Misery’s Dance
Misery prowled through the labyrinth like a predator in her element. Her crimson eyes gleamed with determination as she dodged a collapsing wall and leaped over a pit filled with writhing spikes. The air reeked of blood and decay, but she barely noticed, her focus singular.
She was here to win.
The first real challenge came in the form of a feral vampiric beast, a creature that had once been a student but was now a mindless killing machine. Its twisted form lunged at her from the shadows, its claws raking the air where she had stood a moment before.
Misery moved with deadly precision, her blade flashing as she struck. The beast howled in fury, its movements wild but powerful. Misery dodged its attacks, each strike a calculated dance that brought her closer to victory.
Finally, with a sharp thrust, she drove her blade through the creature’s chest. It collapsed in a heap, its body twitching before falling still.
Misery’s breath came in ragged gasps as she surveyed her surroundings. A deep gash across her shoulder oozed blood, but she ignored the pain. She had no time to waste.
As she stumbled forward, her path twisted and led her into another corridor—one already occupied.
Eryon froze as Misery appeared, her eyes narrowing when she saw him. She took a step forward, her movements unsteady but no less dangerous.
“Well, well,” she murmured, her voice laced with mockery despite her state. “It seems we keep running into each other.”
Eryon’s wolf growled faintly beneath his skin, but he forced it down. He could have left her behind, but something in her uncharacteristically vulnerable state stopped him.
“You’re injured,” he said flatly.
Misery chuckled, the sound low and bitter. “A mere scratch.”
She swayed slightly, and Eryon stepped closer, steadying her with one arm.
Misery’s smirk returned, though her voice was quieter now. “How noble of you, wolf,” she muttered, her words dripping with irony.
Eryon stiffened but didn’t respond. He knew she was testing him, pushing for a reaction he couldn’t afford to give.
As they moved through the labyrinth together, Eryon’s senses sharpened. The oppressive energy of the maze grew heavier, and the sound of distant growls echoed through the stone corridors.
Then he saw it—a towering, horned monstrosity blocking their path. Its eyes burned with bloodlust, and its claws scraped against the stone as it stepped forward.
Eryon’s grip on his blade tightened, his wolf snarling in anticipation.
Misery, leaning against him for support, smiled faintly. “Well, darling,” she said, her voice dark with amusement. “Let’s see what you’re really made of.”
