The steps ended at a massive metal door, covered in rust and strange stains. The hero pushed it open, and a pungent smell instantly hit him in the face.
Chemicals. Acid. Something burning, corrosive to mucous membranes.
"Cover your nose," he called over his shoulder to Medusa.
They entered, holding their noses with their hands, and saw something that made them stop.
A hall.
A huge hall, the size of a cathedral, the floor of which was strewn with holes. Hundreds of them, varying in size—from a meter to ten in diameter, each filled with boiling acid. The colors varied—green, yellow, red, purple, even black. The surface was seething, vapors rising, settling on the walls, and dripping back.
Narrow bridges stretched between the pits—stone, slippery with condensation and plaque. Some were foot-wide, others slightly wider, but all looked precarious.
And slimes crawled everywhere.
Transparent, gelatinous creatures, ranging in size from a fist to a large dog. They moved slowly along the walkways, along the edges of pits, and along the walls. Dissolved bones, scraps of fabric, and metal were visible within their transparent bodies.
"What is this place..." Medusa whispered, the snakes on her head pressed against her skull, hissing anxiously.
"Acid baths," the hero peered at the nearest pit. The green liquid was bubbling, the vapor rising, stinging his eyes even from a distance. "One touch, and the flesh will dissolve."
"Wonderful," Medusa clutched her trident. "As if we haven't already had enough challenges."
The hero grinned, despite the situation:
"The dungeon isn't known for its hospitality." "I noticed," she said, looking at the labyrinth of bridges ahead. "How do we get through?"
"Carefully. Slowly. And pray we don't slip."
They moved forward, step by step. The first bridge was relatively wide—two feet wide. The Hero walked ahead, checking each step. The stone was damp, covered in a thin layer of slime.
Medusa followed, holding her trident horizontally, balancing.
"Remember," she began, her voice tense, but speaking to distract herself from the height and danger, "how you asked in the baths where I got such fighting skills?"
The Hero carefully stepped over a crack in the bridge.
"I remember. You didn't answer."
"Because..." she trailed off, stepping around a slime crawling toward her. "Because these aren't the most pleasant memories."
The Hero turned and waited. Medusa looked down at the seething green acid beneath them.
"Before the curse," she continued quietly, "I was a warrior. In the service of Poseidon, Lord of the Seas."
"A warrior?" the hero was surprised. "Not a dancer?" Medusa smiled bitterly.
"Dancing came later. When everything else was taken away." She crossed to the next, narrower bridge. "I fought in naval battles. Against titans, monsters, enemies of Olympus. The trident was my weapon. I was one of the best."
The hero listened, continuing to walk. A larger slime appeared ahead, the size of a barrel. It slowly crawled along the bridge, blocking the way.
"Then..." Medusa's voice grew harsher. "There was a temple. Athena. I came there to pray. Poseidon came too. He... he took me. Right there, in the temple. I couldn't refuse—he is a god, my lord.
The hero stopped and turned. Medusa's face was stony, but her eyes burned with an old fury.
"Athena saw. And instead of punishing him, she punished me. She turned me into a gorgon. Hideous, monstrous. She banished me here, to the dungeon." She clenched her trident until her knuckles whitened. "I lost everything. My face, my body, my service, my honor. Only this remains." She pointed at herself. "A monster with a petrifying gaze."
Silence. Only the bubbling of acid, the hissing of fumes.
The hero stepped closer, despite the narrow bridge, and stood opposite her:
"You are not a monster."
Medusa looked at him, her golden eyes shining with unshed tears:
"I—"
"You're a warrior," he interrupted firmly. "Betrayed by the gods. They're the monsters, not you." He took her hand. "And I'm glad you're with me. With all the snakes, with all your past."
Medusa blinked, a tear rolling down her green cheek. She wiped it away, smiling weakly.
"Idiot. You pay compliments in the most inappropriate places."
The hero shrugged.
"When else can I talk? We could die at any moment."
"Fair enough," she squeezed his hand. "Thank you. For... for not flinching. Many, upon learning the truth, saw me as nothing but a cursed woman."
"I see you," the hero replied simply. "Medusa. Not a curse."
She smiled—a genuine, warm smile. The snakes on her head hissed contentedly.
"Okay, enough sentimentality," she said, straightening up. "Let's get through this nightmare. Then you can continue praising me."
The hero grinned:
"Agreed."
They continued on their way. But something had changed. The bond between them had deepened, strengthened. Not just companions who had survived trials. Something more.
The slime ahead noticed movement. Its body trembled, and a clot of acid shot out from its center.
The hero dodged, and the clot flew past, falling into the pit behind. There was a hiss and steam rose.
"Are they shooting?!" Medusa shouted.
"Obviously!"
The slime fired again. The hero leaped forward, the dagger piercing the gelatinous mass. The blade passed through harmlessly.
"Useless!" He yanked the dagger out. "No solid organs!" Medusa threw her trident. Three prongs pierced the slime, lifting it into the air. She yanked and tossed the creature into the nearest pit of red acid.
The slime fell and began to dissolve, hissing and gurgling.
"That's how you deal with them," she called her trident back, and the weapon burst from the acid and flew into her hand.
The hero nodded. They moved on, avoiding or tossing slimes into the pits. Some were aggressive, spitting acid. Others simply crawled along, ignoring the aliens.
The acid fumes grew thicker. The hero felt dizzy, his vision blurring.
"Medusa," he called. "Can you feel it?"
"Yes," her voice was fuzzy. "The fumes... hallucinogenic..."
The world began to distort. The colors grew brighter, the bridges seemed wider, then the walls seemed to breathe.
The hero saw a figure ahead. A familiar one. Himself? No, someone else. A woman. The face was blurry, but he knew it was someone important. From the past. From the dungeon.
"Don't go," the figure whispered. "There's only death here."
The hero stepped forward. His foot slipped off the edge of the bridge.
Fall.
He fell into a pit of purple acid. The liquid enveloped his body, beginning to dissolve. The pain was instant and absolute. Skin melted, flesh bubbled, bones were exposed.
He screamed, choked on the acid. His lungs burned, his eyes dissolved.
Darkness.
Inhale.
The hero came to on the bridge, where he had stood before the fall. Medusa leaned over him, shaking his shoulders:
"Wake up! You've failed!"
He sat up, breathing heavily. The body is whole, but the pain of dissolution remains - acid, eating away at the flesh from the inside, burning every cell.
"Hallucinations," he croaked. "I saw... someone." He walked toward the figure.
"I see it too," Medusa closed her eyes and shook her head. "The Temple of Athena. Poseidon. Everything repeating itself over and over again."
"You need to stop looking," the hero forced himself to stand. "Focus on what's real."
"What's real? Everything's blurry!"
The hero took her hand and squeezed it.
"This. My hand. Your hand. It's real. Hold on to it."
Medusa nodded and squeezed back. They walked on, holding hands, focusing on the touch, the warmth of their skin, the reality of the contact.
The hallucinations continued to attack—images, voices, fears. But they didn't give in, holding onto each other.
They crossed a few more bridges when a large slime blocked the path ahead. Medusa came closer, her trident raised to throw—
The creature jerked, spitting out a gout of acid. Too fast. Too close.
Medusa tried to dodge, but the bridge was narrow. The acid hit her face.
Her scream rent the air. Her hands instinctively reached for her burning face, her balance lost. She swayed, fell from the bridge.
"Medusa!"
The hero rushed forward, his hand reaching out, his fingers touching her wrist—and then snapped. Too late.
She fell into a pit of red acid. A splash. Her body began to dissolve instantly—her skin bubbling, the snakes on her head writhing, hissing in agony, melting. Medusa continued to scream, choking, until the acid flooded her throat, dissolving her vocal cords. The hero stood at the edge, unable to look away. He watched her die, her body turn to slime, the splashes fade.
Silence.
He sank to his knees right on the bridge, his hands shaking. The slime slowly crawled past, ignoring him.
A minute passed. Two.
A breath behind him.
The hero turned around. Medusa lay on the bridge behind him, where she had stood before the fall. Whole. Alive. Trembling.
He rushed to her, embraced her, and held her close. Medusa clung to him, her whole body shaking.
"I... I felt... melting..." she squeezed out the words through sobs. "Everywhere... it burned everywhere..." "I know," the hero stroked her back. "I know. But you're here. You're back."
The snakes on her head were limp, traumatized by the memory of death. Medusa buried her face in his shoulder, allowing herself a moment of weakness.
Then she exhaled, straightened up, and wiped her eyes.
"Okay. Enough. Let's move on."
The hero helped her up, and they circled the area, continuing on their way.
After another dozen bridges, the hero felt the stone beneath his feet tremble.
"Medusa, stop—"
Too late. The bridge, undermined by the acidic vapors from below, cracked. The stone split in half.
They plummeted.
The hero only managed to grab Medusa's hand and pull her toward him before they hit the surface of the black acid.
Cold.
Not hot, as expected. Icy, searing cold. The liquid was thick, viscous, gripping their bodies, beginning to pull them downward.
The hero tried to surface, but the acid held them, pulling them. He opened his mouth to scream—the liquid gushed inside, filling his throat, his lungs. Cold, corrosive.
He saw Medusa nearby—she, too, was drowning, also dissolving. Their hands were still clasped. Even in death, they didn't let go.
The flesh melted faster than in other acids. In seconds, the skin peeled away, the muscles were exposed, the bones began to crumble. The cold penetrated the bones, the brain, freezing and dissolving at the same time.
Consciousness faded. The last thing the hero felt was the pressure of Medusa's hand, squeezing his fingers.
Darkness.
They woke up together, on the bridge before the crack. They lay next to each other, their hands still clasped.
For a few seconds, they simply breathed, coming to their senses. The pain of cold dissolution pulsed through every cell, a new kind of agony in their collection.
"Black acid," Medusa croaked, "the worst."
"Agreed," the hero squeezed her hand.
They rose, helping each other. They walked around the damaged section of the bridge along a longer, but undamaged path.
They continued walking in silence, simply enjoying being alive, being close, and not giving up.
In the far corner of the hall, among the largest pits, the hero noticed something strange.
An object was floating on the surface of one of the pits—one filled with yellow acid. It glowed dimly, bobbing on the seething liquid.
"See?" he pointed to Medusa.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Something metallic." An artifact?
- Looks like it. But how do I get it?
Medusa looked around. A long metal beam lay on the edge of the pit—part of the collapsed ceiling. She approached it and tried to lift it. It was heavy, but she could lift it.
- Help.
Together, they lifted the beam and lowered it into the pit at an angle, turning it into a makeshift descent. The acid began to corrode the metal immediately, hissing and smoking.
- Quickly, Medusa said. - Get down, grab it, get up.
The hero nodded. He stood on the beam and began to descend, holding onto it with his hands. The fumes stung his eyes and skin. With each step, the air became acrid, unbearable.
He bent down and reached for the object on the surface of the acid. He grabbed it with one hand.
A glove. A metal glove, covered in runes, completely untouched by the acid. He tucked it into his belt.
"Get up!" Medusa shouted. "The beam's corroding!"
The hero scrambled upward. The metal cracked beneath his feet, crumbling, eaten away by the acid. Finally, he simply jumped and grabbed the edge of the pit. Medusa caught his hand and helped him climb out.
The beam fell into the acid and dissolved in seconds, leaving only bubbles and hissing.
The hero collapsed onto the bridge, breathing heavily. He pulled the glove from his belt and examined it. The runes shimmered in the dim light, the metal was warm, as if alive.
He pulled it over his right hand. It fit perfectly—as if it had been molded specifically for him. The runes glowed brighter, and the glove became part of his hand, as if it had always been there.
"What is this?" Medusa asked, leaning closer.
"I don't know. But I feel... power. Something important."
He clenched his fist. The glove reacted—a flame flared around her hand. Not searing, but controlled. Magic.
"A useful find," Medusa assessed. "It will come in handy."
The hero nodded and extinguished the flame. He stood up and extended his gloved hand to her:
"Come on. The exit is close."
They covered the remaining section more quickly. The hallucinations receded—maybe they had gotten used to it, or maybe the glove was protecting them.
An arch appeared ahead—stone, simple, with steps rising beyond it.
999 986.
The hero and Medusa stepped through the arch, leaving the Acid Baths behind.
They stood on the steps, catching their breath.
"I hate acid," Medusa said.
"I agree," the hero looked at the glove, then at her. "Thank you. For the story. For trusting me." Medusa smiled:
"Thank you for listening. And for not judging me."
She stepped closer and kissed him—quickly, lightly, but warmly.
"Now you know who I truly am," she said. "A warrior who dances. Or a dancer who fights. I'm not so sure anymore."
The hero hugged her:
"You are Medusa. That's enough."
She pressed herself against him, the snakes on her head hissing softly, contentedly.
Then they broke their embrace and moved up the steps.
To the next floor.
To the next test.