Sabir trudged along behind the group, his movements stiff, his gaze lifeless. His mind was a storm, fragmented and incoherent. The lines between reality and dreams blurred into oblivion. What he had seen—was it truly a dream? Or was it some twisted reflection of his reality? He couldn’t tell anymore. Every step felt like wading through thick mud, his body moving, but his soul was still trapped in that nightmare.


    Zabo and Warren led the group through the winding path ahead, but their attention kept flickering back to Sabir. His vacant expression was a grim reminder of the toll this dungeon was taking on all of them. Zabo glanced at Warren, his voice low as they walked.


    “I know you two had a fight, but we can’t leave him like this,” Zabo said, concern lacing his tone.


    Warren’s jaw tightened, his frustration clear. “You think I don’t know that? You’re not the only one worried. The question is, what the hell do we do?”


    Zabo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man. But we’ve got to do something. Hell, your sister doesn’t look much better, either.”


    Before Warren could respond, Elektra’s voice cut through the air, quiet yet sharp. “Are you whispering about me?”


    Her tone was somber, lacking her usual spark. Zabo tried to muster a smile, but it came out crooked and forced. “Of course not. Just… talking about Sabir.”


    Elektra gave him a long, unreadable look before turning her gaze back to the path ahead. The narrow walls around them widened, revealing a cavernous opening. The dim light of the dungeon glimmered faintly, illuminating a rickety wooden bridge stretching over a murky expanse of water below.


    Maize was the first to speak, her voice quiet but firm. “Looks like we cross here to get to the next section.”


    Warren stared at the bridge with narrowed eyes. “I wonder how this is going to go wrong.”


    Zabo let out a short, humorless laugh and turned to Sabir. Gripping his arm gently, he pulled him forward. “Come on, man. We’ve got to keep moving.”


    Sabir didn’t resist but didn’t respond, either. He let himself be dragged along like a puppet, with its strings barely intact. The group began crossing the bridge; the wood creaking ominously under their weight.


    The moment they reached the halfway point, the stillness of the murky water shattered. The surface erupted in violent splashes, spraying cold, brackish droplets onto the bridge. From the depths emerged small humanoid figures, their grotesque, amphibious forms glistening in the dim light. Each creature was roughly four feet tall, their slick, scaled skin reflecting shades of green and gray. Their heads were oversized and bulbous, dominated by unblinking, lidless eyes that gleamed with malice. Gills flared along their necks, opening and closing rhythmically, as if fueled by an insatiable hunger for blood.


    The creatures were armed—each clutching a wicked, three-pronged trident. The weapons appeared crude yet menacing, their tips jagged and coated in an oily substance that suggested poison. As they ascended from the water onto the bridge, the air filled with their shrill, guttural screeches—a sound that clawed at the eardrums and raised the hairs on the back of the neck.


    Warren’s jaw tightened as he scanned the growing swarm. His fists crackled with electricity, the faint blue glow illuminating his scowl. “Twenty… maybe more,” he muttered, though it sounded more like a grim acknowledgment than a warning.


    The creatures moved with alarming coordination, raising their tridents in perfect unison. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath as they prepared to strike. Then, as one, they hurled their weapons toward the group.


    “Move!” Zabo bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. He swung his chains in a wide, powerful arc. The metallic links whirred through the air, a hazy streak as they collided with the incoming tridents. Sparks flew as the chains deflected the projectiles, their impact sending some tridents clattering harmlessly to the bridge while others spun off into the water.


    A trident streaked toward Maize, its jagged tip aimed straight for her chest. She ducked and rolled to the side with agility born of experience; the weapon embedding itself into the wooden planks with a dull thud. Rising to her feet, she shot a glare toward the advancing creatures. “Great. Another nightmare to deal with!” she growled, her tone equal parts frustration and sarcasm.


    Elektra, positioned at the rear, seemed almost indifferent to the unfolding chaos. Her expression remained detached, her movements devoid of urgency. She raised a single hand, her fingers sparking with electricity. With a flick of her wrist, a bolt of lightning arced through the air, striking several creatures simultaneously. Their bodies convulsed violently before crumpling into the depths below. “How annoying,” she murmured, her voice as cold as her demeanor.


    The assault continued unabated. Tridents rained down like deadly hail, their tips gleaming as they sought their targets. One of them, faster and more precise than the others, sailed directly toward Sabir.


    Warren saw it first. His eyes widened, and his heart leapt into his throat. “Shit!” he shouted, springing into action. He dashed forward, electricity crackling around his body. At the last second, he thrust his hand toward the incoming weapon, releasing a surge of energy. The trident exploded into splinters, the shards scattering harmlessly.


    He spun to face Sabir, his frustration boiling over into rage. “Get it together, Sabir!” Warren barked, his voice sharp with urgency. “Where’s your fighting spirit? Do you want to die here?”


    Sabir didn’t respond. He stood frozen, his lifeless gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the chaos. The sounds of battle—the screeches, the clanging of weapons, the crackling of electricity—seemed to fade into the background. It was as if he were trapped in a world of his own, disconnected from the peril surrounding him.


    The creatures were unrelenting. More and more of them leapt onto the bridge, their sheer numbers threatening to overwhelm the group. Their shrieks were deafening now, a maddening cacophony that seemed designed to unnerve their prey.


    Zabo tightened his grip on his chains and swung them with renewed ferocity. The metal links tore through the air, striking down several attackers in quick succession. Each impact hurled the creatures flying, their limp bodies tumbling into the water with satisfying splashes.


    Maize reached into her pouch and pulled out a handful of beans. With a practiced motion, she scattered them onto the bridge. Almost instantly, thick, serpentine vines erupted from the planks, twisting and writhing like living things. The vines lashed out at the creatures, wrapping around their limbs and slamming them against the bridge or hurling them back into the water.


    Elektra remained eerily subdued. She moved with precision, her blasts of electricity hitting their marks with uaccuracy. Yet something was missing—her usual fervor, the fire that drove her in battle, was absent. Her strikes were efficient but mechanical, as if she were going through the motions rather than truly fighting.


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    Warren was a storm incarnate. Lightning crackled around him, illuminating the bridge in flashes of brilliant blue. He moved like a blur, his attacks swift and relentless. Each surge of electricity he unleashed was a devastating blow, taking down multiple enemies at once. His recent breakthroughs in power were clear, his abilities sharper and more potent than ever before.


    Despite his fury, Warren kept a wary eye on Sabir. The young man was still rooted in place, oblivious to the danger and the efforts of his companions to protect him. Warren growled under his breath, frustration mingling with concern.


    A group of creatures surged toward Sabir, their tridents raised. Warren reacted instinctively, stepping between them and his unresponsive friend. He released a powerful burst of electricity; the energy crackling outward in a wave that sent the creatures flying. Turning back to Sabir, he placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him toward the beginning of the bridge.


    “Stay back!” Warren ordered, his tone brooking no argument. “You’ll only get yourself killed like this.”


    From his new vantage point, Sabir watched the battle unfold. His mind remained clouded, his emotions dulled. He saw Zabo fighting with tireless determination, his chains a blur of motion as they struck down enemy after enemy. He saw Maize commanding her vines; the plants weaving through the horde like serpents. He saw Elektra’s detached efficiency, her lightning bolts reducing attackers to smoldering husks.


    And he saw Warren—a whirlwind of energy and rage. The others fought as hard as they could, yet Warren stood out, his desperation to protect the group shining through in every strike.


    Sabir’s gaze lingered on his companions, and a faint spark of emotion flickered within him. It was faint—fragile—but it was there. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt something stir in the depths of his being.


    They were fighting for their lives, for each other. And he… he was standing there, doing nothing.


    Amid the chaos, Warren pushed Sabir back toward the start of the bridge. “Stay there! If you’re not going to fight, at least don’t get in the way!”


    And yet, Sabir couldn’t move.


    In the confines of his mind, Sabir was trapped, the chaos of the bridge around him dissolving into a suffocating silence. The screeches of the fishlike creatures faded, replaced by the wet squelch of flesh tearing and the haunting drip of blood. The scene before him twisted and blurred, reality fracturing like a shattered mirror. From the broken shards, she emerged—Mia.


    Her form materialized before him. Her once-bright eyes, filled with warmth and mischief, were now dull and glassy, staring through him with an empty, soulless gaze. Clumped strands of hair, matted with congealed blood, hung where it was usually neatly tied back. A sickening gurgle echoed in the silence as her lips moved, but the words were incomprehensible, garbled by the damage done to her face.


    The left side of her head was gone—gnawed away as if by something ravenous. Her skull was exposed, jagged bone glistening wetly under dim, phantom light. Strips of torn flesh dangled like ribbons from her temple, and what remained of her cheek was swollen and discolored, oozing a thick, dark liquid. Blood flowed from the gaping wound, pooling at her feet in thick, viscous droplets that stained the ground black. Her lower jaw hung slack, the remaining teeth cracked and jagged, clicking faintly as if she were attempting to speak but lacked the strength to form words.


    Sabir’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as he tried to look away, but her presence held him captive. The rancid stench of decay filled his nostrils, making his stomach churn. It was as though the surrounding air had thickened, weighed down by the coppery tang of blood and the sickly sweet rot of death.


    “You couldn’t save me,” Mia rasped, her voice a grotesque mockery of its former self. It was wet, bubbling with fluid that shouldn’t have been there, each word coated in venomous accusation. Her tone sliced through him, sharp and cold, leaving his heart pounding in his chest.


    Her mangled face twisted into a mockery of a smile, the exposed muscle and sinew stretching grotesquely. “Why should you save them?” she hissed. Her question lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive, wrapping around his thoughts like chains.


    Sabir’s legs buckled beneath him, and he fell to his knees, his hands trembling uncontrollably. He wanted to scream, to force the vision away, but his voice caught in his throat, choked by the overwhelming weight of guilt and horror. The bridge was gone, the battle forgotten; there was only her—Mia, broken and bloodied, standing before him like a ghost dredged up from his darkest nightmares.


    Her remaining eye bored into him, unblinking and filled with loathing. The empty socket beside it seemed to gape wider with each passing second, as if it were swallowing him whole. Blood dripped from the corners of her mouth, staining her shredded clothes.


    “You were too weak,” she spat, her voice rising, each word stabbing into his soul like a blade. “Too slow. Too cowardly. You let them take me.”


    Sabir tried to speak, tried to protest, but no words came. His body felt paralyzed, his thoughts tangled in a web of guilt and despair. He could see it all again—her screams, the chaos, the moment he failed. The memory surged forward, vivid and unrelenting, overlaying the grotesque figure before him with the image of her death.


    “Look at me!” she shrieked suddenly, her voice a crescendo of agony and rage. Her body jerked unnaturally, like a puppet controlled by unseen strings. The sound of flesh tearing filled the air as she reached out with bloodied hands, her broken nails scraping against his cheek. Her touch was icy, clammy, like the chill of a corpse.


    “I’m all that’s left!” she howled, her voice echoing like a thousand screams in his ears. “You let this happen. You let me die!”


    Her bloodied hand tightened around his face, her grip iron-like and suffocating. Sabir gasped, his lungs burning as if the very air had turned to ash. The blackened pool of blood at her feet spread, oozing toward him like a living thing, consuming the ground beneath him.


    “You think you can save anyone?” Mia sneered, her twisted smile returning. “You couldn’t even save me. Why should they live when I’m gone? Why should you?”


    The pool of blood surged upward, engulfing him in its suffocating embrace. He struggled, clawing at the phantom liquid, but it clung to him like tar, pulling him deeper into the darkness. Above him, Mia’s mutilated face loomed, her laughter cruel and echoing.


    “You’ll fail again,” her voice whispered, soft and cruel, as the darkness swallowed him whole. “You’ll fail them all.”


    Sabir’s breath hitched. His hands trembled as he whispered back, “Mia… I’m sorry.”


    “You’re always sorry,” the image of Mia sneered. “But it’s never enough.”


    Suddenly, another figure appeared—smoky, indistinct, yet undeniably present.


    “Are you really going to listen to that thing?” the figure asked, its voice deep and resonant. “That’s not even real. You know it isn’t.”


    Sabir’s gaze remained fixed on the ground. “And you are? You’re just another figment of my imagination, as well.”


    The smoky figure chuckled softly. “Perhaps. But I’m also the one who gave you the aura you’ve been using.”


    Sabir’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Is that so? Not that it matters. I’m all out of aura, anyway.”


    “Maybe,” the figure said. “But you have more strength to draw upon, don’t you?”


    The figure gestured toward the bridge. “Look at them, boy. Really look.”


    Sabir hesitated, then raised his head. He saw Zabo fending off three creatures at once, blood dripping from a gash on his arm. He saw Maize struggling to maintain control of her vines, her face pale with exhaustion. He saw Warren, lightning arcing wildly around him as he fought with everything he had. Even Elektra, cold and detached, was starting to falter under the sheer number of enemies.


    “They’re fighting for their lives,” the smoky figure said. “And you’re just standing there. Is this who you’ve become? The one who lets others suffer while you wallow in self-pity?”


    Sabir clenched his fists. “I… I can’t let anyone else die because of me.”


    “Then stop standing still,” the figure said, its form beginning to dissipate. “All you needed to do was open your eyes.”


    The vision of Mia faded, her voice a distant echo.


    Sabir took a deep breath, his mind clearing finally in what felt like forever. He looked at the battle raging before him, and for the first time, he felt a spark of resolve.


    “No more,” he whispered to himself.


    With a surge of determination, he sprang forward, ready to join the fight.