Grimm stopped in front of the red door.
It stood out among all the others, embedded in the wall as if it had been placed there with a specific, different, almost provocative intention. The color was not a simple red; it was deep, dense, like dried blood accumulated after years of abandonment.
Its surface was marked by small scratches and cracks, signs of failed or desperate attempts to get through it.
He extended his hand.
He took the doorknob.
He turned it.
Nothing.
The resistance was immediate, absolute. The door did not yield even a millimeter, as if it did not respond to physical force, but to something more. Grimm tried once more, applying more pressure, but the result was the same.
Locked.
Not by a simple mechanism, but by necessity.
He needed a key.
Without wasting any more time, he released the doorknob and continued advancing. There was no frustration in his movements, only acceptance. In that place, the rules were not normal, and he seemed to understand it, even if he did not know how.
Turning the corner, he entered a narrow hallway that seemed to compress around him.
The walls were too close, and the air felt heavier, as if something invisible was watching from every crack. His steps echoed with an irregular echo, as if the place could not decide how real it was.
At the end of the hallway, he found another room.
It was different.
More… orderly.
Shelves full of books covered the walls, some tilted, others fallen, as if they had been abandoned in the middle of something urgent.
Dark wooden cabinets remained closed, although several showed signs of having been forced.
But that was not what caught his attention.
In the center of the room there was a figure.
A hollow.
Standing.
Motionless.
But incomplete.
It had no head.
The neck ended in an irregular, dark cut, as if it had been ripped off with violence instead of cut cleanly.
There was no blood flowing, only a blackness that seemed to absorb the light around it.
The silence lasted barely an instant.
The creature moved.
Without warning, it lunged toward Grimm with unnatural speed, its arms extended and its long nails shining faintly, ready to tear apart.
There was no doubt or hesitation in its attack, only a clear intention: to destroy.
But Grimm was already ready.
His sword came out of its sheath with a clean, precise, almost elegant movement. There were no unnecessary movements, there was no haste, only technique.
A single cut.
From below.
Ascending.
The blade pierced the hollow's body from the navel, dividing it into two parts before it could even touch him.
The impact was immediate. The creature stopped dead, as if time itself had been interrupted.
A second later, its body began to disintegrate.
Ashes.
Black.
Silent.
They dispersed into the air without resistance, as if it had never really existed.
In its place, a sensation remained.
An energy.
The souls.
Grimm did not react visibly, but something inside him changed. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but enough to strengthen his body, to remind him that in that world death was not the end, but a resource.
He sheathed his sword again.
Without words.
Without pause.
He continued.
He advanced a few more steps, stopping in front of the shelves and drawers. This time he did decide to check. His hands moved calmly, opening compartments, moving objects without disorganizing them too much.
He found a charcoal pine resin.
A vial of blood.
Simple objects, but useful.
He stored them.
Without giving them more importance.
He returned to the hallway.
Another narrow corridor led him to a new room, and as he crossed the threshold, the atmosphere changed immediately.
The floor.
It was still blood.
But here it was different.
More recent.
More… alive.
The air was charged, heavy, as if the slaughter had occurred recently. And as he advanced a few steps, he confirmed it.
Bodies.
Knights.
Many.
Scattered throughout the entire room.
Unlike the bones from before, these still retained flesh. Their bodies were largely intact, although marked by brutal wounds. Deep cuts, tears, bite marks.
The blood was still warm.
Grimm walked among them, observing without stopping too long on each one, until something caught his attention.
A letter.
White.
Held weakly in the hand of one of the knights.
He took it.
He opened it.
And he read.
"The Third Order of Windsor Knighthood almost annihilated. Requesting help. Almost seven days had passed since the prince's letters ceased. The captain became desperate, we have no idea and we cannot return as it is. When the sun was setting, we began to organize the camp together with the main force. Suddenly, my vision blurred, and while I wondered about this feeling of vertigo, we found ourselves in a ridiculous world. Headless apparitions and man-eating rabbits appeared before our defenseless platoon. Our hesitant swords could not resist their teeth, and one after another, my comrades bled and fell. The officers disappeared... where the hell is this place? All I hear are the screams of my comrades and the growls of monsters. The pain fills my head, I can feel that something inside was crushed. Now I know, this must be hell... Unless we find an exit or put up a fire signal, then rescue has no remedy. We will all die here. Idonotwanttodie Iamyoung Ihavemanythingstodo Idonotwanttodiehere ithurts ithurts ithurts NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONO mom...save me."
The last words were written in blood.
Not ink.
The handwriting deformed at the end, as if desperation had overcome any attempt to maintain control.
It was a scream turned into writing, a plea that was never heard.
Grimm said nothing.
Doubly silent.
He placed the letter back next to the corpse, putting it down with a calm that contrasted with the horror it contained.
Then he stood up and continued advancing, as if he had already accepted that this fate could also be his.
The next stretch took him to an even more absurd structure.
A room where the doors were embedded in the walls.
One on top of the other.
Without stairs.
Without logic.
Only doors.
Grimm approached the nearest one and opened it.
He entered.
And exited through another.
But not at the same level.
Higher up.
His foot almost slipped when he exited, but he managed to stabilize himself. Without wasting time, he opened another door and entered again.
And exited even higher up.
He repeated the process.
Over and over.
Ascending through a senseless system, as if space were folded upon itself, as if normal rules no longer existed.
Finally, he crossed one last door.
And arrived at a new room.
Smaller.
Quieter.
In one corner, a mirror.
Ancient.
Opaque.
In the other…
A white rabbit.
Trembling.
Small.
Fragile.
Grimm approached slowly.
The rabbit raised its gaze.
And spoke.
—Hey… you… are you looking for Alicia…?
His voice was weak, broken, as if every word was an effort.
Grimm responded without hesitation.
—Have you seen Alicia?
The rabbit trembled more.
—She… is further ahead… in the next room… she is… in the master's belly…
The silence fell.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
The rabbit said nothing more.
Grimm neither.
He simply turned around and continued.
The hallway that followed was short.
Direct.
At the end, a white mist covered the entrance.
Without stopping, he crossed it.
The mist enveloped his body for an instant, hiding everything, erasing any reference of space. But in the next second, it dissipated, as if it had never been there.
And then he saw it.
A white rabbit.
Small.
But covered in blood.
It approached him slowly.
Its limbs creaked with every movement, bending in unnatural ways, as if its bones were broken… or as if something inside it was trying to get out.