The transition to the third floor was seamless and unforgiving. One moment the squad stood at the threshold where the black stone breathed with fading malice; the next, down the stairs they crossed an invisible veil and the air grew heavier, thicker, as though the dungeon had drawn a fresh lungful of rot just for them. Darkness swallowed them whole the same absolute, velvet-black void that had ruled the previous levels. No gradual dimming, no hint of distant light. Only the crushing weight of stone and ancient magic pressing down from every direction.
Camilla released the light orb without waiting for an order. The fragile sphere floated upward from her palm, trembling for a moment before it bloomed. Soft amber and violet radiance spilled outward, pushing feebly against the gloom. Yet its reach was pitiful, barely sixty-five meters in any direction before the light frayed and died, devoured by the endless dark. The orb hovered uncertainly above them, casting long, sickly shadows that twisted across the vast chamber like accusing fingers.
Rate's augmented eyes flicked with a soft mechanical click, the irises flooding solid black as his vision pierced the suppression. He stood motionless for ten full seconds, scanning, calculating. Then the blackness receded, his gaze returning to its usual cold, telescopic gray.
"The third floor matches the second in scale," he said, voice low and precise. "Stupendous. Spacious. Same oppressive volume."
Bulk stepped up behind him, the heavy reinforced box on his back creaking as he moved. With a grunt of disgust, he let the dying Neutralizer slip from his fingers. The cracked device clattered uselessly to the flagstones, its amber runes flickering one last time before going dark.
"Did you pick up anything else, Captain?" Bulk asked, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of a massive gauntlet.
Rate didn't turn. "No meaningful difference in layout or ambient suppression. The architecture mirrors the floor above almost exactly."
Bulk let out a low, mirthless chuckle. "What a surprise. How horrifying will this one get?" He rubbed the back of his neck, muttering under his breath, "I need a break… this whole mess has taken a toll on me." Then, louder, he added, "What's the next plan, Captain?"
Rate finally spoke so the entire squad could hear, his tone flat and commanding. "We take a ten-minute break. Prepare yourselves. Bulk hand out the potions, Everyone refills their energy."
"Understood!" Bulk replied, already turning. He rolled his broad shoulders with a grimace, the plates of his armor groaning, and reached back to unstrap the massive metal supply box centered on his spine. The box thudded heavily to the ground as he knelt beside it.
Quinn, hearing the order, didn't hesitate. He shrugged Rolan off his armored shoulder like discarded cargo. The broken man hit the flagstones hard, sending a small cloud of dust erupting around him. Rolan let out a weak, wet huff of pain, his shattered ribs protesting violently, but he made no other sound.
Quinn stepped over to Bulk without a word. The big man was already seated on the cold stone, prying open the reinforced pouch on the side of the supply box. He pulled out four thick glass bottles each roughly nine inches long, heavy and sturdy, filled with a swirling violet liquid that glowed faintly even in the weak orb-light.
Bulk handed two to Quinn. "One for the Captain," he said simply.
Quinn nodded once, took the potions, and walked over to Rate. The captain accepted his with a curt, almost gentle motion, fingers closing around the cool glass. Quinn then turned away, moving to the nearest wall. He leaned his plated back against the black stone, the surface cool and unyielding, and slid up the grill of his visor with a metallic hiss. He uncorked the potion and drank deeply, the liquid vanishing in steady gulps.
Camilla had already drifted to the far left rear of the group, well away from the others. She crouched low on the dusty floor, silent as a shadow. Her hooded head was bowed, and with her right index finger she slowly swept across the grime, drawing idle, meaningless patterns in the fine layer of dust. The single visible eye beneath her hood remained downcast.
Bulk called out to her, his voice surprisingly gentle for his size. "Camilla." He lobbed one of the remaining potions in a gentle underhand arc.
She caught it nonchalantly with her left hand, the motion fluid and precise despite her crouched position. Without looking up, she uncorked the bottle and drank, the violet liquid disappearing in several long swallows. The empty glass clinked softly as she set it aside.
Quinn watched the exchange from beneath his raised visor. Something about it felt… off. Is she alright? he wondered. Injured on her face, maybe? She's been like this since we left the second floor quiet, leashed, almost docile. He wasn't concerned, not really. The current atmosphere was surprisingly pleasant and peaceful without her usual chaotic energy. No manic laughter, no sudden violent whims. Just blessed silence.
Should I go check on her? The thought flickered through his mind, followed immediately by a mental recoil. Nooo. I'd probably awaken the beast again and ruin this peace and quiet. Whatever force had clamped down on her usual misbehavior, Quinn silently thanked it. He made an invisible little cheer in his head, then tilted the potion back and finished it in one long pull.
Meanwhile, Rolan had painfully clawed his way to his feet. His bound wrists bled freely where the rune-etched rope bit deeper with every movement. His crooked left eye swam in a haze of crimson, while the swollen right one throbbed in time with his ragged breaths. Dark-energy grafts burned beneath his ruined skin, fighting both the dungeon's suppression and his own failing body. He swayed but remained upright, glaring at Rate's back.
Rate stood a few paces ahead, staring motionless into the impenetrable darkness beyond the orb's meager reach. Without turning, he spoke.
"What secrets does this floor carry?"
Rolan's cracked lips twisted into something that might have been a smile or a sneer. "Shouldn't you trust the information you wield?"
Rate gave him a single, icy glance over his shoulder cold enough to make Rolan's heart skip painfully in his chest. The captive swallowed hard, tasting blood, before answering.
"The third floor… carries heavy ranged projectiles. Something related to guns."
"Guns?" Rate repeated, his voice sharpening with interest. He turned fully now, augmented eyes narrowing. "The regular ones?"
"I don't know," Rolan admitted, voice hoarse and wet. "The report didn't fully specify the type. There's only one gun I'm personally aware of the magi-gun. What other types might there be?"
Rate's eyes flicked to solid black again for a brief second, then returned to normal as he scanned the unseen distances. "It doesn't look that way. I'm not reading any mana waves or embedded runes. No active magical signatures at all."
"What?" Rolan said, genuine surprise cutting through his pain.
Bulk spoke up from where he still sat on the ground, rubbing his tired shoulders. "Could it be that there aren't any guns at all? Maybe just regular projectiles like the first floor only more oppressive."
"You're saying the reports are falsified?" Rolan shot back, a hint of his old defiance creeping in.
"No," Rate answered calmly, cutting them both off. "The reports are correct. I can see iron-encased barrels attached to both walls. The angles are structured unusually high, optimized for plunging fire or sweeping arcs."
"But you said there are no mana waves," Bulk pressed. "Are they energy waves cloaked with magic?"
"Might be," Rate conceded, "but I detect none. I'd say it's a type that doesn't require mana to operate at all."
"You mean… mechanical?" Bulk asked, frowning.
"It has to be," Rate confirmed.
Bulk let out a low whistle. "Mechanical guns are rare as dragon teeth in this era."
"This dungeon must be ancient," Rate said, his gaze still fixed forward into the dark. "Self-preserving for ages. Perhaps it predates modern mana-based warfare entirely."
"If that's the case," Bulk said, a touch of renewed confidence in his voice, "then we have less to worry about. I'll use the Re-layered artifact to optimize our defense. We can just scale through it."
"Don't get full of yourself now," Rate warned, his tone mild but carrying absolute authority. "Depending on the damage output, fire rate, and mobility of these emplacements, we need to clarify everything before making a move. Rushing in blind will get us killed."
"I understand," Bulk replied quickly, lowering his head in deference. The memory of being slammed into the wall on the previous floor was still fresh.
Rate pulled his right arm forward, dark energy coiling at his fingertips like living smoke. With focused intent, he constructed a single tentacle of writhing shadow and extended it forward. The extension continued smoothly until it reached ten feet away from the group, probing the boundary of the trigger zone.
With immediate effect, the mechanisms awoke.
K-RACK-BOOM!
K-RACK-BOOM!
Four thunderous reports erupted simultaneously from both walls, two from the left, two from the right. The sound was raw, primal, nothing like the clean crack of mana-infused spells. It was the brutal roar of compressed powder and propelled lead, traveling at over 3,000 feet per second. The dark energy tentacle shattered instantly, severed from the main body of Rate's power the moment it crossed the invisible line. Chunks of dissipating shadow sprayed outward like torn flesh, and the severed portion winked out of existence. The ground shuddered slightly under the impact of invisible projectiles slamming into the far distance, stone chips pinging off unseen surfaces. The echoes rolled through the vast chamber like dying thunder, bouncing off the oppressive black walls and fading into the void.
The sudden violence snapped every head around. Camilla's hooded form tensed, her finger freezing mid-pattern in the dust. Quinn's visor grill slammed shut with a sharp click as he dropped into a combat stance. Bulk surged to his feet, gauntlets clenching. Even Rolan flinched, his swollen eyes widening in shock.
"I see!" Rate murmured to himself, a faint spark of analytical satisfaction coloring his otherwise emotionless tone. The test had confirmed everything: no mana signature, pure mechanical fury. Ancient ingenuity at its most lethal.
Rolan, still reeling from the deafening barrage, stared at him in open absurdity, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "You… you just poked the hornet's nest like it was a training dummy."
Rate ignored him, his mind already shifting gears as the echoes died away. The ten minutes had passed. He called out to the others, his voice cutting through the lingering tension like a blade.
"Alright, recess is over. Gather, because this is what we're going to do."
As the squad began to converge, Camilla rising silently from her crouch, Quinn stepping forward with heavy plated footfalls, Bulk shouldering his supply box once more, Rate's thoughts turned inward, cold and pragmatic.
Given the abilities of Camilla and Quinn, passing this floor won't be an issue. Camilla is mobile as Quinn is sturdy. She can dance through the fire zones with that chaotic grace of hers, while he can absorb punishment that would pulverize lesser men. But…
His eyes flicked briefly toward Bulk, a short, assessing glimpse before retreating back to the darkness ahead.
He's the only liability, given how this floor is structured. He's skilled, no doubt one of the Eclipse-Walkers' finest alchemist-engineers and a strong fighter. But that's just it. I don't look forward to helping this time around if he can't keep up. The organization won't hold me responsible even if he dies. They have plenty of substitutes anyway.
When they had all gathered in a loose semicircle around him, the orb's sickly light painting their faces in harsh relief, Rate proceeded with the plan. His tone was clinical, devoid of hesitation.
"We're splitting our force. Camilla and I will flank the walls, Camilla takes the left, I'll take the right. Quinn, prepare yourself because you'll be taking a direct approach through the center of the floor. Same goes for you, Bulk."
"I understand," Bulk said, shifting his weight, the supply box creaking on his back, "but I don't think I'll be able to tank the attacks like Quinn would. Those things hit like siege engines."
"Which is why you'll be given two of our cloaks," Rate replied smoothly. "Place a dense barrier on them for your use. Layer the reinforcement thick buy yourself time to close distances or find cover."
"Alright," Bulk nodded, though a flicker of unease crossed his broad features. "So what about him?" He jerked a thumb toward Rolan, who stood swaying, wrists still bound and bleeding.
Rate's expression didn't change. "He's of no more use to us anymore. Get rid of him."
A heavy silence fell, broken only by the faint drip of condensation somewhere in the vast dark.
"Wait, wait, wait…" Rolan rasped, his voice cracking with sudden desperation. "You can't do that?"
"I just did," Rate said, the words mild, almost conversational.
"What if I have information on the fourth floor?" Rolan pressed, eyes darting between the impassive faces around him.
"Then you'll be lying," Rate replied without missing a beat.
"Alright, but the least you could do is heal me properly and let me die on my own terms," Rolan requested, a final thread of dignity threading through his pain.
"I don't see the use in that," Rate said evenly, "when it all reaches the same outcome."
Rolan looked at him with pure despise, his one good eye burning with impotent fury. The air grew thicker, the dungeon's oppressive weight seeming to lean in closer, as if savoring the impending violence.
"Quinn, remove him!" Rate called out.
"Yes, Captain!" Quinn said without hesitation. He stepped forward, armored gauntlet closing around Rolan's skull like a vice. Aura surged into the gauntlet, wrapping it in a shimmering, destructive haze that crackled with restrained power. The pressure built instantly.
Rolan began to bleed from every part of his skull nose, ears, the corners of his eyes as bones creaked under the inexorable force. He looked at Rate one last time, hatred and resignation twisting his bloodied features. His last words came out as a wet, venomous hiss:
"I pray you suffer for your diabolical ways… for eternity!"
THWACK!
The sound was sickening wet and final. Rolan's head burst under the crushing aura, blood, bone, and brain matter splattering across the flagstones in a gruesome arc. His corpse dropped limply to the ground with a dull thud, limbs splayed unnaturally, the rune-etched ropes still biting into lifeless wrists.
Quinn stepped back from the corpse, shaking a few droplets from his gauntlet with clinical detachment. The viscous remains glistened darkly in the orb's weak light, the metallic scent of fresh blood cutting through the dungeon's eternal rot.
"Now, we proceed as planned!" Rate said, turning away from the body as if it were nothing more than discarded refuse.