Have you ever heard someone scream without lungs?
The construct moved.
Its fingers pressed into the wall. Stone came away as if it were damp clay. It lifted a slab—too large, too heavy—and threw it.
The rock crossed the room in a breath. It spun, tearing the air apart as it flew.
Maelin didn't move.
Fear held her where she stood. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth opened. She was already forming a healing word. Ilen had cut himself—barely a cut. The kind that closed on its own.
For a single, quiet instant, there was a hole where her body should have been.
Then the rest of her arrived.
Her torso came apart. Flesh and bone burst outward, scattering across the floor, the walls, the people behind her. Something warm struck Kifk's cheek. Blood slid down his neck and soaked into his collar.
Maelin screamed.
It came late. Broken. Forced from a body that no longer had lungs to shape it. What remained of her collapsed in pieces that no longer fit together.
No one moved.
Rysa lifted her hands, too slow, as if she could still catch her. Bram's shield dipped. Blood spread around his boots. Ilen took a step forward, shaking his head, whispering no again and again, like the word might pull time backward.
Kifk watched.
His mind searched for a name—wound, injury, heal—and found nothing. Magic rose in him on instinct, climbing his spine—
—and vanished.
The air felt wrong. Thick. Empty. Sound dulled, as if the room were swallowing it.
Before panic could settle, Havel shouted.
"RETREAT!"
His voice cracked through the haze. He seized Ilen's shoulder and dragged him back from what was left of Maelin. "Move!"
Bram was already stepping backward, shield raised, eyes fixed on the thing in the centre of the room. Rysa stumbled, slipped in blood, swore as she caught herself.
Kifk didn't move.
His feet refused him. His hands shook. They were slick with blood that wasn't his. He stared at the space where Maelin had been.
Havel turned. Saw him. Shouted his name—
The construct stepped forward.
It lunged.
Bram moved without hesitation. He planted himself between the others and the thing advancing on them. Stone ground beneath his boots.
The sword fell.
It moved like a bird of prey, carrying the weight of a mountain.
Bram caught it. Barely. His shield twisted at the last instant. The impact screamed through the room. Sparks leapt. Dust billowed. The blade slid aside and buried itself in the stone floor instead of his skull.
Bram stepped in and swung.
His sword struck the construct's side—
—and broke.
It didn't bend. It didn't dull. It shattered, bursting into fragments that hung in the air for a heartbeat, each one catching the light before falling uselessly to the ground.
The construct didn't react.
It pulled its blade free in one smooth motion and raised it again.
"Stand behind me."
The words echoed in Kifk's head. Warm. Steady. From another road. Another day.
"That's what I'm here for."
The blade passed through Bram's helmet as if it weren't there.
Bone parted. Flesh gave way. His body split cleanly from crown to waist. Both halves fell, separately, with a final wet sound.
Havel screamed.
"RUN!" Havel bellowed.
He charged forward without slowing, spear levelled, his voice raw enough to tear. "DON'T STOP—RUN!"
Ilen ran.
He turned and sprinted for the far entrance—the way they had come. The way that should have been open. He struck the invisible seal at full speed. The impact threw him backward. He slid across the stone and came to rest in a heap, gasping, staring at bare wall where escape used to be.
Rysa swore and changed direction.
"Kifk!" she shouted, panic breaking through her voice as she ran toward him.
Kifk didn't answer.
He was already beneath the slab.
He didn't remember moving. Only the weight above him. Stone hung low overhead, close enough to touch. It sheltered him.
The slab was old. Heavy. Its underside was rough, chipped where it had broken free. Moss clung to the top—thick, green, damp. Fed by centuries of condensation.
He focused on that.
On the moss.
On how long the stone must have been there.
On how it probably weighed more than a horse.
On how it would not move if struck.
On how small he was beneath it.
On how safe that felt.
Blood dripped from the edge of the stone and splashed onto the floor near his face.
Kifk watched it fall.
One drop.
Then another.
He stayed very still.
"Move, Kifk!" Rysa screamed. "Move—move!"
She ran toward him, boots slipping on blood-dark stone. Her breath came apart in ragged bursts. She was swearing under her breath, the words tumbling out fast and angry, as if disbelief alone could keep them alive.
"Novice—fuck—novice labyrinth—bad scans—lying bastards—"
She skidded to her knees beside the slab. She reached underneath it, fingers scraping stone until they found him.
"Kifk," she said, quieter now. "Look at me."
Her hand shook as it reached. "Come on. We're not dying here."
He moved.
Slowly. As if his body were sunk deep in something thick.
Kifk reached out from beneath the slab. His hand trembled so badly his fingers blurred. Rysa leaned farther in, teeth clenched, stretching—
Their fingers touched.
Then closed.
Relief crossed her face. Just for a moment.
The sword fell.
There was no resistance.
Rysa's arm came away at the shoulder with effortless ease. Like crushing an insect without meaning to. No force. No hesitation. Just gone.
Kifk felt the sudden lightness before he understood it.
Rysa didn't scream.
She looked up instead. Her eyes were wide. Blood poured from where her arm had been. She stared at the construct standing over her.
Her mouth opened.
"Fu—"
The fist struck her face.
Her body left the ground. It crossed the room in a blur and struck the far wall hard enough to crack stone. She came apart on impact. Flesh and bone spread outward before sliding down in pieces that did not move again.
Silence returned.
Kifk lay beneath the slab.
He did not move.
Rysa's hand was still in his.
The fingers had gone slack. The skin was already cooling. What remained of her arm trailed behind it, torn muscle stretching in a way that did not make sense, blood dripping steadily onto the stone.
Kifk looked at it.
He didn't let go.
He didn't scream.
He didn't breathe.
Havel reached Ilen as the boy tried to push himself upright. He grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up, dragging him toward a jagged break high in the wall—stone split open by earlier blows.
It wasn't an exit. Not really. Just a wound in the labyrinth.
But it was up. And up was better than nothing.
"Climb," Havel growled, shoving Ilen forward. "Don't look back. Don't—"
The construct noticed.
It didn't hurry.
It turned.
Kifk watched it. He couldn't look anywhere else.
The thing was tall. Taller than any man. Its body was made of interlocking plates of dull silver and black stone. Not bulky. Built for a purpose. Its joints moved with unnatural smoothness, every motion measured.
Thin channels ran along its arms and torso. Vein-like. Dark.
They lit.
Purple light flowed beneath the surface, like fire trapped in crystal. It moved through lattices set deep into its frame.
Magic crystals.
Refined. Imperial.
Woven into the body itself.
Kifk's breath caught.
A construct using magic.
This wasn't novice.
It wasn't advanced.
It was imperial.
The light gathered in its raised hand.
Its fingers spread. The glow intensified until it hurt to look at. Purple veins pulsed brighter, faster. Stone answered.
Gravel lifted from the floor. Dust rose in spirals. Fragments tore free from the walls and snapped together in the air, drawn by something heavier than gravity.
A rock began to form.
Not thrown.
Built.
Layer by layer, its surface fusing as it grew—an uneven mass shot through with glowing cracks. The magic screamed, a high, crushing whine that made Kifk's teeth ache.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to tell them to move. To jump. To run. To do anything at all.
Nothing came.
His throat stayed closed. His chest wouldn't rise. His hand was still wrapped around Rysa's, fingers locked tight, slick with blood that was beginning to dry.
He hadn't let go.
He couldn't.
The construct released the spell.
The rock flew.
For a single heartbeat, Kifk saw them turn.
Ilen and Havel stood together, faces washed in violet light. Their eyes were wide. Their mouths were open. Father and son caught in the same moment of understanding.
Then the rock struck.
The explosion swallowed them.
Stone and magic tore outward in a violent bloom. The wall vanished. The floor buckled. The shockwave rolled through the chamber and slammed into the slab above Kifk, knocking the air from his lungs.
Dust filled everything.
When it settled, there was nothing where they had been.
No bodies.
No fragments.
Only scorched stone. Cracks spidered across the floor, darkened by what little blood had not been burned away.
Kifk lay beneath the slab.
Rysa's hand was still in his.
He stared at the empty space where his family had been.
He still did not scream.
Metal scraped against stone.
The sound pulled him back.
Above him, the construct lifted the slab. It did so easily. Stone ground and shifted as if it weighed nothing. Dust spilled down into Kifk's eyes and mouth.
Rysa's hand slipped free.
It struck the floor softly.
The rest of her arm followed, dragging after it.
The construct straightened.
Its sword rose. Slow. Deliberate. Held in both hands, ready to end what remained.
Pain flared behind Kifk's eyes.
A sharp, blinding pressure. Like a migraine breaking all at once. His vision narrowed. His thoughts scattered and slipped away from him.
He did not move.
The sword fell.
"Left."
The voice was quiet. Almost ordinary.
Kifk moved before he understood.
His hand closed around his wand. Short. Rough. No longer than a broken branch. Its surface was cracked and worn, a dull gem set into its tip.
He didn't point it at the construct.
He drove it into the stone at his feet.
"Aergust."
The word tore out of him.
Wind erupted.
The floor burst apart beneath him. Stone shattered into dust and fragments as the force hurled him backward, ripping him from the ground and throwing him across the chamber. The construct's blade struck where he had been a heartbeat before.
Something brushed his neck.
White strands drifted past his face.
His hair.
Kifk hit the wall hard. Pain flared through his ribs. The air left his lungs all at once. He slid down the stone, vision trembling.
For a moment, he stayed there.
Then his head lifted.
His eyes searched the room.
Who said that?
Kifk spun.
His eyes swept the room—the broken pillars, the scorched stone, the places where shadows still clung. Anywhere the voice might have been.
There was nothing.
No shape.
No echo.
Only the construct, already moving.
It launched itself forward and up in a single motion. Weightless. Violent. The distance vanished too quickly to think.
Kifk moved.
He jumped sideways. His boots skidded. Pain flared along his ribs as he raised his wand. The dull blue gem at its tip caught the light.
"Ignis—Flaren."
Fire poured out in a narrow cone. Heat washed through the chamber. Flames crawled across the construct's chest and shoulder—
—and disappeared.
The purple glow beneath its plating did not dim.
Kifk swallowed.
"Glacies—Thryma."
Ice formed in an instant. Jagged shards screamed through the air and struck its arm and torso—
—and shattered. Steam burst outward, hissing, as if the ice had struck something burning.
His heart pounded.
"Aqua—Lethis."
Water followed. Compressed. Heavy. It slammed into the construct with enough force to crack stone.
The flow bent around it.
Spilled past.
Did nothing.
For a moment, something else surfaced.
A forest road. Damp leaves. Havel crouched beside him, tapping Kifk's wand with two fingers.
"Don't overthink it," he had said. "Magic's not about power. It's about timing. You hesitate, you die. You rush, you die. Find the space between."
Kifk blinked.
The present closed around him again.
The construct charged. Its blade was already level. Its stride was smooth. Uncaring.
Kifk ran.
His boots pounded against stone. His breath tore in his chest. He circled broken pillars and fallen debris, his mind scraping desperately for anything that might matter.
"Ventus—Aergust."
Wind struck the construct's side. Dust and loose stone exploded outward.
It did not slow.
The blade fell.
Kifk twisted aside at the last instant. Pain flared as steel passed close enough to shear his hair. White strands drifted down behind him. His vision reeled. He staggered and barely stayed upright.
Too fast.
Too strong.
Nothing worked.
Then he heard it.
Quiet. Almost kind. Woven through the noise and panic like a thought that wasn't his.
"Acid."
The word brushed his mind.
Kifk froze for half a heartbeat.
Then he turned.
He searched the room again—the shattered stone, the scorched floor, the empty air where sound should have been.
Half of Maelin her body, the remains of Rysa—no one alive.
No presence.
No time.
The construct was already there.
It crossed the distance in one step.
Its presence pressed in on him. The air shifted. The sword was already rising, already finding its line.
Kifk did not think.
He moved on instinct.
Not power.
But muscle memory.
He lifted his wand and spoke a spell he had not used in months. One learned beside a workbench, not in a fight.
"Acer—Solvo."
The gem at the tip dulled. It did not flare.
A thin stream spilled out. Pale. Viscous. Slow.
It splashed against the construct's shoulder, where arm met torso. The liquid spread there, clinging, leaving a faint, glassy sheen.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the metal hissed.
The surface began to eat itself. Not violently. Not all at once. The corrosion worked with patient intent, biting inward. Purple light flared beneath the plating as crystal veins reacted, flickering unevenly. The joint darkened. It bubbled. It sagged. Enchanted metal sloughed away in uneven pieces.
The construct shifted.
Just half a step.
Its sword arm dipped.
Kifk stared, breath held.
The damage was not dramatic. It did not explode. It was not clean.
It was ugly.
The corrosion crept outward, hissing softly as it worked. It chewed through material that fire, ice, wind, and water had failed to mark.
For the first time since the fight began—
The construct did not retreat.
It adjusted.
Its stance widened. Weight shifted unevenly as the damaged joint resisted. The sword arm drew closer to its body, elbow locking at a safer angle. Plates along its torso slid and overlapped, sealing over the corroded seam.
It had learned—already…
Kifk let out a slow breath.
His hands still trembled. The fear was still there. Sharp. Awake. But it no longer drowned his thoughts. He watched the construct now. The way it moved. The way one side lagged just slightly behind the other. The way its steps dragged a fraction longer when it led with the injured arm.
That fraction mattered.
Kifk moved.
He didn't cast.
He ran.
The construct turned with him. Its blade swept out wide, not to strike but to deny space. Kifk dropped low and slid beneath it, boots scraping stone. The wind of the blade tugged at his cloak as it passed.
He rose already speaking.
"Acer—Solvo."
The stream struck lower this time. The elbow. The joint. A narrow seam where plates overlapped.
The liquid clung.
Metal hissed like a cat being cornered.
The construct jerked its arm back. Faster than before. Not fast enough. Corrosion spread along the joint, eating inward. Beneath the plating, purple light flickered and faltered as crystal channels stuttered.
It struck back with its free hand.
Stone shattered on impact. The shock ran through Kifk's teeth. He stumbled, barely staying upright as fragments cut across his legs.
He cast again.
Then again.
Not wildly.
Not in panic.
Placed.
Each spell landed where plates met. Where movement demanded flexibility. Where protection thinned.
The construct advanced. Its steps grew heavier. Its movements lost their clean precision. The sword arm sagged despite its effort to keep it close. The blade trembled now, its once-perfect arcs beginning to waver.
Something cold settled in Kifk's chest.
Understanding.
Not of magic.
Of structure.
It was not a machine like a trap.
Not a beast either.
It was something built. Made to move. Made to fight.
And anything built could be taken apart. Something that had an attack pattern.
A pattern—
The construct lunged.
Kifk waited until the last possible moment. Then he threw himself aside. The blade struck stone and stuck for a heartbeat.
Just long enough.
"Acer—Solvo."
The stream caught the shoulder again.
This time, the joint failed.
Metal tore with a sound like cloth soaked in oil. The arm dropped. Slowly at first. Then all at once. The blade struck the floor with a heavy, ringing crash.
The construct stopped.
For a moment.
Then it stepped forward anyway.
The construct advanced without its sword.
It crossed the distance in two heavy steps. Where precision had failed, it used weight. Its remaining arm swung wide, not to strike but to seize. Stone broke beneath its feet as it came on, indifferent to the damage tearing through its frame.
Kifk retreated.
Not fast enough.
The construct's foot came down.
Stone cracked.
So did his leg.
Pain flared, blinding and white. The weight pinned him there. Stone ground against bone. A sound tore out of him before he could stop it.
The air left his lungs.
The construct lowered its remaining arm, until its hand was hovering over Kifk's face.
The damaged arm hung useless at its side, metal hissing softly as corrosion continued its work. Its chest plates shifted, drawing inward, locking into a tighter form.
Purple light bloomed.
The air screamed like fresh snow being pressed. Higher. Heavier. The sound pressed into Kifk's skull and rattled through his teeth. Dust quivered at his feet. Loose stone lifted, pulled upward in slow spirals.
Kifk recognized the spell.
He had already seen it once.
So did Ilen—and Havel.
He tried to stand.
His body refused.
The construct's fingers spread. The glow deepened. Fragments tore free from the walls and snapped together in the air, fusing as they spun. The mass grew quickly—jagged, uneven, threaded through with pulsing cracks of light.
Kifk's chest locked.
He couldn't run.
He couldn't block it.
He couldn't cast fast enough.
Move.
The thought burned through him, frantic and useless.
The spell was almost complete.
Something shifted inside Kifk.
Not a thought.
Not a voice.
Pressure built behind his eyes. Sharp. Sudden. His vision blurred. His jaw clenched without his will.
What—
His mouth opened.
He felt it move.
But it wasn't him.
The word left his mouth.
He heard it.
He did not understand it.
It tore through his throat like something dragged up from too deep, too fast. A sound that did not belong to the shape of his tongue. A word that did not follow the rules of this place.
"Fluoroantimonic."
Pain bloomed behind his eyes.
The pressure became agony. His vision collapsed inward, the edges burning white. The wand in his hand went cold. Then colder still, as if all warmth had been pulled from it at once.
The air folded.
Not outward.
In.
Then it broke.
A thin shell snapped into place around Kifk. So close it brushed his skin. It shimmered once, barely visible—
—and surged outward.
The spell met the forming rock first.
It did not slow it.
It erased it.
The jagged mass came apart in midair. Stone sloughed into steaming slurry. The purple light guttered and died as the spell unravelled, magic collapsing into nothing under the corrosive wave.
The construct took the rest.
Its plating blackened. Peeled. Metal sagged and ran as if it had forgotten how to remain solid. Beneath the surface, purple veins flared wildly. Crystal channels screamed as they failed together.
The construct was thrown back.
It struck the floor hard enough to crack stone. Its limbs splayed as it skidded across the chamber. Acid hissed where it touched, biting deep and fast.
The shell vanished.
Kifk dropped to one knee.
His breath came in sharp, broken pulls. His hands shook violently. His head rang. His mouth tasted of blood and something sharp and uncanny.
He stared at his hands.
What—
The construct moved.
Too quickly.
It rolled and dragged itself upright. Its movements were abrupt now. Uneven. Its remaining arm slammed into the floor as it tried to rise. Plates shifted where they shouldn't, overlapping badly, exposing glowing seams beneath.
It did not move as it had before.
There was no precision left.
Only urgency.
Something like panic bled through its motions. Raw. Unfiltered. It overcorrected. Its balance failed. Corrosion continued to tear through it, unchecked.
Kifk pushed himself up.
His legs trembled. The injured one more than the other. He ignored it.
He did not wonder what he just said.
He did not wonder why his mouth had moved on its own.
The construct had taken everything he had.
That was enough.
He stepped forward.
Once.
Then again.
The construct flailed. Not managing to keep itself upright. The metal screaming, hissing, dissolving in real time.
Kifk closed the distance.
He pressed his wand against its face.
Between the glowing seams.
"Acer—Solvo."
The spell struck point-blank.
Metal screamed.
Kifk did not stop.
"Acer—Solvo."
"Acer—Solvo!"
"Acer—Solvo!!"
The words came apart in his mouth. Spell names broke. Meaning dissolved. Only the feeling. The feeling of hate, anger, sadness. Acid erupted from the tip of his wand. Each spell increasing the volume.
His vision blurred.
Tears ran down his face. Blood mixed with sweat. He did not wipe them away.
He saw Bram's shield.
Rysa's hand.
Maelin smiling by the fire.
Ilen laughing too loudly.
He screamed. Not words. Just sound.
And cast again.
And again.
The light in the construct's core wavered.
Dimmed.
Cracked.
The core shattered.
The constructs light went out.
Kifk's wand still placed against his unilluminated head.
"Acer—Solvo."
"Acer—Solvo."
"Acer—Sol….."
"Acer…."
As soon as Kifk stopped, the silence returned.
The hiss of corrosion faded first. Then the faint ticking of cooling stone. Dust drifted down in slow spirals, catching the dim light before settling across the shattered floor.
Nothing moved.
The construct lay where it had fallen. What remained of it no longer held a shape meant for motion. Plates sagged. Its head eaten inwards, dented, almost no facial structure remained.
It would not rise again.
Kifk's vision slowly started to go. Mana burn. He experienced it maybe twice. Complete lack of mana.
Kifk fell backwards, flat on the floor. The searing pain in his leg finally got priority.
Not that it had mattered, he knew he was about to pass out anyway.
Vision went black, smell went, and lastly—so did sound.