Chapter 72.
"Children of my broken mind… you all have grown marvellously."
Dax's face held zero expression—blank, almost serene. His eyes darted slowly across the physical manifestations of the rooms, taking in every twisted silhouette and flickering shadow. At the center of the distorted landscape, a throne materialized by the sheer will of Level 1.5—jagged, black, and pulsing with faint crimson veins.
With dangerous grace, Dax lowered himself onto it. Cil rested gently in his palm, humming softly like a contented predator. In that moment, a shadowy, oppressive figure stepped out from the wall—its form shifting constantly, flickering between every creature the Backrooms had ever birthed. With shaky hands, it reached forward and wiped Dax's face in utter reverence, as if cleansing something sacred. Then, with a no-clip glitch, it vanished toward the far end.
