Mike stood at the edge of the crater, where the air trembled like a held breath. The sky overhead twisted in unnatural hues—amber leaking into violet, clouds moving without wind. The Hollow was far behind him now. So were the answers he thought he had earned.
Across from him stood the figure.
The same man who first warned him. Same coat. Same unreadable face. The one who'd vanished into blackness when Mike turned.
"You knew," Mike said. His voice cracked from strain and fury. "You knew about the monsters. About the voice. About the Loop."
The man's eyes narrowed, unreadable as ever. "Knowing isn't the same as understanding."
Mike took a step forward, veins glowing faintly with the remnants of absorbed power. "I watched my friends bleed. I saw the sky burn. You owe me something."
"I owe you nothing," the man said. "You're not ready for the truth."
"You think I haven't earned it?"
"No. I think if you hear it now, it'll destroy you before the trial begins."
Mike's fists clenched. The voice inside him stirred again, deeper now, hungrier. A whisper across his spine: Burn him. Take what you need.
He forced the power down, swallowing the heat in his throat. "Then I'll find it myself."
"You don't find the trial," the man said. "It finds you."
And then the ground split beneath Mike's feet.
Darkness rose like water. Not the kind that drowns—but the kind that chooses who walks through it.
The Hollow was quiet again. Too quiet.
Mike stood alone in the center of the stone chamber, dust swirling around his boots. The battle scars on the walls still radiated with residual energy. Faint echoes of the fight lingered in the cracks. Rya, Kael, and Juno were recovering elsewhere. He needed space—time to think. To feel.
He opened his palm. The flicker of power danced across his skin, remnants of the souls he had absorbed. They whispered still. Faint, broken. Fragments of thought, of pain, of something buried far deeper than instinct.
Then the air changed.
A pulse surged through the chamber. Sigils flared. One by one, they burned with golden light—then shattered like glass.
Mike turned, fists clenched.
A figure stood near the archway. Cloaked. Hooded. The face was hidden in shadow, but the voice that followed sent ice crawling down Mike's spine.
"You've survived what should have broken you."
Mike narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The figure didn't answer. Instead, it raised a finger and pointed at the floor.
Where it pointed, lines appeared. Not drawn—burned into the stone. A message formed in crackling flame, twisting and alive:
"When the moon bleeds and the flame sings,
Find the gate that has no hinge.
Speak no truth, tell no lie,
And walk where echoes go to die."
Mike stared. The words sizzled, then faded, leaving the stone untouched. "What does it mean?"
Still no answer.
The figure stepped back into the shadows.
"Wait—" Mike rushed forward, but the figure was gone.
Only silence remained.
And the riddle etched itself into his mind, as if it had always been there.
The Hollow was quiet again. Too quiet.
Mike stood alone in the center of the stone chamber, dust swirling around his boots. The battle scars on the walls still radiated with residual energy. Faint echoes of the fight lingered in the cracks. Rya, Kael, and Juno were recovering elsewhere. He needed space—time to think. To feel.
He opened his palm. The flicker of power danced across his skin, remnants of the souls he had absorbed. They whispered still. Faint, broken. Fragments of thought, of pain, of something buried far deeper than instinct.
Then the air changed.
A pulse surged through the chamber. Sigils flared. One by one, they burned with golden light—then shattered like glass.
Mike turned, fists clenched.
A figure stood near the archway. Cloaked. Hooded. The face was hidden in shadow, but the voice that followed sent ice crawling down Mike's spine.
"You've survived what should have broken you."
Mike narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The figure didn't answer. Instead, it raised a finger and pointed at the floor.
Where it pointed, lines appeared. Not drawn—burned into the stone. A message formed in crackling flame, twisting and alive:
"When the moon bleeds and the flame sings,
Find the gate that has no hinge.
Speak no truth, tell no lie,
And walk where echoes go to die."
Mike stared. The words sizzled, then faded, leaving the stone untouched. "What does it mean?"
Still no answer.
The figure stepped back into the shadows.
"Wait—" Mike rushed forward, but the figure was gone.
Only silence remained.
And the riddle etched itself into his mind, as if it had always been there.
The streets were drowned in ash.
Mike moved through the wreckage, each step crunching broken glass and bone. The sky was dark—too dark for the hour—and the flicker of fires on ruined rooftops cast the city in an otherworldly glow. He didn't need to look far to know something had changed. The trial had shifted something. Opened a door.
And now, they were spilling through.
He gritted his teeth, scanning the ruined storefronts and shattered windows. His breath came short, not from exhaustion, but from urgency.
"Ezra," he whispered under his breath.
The name cut deeper than any wound. His friend. His anchor in loops before this madness had fully bloomed. Ezra had gone missing before the monsters arrived in full. Rya warned him not to search.
But Mike didn't care.
They had fought side by side through too many resets. If there was even a chance…
The air rippled.
Mike froze, his hand instinctively sparking with raw power—crimson lightning trailing his fingertips. Then he heard it. The low, guttural snarl. Not just one.
Many.
A horde of them spilled from the alley, their eyes gleaming like wet coals. Not the same type he'd fought before. These were leaner, faster—each one wrapped in bandages that moved like tendrils, twitching in the air as if searching for something to tear.
They screamed.
Mike threw his hands forward.
A wave of flame burst from his palms, shaped by the soul he had taken from the flame serpent. The alley lit up in a pillar of light, charred monsters crashing into the walls. Two fell.
Six more followed.
He ducked low, sliding beneath claws, then launched himself upward, body burning with energy. One misstep, and they'd tear him apart.
He moved like instinct, not memory. His power no longer felt foreign—it was his breath, his blood. But it was unstable, always threatening to burst beyond control.
One creature leapt. Mike caught it midair and slammed it into the concrete, his arm glowing from the impact. Another pounced from behind—only to be sliced in half by a ripple of frost.
Kael.
He landed beside Mike, sword drawn, his coat torn at the shoulder.
"You're too far out!" Kael shouted over the chaos.
"Ezra's still out here!"
"You don't even know if he's still alive."
"I have to know."
Juno dropped down behind them, a spear of bone in each hand. "Then we clear the streets. You search. We fight."
The three of them stood back to back as more monsters crawled from the shadows. The horde circled.
Mike's fingers sparked again. His skin cracked with heat, power humming beneath. The weight of what he'd become was real. The fire inside him wasn't content anymore. It wanted to burn.
"Let's end this," he growled.
The tallest creature stepped aside, revealing a path between the crumbled pillars and flickering lights of the underground. The others hissed in unison, their bodies twitching like reeds in a storm.
Mike took a step forward, then another. The glowing lines along the creatures' limbs pulsed faster. The lead figure pointed at him—then to the image of Ezra—then clenched its hand into a fist.
Not worthy.
The words didn't come from its mouth. They struck his mind like a shard of glass, sharp and final.
"I'm taking her back," Mike said, voice rough. "You don't decide that."
He lunged forward, but the ground beneath him cracked open. Roots shot up from the stone, coiling around his legs. They pulsed with the same blue glow, draining the heat from his body. Mike snarled, pushing back with all the energy he could summon. The roots burned, blackened, and fell away.
One of the creatures let out a shriek—something between a howl and a horn—and darted into the shadows, dragging Ezra's flickering form behind it.
Mike gave chase.
The underground tunnels twisted and folded like a maze. The creature was fast, bounding off walls, flipping through gaps too narrow for any human. Mike pushed himself harder, the stolen powers roaring through his veins. His vision narrowed to a thread of light—Ezra's glow, just ahead.
He hurled a blast of searing light. It struck the wall, illuminating the tunnel just long enough to see the creature stumble. Ezra's form dropped, skidding across the floor.
Mike reached her.
He slid to his knees, arms wrapping around her before the rest of the creatures could close in. Ezra's eyes opened, dazed but conscious. "Mike…?"
"I've got you," he said.
But the creatures had circled them again, a wall of thorns and eyes. Their leader stepped forward, raising a hand—this time not to threaten, but to offer a choice. Mike's body buzzed. They weren't trying to kill him. They were testing the bond between him and Ezra.
He stood, lifting Ezra in his arms.
"Judge all you want," Mike growled. "I didn't come here to pass your trial. I came to take her home."
He unleashed a wave of raw energy, a pulse drawn from the deepest part of his transformed soul. The ground cracked. The wall of creatures faltered—just long enough for Mike to charge through.
Ezra clung to him, the world around them collapsing into chaos.
He didn't stop running.
Running Till Your Breath Runs Out ,Would You?