A partial collapse ahead forced them into a side chamber filled with residual cold constructs—smaller, faster, more numerous. Twelve of them. The fight lasted just under three minutes. Clean. Coordinated. No injuries. Essence expenditure was higher than preferred, but still within tolerance.
They exited the chamber and kept descending.
[Survival Timer: 00:52:41]
Trevor checked the network.
Every presence remained sharp. No fractures. No panic. Mark saturation still absolute. The system's projected survival probability held at maximum under current parameters, but the margin was narrowing. The cold was winning a slow war of attrition.
Twenty-seven minutes remained when they entered the next major space—a wide, frozen hall under a ceiling of hanging spears that trembled with every step. Ancient runes glowed faintly in the walls. Something large shifted in the far dark.
Trevor's voice moved through the link.
"Standard formation. No heroics. Keep the timer running."
