Gery roared and charged forward. His Tier 6 sword swung in a massive horizontal arc.
Three marionettes stood in his path. His blade connected with all three in one devastating strike.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Porcelain shattered. Limbs snapped off and clattered across the floor. Bodies fractured down the middle.
But the strings pulled them back—yanked them aside like nothing had happened. Even broken, even split in half, they didn't stop. The silver threads held them together, forcing shattered bodies to keep dancing.
Somi followed close behind. Her crimson jacket pulsed once, releasing its stored kinetic energy in a concentrated burst.
BOOM!
The shockwave caught five marionettes at once, sending them tumbling backward through the air. Strings pulled taut, straining against the force. The puppets crashed to the floor in a heap of porcelain and silk—and immediately stood back up, resuming their attack as if nothing had happened.
Lucy and I covered the rear. Flames erupted from her palms, engulfing the marionettes trying to flank us. I wielded my dagger not as a fear construct, but as a weapon—stabbing joints, slashing strings, doing everything I could to slow them down.
Nothing works. Nothing stops them.
We fought our way across the ballroom floor. Every step forward was earned in blood. Every foot of ground cost us.
Gery's back was a mess of cuts where porcelain fingers had clawed him. Somi's enchanted jacket was torn in three places, its protection failing. Lucy's face had gone pale, her mana reserves draining fast. A deep gash across my forearm bled freely where a marionette's hand had caught me.
But we were getting closer to the platform.
Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten.
We finally reached the central stage, and I got my first clear look at what we'd been fighting toward.
In the center of the platform, set into the wood itself: a mechanism.
It looked like a massive music box—all bronze and gold, with intricate gears and wheels visible through glass panels on its sides. Extending from the top were twelve metal arms, each one splitting into hundreds of fine silver wires that stretched out across the entire ballroom.
The strings. They all come from here.
The mechanism was beautiful in a terrible way. Artistic. A masterpiece of clockwork and magic fused together.
And it was singing. The orchestral waltz we'd been hearing this whole time—it came from the mechanism itself. The bronze gears turned in perfect rhythm, producing music as they ground together.
"That's it," Somi said, breathing hard. "That's what's controlling them. Destroy it and they stop."
Gery raised his Tier 6 sword high overhead, two-handed grip, ready to cleave it in half.
"Wait!" I shouted. "What if breaking it triggers something worse?"
"Then we deal with it," Gery said through gritted teeth. "But we can't keep fighting forever. Look at us—we're bleeding out."
He was right. We were losing. Slowly, steadily, certainly.
The twelve marionettes had regrouped around the platform's edge. They swayed in time with the music, their glass eyes fixed on us. Waiting.
"Do it," Somi ordered.
Gery brought his sword down with all the force his Tier 6 strength could muster.
CRASH!
The blade cleaved through bronze and gold like they were paper. Gears exploded outward. Wheels shattered into fragments. Glass panels burst in a spray of glittering shards.
The music cut off mid-note—a discordant SCREECH as the mechanism died.
The twelve marionettes froze mid-movement.
For one beautiful, impossible moment, everything was silent.
Then the strings went slack.
The silver threads fell like rain, disconnected from their source. They drifted down slowly, no longer pulling, no longer controlling, no longer forcing broken bodies to dance.
The marionettes collapsed. All twelve at once. They fell like puppets with their strings cut—because that's exactly what they were.
They hit the floor and shattered. Porcelain bodies breaking into dozens of pieces. Glass eyes rolling across the bloodstained wood. Elaborate costumes deflating as the structures inside them disintegrated into dust.
It was over.
We'd won.
I collapsed to my knees, gasping for breath. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. My arm bled freely, painting the floor red beneath me.
Lucy was crying—from exhaustion, from relief, from the terror finally catching up to her now that the danger had passed.
Gery leaned heavily on his sword, using the Tier 6 blade as a crutch. Blood dripped from dozens of cuts across his body, pattering steadily onto the floor.
Somi stood watch, crimson eyes scanning the ballroom, making absolutely certain the threat was over.
Broken marionettes lay scattered everywhere. Beautiful costumes torn and ruined. Porcelain faces cracked down the middle. Glass eyes staring at nothing.
They looked sad, even in death. Or whatever state puppets entered when their strings were cut.
"Is everyone alive?" Somi asked.
"Barely," I managed.
"Alive enough," Gery rumbled.
"I hate puppets." Lucy's voice was thick with tears. "I hate them so much."
The ballroom had gone completely silent. No music. No singing. No grinding gears. Just the sound of our labored breathing and the occasional drip of blood hitting the floor.
Then, at the far end of the ballroom, a door appeared.
It materialized out of thin air—a simple wooden door that absolutely had not been there a moment ago.
Above it, in flowing golden script that seemed to write itself: "Act I Complete—Proceed to Act II"
"We can't go on like this." Lucy looked at our injuries with wide eyes. "We're too hurt. Too tired. We'll die if we keep going."
"We don't have a choice." Somi's voice was flat. "There's no exit except forward. The only way out of The Eternal Stage is to complete all three acts.
"Or die trying," I added quietly.
"Or die trying," Somi agreed without hesitation.
We looked at each other.We Were dripping with Blood. Exhausted. Barely standing.
We'd barely survived Act I. And there were two more acts waiting.
But we'd survived the Crimson Barrens. We'd killed nine Yetis.
We could survive this.
Maybe
"We rest here for ten minutes," Somi decided. "Catch our breath. Bind our wounds. Then we move forward."
No one argued. We didn't have the energy to argue.
We sat on the bloodstained ballroom floor, surrounded by broken marionettes and fallen strings, trying to gather what little strength we had left.
The door to Act II waited.
And somewhere above us—in the darkness, in the shadows, in the throne room at the top of that grand staircase—the Marionette Queen was watching.
I was tying torn fabric around my bleeding arm when I heard it.
A voice. Different from the usher's many-voices. Different from the chorus of marionettes.
This was singular. Feminine. Beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful. Cold.
It came from everywhere and nowhere at once:
"Well done, little visitors. You've survived the Dance."
We all froze. I looked around wildly. The ballroom was empty except for us and the shattered puppets.
"Most don't make it past Act I. Most join the marionettes. Their strings added to my collection. Their movements added to the choreography. Their voices added to the chorus."
"Who are you?" Grey stood, hand already moving toward his weapon.
Laughter. Gentle and cruel in equal measure.
"I am the Queen of this Stage. The Mistress of Strings. The Director of this Eternal Performance."
*"I am the Marionette Queen. And you are my guests."
"We're not performing for you," Gery growled, gripping his sword tighter.
"Oh, but you already are."The voice sounded amused. "Every action you take. Every choice you make. Every step you dance. All of it is performance. And I am watching.
The voice grew quieter, more intimate, like she was whispering directly into our ears:
"Act I tested your strength. You passed. Barely."
"Act II will test your identity. Can you remember who you are when faced with a thousand false faces?"
"Act III will test your voice. Can you keep singing your own song when the chorus demands you join them in harmony?"
"And if you survive all three... then you may challenge me. Face to face.
"I do so hope you survive. It's been centuries since I've had worthy opponents. The Stage grows lonely when you're the only one left performing."
The voice faded. Grew distant. Then disappeared entirely, leaving only silence behind.
We sat there, processing what we'd just heard.
"She wants us to win," Lucy said quietly. "She's bored."
"No." Somi shook her head. "She wants a performance. Whether we win or lose doesn't matter to her. What matters is that we entertain her. That we struggle beautifully. That we dance for her amusement before we die."
"Then let's give her a show she won't forget." I stood, legs shaking but holding. "Let's survive all three acts, beat her, and get the hell out of this nightmare theater."
"Agreed," Gery said, pulling himself up with his sword.
"Agreed," Lucy echoed, wiping her tears away.
"Agreed," Somi confirmed.
We approached the door to Act II together.
The door swung open before we reached it—moving silently inward, revealing darkness beyond.
From that darkness came whispers. Laughter. Crying. All mixed together into an incomprehensible chorus.
And underneath it all: the faint sound of masks clicking against each other.
Above the doorway, new words appeared in that same flowing script:
"Act II—The Gallery of Masks"
We stepped through into the darkness.