Niko soared—arms spread, tendrils streaming behind him like comet trails—as the white-blue energy flared against the dim, shifting walls of the infinite corridor. For a heartbeat, it almost felt like flying. Controlled chaos. He could still hear the guards shouting far below, their armor clanking, their footsteps tripping over one another.
But Niko knew this wouldn't last.
He twisted midair and snagged another section of the strange, alien wall—his tendrils latching on like spider silk, catching tension in a perfect arc. The guards below skidded to a halt again as he whipped overhead like a blur.
"That's right," he shouted down, "I'm your new ceiling fan—set to maximum annoyance!"
They snarled and pointed, eyes tracking him. One of them, taller than the rest, cupped his hands and shouted, "You can't swing around forever, coward!"
"Oh no," Niko called back with mock horror, "I might get tired! Guess I'll just lie down and let you kill me. Very dignified."
But the taunt was smoke. He could feel the pressure mounting behind his bravado.
He'd already figured it out a while ago—these halls were looped. Twisted. Warped by one of the guards. He'd seen the same statue five times. The same cracked floor tile. The same flickering light, glitching like a bad memory.
They were trying to trap him.
Box me in, wear me down, he thought grimly. Classic House playbook.
But he wasn't just going to sit around and play lab rat. No way. Not with burnout breathing down his neck.
By the time the thought finished, he'd already whipped around again—soaring over their heads, angled and agile. Their yells followed him, louder now, more frustrated. One of them even hurled a spear—close, but it clattered off the far wall.
"You'll slip up!" one shouted. "You can't dodge forever!"
Niko scoffed. "Wrong! I can absolutely dodge forever. I'm the dodgiest person I know."
He twisted midair, fingers flaring as he hooked another tendril, built the tension, and—
FWIP!
Blasted off again, the wind tearing through his hair, cloak whipping violently behind him. His boots skimmed a guard's helmet just to be petty.
On the second rotation, though, his thoughts crept in again.
Could just slam into them. Burn the last of my energy, knock 'em all down like bowling pins…
But he winced, imagining the recoil. His ribs weren't made of steel.
Yeah, and what—snap your own spine doing it? Brilliant idea, Niko.
He dismissed it. He needed to be clever, not reckless. His options were narrowing, his energy draining, and this looping illusion was tightening its grip.
Somewhere in this twisted space, there had to be a weak point. An anchor. A flaw in the ability holding the maze together.
Another slingshot. Another blur of motion.
Still they chased.
Still he danced.
Niko's boots barely skimmed the air as he rocketed through the corridor once more, his energy tendrils snapping and recoiling like whipcords made of pale lightning. But now—on this third dizzying loop—his limbs ached. His shoulder joints protested every swing. His wrists burned from the strain of flinging himself like a human slingshot again and again.
The rush was wearing off. The weight was setting in.
Still, he moved—fluid, acrobatic, weaving through the looped nightmare like a thread pulled through cloth. But it was no longer effortless. Every twist required focus now. Every landing jarred his bones a little more.
And the guards noticed.
The first sign was a hiss of fire.
Then came the geysers.
Walls cracked open with bursts of heat and steam, elements hurtling toward him from below. A spiral of wind, a javelin of lightning. Abilities, finally unleashed. Their patience had run dry.
Niko twisted, tucked, rolled. A fireball scorched the back of his heel as he snapped sideways to the ceiling, flipping off it like a gymnast. The geyser of stone and water blasted up from beneath, but he'd already swung wide.
"Now we're getting somewhere!" he called out, grinning through the burn in his arms. "Took you long enough to remember you had powers!"
More attacks flew—wild, aggressive, desperate. Niko danced between them all, weaving with a grace born of exhaustion and instinct.
But then, in the middle of the chaos, something clicked.
His eyes narrowed mid-swing. He saw it—a guard near the rear. Broad-shouldered. Masked like the others. But not moving.
No casting motion. No gesture. No summoning.
Just standing there. Watching.
Huh, Niko thought, tension tightening in his gut. That one's not doing anything. Just… being.
And yet, the loop held.
Same hallway. Same patterns. Same turn.
That's when Niko felt it—some weird tether. Subtle, quiet, but present. Like a spider's web strung between moments. That guard was the anchor. The loop wasn't a space—it was a state. And he was maintaining it.
Gotcha.
He smirked. The kind of smirk that promised violence and mischief all in one.
"Well, well," he muttered to himself, hurtling past a column of flame. "That's an interesting little trick. You're not lost in this loop with me—I'm cartwheeling through your illusion."
But he wasn't about to act recklessly. Not yet. Burnout was still looming behind his ribs like a loaded gun. If he struck now and guessed wrong, he'd be face-down and paralyzed in seconds.
Let's not get stupid. Give it time. Confirm it.
Fourth rotation. That was the plan.
He'd run it once more. Watch the guard. See if the tether held.
And if it did…
The next swing wouldn't be a dodge.
It would be a kill.
On the fourth loop, the air was thick with heat and chaos—flames coiling like serpents, stone geysers ripping through the smooth, not-quite-stone floor. Niko twisted past another volley of jagged earth, flipping through the smoke and debris like a streak of living lightning. The white-blue glow of his energy tendrils cast strange shadows on the warped walls, illuminating his path like a phantom acrobat.
He barely registered the shouts anymore. The guards were frothing now—every single one of them hurling their powers like rabid dogs let off their leash.
All but one.
'Still not moving,' Niko noted as he flipped upside down over the cluster of guards below. His eyes locked onto that same one. Masked, stiff, still. 'Same posture. Same weight in the air around him. No casting motion, no attack. Just… standing there, letting this happen. Yeah. You're the one keeping the record spinning.'
His decision came fast.
'Time to drop the needle.'
At the apex of his swing—hovering like a ghost above them all—he yanked back with both hands. The tendrils recoiled, slingshotting him downward in a white-blue blur aimed squarely at his mark.
The guard looked up.
Too late.
CRACK.
Niko's fist crashed straight into his mask like a meteor breaking atmosphere, slamming the man backward into the warped floor with enough force to leave a dent. The impact reverberated through Niko's arm—but it was worth it. That satisfying crunch of contact. That moment of stunned silence from the rest of the group.
They noticed.
Niko noticed that they noticed.
'Yeah. Sorry boys. Had to break formation.'
No hesitation. The instant his boots kissed the floor, the tendrils lashed out again—two sharp snaps of energy binding the stunned guard around the arms, torso, and legs like fast-drying rope. He was hoisted up with a yank of Niko's shoulder, swinging behind him like a sack of twitching iron.
Niko didn't waste the momentum. He reeled backward, flipped, and launched himself into another arc—his fifth cycle—without drawing on a single drop of energy.
Only inertia.
Only planning.
Only spite.
He was grinning wide now, hair whipping past his face, eyes flashing beneath the sweat and flickering light.
'Didn't cost me a lick of power,' he thought, chest swelling with pride. 'Just a punch, a wrap, and a swing. Efficient. Beautiful. Genius, even. I'm basically a tactical legend at this point.'
The captured guard swung behind him like a grim pendulum, motionless except for the wind tugging at his cloak. Niko gave him a side glance, the grin turning into a tight scowl.
"Deactivate the ability," he said coldly, voice low but sharp as a blade, "or I drop you like a bag of rocks and we see which of your bones are optional."
The guard just stared at him—through the eyeholes of that mask, expression unreadable. No words. No resistance. No fear.
Just… blank.
As if the demand hadn't even registered.
'Oh, you're one of those types,' Niko thought, annoyed. 'The stonewall. The committed zealot. Great. You'd rather die looping forever than blink wrong.'
He scoffed, rolling his eyes mid-flight. "Right. Tough guy routine. Cute."
Then he let the momentum carry him forward into the next bend of the looping hallway. His arms screamed with fatigue. His breath came sharper now. But the prize was secured.
He didn't know how long this illusion would hold—but he knew one thing for sure.
Fifth time around, and the needle was skipping.