Sabir’s legs felt like lead, each step a laborious effort, as though the weight of the entire dungeon pressed against his weary body. The bridge beneath him stretched endlessly in his mind, its cold, damp stones slick with moisture from the dense fog that clung to the air like a living thing. His breaths came in shallow gasps, visible in the biting chill as faint puffs of white that dissipated almost instantly, swallowed by the abyss below. The distant sound of water dripping echoed faintly, amplified in the oppressive silence, and each drop seemed to land with the force of a hammer blow.


    The icy wind lashed at him and his companions, threading through the gaps in their clothing with cruel precision, carrying with it a low, mournful howl that seemed to rise from the very bones of the dungeon itself. Sabir shivered involuntarily as the sound grew louder, whispering unspoken warnings that tickled the edge of his resolve. The bridge swayed ever so slightly underfoot. Or perhaps it was his own exhaustion playing tricks on him.


    Maize was the first to step onto solid ground, her legs unsteady from the long trek. She spun; her narrowed eyes locking onto Elektra. “Why did you let yourself get hurt?” she snapped, her voice trembling slightly. There was an unusual tightness in her tone, and tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. “You could’ve—”


    “Shut up,” Elektra interrupted, her voice cold and sharp as steel. She didn’t bother looking at Maize as she adjusted the straps of her top, blood still dripping from the gash on her arm. “I’m fine. Save your tears.”


    Zabo, standing a few paces behind, grinned and broke the tense silence. “We won’t even need her anymore anyway,” he said, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. He clapped Warren on the back with enough force to make the larger man stumble. “We’ve got big ol’ strong Sparky over here. Isn’t that right, Warren?”


    Warren turned his head, shooting Zabo an irritated glare. “Shut up,” he muttered, brushing Zabo’s hand off his shoulder. His gaze shifted toward Elektra, lingering for a moment as his expression softened. Then, with a sigh, he turned back toward the staircase. “Let’s just get moving.” Without waiting for a response, he started descending into the shadows.


    The staircase loomed before them, carved directly into the jagged rock face as though forced into the earth by ancient hands. The steps were uneven, their edges sharp and irregular, and they descended steeply into a void so dark it seemed to drink in the dim light that filtered through the dungeon’s oppressive gloom. The air seemed heavier here, tinged with a faint metallic scent that clung to the back of Sabir’s throat.


    His gaze trailed over the rough, weathered stone, each crack and crevice hinting at untold stories of those who had ventured down before. The staircase appeared almost predatory, a silent invitation into the belly of the beast, daring them to descend. It was not merely the absence of light that made the void below so ominous; it was the palpable sense of something waiting. Something ancient. Something hungry.


    Sabir swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the damp air. The wind, relentless and cold, swept past him again, tugging at his ragged cloak and making the faint howling sound eerily resemble the cry of a wounded animal. His companions stood motionless for a moment, staring into the abyss, as though held captive by its silent promise of peril. Behind him, Sabir heard Zabo mutter something under his breath, but the words were lost to the wind. For once, the usually boisterous man sounded subdued, even nervous.


    Sabir clenched his fists, trying to steel himself, but his body betrayed him. His legs trembled faintly, and it took every ounce of willpower to keep his fear from showing. The dungeon had already tested them at every turn, and he knew this descent was only the beginning of a deeper nightmare.


    Sabir followed without a word, his face pale and drawn, exhaustion taking over him. Maize, Zabo, and Elektra exchanged a glance before trailing after Warren, their footsteps echoing faintly against the stone walls.


    No one spoke during the climb. The only sounds were the soft scuffing of their boots against stone and the occasional drip of water echoing through the cavern. Sabir’s muscles ached with each step, his exhaustion from the bridge still clinging to him like a shroud. Zabo grumbled quietly behind him, but even his usual chatter was subdued, as though the oppressive atmosphere had finally gotten to him.


    After what felt like an eternity, the staircase finally leveled out, depositing them into a large, open chamber. Three massive doors loomed before them, their surfaces carved with intricate patterns that seemed to writhe and shift in the flickering light. Each door was identical, towering and ominous.


    They seemed carved from dark wood, and beyond them, there was nothing but impenetrable darkness. The oppressive silence of the dungeon seemed to press down on them, as if the very air was watching and waiting.


    Zabo was the first to speak, his voice low and serious. “We’re not splitting up,” he said firmly, folding his arms across his chest.


    Warren, who had been examining the doors, raised an eyebrow. “Who said we were going to split up?”


    Zabo huffed. “I know how this goes. Dungeons with multiple paths? Hunters always think splitting up is a good idea, and then bam—everything goes wrong. Worst-case scenario? Everyone dies.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, and he shifted nervously.


    Sabir remained silent, his gaze fixed on the middle door. The others’ voices faded into the background as he took a hesitant step forward, his hand reaching out toward the rough wood. But before he could make contact, the ground in front of him rippled, like the air itself had turned liquid. A glowing green figure rose slowly from the stone, its form shifting and solidifying into a translucent skeleton.


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    The figure hovered eerily a foot above the stone floor, its skeletal form framed by the faint, sickly green glow that seemed to radiate from its very bones. Time had ravaged its attire, yet traces of its former life clung stubbornly to its spectral frame. A tattered canvas doublet hung loosely over its ribcage, the fabric mottled with age and torn in places where battles long past had left their mark. Beneath the doublet was a faded waistcoat, the intricate embroidery now barely visible under layers of grime and decay. A frayed shirt peeked out from beneath the layers, its once-pristine white reduced to a dingy gray, the collar crumpled and stiff.


    The hollow eye sockets of the skull were anything but empty; they burned with an unnatural green light that flickered and danced like ghostly flames. The light shifted as though alive, giving the impression that the creature could see far beyond the physical realm. Its bony jaw creaked open slightly, as if it were preparing to speak, though no sound escaped just yet.


    One skeletal hand rested on the hilt of a rusted cutlass that hung at its side. The blade’s edge was jagged, pockmarked with corrosion, and it bore the unmistakable scars of countless battles. Yet, despite its decrepit state, the weapon radiated a foreboding presence, as though it could still cut through flesh and bone with ease. The grip was wrapped in tattered leather, worn smooth from years of use, and a faded insignia was etched faintly into the metal of the crossguard—a symbol of a ship, its sails billowing in an unseen wind.


    The figure’s presence exuded an air of both menace and sorrow, a lingering testament to the life it had once lived and the unending torment that had transformed it into this spectral state. It hovered silently, its tattered clothing and translucent bones swaying ever so slightly, as though caught in an invisible current, waiting for the moment to address the intruders who had dared to step into its domain.


    Zabo let out a high-pitched scream, scrambling behind Warren. “No! It’s a ghost! We’re all gonna die!” he wailed, clutching at Warren’s arm for dear life.


    Everyone froze, their eyes wide as they took in the specter. Sabir stood rooted to the spot, his heart pounding in his chest. The ghost hovered in place, its empty sockets locked onto him. Zabo, still cowering, whispered hoarsely, “Sabir, get back! It’s a pirate ghost!”


    The skeleton tilted its head, and then, to everyone’s shock, it spoke. “How long has it been?” the ghost boomed, its voice echoing as if carried on the wind. “Since I’ve seen the true living in this hellhole?”


    Zabo’s knees buckled, and he clung to Warren like a child. “It can talk!” he sobbed, tears streaming down his face. “It’s going to kill us for intruding!”


    Maize wasn’t faring much better. She grabbed onto Warren’s other arm, her face pale. “It’s talking, Warren! What do we do?!” she whispered harshly.


    The ghost tilted its head back and laughed, the sound harsh and hollow. “Intruding?” it repeated, shaking its head. “Oh, how funny. I’m an intruder here too, of sorts.”


    Warren stepped forward slightly, his electricity crackling faintly around him as he readied himself for a fight. “You’re native to this dungeon, aren’t you?” he asked cautiously, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.


    The skeleton turned to him, its glowing sockets narrowing slightly. “Dungeon?” It looked around as if confused, then chuckled softly. “Oh, is that what you call this place? How amusing.”


    Sabir finally found his voice, though it came out as little more than a whisper. “What is this place, then?” he asked, his eyes never leaving the ghost.


    The ghost seemed to consider the question for a moment before letting out a sigh that sounded like the creak of old wood. “What it once was has long since been destroyed,” it said, its tone carrying a hint of sorrow. Then, with a flourish, it removed the battered tricorn hat from its head and gave a mock bow. “But where are my manners? The name’s Lucky Ainis.”


    Zabo, despite his terror, let out a nervous giggle. “Anus?” he snorted under his breath.


    The ghost’s head snapped toward Zabo, and in an instant, it was floating directly in front of him. It raised a bony hand and pressed it against Zabo’s chest, its fingers sinking through his body like smoke. Zabo shrieked, scrambling backward, but Lucky only laughed. “The last person to make fun of my name didn’t live to tell the tale,” it said with a sinister grin.


    “Okay! Okay, Mr. Ainis—I mean Lucky!” Zabo stammered, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry!”


    Warren’s expression darkened as he stepped between Zabo and the ghost. “He’s a monster,” he said, a faint electrical charge surrounding his fists. “We should kill him.”


    Lucky floated backward, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Nuh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. “I was once human, just like you. But I ended up locked in this cursed place while searching for treasure. Now, I’m stuck here, a wee little ghost.”


    Maize’s fear was momentarily replaced by curiosity. “Treasure?” she asked, her eyes lighting up.


    Lucky’s grin widened. “Aye, I know where it is,” he said. “But I’ll need help to get to it. And don’t worry, you can have all of it. Seeing as I have little use for gold anymore.” He gestured to his spectral form with a flourish.


    Warren narrowed his eyes. “There’s no way we’re trusting you.”


    Lucky let out another hollow laugh. “I’m just a harmless ghost, lad. Besides, I’ve got a story for you. I was a privateer once—never a pirate, mind you—and my crew and I came to this island chasing legends of treasure. We found it, or so we thought, in an ancient temple. But the moment we stepped inside, the doors sealed, and time itself seemed to freeze. My crew... they weren’t as lucky as me. They turned into monsters, and I—well, I became this.”


    Zabo leaned closer to Maize and whispered, “I think we should use him. He knows the way, and it’s not like he can hurt us. He punched straight through me, remember?”


    Warren looked at the group, his expression unreadable. “Is everyone in agreement?” he asked, his tone clipped.


    No one argued. Maize looked intrigued, Elektra remained silent, and Sabir continued to stare at Lucky with a deep distrust. The ghost seemed to take their silence as acceptance.


    “Well then,” Lucky said, clapping his skeletal hands together. “Seeing as we’ve agreed to work together, there’s one thing we need to do first.” His grin widened, and his empty sockets seemed to gleam with a sinister light. “Before I can show you the way, we need to get to know each other better. Let us all become closer, my friends.”


    Sabir’s unease deepened as the ghost’s laughter echoed around them, filling the dark corridor with an ominous resonance.