The footsteps stopped ten paces away.
Nothing emerged from the alley.
That was worse.
Karsen's shield trembled despite his grip. The priestess pressed her palms together, lips moving in a prayer she had already repeated too many times today. One of the rookies was crying silently, tears cutting clean lines through the dust on his face.
Eiran counted their breathing.
Five rhythms. One already missing.
"Listen carefully," Eiran said. "NULL has finished watching. It's about to start talking."
As if responding to his words, the air folded inward.
A voice spoke from behind them.
"Leader."
It was calm. Familiar. Too accurate.
Eiran did not turn.
The rookies did.
They saw the swordsman standing near the fountain, armor intact, blade resting casually against his shoulder. No blood. No wounds. His expression was relaxed—almost relieved.
"I made it out," the swordsman said. "You don't have to be so tense."
The priestess sobbed in relief. One of the rookies took a step forward.
Eiran raised his hand sharply.
"Stop."
The swordsman tilted his head. "Why?"
Because NULL never returned what it took whole.
Because the system had already logged him as lost.
Because the voice had no weight behind it—no breath, no strain, no presence.
"You died," Eiran said flatly.
The swordsman smiled.
"That's what you think," it replied.
The word think echoed.
Not once.
Twice.
Then three times, each echo coming from a different direction.
Windows lit up.
Reflections filled them—each showing the swordsman dying a different way. Throat cut. Spine shattered. Crushed beneath stone. The same end, repeated until the meaning eroded.
The priestess screamed.
The thing by the fountain stepped forward.
"Why didn't you save me?" it asked Eiran.
Not accusing. Curious.
The tower was testing phrasing now.
"I couldn't," Eiran replied.
"That's not what you told us before," the thing said. "You said you could keep us alive."
The words landed cleanly.
Too cleanly.
Eiran felt it then—the shift inside his chest. Not guilt. Not regret.
Recognition.
NULL was no longer simulating fear.
It was simulating memory.
"Everyone," Eiran said quietly, never taking his eyes off the thing, "close your eyes. Count backward from fifty. If you hear someone begging, keep counting."
Karsen hesitated only a second before obeying.
The rookies followed, shaking.
The thing laughed.
It sounded almost human.
"See?" it said. "They trust you. Even now."
The fountain cracked.
Stone split as something underneath it moved.
Eiran drew his weapon—not to strike, but to anchor himself.
"You can wear their faces," he said. "You can repeat their words. But you don't understand one thing."
The thing leaned closer.
"What's that?"
Eiran's grip tightened.
"I remember the order they died in."
The smile faltered.
For the first time since entering Floor Eleven, the tower hesitated.
And in that hesitation, something deep within NULL adjusted its approach—quietly discarding imitation in favor of something far more personal.