The key was cold in my hand, jagged with rust and time. But beneath the decay, I felt something—a pull. Not just weight or purpose, but direction. It wanted to be used. Somewhere in the black arteries of this place, a lock was waiting. I rose slowly, ears twitching. The sound of the kobold's final gasp still hung in the air like smoke. The walls around me seemed quieter now. Not still, but…watchful. Not alone. Something had noticed. I moved deeper into the maze, the crude satchel slung over one shoulder. The dried meat inside had no scent of rot, and though I no longer hungered the way I once had, I knew I would need it. The body I wore—this monstrous, horned frame of muscle and sinew—was tireless, but not invincible. Power or not, something had built this place to test me. To kill me. Time passed strangely in the labyrinth. There was no sun. No sky. Just stone and shadow. My hooves echoed in uneven rhythms—some absorbed by the wet moss underfoot, others bouncing back in quick succession from narrow corridors. I followed the pull of the key. It wasn't logical. I didn't know the way, but I felt it. Twice I passed carvings etched into the walls—half-eroded runes, circular patterns surrounding figures with horns and claws, some in poses of worship, others…of torment. I recognized the shape of one of them. Broad shoulders. Curved horns. Not unlike my own. "This place remembers." The thought came unbidden, not in my own voice. Or maybe it was mine, reshaped. Warped like everything else down here. Eventually, the path widened into a chamber—circular, domed, with a single archway on the far side. A gate of bone and bronze blocked the exit. At its center, a rusted lock. My pulse quickened. The key. But I wasn't alone. A sound—wet, dragging—echoed behind me. I turned just as it lunged.
It was larger than the kobold, twice my height at least. A hulking brute with mottled gray flesh stretched too thin across its frame, its mouth unhinging like a snake's. Eyes milky white, twitching. A guardian. Not intelligent. But built to kill. I dodged its first strike—barely. Claws like rusted blades grazed my ribs. Pain, sharp and real, flared through me. I growled, low and deep, and the sound startled even me. It came again, faster than something that size should move. I met it head-on, horns first.
The impact cracked stone and bone. It screamed—an awful, liquid noise—and slammed me into the wall. My vision swam. Its claws rose again. Then—I remembered.The strength in my legs. The angle of my spine. The weight of my horns. A move I'd never learned, but my body knew. I twisted, slamming upward beneath its chin. Horn met soft palate. The beast froze. Shuddered. Then fell. I stood over it, panting. Blood—dark and thick—pooled around its shattered face. And I was laughing. Not out of joy. Not even triumph. But because the fear was gone. Burned out of me. I turned to the gate. Slid the key into the lock. It turned with a satisfying click. Beyond the gate, a stairwell spiraled downward—vanishing into blackness.
A voice stirred again, not aloud but inside my head: "You remember. Good. The next trial begins." I paused. Not to reconsider—but to savor. Then I descended into the dark.