Erel moved through the maze with grim purpose, his enhanced awareness guiding him past the same deadly traps his vision had revealed. The hedges towered above him like verdant walls, their leaves rustling with unnatural whispers that seemed to follow his movements. Every shadow could conceal death, every turn could lead to obliteration.
A pit lined with bone-crushing spikes here—he skirted around the concealed pressure plate that would send him plummeting onto jagged metal points designed to pierce vital organs. A section where the hedge walls would slam together to crush intruders there—he could see the mechanical grooves hidden in the earth, the telltale signs of a trap that would reduce a human body to pulp in seconds. A patch of ground that concealed a fall into acid pools beyond that—the slight discoloration of the soil, the faint chemical smell that his enhanced senses detected.
Every single one of these would have killed me if I'd stumbled into them blind. How many other people has this place murdered?
All anomalites possessed three distinct types of supernatural abilities. Fragment abilities were tied to physical objects that connected them to their personal mythology—like his Ouroboros tattoo, which could move across his skin and fortify different parts of his body. Essence abilities tapped into fundamental forces of reality itself—his connection to death allowed him to experience his own demise and return with knowledge of how to avoid it. And mythic abilities drew power from legends and archetypes—his serpent mythology granted him supernaturally enhanced senses, sharpening his perception, reflexes, and cognitive processing far beyond human limits. Each anomalite had a number of these said abilities depending upon the tier of their anomalite status. Being tier 1, also known as being a Shaper, Erel had one ability under each category.
The maze was a masterwork of lethal architecture. Paths that seemed safe would suddenly reverse direction, leading victims back toward earlier hazards. Dead ends that sealed themselves once entered, trapping people until they starved or were driven mad by isolation. Intersections where the ground would tilt without warning, sliding unwary travelers into hidden chambers filled with carnivorous plants that had evolved to feed on human flesh.
His hands still trembled slightly from the residual trauma of experiencing complete consciousness dissolution through his essence ability, but anger was helping to burn through the psychological shock. Ravenwood—whatever she really was—had watched him die with the cold satisfaction of a predator. She was planning to do the same to the others, systematically eliminating them while wearing the mask of a helpful guide.
Not happening. Not on my watch.
The maze felt different when you knew where you were going. Instead of an overwhelming labyrinth of possibilities, it became a series of navigable pathways leading to a specific destination. His mythic-enhanced awareness doing its best to aid him in navigating through the perils.
He passed through a section where the hedge walls were lined with thorns that wept a paralytic poison, their tips glistening with venom that would render a victim helpless before the maze's other horrors could finish them. His enhanced sense of smell, courtesy of his mythic abilities, detected the chemical signature of the poison long before he could see the thorns themselves. Another area featured hidden speakers that emitted subsonic frequencies designed to induce panic and disorientation—his supernaturally acute hearing picked up the mechanical hum seconds before the sounds began.
Twenty-five minutes into his pursuit, he reached the circular clearing from his vision. The space was larger than it had seemed in his death experience, surrounded by hedge walls that pulsed with a faint bioluminescence. Strange flowers bloomed in the corners—beautiful but clearly predatory, their petals lined with needle-sharp teeth.
Through a gap in the hedge, he could see Ravenwood moving around the space with the same confident familiarity she'd shown before. But this time, he was watching her behavior without the filter of trust, his mythic-enhanced perception analyzing every micro-expression, every subtle movement.
She's not following spiritual guidance. She knows exactly where everything is.
Ravenwood knelt beside the area where his vision had shown the concealed trap, running her hands along the ground. To anyone else, it might look like she was sensing spiritual energy or searching for mystical signs. But Erel knew better, she was checking the trap mechanism, ensuring it was properly set. Her fingers traced along hidden seams in the earth, testing the stability of the false ground that would give way at the proper weight.
She stood and moved to the actual hiding spot where Lydia's component was concealed, checking that it was still properly positioned behind its illusion. Her movements were too precise, too purposeful. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty—just someone going through a predetermined checklist.
The consciousness-draining crystals in the pit below pulsed with malevolent energy. They were arranged in a perfect pattern designed to maximize suffering—not just killing their victims, but consuming their very essence while keeping them conscious throughout the process.
Time to end this charade.
Erel picked up a substantial rock from the clearing's edge, weighing it carefully. The stone was heavier than it looked, dense with some mineral that seemed to resonate with the maze's supernatural energy. He'd need to trigger the trap from the right angle to catch her in it, and he'd only get one chance.
"Madame Ravenwood," he called out pleasantly, stepping into the clearing while staying carefully near the edge. "What a coincidence running into you here."
She turned, and her theatrical mask snapped into place instantly. The transformation was remarkable—cold calculation vanished, replaced by mystical concern and spiritual distraction.
"Oh! Mr. Erel, how fortuitous. The spirits led me to this location, and they're showing me something quite significant."
"Really? What are they telling you?"
"There's a hidden component here," she said, gesturing toward the center of the clearing exactly as she had in his death vision. "The spiritual energy is intense—but the spirits are warning me about approaching the center. They say it's dangerous."
Same script, same performance. But this time I know what's really happening.
"You know," Erel said thoughtfully, "I've been thinking about your abilities. You seem to have perfect knowledge of this place's layout. Almost like you've been here before."
Ravenwood's expression remained carefully mystical. "The dead have walked these paths many times. Their memories show me—"
"Cut the act," Erel interrupted, his voice hardening. "I know what you are. I know you're not getting guidance from spirits—you already know where everything because you are a construct, no."
For a moment, her mask flickered. But instead of dropping the pretence entirely, she doubled down on it.
"I don't understand what you're implying," she said, but there was something different in her tone now. Less theatrical, more cautious. "The spirits can be quite specific when—"
"The spirits didn't tell you about that hidden door in the hedge wall," Erel said, taking a step closer while keeping his grip on the rock.
Now her mask began to crack. The mystical medium persona started to slip, revealing something more calculating underneath.
"You're being paranoid," she said, but her voice had lost its mystical cadence. "The stress of this place can make people suspicious of—"
"I saw how you looked at me when I was dying," Erel said quietly. "Complete indifference. No shock, no horror, no attempt to help. Just cold satisfaction that your trap had worked."
Ravenwood went very still. "What are you talking about? You haven't been dying."
"Haven't I?" Erel asked. "You're going to lead me to that trap, watch me fall onto consciousness-draining crystals, and feel nothing while my identity gets consumed piece by piece. Because that's what you're here for—to kill anomalites while pretending to help them."
The theatrical mask dropped completely. Whatever she was, the pretense was over.
"You can't possibly know that," she said, her voice now completely human but cold and focused. "There's no way you could have—"
Before she could finish, Erel hurled the rock directly at the concealed trap mechanism. The stone struck the hidden pressure plate with perfect accuracy, and the impact triggered the consciousness-draining array exactly as he'd hoped. The ground beneath Ravenwood gave way with a grinding sound of stone and metal, revealing the pit lined with crystalline spikes that pulsed with hungry energy.
Her expression shifted to genuine surprise as she fell, her arms windmilling uselessly as gravity claimed her. The crystals made contact with her form, and the reaction was immediate and violent. Blood flowed from the wounds where the spikes pierced her—through her shoulder, her thigh, her abdomen—but something was wrong with it. Too dark, with an odd shimmer that caught the light strangely, as if it contained particles that didn't belong in human circulation.
Well, at least she bleeds.
She screamed as the crystals pierced her. The consciousness-attuned crystals were designed to drain genuine consciousness, but encountering something artificial instead was causing it to tear her apart from the inside. Sparks of energy crackled between the crystals and her body, and her form began to convulse in ways that defied human anatomy.
"Consciousness-attuned crystals," Erel called down. "They're designed to drain genuine consciousness. But you don't have any, do you? You're just very good at pretending."
Blood continued to pool beneath her. Within moments, she went completely still, her artificial existence snuffed out.
Problem solved.
Erel retrieved the actual component from its hiding place near the clearing's edge—Lydia's crystalline eye, concealed behind an illusion just as his death vision had revealed. The component was warm to the touch and seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat, as if it were still truly alive despite being separated from its owner.
As he made his way back through the maze, navigating the deadly pathways with newfound confidence, he reflected on what had just happened.
Four others left, I need to know if there are any other constructs among us, and quickly.
By the time Erel returned to the maze entrance, Grey and West had already arrived with their own components. Grey carried what appeared to be Lydia's hand, its fingers still moving slightly with residual consciousness, while West held the pulsing heart that beat with ethereal light. Both looked haggard but triumphant, their clothes torn from navigating the maze's hazards.
Captain Stone emerged twenty minutes later carrying Lydia's throat, which hummed with unheard melodies even in his grasp. His military bearing was intact, but Erel could see the tension in his shoulders that spoke of close calls with deadly traps.
Adren was the last to return, looking exhausted but triumphant as he held the glowing orb that contained Lydia's memories.
"Five components," Grey observed, checking her watch. "Better than I expected, honestly."
"Where's Ravenwood?" West asked, looking around nervously. "She should have been back by now."
Stone frowned. "The maze was dangerous. Multiple trap configurations I've never seen before. If she encountered something beyond her abilities to handle..."
"The spirits can be unpredictable guides," Adren said quietly. "Maybe they led her somewhere she couldn't return from."
All eyes turned to Erel, who shrugged with practiced casualness. "Who knows? Maybe she finally found some spirits who wanted to have a really long conversation. You know how it is with mediums—sometimes the dead just won't shut up."
"That's not funny," West protested. "She could be hurt, trapped somewhere—"
"Dr. West," Erel interrupted gently, "we've all been in that maze. We've all seen the traps, the dead ends, the paths that like to rearrange themselves. Sometimes the mathematics work out exactly as intended. Five components, five survivors. The mansion got its quota you know, after all, no one likes more guests than invited."
The words hung in the air with uncomfortable finality. Grey studied Erel's face with her detective instincts, but whatever she saw there didn't raise any obvious red flags."How tragic," she said, studying the group. "Poor Madame Ravenwood. The maze can be so unforgiving to those who... misunderstand its true nature."
She knows exactly what happened. And she doesn't seem particularly upset about losing a fellow construct.
"What now?" West asked, still looking shaken by Ravenwood's absence.
"Now you proceed," Lydia replied.
She gestured toward a new section of the mansion that hadn't been visible before—a wing that seemed to shift and blur at the edges of vision. "Your next trial awaits. Lady Sophia has been so eager to meet you."
As the remaining group moved toward the new wing, the architecture became more gothic, and more oppressive, with flying buttresses that seemed to leer down at them like stone gargoyles.
"Lady Sophia?" Grey asked, her cop instincts immediately alert to the change in atmosphere.
"The Famine Bride," Lydia replied with something that might have been pity. "She has been waiting for guests for such a very long time. Her condition makes her quite... particular about hospitality."
They entered through massive doors that groaned open at their approach, revealing a banquet hall that stretched beyond the reach of normal vision. Long tables filled the space, all set for an elaborate feast—but every plate was empty, every goblet dry, every serving dish containing nothing but dust and the memory of food.
At the head of the longest table sat Lady Sophia, and the sight of her struck them all silent.
She had once been beautiful—that much was clear from the delicate bone structure of her face, the elegant curve of her neck. But hunger had claimed her with systematic cruelty. Her arms were skeletal, the skin drawn so tight against bone that every joint stood out in sharp relief. Her collarbones jutted from beneath flesh that seemed translucent, and her cheeks were hollow caverns that spoke of years without sustenance.
But it was her belly that drew horrified attention. Grotesquely swollen, it bulged outward like she was pregnant with something monstrous. The skin stretched tight over whatever writhed within, and occasionally they could see movement—something large and active pressing against the confines of her body, creating ripples and bulges that defied human anatomy.
She wore a wedding dress that had once been white but was now stained with substances best left unidentified. The fabric hung loose everywhere except around that horrible, distended belly, where it stretched to accommodate the thing growing within her.
"Welcome," Lady Sophia said, her voice hollow and echoing as if it came from the bottom of a well. "Welcome to my wedding feast. Please, sit. We have been waiting so long for guests who might... satisfy the hunger."
Her eyes fixed on them with desperate intensity, and something shifted in her belly—something that pressed against her skin from the inside, as if trying to claw its way out.
Erel's mythic abilities were working overtime now, his enhanced senses painting an increasingly terrifying picture
"The trial is simple," she continued, gesturing with arms so thin they looked like they might snap. "Feed the hunger. Satisfy what grows within. Or become part of the feast yourselves."