Dust settled slowly through the corridor, drifting in thin, uneven layers as if the air itself had not yet decided to be still. The faint glow of their light orbs pulsed against the haze, each one hovering at shoulder height, their soft luminescence diffusing through the particulate veil and casting blurred halos along the stone walls.
The mechanisms had stopped, only the quiet aftermath.
Bulk moved forward, heavy steps, measured but steady, boots pressing into a floor still scarred with shallow grooves from the trap discharge. His cloak hung loose over one arm at first, the fabric singed slightly along the edges subtle damage, but enough to tell the story of how close it had been.
Five meters.
That was all it took.
Five meters between survival and miscalculation.
He lifted the cloak and swung it over his shoulders, fastening it with a practiced motion. The artifact settled into place, faint threads of reinforcement pulsing once across its surface before stabilizing.
"I never knew you were very thoughtful," Bulk said as he began walking forward, voice cutting cleanly through the quiet. "I would have died back there if you hadn't intervened."
"Thank you."
Behind him, Camilla tilted her head slightly.
Not toward him.
Toward the hood of her own cloak.
Her fingers adjusted the fabric before pulling it up, the motion deliberate but casual as if the act of covering her head mattered more than the words that followed.
"What are you talking about, Bulky?" she said lightly. The tone didn't match the moment. "I gave you a hand." A small smile curved at the edge of her lips as she stepped forward, her boots making almost no sound against the stone.
"Do you know why?"
Bulk slowed just slightly, but enough to acknowledge the shift.
"Huh… why?"
Camilla finished adjusting her hood, letting it settle just low enough to cast a faint shadow over her eyes. Then she looked up at him directly, fully, without hesitation.
"Because you were short-handed."
There it was. Delivered clean, just dropped into the space between them.
Bulk stopped.
Not fully his body still angled forward but his movement stalled just enough for the moment to register.
He looked down at her.
Expression steady.
Eyes narrowing slightly not in suspicion, but in processing. Was that a joke just now? The thought formed slowly. She must be waiting for my response.
He let out a small breath almost a laugh, but not quite and smiled.
Then he reached out and patted her head. Light, deliberate contact. Camilla's reaction was immediate. She pulled away sharply, stepping to the side as if the gesture itself had crossed an invisible line. Her expression tightened not anger, not quite annoyance, but something closer to discomfort wrapped in confusion.
Bulk didn't react to that, at least, not outwardly.
"You're behavior is incredibly erratic," he said, continuing forward as if nothing had happened. "I honestly can't tell if this is an act or if this is natural."
His tone remained even. Just… observational, he passed her. Didn't look back immediately.
"You're quite intense," he added after a beat. "And I really meant what I said earlier."
A slight pause. Then, more firmly:
"Thank you."
Camilla blinked.
Her brows knit together as she turned slightly, watching him move ahead.
"Huh?"
The word slipped out before she could filter it.
What is wrong with this old man?
The thought came faster than expected.
Sharper than she intended. Bulk had already created distance five meters again, almost unconsciously mirroring the spacing from before. His steps remained steady, unhurried, as if the corridor ahead demanded consistency rather than urgency.
He turned his head slightly, not enough to fully face her. Just enough to acknowledge her presence.
"Come on," he said. "Let's catch up with the others."
Then he faced forward again.
And kept walking.
Camilla didn't move immediately.
Her body lingered in place, weight shifted slightly to one side as if her instincts hadn't yet aligned with the direction of motion. The dust continued to fall around her, thin strands catching in her hair and along the edges of her cloak.
Her eyes flicked briefly to the walls, the slits where blades had emerged. The faint scorch marks from the ignition. The collapsed section behind them, now silent and inert.
Everything had reset.
Or rather everything had stopped.
"…They must have gone ahead," he muttered under his breath. Then louder, though not enough to reach her clearly:
"They must have been miles away… I can't believe they just abandoned us…"
But even as he said it, there was no real conviction behind the words.
She fell in behind him, closing the gap slightly but not fully matching his pace. The distance between them settled into something uneve closer than before, but still not aligned.
"…"
She didn't speak again.
The corridor stretched ahead, dimly lit by the drifting orbs, their glow reflecting faintly along the edges of embedded mechanisms that had not yet reactivated.
Bulk's posture remained upright, but there was a subtle shift now his shoulders slightly more squared, his steps a fraction more deliberate.
Behind him, Camilla's gaze moved not randomly, but with intent.
Her earlier levity had thinned not disappeared, but tucked just beneath the surface, ready to resurface at will.
"…"
Bulk and Camilla increased their pace without needing to say it aloud. The corridor did not change but the behavior of it did.
Every fifteen seconds.
Relentless twelve spiral blades, six from the front, six from the rear would eject in perfect synchronization. Unlike before, these weren't simple cutting projectiles. Each carried a compressed rotational force, the air around them warping slightly as they spun, creating a pressure wake that made their trajectory harder to predict.
And when they struck, they didn't just cut. They detonated on impact. Bulk adjusted his breathing.
Timing is no longer enough…
His boots hammered against the stone floor, each step heavier than the last. The reinforced cloak still held, its layered construct absorbing residual damage, but the frequency of impact was beginning to outpace his physical recovery.
My body… isn't keeping up.
Another cycle, another wave incoming.
Bulk's eyes sharpened.
"Again—!"
Six spirals screamed through from the darkness.
He shifted but this time, it was as fast, not by much, but enough to notice. The front volley closed in. Bulk forced his weight forward, bracing instinctively but his mind was already moving ahead of the moment.
This isn't sustainable.
He clicked his tongue.
"This is becoming really inconvenient…" he muttered, before raising his voice slightly, "hey craz—"
He paused mid-word.
"…I mean, Camilla?"
There was no delay in her response.
"Yes, old geezer?"
The tone came light. Too light. Bulk exhaled through his nose.
"Fair enough," he murmured under his breath, then continued, voice steadier, "I just came up with a temporary solution to deal with these things."
Camilla tilted her head slightly as she ran still moving forward, still perfectly balanced, as if the chaos around them were background noise.
"Oh?" she said, a grin slipping into her voice. "Is that so? Go on then lay it on me."
Bulk didn't look back.
"I'll handle the front volleys," he said. "You take the rear. With your speed, you can intercept them before they align properly."
A beat, then,
"That's quite unreasonable, don't you think?" Camilla replied.
Bulk's brow twitched.
Before he could respond,
"…but," she added lightly, "…who am I to say no to that?"
Another cycle triggered.
The hum returned.
Bulk inhaled once deep, controlled.
Then moved.
He pull the cloak from his shoulders in a single motion, wrapping it tightly around his left arm. The layered artifact responded immediately, its structure compressing and reinforcing, the fabric hardening into something closer to plated defense.
Good. That's more like it.
The front spirals launched. Bulk stepped into them, Into his left arm snapped forward timed not at the point of impact, but just before alignment.
Parry, not block.
The first blade struck, a sharp, metallic crack. The cloak absorbed the rotational force, dispersing part of the kinetic energy but not all of it. The remaining impact slammed through his arm, forcing his entire body backward half a step.
The second came immediately after. He adjusted slightly off-angle, Deflected.
The third, was too Late. It clipped the edge of his guard.
Detonation.
A burst of compressed force exploded outward, the shockwave slamming into his torso and shoving him back another step.
His boots scraped hard against the stone. But he didn't fall.
"…tch."
Behind him, Camilla didn't follow his method.
She didn't need to. Where Bulk relied on resistance, she relied on absence. Her movement shifted no longer grounded. She kicked off the floor, then the wall, then the opposite wall each step light, precise, and unnaturally fluid. The corridor itself became her terrain.
The rear spirals approached. She didn't meet them head-on.
Instead, she angled her body twisted mid-air, and her hand struck not the tip, but the side of the rotating blades.
A single, controlled tap. The spin destabilized instantly. The blade veered off-course
Then detonated away from her.
Another followed tap, redirected and detonates.
No wasted motion.
Bulk noticed She's not fighting them… she's rewriting their trajectory.
Another cycle passed, then another. The rhythm tightened.
Fifteen seconds began to feel shorter. Not because the timing changed, but because fatigue did.
Bulk's breathing grew heavier. His left arm throbbed beneath the reinforced cloak, each impact stacking strain along muscle and bone.
Camilla?
Still light, effortless and smiling. Then, the floor shifted. At first, it was subtle, a tremor beneath their feet. Then, A crack. Bulk's eyes widened slightly.
"—Not good."
Behind them, the stone fractured. Then collapsed.
But in a continuous chain reaction as if the corridor itself were being erased from existence.
The ground fell away into darkness, the edges crumbling rapidly as the collapse chased them forward.
"Ohh no!" Bulk gasped, glancing back.
Camilla turned her head just enough to see and she smiled.
"Yeepy!" she chirped. "It's a one-way trip down to the silent river!"
Bulk blinked.
"…what?"
But she was already moving, she leapt not forward but up. Her foot struck the wall, then pushed again, sending her above the collapsing section as the ground beneath her vanished entirely.
The collapse accelerated fast. Bulk turned fully this time just for a moment, And saw it clearly. The collapse was following and closing the distance on them.
His gaze snapped back forward.
Then, Back again. Camilla was mid-air.
Smiling.
What in the Lords…Is this child insane?
There was no time to question it.
Bulk reacted.
He unwound the cloak from his arm in a single motion, gripping one end tightly before snapping it outward like a whip.
The fabric extended unnaturally long under tension.
It caught her mid-air. Clean and controlled. He yanked, Camilla's body shifted direction instantly, pulled toward him without resistance. She didn't even struggle just adjusted mid-air as if she had expected it.
Bulk caught her, then, without slowing. Hoisted her onto his left shoulder. Her position settled quickly upper body facing backward, her grip light but stable.
Bulk tightened his hold. Then ran faster.
The corridor roared behind them as it collapsed, stone giving way to nothingness, the void chasing at their heels with increasing speed.
Ten seconds.
That was all it took for the situation to escalate further.
Bulk's steps grew heavier and faster. Each stride pushed harder, each breath sharper. Behind him, Closer.
Then,
"Go old man Bulk! Go old man Bulk! Go old man Bulk!"
Camilla's voice rang out brightly, completely out of place against the chaos. She clapped her hands. Actually clapped In rhythm.
Bulk's eye twitched.
"That's not very helpful right now, Camil!" he shot back, breath strained.
Camilla giggled.
Light and unbothered.
As if none of this, the blades and the collapsing corridor, meant anything at all. And behind them
The ground continued to close in.
The corridor behind Bulk no longer broke in uneven fractures, it advanced. Stone gave way in a continuous, devouring line, the edges crumbling with unnatural precision as if the structure itself had decided where it should cease to exist.
And it was gaining.
Bulk felt it not just through sight, but through pressure. The air shifted behind him, pulled into the void forming at his back. Each stride forward met resistance, as though something unseen was dragging him toward the collapse.
He tightened his grip around Camilla and pushed harder.
Faster.
His legs burned. His left arm throbbed from repeated impact strain. His breathing had lost its earlier control, now heavier, sharper functional, but no longer efficient.
Still, he did not slow.
Ahead,
The corridor changed again. Without warning, a series of elongated spikes erupted from both walls simultaneously. Synchronized.
They shot outward in long, sharpened lances, crossing portions of the corridor space before retracting just as quickly only to fire again in sequence.
And worse, they were positioned just ahead of the advancing collapse.
A choke point of forced decision.
"Hey, Bulk—look!" Camilla's voice came bright, almost delighted.
Bulk didn't turn.
"What is it this time?" he replied, his tone strained but focused, eyes locked forward.
"The floor is sending in long impale sticks as a form of challenge," she said cheerfully.
Bulk's jaw tightened.
"…that's not good."
Another spike volley triggered.
The timing overlapped with the next spiral cycle.
"Come on!" Camilla continued, her tone rising with excitement. "Let's go in and play our hearts out, Bulk!"
"Now is not the time for that, girl!" he snapped, pushing forward.
She frowned visibly.
"You're no fun," she muttered. "You're just like Captain and Queen Boy."
Bulk ignored her.
Because ahead, there was something else.
Light.
Faint at first.
Then clearer.
Two hovering orbs, steady and controlled, illuminating the far end of the corridor.
And beneath them, two figures. Standing and waiting. Bulk's eyes sharpened.
Then, relief. That must be the captain… and Quinn.
His pace didn't slow. It surged onwards.
The spikes ahead fired again. Closer now.
Too close to brute-force through without consequence. Bulk made a decision. Non-negotiable.
He shifted his grip and pulled Camilla off his shoulder in one motion. The cloak, still partially wrapped around her, tightened slightly as he repositioned his stance.
"Hold steady," he muttered.
Then, he threw her. Not carelessly.
But with calculated force angled precisely toward the end of the corridor.
Mid-flight, the cloak began to unwind from her body, the layered fabric extending between them like a tether. The distance stretched rapidly, the tension building as she was carried forward through the air.
Camilla didn't need to panic, of course she did not need to Her body rotated mid-air, aligning with the trajectory, her eyes forward focused, aware.
Behind her, Bulk continued running. The cloak extended further.
Further until the limit approached. Just before she reached the far end, the corridor reacted.
From the walls near the exit, blades fired. These were close-range interceptors angled to catch anything attempting to pass through the final threshold without precision.
Camilla saw them.
And smiled.
Her light orb hovering close shifted instinctively to maintain visibility.
Too close and one of the blades struck through it.
Clean, the orb flickered then fell.
Its light extinguished as it hit the ground and rolled into darkness. For a fraction of a second, the space around her dimmed.
But Camilla didn't hesitate.
Mid-air she folded her body inward, compressing her frame just as the blades converged.
They struck, but to the not flesh. Her cloak caught them, the layered construct held. The blades deflected outward, their angles broken just enough to avoid lethal contact.
She extended, then dropped. Landing cleanly at the end of the corridor.
Rate and Quinn stood just beyond the threshold.
Camilla straightened, completely unbothered, and held out the extended end of the cloak towards Rate.
"Here you go," she said brightly.
Rate looked at her and sighed. Not loudly but with visible restraint.
He took the cloak with noo hesitation and wasted movement. He pulled hard, the tension snapped tight across the corridor.
Bulk, still mid-run and seconds from entering the spike zone, felt the force instantly. It wasn't gentle, but was forced and absolute. His feet left the ground.
His forward momentum converted into a sudden lateral pull, dragging him across the remaining distance in a single, violent motion.
Behind him, the spikes fired. Where he would have been, they pierced through empty space.
Bulk crossed the threshold, then hit the ground hard.
Rolling once and twice, before coming to a stop near the others.
The cloak slackened.
Silence brief, but real settled at the corridor's end. Camilla tilted her head slightly, watching Rate.
"You do care after all," she said with a light smile.
Rate released the cloak.
His expression remained unchanged.
"That's quite enough from you, Camilla."
Flat and controlled.
He turned immediately and began walking toward the path leading deeper.
"You're late," he added without looking back. "Next time, keep up."
Bulk exhaled heavily as he pushed himself up, dust falling from his armor and cloak. His breathing began to stabilize again slowly.
"I'm sorry to disappoint," he said, straightening. "This will be the last time."
As he rose fully, the object on his back became visible again. A long, octagon-shaped box, heavy and unexplained.
"Good," Rate replied. "It better be."
Camilla had already moved on.
She turned toward Quinn, a bright smile returning to her face as if nothing had happened.
"Hey, Queen..."
"Go away, psycho." Quinn didn't even look at her.
He had already turned, following Rate down the path. Camilla blinked once.
Then, recovered instantly.
"Don't you want to hear the adventure of Bulk and I?" she asked, walking after him.
"I have no interest in hearing your grieving story," Quinn replied flatly.
They continued forward.
Bulk followed behind them, last to enter the descending path.
The corridor behind them was gone completely.
As if it had never existed, only darkness remained.
The descent began.
Three remaining light orbs hovered steadily, casting controlled illumination as they moved down the staircase toward the next floor.
The air shifted again. Cooler and heavier.
Camilla continued.
Of course she did.
"There's a part where the ceiling was falling that was very intriguing—"
"No one cares about your tragic background story," Quinn cut in sharply.
Camilla paused.
"My background?" she echoed, tilting her head. "Why didn't you say you wanted to hear about my background? I could've told you if you had asked."
"Go away and stop bothering me." Quinn instructed.
"But you don't know what you're missing," she insisted. "I'm very sure you'll be left in awe."
"I don't care," Quinn said. "And I don't want to hear another word from you."
A beat then,
"…what if I sing again?" Camilla asked. "Will that calm your nerves?"
"No." Quinn Immediate and firm, "Don't sing."
She blinked.
"…but earlier you said my singing made your ears cry for joy."
"I did not say anything of the sort." quinn answered.
"But you did." Camilla said.
"I did not." Quinn replied.
Camilla leaned slightly closer as they walked.
"Yes, you di—"
"Look," Quinn snapped, stopping briefly before continuing in a lower tone, "here's a better idea, idiot."
He gestured forward.
"How about you go tell the captain what happened and I'll hear it from Bulk side instead."
Camilla paused, actually paused. She considered it.
Then, her face lit up.
"That's a great idea!"
She pivoted immediately and jogged ahead.
"Captain! Captain—!"
Bulk, now closer, opened his mouth slightly.
"Uh… Quinn—"
"Don't even," Quinn cut him off without looking back.
Bulk closed his mouth and continued walking.
Camilla reached Rate quickly.
"Captain," she began brightly, "would you like to hear about the adventure Bulk and I had before meeting you guys?"
Rate didn't respond, he just kept walking.
Camilla nodded once, then proceeded anyway.
A minute passed.
Her voice filled the stairwell animated, detailed, completely unrestrained.
Bulk said nothing likewise Quinn did nothing, Rate said nothing.
But she spoke and kept speaking.
The staircase ended, they stepped onto the next floor. Darkness greeted them first.
Then by their left a single, dim light orb hovered roughly fifty meters ahead.
Unmoving intentional. Beneath it was a figure, seated and still. A sword lay on the ground beside him.
His armor leather worn out, rough, marked by repeated impact and strain. He stared forward into the darkness, unmoving.
Then he turned slowly, toward them.
The light caught his face.
Rolan, his expression was dull and empty.