The cold stone beneath his feet was a blessing after the damp hell of his stomach. The hero lay on his back, listening to the silence. True silence—no gurgling flesh, no rumbling of the monster's intestines, no hissing of acid.
Only the faint echo of falling drops somewhere in the distance.
Pain still throbbed in his body—twelve deaths layered on top of each other, creating a background agony to which the hero was already beginning to grow accustomed. The phantom burn of acid on his skin. The dull ache of crushed ribs. Sharp stings where worms had gnawed through his flesh.
The hero rose slowly, leaning against the wall. The stone corridor stretched in both directions, disappearing into the darkness. The walls were covered with strange carved symbols—ancient, illegible, but definitely created by intelligent beings.
So someone else had been here. Or had once been. The hero chose a direction at random—forward—and walked. His footsteps echoed loudly in the void. After the endless stench of his stomach, the air here seemed almost fresh, though it still carried the mustiness of centuries.
The corridor led to a staircase. Up. Always up.
The hero began to climb.
The light struck his eyes unexpectedly.
After the darkness of his stomach and the dimness of the corridors, even the dim blue glow seemed blinding. The hero closed his eyes, covering his face with his hand, waiting for his vision to adjust.
When the hero opened his eyes again, his breath caught in his throat.
The sea.
The endless, blue sea stretched in all directions, all the way to the horizon. The sky above was just as blue—deep, rich, sunless, cloudless, just a smooth azure dome from which a strange, diffused light oozed, as if the source of the light was everywhere and nowhere at once. In the distance, water and sky merged into a single blue infinity.
But that wasn't what made the hero freeze.
Bridges.
Dozens, hundreds of stone bridges stretched over the water in all directions—straight and curved, wide and narrow, some connecting to each other, creating a tangled network, others ending in nothingness, over empty water. Ancient, covered in moss and cracks, they looked as if they had stood there forever.
The hero stood on one of these bridges—narrow, about two meters wide, without railings, without protection. Just a strip of stone hovering above the sea.
And that sea was... far below.
The hero approached the edge of the bridge and looked down. His head spun. Between the bridge and the water's surface was a chasm—fifty meters, maybe more. The blue water below seemed calm, motionless, reflecting the sky like a mirror.
And in this water they walked.
Colossi. The hero froze, unable to believe his eyes. Titans of stone, so enormous that the mind refused to comprehend their size. As tall as a multi-story building—no, taller, much taller. The water reached their knees. Knees.
This meant that if these creatures were tall... the hero tried to estimate... fifty meters? Sixty? Maybe more?
The bridges the hero stood on were roughly level with their hips.
The Titans walked along the seabed slowly, deliberately, endlessly. Their bodies were massive, roughly hewn from dark gray stone, covered in green moss and algae. Broad shoulders, muscular torsos, powerful legs—everything was executed in general outline, without detail, as if some titanic sculptor had tired halfway through.
Their heads had no faces—smooth stone spheres on broad shoulders, without eyes, without nose, without mouth. Only stone.
Blind. Faceless. Ancient. And moving.
And there were many of them.
The hero stood on the bridge, holding on to an invisible balance, and watched as the nearest colossus slowly trudged past, about thirty meters away. The titan towered over the water, each step creating waves that rippled across the blue surface. Its stone back was as wide as a small house, moss covered its shoulders like a green carpet, and water constantly dripped from its hands.
In the distance, dozens more such figures were visible—dark silhouettes, wandering across the sea in different directions. Some walked parallel to the bridges, others crossed their path, still others slowly turned their faceless heads from side to side, as if listening to something.
The hero followed one of them with his gaze. The colossus trudged in the distance, almost on the horizon. A step. The water foamed around its massive leg, and waves spread out in all directions. Another step. And another. Slowly, measuredly, like a pendulum of a clock measuring out eternity. Another titan walked to the right, crossing the line of bridges. Its path passed under one of the stone spans—the colossus simply passed through, its faceless head level with the bridge deck for a moment, then the titan continued its endless journey.
They all walked. Each in their own direction. Aimless. Eternal.
The loneliness of this place was palpable. Ancient. Eternal. Blue sky, blue sea, stone giants in an eternal, silent procession, going to an unknown destination and an unknown purpose.
The hero exhaled and stepped back from the edge. He had to move. But where?
The bridges diverged in different directions—five paths from this fork. Some went straight ahead, others turned, a third ended altogether about thirty meters away—a broken edge hanging over nothingness.
The hero chose the one that went straight ahead and moved slowly forward.
His first steps were cautious. The bridge was narrow, the surface slippery with moss and moisture. Beneath his feet lay fifty meters of emptiness and the blue sea with the titans standing in it.
The hero walked slowly, placing foot after foot carefully, trying not to make unnecessary noise. Each step echoed dullly on the stone, stretching off into the blue infinity.
The hero had walked about twenty meters when he saw a fork in the road ahead. The bridge branched into three directions.
He chose the left one at random.
Another twenty meters. The hero walked cautiously, keeping an eye on the colossi walking in the water. The closest one trudged about fifty meters away—slowly, deliberately, its faceless head turning from side to side.
The hero took another step.
And heard a splash.
He stopped. Listening.
Silence. Only the soft splash of water somewhere far below.
The hero took another step. The splash repeated. Closer. And louder.
The hero slowly turned his head and looked.
The colossus was changing direction.
The same one walking fifty meters away. Its faceless head turned toward the bridge. Toward the hero. Slowly, with the inexorable movement of a continent, the titan turned and began walking toward the bridge.
Water exploded in a fountain around the massive leg. Waves swirled. The stone leg, as thick as a tower, sank into the water with a dull splash.
The colossus froze for a moment. He listened. The faceless head slowly turned, scanning the space.
Seconds ticked by. The hero held his breath, pressed against the stone of the bridge, not daring to move.
The titan took another step. Closer. Then another. Slowly but steadily approaching.
"Damn," the hero exhaled and ran. He didn't look back, his heart pounding in his chest. Another splash sounded behind him—the colossus was taking another step, slow but relentless. The distance between the titan's strides was enormous—one was equivalent to twenty human strides.
The hero reached a fork in the road, turned right, and continued running. His footsteps echoed loudly across the bridge—too loud, too noticeable.
And then the hero heard a second splash. From the other side.
He turned as he ran. The other colossus, wandering to the right, also changed direction. A faceless head turned toward the bridge. The titan began to turn, altering course toward the source of the noise. A massive hand rose from the water, ready to grab.
The hero ran along the narrow bridge, balancing on the brink of falling. His foot slipped on the wet stone—the hero swung his arms, catching his balance at the last moment.
Another fork in the road loomed ahead. The hero turned left, then right, then left again—dodging between bridges, trying to escape his pursuers.
The splashes continued. Slow. Measured. Inexorable. The Titans changed direction, turned toward the source of the sound, and continued their eternal march, but now—toward the hero.
The hero ducked under the low arch where two bridges intersected and froze, pressed against the stone. Breathing heavily, trying to calm his heart.
The splashes died down. The Colossi returned to their eternal march in other directions.
The hero listened.
Silence. Only the splashing of water from the retreating Titans and his own heavy breathing.
The Titans moved on, continuing their aimless routes.
The hero knelt right on the bridge, letting his heart calm. His hands shook. The phantom pain from all his previous deaths pulsed more intensely—the adrenaline was fading, leaving only fatigue and agony.
He had to learn to move quietly. Very quietly.
The next hours—or days, the hero didn't know; time was meaningless here—he learned.
Slow steps. Weight on the toes first, then on the heel. Smoothly, without sudden movements. Avoid cracks in the stone—they could crumble, creating a sound. Breathe quietly, evenly.
The hero died three more times before he understood the rules.
The first time, he tripped on a slippery stone and fell off a bridge. The fall lasted an eternity, the wind whistling in his ears, and the blue water approached below. The impact was like a collision with concrete—bones shattered into splinters, consciousness faded instantly.
He woke up on the same bridge from which he fell. The pain of his shattered body added to his collection of agony. The hero lay there for several minutes, whining through clenched teeth, until the phantom pain subsided to a tolerable level.
The second time—he walked too loudly. The Titan heard it and changed the direction of its eternal walk, approaching the bridge. The hero tried to run, but the colossus was faster than it seemed—one Titan stride was equivalent to twenty human stride, and it walked without stopping. A massive stone hand rose from the water and crashed down onto the bridge.
The hero didn't have time to dodge. Fingers, each as thick as wood, closed around him. The pressure was monstrous. His ribs cracked instantly, his insides turned to mush. Then the Titan pulled the hero down, underwater.
Darkness. Cold. Water pressure. His lungs burned, trying to breathe. But all around was only water, filling his mouth, nose, lungs. Drowning—slow, agonizing, endless.
He woke up again. The pain of drowning was particularly vile—the sensation of water in my lungs, the inability to breathe, the panic—it all remained a phantom echo in my body.
The third time—I met another traveler.
It was a woman—or what had once been a woman. Exhausted, in rags, with a mad glint in her eyes. She stood at the intersection of two bridges, clutching a serrated knife.
"Food," the woman croaked, seeing the hero. "Give me the food."
"I don't have food," the hero replied, slowly raising his hands.
"You're lying!"
The woman rushed at the hero with a scream. The hero tried to dodge, but the bridge was too narrow. The knife sank into his stomach, a hot pain ripping through his body. The woman pushed the hero, and he flew backward, over the edge of the bridge.
Fall. Impact with the water.
He came to again. Lesson learned—not all travelers can be trusted.
But not all encounters were hostile.
The hero found a body on one of the bridges—an old man, long dead, half-mummified in the dry air. Next to him lay a tattered leather bag.
Inside was a piece of bread, hard as a rock, a flask of water (half-empty), and, most valuable of all, a piece of parchment.
A map. Crude, drawn with a trembling hand, but it was a map. Part of a labyrinth of bridges, with markings.
"Dead end." "Colossi—five, active." "Safe—go quietly." And most importantly—an arrow pointing in a certain direction, labeled: "Light. Exit?"
The hero folded the map, tucking it into the inner pocket of his rags. He took a flask of water—a few sips of the precious liquid felt like nectar after slurping the monster's stomach.
He stood and looked in the direction the arrow on the map pointed.
And listened.
Somewhere in the distance, barely distinguishable in the blue silence, a sound came. Not the splashing of water. Not the footsteps of titans. Something else.
The hero wasn't sure. But it was a direction. A destination.
The hero moved forward, slowly, carefully stepping on the stone. The bridges stretched like an endless web over the blue sea. Titans walked in the water, endlessly wandering their routes, faceless guardians of the ancient labyrinth, listening to every sound.
And somewhere ahead, beyond the blue infinity, the next floor awaited.
Nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-eight.
And the hero walked toward it, collecting deaths and pain, but never stopping.
Because to stop here would mean staying forever.
And the hero promised himself to get back up.
No matter the cost.