After several more minutes of trekking through the scorched, crumbling corridor—a path that felt less like a tunnel and more like a descent straight into hell—the group of Arbiters finally reached a massive door. It loomed before them like a monument to ruin, forged from volcanic ash, Flamebrick, and a strange black stone streaked with glowing veins of magma. The molten threads pulsed with an eerie rhythm, as if the door itself had a heartbeat.
Vyker stepped forward, his boots crunching against the charred stone beneath him. With only five deliberate strides, he reached the door. His eyes scanned its surface—every detail, every flicker of magma, and every crack. Then, without a word, he raised his hand and pressed his palm against the heated surface. A long exhale escaped his lips.
"Be ready to attack, dodge... or die instantly," Vyker said, his voice low but firm, echoing slightly in the narrow space. "That's the only fate that comes from opening this door. Pyre knows we're here. I've felt its aura thrumming through the walls since the moment we stepped into the fourth tunnel."
Turning back toward the group, Vyker's sharp gaze swept across them. He began counting.
'One... two, three, four, five...' He paused. His brow furrowed. "Everyone, take one step apart. I need a clearer count. Wearing all white with hoods was definitely not our smartest decision."
In unison, the Arbiters each took a step to the side and lowered their hoods, revealing sweat-slicked hair and faces etched with tension.
'One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight counting me...' His eyes narrowed. "...Where's the last?"
Vyker counted again. Then again. But no matter how many times he tried, there were only eight, including himself. A sigh escaped him, and he shook his head in frustration.
"Looks like someone decided to play 'Get Lost in the Damn Mountains.' Great. We're short another member already, and we haven't even entered the hell pit."
An Arbiter near the center scoffed, tossing his head back with a dismissive snort. "So what? It's just another beast. We've taken down dozens of them. They all fall the same—just simple bitches," he muttered with a lazy eye roll.
Zay simply looked towards the man and he sighed. His eyes shifted to Aris beside him. She had been staring at him for several minutes now, her expression unreadable. He wasn't sure why. Suddenly, the walls around them groaned.
A low, resonant crack echoed through the corridor. Fractures began spider-webbing across the wall's surface, magma seeping through like blood through torn flesh.
Then, without warning, Zay's [Predator's Hunting Grounds] activated on its own. He saw a pattern of magma surging through the wall, the pressure building, the impending breach.
With a flash of violet aura igniting around his legs, Zay surged forward. He shoved the others out of the way and slammed his body into the door, forcing it open just as the wall behind them burst.
The group stood in stunned silence for a second, exchanging wide-eyed looks. Then they charged after him, pulled forward by instinct, fear, or something else.
Two of the Arbiters followed with admiration burning in their eyes, recognizing Zay's strength. Another scoffed, thinking him a reckless child. Vyker, however, nodded in quiet respect. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
'He's got guts', Vyker thought. 'That kid's going to fit in just great.'
Behind the others, Aris hesitated only briefly before following. Her eyes lingered on Zay's back. 'He looked... brave,' she thought, a small smile forming on her lips.
As the last of the group slipped through the threshold, Zay glanced over his shoulder. Some of them wore faint smiles. A few flashed him thumbs-up. He blinked in confusion.
'What's wrong with these people...?' he wondered.
Then the door slammed shut behind them, sealing with a heavy clang. A thunderous explosion echoed through the tunnel as magma flooded the corridor they had just vacated. The wall had completely shattered.
Zay halted mid-step, his eyes sweeping across the chamber before him.
The room was colossal—far larger than Ovaris itself. It felt less like a room and more like an ancient temple buried beneath the world. Towering pillars rose, vanishing into darkness. Even with his night vision, Zay could barely trace the outline of the ceiling far above, and only just.
The chamber stretched out in every direction, a vault of ominous silence. The floor was made of a deep blue stone that shimmered faintly beneath their feet, smooth and untouched by time. The walls, constructed of Flamebrick, radiated a gentle warmth, etched with sprawling incantations written in a language none of them recognized. Faintly pulsing sigils crawled up the pillars like veins of living light, casting an eerie, shifting glow across the chamber.
Statues lined the room—towering figures carved in unknown likenesses, their forms cloaked in shadows and grime. Each statue stood far taller than any of them, silent sentinels watching with stone eyes. Something about them felt… wrong. As if they hadn't always been statues.
Without a word, the Arbiters unsheathed their weapons, steel whispering free in unison. The tension in the air was suffocating.
"I'll take the lead," Zay said, his voice low but steady. He stepped forward without hesitation. Behind him, Vyker gave a curt nod and fell in behind him. He had no desire to be the first to die—not in a place like this.
Zay moved slowly, every sense sharpened to its limit under the influence of [Predator's Hunting Grounds]. His violet aura hummed faintly around his body as he scanned the chamber for movement, pressure, heat distortions, or any small detail at all he could see change.
Vyker kept watch on Zay's left flank, another Arbiter flanked his right, and the rest of the group took up positions behind them—each covering a different direction. Their formation was tight, and deliberate. Eyes flicked toward shadows, toward the ceiling, toward the statues.
One Arbiter positioned in the center constantly glanced upward, sweat beading down his brow. His gaze never stopped moving, expecting something—anything—to descend from above at any moment.
As the group advanced deeper into the vast chamber, Zay suddenly froze in place. His eyes locked onto a statue standing thirty feet ahead—one that hadn't been there before.
The abrupt stop caused the line of Arbiters to stumble into one another, muttering curses and frustrated questions.
"What the hell was that for?" one of them snapped.
Zay didn't look back. His voice was low, taut with warning.
"Ahead."
The group fell silent. Slowly, their gazes followed his line of sight. And then they saw it.
The statue.
Unlike the towering figures they'd passed earlier, this one stood alone, centered in the path ahead. Its form was faintly illuminated by the runes on nearby pillars, casting soft light across its surface. At first glance, it was unremarkable—stone carved into the shape of a woman, standing roughly six feet tall, with wings unfurled from her back. But there was something unnatural about it. Something felt wrong.
One by one, emotions began to stir within them.
A strange warmth spread through one Arbiter's chest—an impossible peace, as if all his troubles had melted away. Another felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of belonging, as if this place had been waiting just for him. Two others smiled unconsciously, drawn toward the statue with the trust of children returning home. It felt like love, like comfort, like a sanctuary.
And they began to walk toward it.
Vyker's breath caught in his throat as his eyes narrowed on the statue. It had changed. Standing there, in place of the stone figure, he saw her—his ex-wife. The woman he'd lost years ago to the river's pull. She stood there now, barefoot on cold stone, her hair the same, her expression gentle and loving. She opened her arms as if to embrace him.
He staggered forward.
Then stopped.
Without hesitation, Vyker drew a dagger from his belt and slammed it into his arm.
Blood spilled onto the blue stone floor, and the illusion shattered like glass.
"Goddamn hallucinations," he growled, voice rough and bitter.
Bright orange aura surged from his core, erupting like a firestorm as it coiled and danced around his frame. He lifted his glaive from the floor with a sharp clang and held it at the ready, runes igniting along the length of the weapon with radiant fire.
"SHOW YOURSELF, DAMN IT!"
His roar echoed through the chamber like thunder.
Ahead of him, four Arbiters continued walking toward the statue, their eyes glazed, expressions vacant. Vyker's teeth clenched as he spotted the dagger he'd dropped. He dove down, snatched it from the floor, and hurled it across the room.
The blade spun in the air before embedding itself shallowly into one of the Arbiters' arms. The man jerked in place, blinking in confusion before gasping and tearing the dagger out.
His eyes locked with Vyker's and he understood immediately what happened.
Without hesitation, the man turned and flung the blade toward another entranced companion. It struck true—just enough to jolt them from the illusion.
But before the cycle could continue, a low chime rang out through the chamber. It was sweet and haunting, like a bell tolling from beneath the sea.
The statue began to glow.
Pale white light erupted from the base and spiraled upward, tracing over its surface like living threads of silk. The full form of the statue became clear, wings stretching elegantly from the woman's back, arms folded across her chest as if in mourning or prayer. Though smaller than the towering statues that lined the chamber, she radiated far more presence. She was divine in her stillness, eerie in her silence.
And then, her eyes snapped open.
They shimmered—glacial blue irises, glowing faintly as if lit from within. Cracks spiderwebbed across the stone shell of her body. With a sound like splitting granite, the outer layer crumbled away, falling to the floor in fractured chunks.
Her gaze drifted downward, calm and unreadable, locking onto the Arbiters still approaching her, entranced. Without a word, she slowly lowered her left hand to her side. She extended her right hand and with a sharp snap of her fingers, the room transformed.
A blizzard erupted.
Snow and biting wind surged around in a violent spiral, instantly engulfing the men. The frost spread like a living thing, coating the ground, the pillars, and then freezing the Arbiters in place mid-step—turning them into unmoving statues of shimmering ice.
The white wings on her back unfurled fully and gave a single beat, carrying her into the air before she descended, landing silently on the frost-covered stone floor. As she touched down, the raging blizzard condensed and coalesced, forming a long, elegant spear of ice that materialized in her hands.
Without pause or emotion, she walked to the frozen men—now statues of flesh encased in rime.
One by one, she drove her spear through their chests.
With each strike, the ice shattered. Their bodies broke apart into fragments—shards of frost, bits of bone, and whispers of what once had been.
She looked down at herself and realized she was naked. Her expression didn't shift, but her gaze drifted back to the fragments of stone scattered across the floor. The dress she had once worn had crumbled with the statue's shell, reduced to broken shards alongside it. With a soft exhale, she raised her hand and snapped her fingers.
A chilling wind swirled around her, whipping across the chamber as frost spiraled over her skin. In moments, the cold gathered and solidified, weaving into a long, glacial-blue dress that clung to her form with a frigid elegance. Thin straps wrapped around her shoulders leaving her arms bare. The fabric shimmered with a sheen like frozen silk, reaching down to her ankles, with a slit along both sides that revealed her toned legs—graceful, yet clearly built for strength. As she breathed out once more, mist curled from her lips, lingering like ghostly fog in the air.
With a single, deliberate motion, her wings beat against the air—powerful and fluid—lifting her effortlessly from the ground. Shards of ice and dust were swept away in her ascent. Suspended in the cold, echoing vastness of the chamber, her icy gaze locked onto the remaining Arbiters below. Slowly, deliberately, she extended her spear toward them—an unspoken threat glinting at its tip.
"You know… I don't think this is a beast made of fire, Vyker," Zay said, his eyes locked on her figure hovering in the air, her long glacial-blue hair swaying in the wind stirred by the steady beat of her wings.
Vyker gave a slow nod, then rolled his neck left and right before glancing upward. "Yeah… I don't think it is either."