The air in Kronoshpan hung heavy, as though the factory itself had been waiting for them to move deeper. Plamen and Kamen stood side by side in the dim corridor, both still shaken from the brutal clash with the werewolf boss. The steel beneath their feet trembled with unseen machinery, and from above, faint whispers trickled down like oil dripping through pipes.
Then, a mechanical screech. A voice neither alive nor dead echoed through the rusted walls:
"You have survived. You are rewarded… with a new slot."
Symbols of burning iron appeared in front of their eyes, almost like cards floating in air. Both of them instinctively knew what it meant—choices of power, carved into their very essence.
Plamen clenched his fists and read the inscriptions.
Plamen's choices:
Boosted Martial Arts – mastery of every fighting art, enhanced threefold.
Piercing Needle Kick – a rare technique, one strike that could pierce through anything… if it activated.
Meteor Punch – ignite the fist in flame, multiplying power one and a half times.
His breath grew heavier. He imagined the pressure of his fists exploding with new force, imagined tearing through monsters with fire. But deep down, he knew what he needed. Something consistent. Something that would never abandon him.
"I'll take the first one," he muttered, his voice sharp as steel. "Boosted Martial Arts."
Beside him, Kamen's list flickered alive.
Kamen's choices:
Rubber Body – flesh stretched like rubber, absorbing impacts.
Light Penetration – summon searing light, blinding all enemies for three seconds.
Enhanced Hone no Shokuzai – his skeletal grasp ability, but now boosted twofold.
Kamen's lips curled into a rare smirk. His hands trembled as he whispered:
"I'll keep my path. But stronger. Hone no Shokuzai… multiplied by two."
The air crackled as both choices were accepted. A dark wind swept through the corridor, extinguishing what little light there had been.
And then they saw it.
A staircase of black steel spiraling upward, impossibly tall, vanishing into the fog above. The steps seemed endless, like the spine of some ancient god nailed into the factory's skeleton. Each step groaned with whispers, urging them forward.
"Higher floors," Kamen muttered. "More nightmares."
But before they could climb more than twenty steps, a sound like wet silk tearing through the air made them freeze.
From the ceiling descended a monstrosity—a spider with three grotesque heads, each bearing eyes that burned like dying suns. Its swollen abdomen pulsed with veins of black fire. From its jaws, it spat arrows of web, glistening and dripping with a strange, sickly glow.
"Move!" Plamen shouted—too late.
The first volley tore through the air. Web-arrows slammed into Plamen's chest and legs, clinging like tar, draining his strength. His body went cold instantly—he could feel the web sucking something deeper than blood, something closer to his very life-force.
Kamen dodged left, rolling across the steps with surprising agility. His instinct screamed to summon his skeletal arms, but the spider hovered on threads above the staircase. His curse could only reach the ground.
"Damn it," Kamen growled. "It's out of reach!"
The spider hissed, all three heads twisting at once, spitting another rain of web-arrows. Plamen staggered, feeling his knees buckle. His strength was fading, like someone was tearing it from his soul strand by strand.
"Kamen… help!" he gasped.
Kamen's teeth ground together. His skeletal curse couldn't reach the spider… but it could reach Plamen. Without hesitation, he slammed his palm to the staircase, whispering the words of his ability.
From the ground beneath Plamen, skeletal arms erupted, ripping the draining webs apart and pulling him free from the spider's snare. They pushed him upward like a launch pad, shoving him into the air.
Plamen roared. His eyes burned with a light never seen before. The new power surged through him—every strike, every stance, every movement thrumming with multiplied force.
Boosted Muay Thai, Level 2.
He twisted in the air, pulling his body tight, channeling every ounce of rage and precision into his knee. His shin split the air with a sonic crack.
"HYAAAAAA!"
The strike landed square on the spider's central head. Bone and ichor exploded in a spray of black fluid, the impact echoing like thunder across the staircase. The spider shrieked, all three heads convulsing before its body crumpled, dissolving into smoke.
For a moment, silence. Only the echo of Plamen's ragged breathing filled the air.
Then, from where the spider had fallen, something remained.
A glowing red stone, pulsing like a heart torn from a titan's chest. Its surface was etched with faint silver lines, as though carved by hands far older than Kronoshpan itself.
Plamen picked it up carefully. The second his fingers brushed its surface, his vision warped.
The stone unfurled like a scroll of blood in his mind, showing him shapes, corridors, and paths—a map.
Kamen stepped closer, his red eyes narrowing. "What is it?"
Plamen's voice was hollow. "It's the trials. All of them. Every floor. Every nightmare. Marked… inside this stone."
The images burned into their minds—ten more trials stretched upward, each more terrifying than the last, stacked like the vertebrae of some monstrous spine. And only by clearing them could they ever escape Kronoshpan.
Plamen's fists clenched tighter around the stone, the weight of destiny pressing against his chest. "Ten more…"
Kamen exhaled slowly. "Then we climb."
The two stood at the foot of the staircase again, shadows stretching long behind them as the whispers of the factory rose, mocking and cruel. Their path was endless, their enemies merciless, but step by step, they began to ascend—knowing that at the top waited something worse than death.
And yet, neither looked back.