Arthur and Ilya stood on the snow of the tenth floor. The bodies of the Bloody Orcs faded into mist. The wind picked up. Cold bit at their faces.
"Let's keep moving," Arthur said. He sheathed his sword. Looked ahead.
Ilya nodded. She adjusted her grip on her spear. "The trail is fresh. They passed through here not long ago."
They walked. The snow crunched under their boots. The path led to a stone archway. Blue light pulsed within. The gate to the eleventh floor.
They stepped through together.
The eleventh floor was a swamp.
Thick air. Murky water. Trees with roots that twisted like veins. The smell of decay hung over everything. Insects buzzed. Something splashed in the distance.
Arthur raised a hand. Ilya stopped.
"Listen," he whispered.
Silence. Then a gurgling hiss. From the water in front of them, shapes rose. Mud Golems. Three of them. Bodies of black sludge and bone. They had no faces. Only hollow pits where eyes should be.
They charged.
