planted a foot on its tentacle and launched myself skyward, soaring above the battlefield.
The treasure box floated below like a discarded memory.
Time slowed.
Below me—a storm of jelly. A dance of lightning and death.
I flipped midair, eyes narrowed, blades raised—twin arcs of silver light.
And then—
I descended.
Flash. Flash. FLASH.
Twin blades carved through the sky, striking down like divine punishment. I hit the center of the swarm, slicing through soft tissue and twitching nerves. Tentacles flew, electricity snapped and short-circuited in the air. Their screams tore through the humid darkness.
But still—they didn't retreat.
They retaliated.
A dozen tentacles struck at once, all converging on my position. I ducked and spun, the blades a blur in my hands as I parried, slashed, and slipped through the gaps like liquid shadow.
I stepped on a severed limb—then another—and used their fallen comrades as stepping stones, bounding across the battlefield like a phantom.
Every strike I landed found its mark.
Every cry they gave fed the storm inside me.
One jellyfish reeled back, its core exposed.
"Got you."
I thrust both swords forward, piercing its nucleus. The body convulsed once—then burst in a splash of sparks and slime.
The remaining monsters faltered.
They knew.
I was no longer prey.
With a final roar, I launched forward, unleashing a whirlwind of slashes that tore through the remaining enemies. My blades burned with momentum—a blur of silver fury under the glow of bioelectric light.
CRASH.
The last monster shattered into mist.
Silence.
Only my ragged breathing echoed now. My blades hung at my sides, dripping with slime and crackling sparks.
Around me, the battlefield lay quiet—jellyfish corpses scattered, twitching, steaming.
I staggered slightly, then chuckled and straightened my posture.
"It's finally over."
I sheathed my swords, the twin hilts locking into place with a satisfying click, and stepped back into the treasure box.
My hands trembled.
My heart soared.
Victory.
Step. Step. Step.
Each footfall echoed with a wet squelch as I walked across the twitching remains of the jellyfish monsters, their bodies still sparking with residual energy. The stench of ozone, blood, and decay clung to the air like a curse.
I collapsed into the treasure chest with a sigh that seemed to drain out the last of my strength.
Blood and sweat mingled.
Warm trails ran down my face, along my arms, across my ribs—streaks of crimson and salt, pain and effort etched into skin. The wounds pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, sharp reminders of a battle fought on the edge.
My vision blurred slightly.
Not from fear.
But from the sheer exhaustion that followed surviving death.
I wiped the sweat from my face, the sting of salt against raw skin grounding me. My fingers trembled—not from weakness, but from the adrenaline that still hadn't fully left my system. The cost of victory was etched into every aching muscle and every bruise that painted my body.
Still...
I made it.
With my eyes half-lidded, heavy with fatigue, I let go. I surrendered to the current, trusting the flow of the strange digestive stream to carry me forward.
The treasure chest creaked, rocking gently in the waves of whatever toxic liquid ran through this biomechanical hellscape. The glow of dead jellyfish flickered like dying stars behind me.
The world grew quiet.
The roar of battle faded to a hum.
And for the first time in what felt like hours, I breathed.
The gentle motion of the chest, the warmth of the bloodied wood beneath me, and the rhythmic lull of the current began to erode my consciousness. The walls of the intestine blurred, the stench dulled, and my mind was finally at peace—if only for a moment.
Darkness. Silence. Tranquility.
I don't know how long I drifted.
But when my eyes slowly cracked open again—
The world had changed.
The viscous juice still gurgled below, but the passage ahead... it had narrowed. The towering, fleshy walls had compressed into a single winding corridor—its curve gentle, its atmosphere different.
Something was pulling me forward.
No longer a trap. Not a stage. But…
An exit.
I sat up straight, my back popping, muscles stiff but ready. The soft rocking of the treasure chest was replaced with anticipation—the kind that buzzed under the skin, warning you that the next thing wouldn't just be important.
It would be unforgettable.
I squinted down the narrowing tunnel, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of my lips.
"I'm here at last. Now… Let's exit with a big bang, shall we?"
Because there was no way—absolutely no way—I was leaving this accursed rabbit without leaving something behind.
Something unforgettable.
A flash.
A roar.
A mark.
My fingers brushed inside the treasure chest.
Click.
Clack.
I felt it.
The payload.
My grin widened as I pulled it out—something loud, something dangerous, something absolutely inappropriate for indoor use.
A surge of wild excitement coursed through me. My aura flared faintly, even unconsciously—just enough to shimmer the air around me.
The final hallway awaited.
And I wasn't leaving quietly.
"Here's a little present for eating me up, my sweet gluttonous rabbit."
Reaching into my backpack, my fingers brushed against the cold metal casing of my last resort—dynamite sticks. The moment my hand closed around them, a wicked grin pulled at my lips.
Boom or bust, I thought. Let's go out with style.
I strapped the dynamite to the back of the treasure box with every last inch of rope I could find, double-knotting it like my life depended on it—because it absolutely did.
Every flick of my wrist, every tug of the cord, felt like preparing for a fireworks show rigged inside the devil's stomach. The tension in the air was thick enough to carve.
As I locked the final knot in place, a jolt of excitement surged through my blood—electric, addictive. My heart hammered against my ribs, equal parts fear and thrill. My mind whispered the possibility of obliteration—the treasure box might shatter to splinters with me still inside.
I bit my lip. Smirked.
And didn't stop.
"Whatever happens," I muttered, striking a match against the side of the wooden box, "it'll be one hell of a chapter in my story."
Fsssh—
The match flared to life with a snapping hiss, casting a flickering orange glow that danced wildly across the blood-slick walls. Shadows shifted. The fuse trembled, waiting.
I hesitated for a breathless second.
Then touched the flame to the fuse.
Ssszzzzzt.
Sparks raced along the line, sizzling toward the payload with violent purpose.
There's no going back now.
I dove inside the treasure chest and slammed the lid shut just as the fuse hissed toward its climax. I clutched the sides, my knuckles white, adrenaline roaring in my ears.
"BLAST OFF!!!" I screamed.
BOOM!
The detonation shattered the air like thunder given flesh. A shockwave erupted from the rabbit's rear, blasting through layers of muscle and membrane. The juice within the tunnel surged like a tsunami, splattering in every direction as the treasure chest—now a rocket-propelled battering ram of doom—blasted through the intestinal corridor with the ferocity of a cannonball launched from hell.
FWOOM—!!
The box howled as it shot toward the narrowing passage. Momentum built. Wind screamed. Gravity warped. And then—
CRASH!!!
The treasure chest exploded out of the fleshy tunnel like a bullet from a divine gun, sailing into open air, illuminated by floodlights and framed by the shocked gasps of the audience watching from above.
Plop.
Plop.
Plop.
The box landed with a series of heavy bounces on the arena floor, skidding through dirt and debris, and finally sliding to a stop in the center of the blood-stained field.
The world was silent for half a breath.
Click.
The chest lid creaked open.
My soot-covered face slowly peeked out, hair still standing from the static, lips curled into a smirk. A gentle breeze whispered across my skin.
"I'm the pooped out survivor!" I declared to the heavens, voice echoing with exhaustion, gallows humor, and the defiant pride of a lunatic who just walked out of hell holding a matchstick.