Luke had managed to help Cecilia and Jonathan escape, thanks to Charlie's intervention. But when he tried to flee, he was intercepted by a Warden. Now, the creature's grip closed around his body like a living trap, its fingers tightening with crushing force, snapping his bones like brittle twigs. He tried to turn to mist—nothing. He tried to push back, to break free, but his muscles didn't respond. They were pinned beneath the overwhelming strength of a monster forged to kill.

The Warden squeezed harder. Then, deliberately, one of its fingers pressed into the wound in Luke's abdomen, digging in with methodical cruelty, tearing through skin and flesh.

Luke screamed—or tried to—but barely any air escaped.

The monster roared. Its face moved in closer until Luke could smell the fetid stench seeping through the gaps in the black armor. With its other hand, the Warden clamped down on Luke's head, gripping with brutal force, as if trying to crush a walnut between iron pincers.

Luke let out a ragged scream, pain piercing through his skull like a blazing bolt of lightning that threatened to wipe him out completely. With trembling fingers, he reached for his kukri. The familiar metal offered a sliver of courage in the midst of terror.

He focused his stamina.

"Go fuck yourself…" Luke growled, his arm driven by sheer desperation and hate, and drove the blade with brutal precision into the gap beneath the helmet.

"AAARRGH!" The Warden roared in fury and pain, its body convulsing as it staggered back, the sound echoing like tearing steel down the length of the tunnel.

Luke collapsed to the ground with a dull thud, rolling over jagged stones as hot blood ran down his scraped skin in burning trails. But he was still alive. Every heartbeat was a muffled thunder, a painful reminder that death hadn't claimed him yet.

He summoned the kukri back with magnetic pull—but the Midnight Warden was faster.

A kick.

His body flew like a ragdoll, crashing into the wall with a heavy crack that rattled through his bones. The monster raised its arm slowly, as if savoring the execution, and drew a massive sword from its inventory, the cold steel gleaming in the dark.

It was going to end it right there. But then—an arrow struck the ground beside Luke, and the tip began to flash white. He didn't think. He just shut his eyes.

A burst of light detonated. It exploded into a blinding white wave, so intense that for a moment, the entire world vanished into pure, engulfing brightness. When he opened his eyes, the Midnight Warden was spinning in circles, its heavy steps clumsy and disoriented, eyes blinded by the light still burning into its vision.

Luke got to his feet with effort, legs protesting with every step—but he ran anyway, driven by urgency and pain.

At the bend in the tunnel, he saw someone standing in front of a mine cart.

"…Angelica?"

"Get in, idiot," she said, her sarcastic tone barely masking the panic, her breathing ragged between the words. "I only came back to save you. Say thank you later."

With a quick, urgent movement, she threw herself into the cart, her body tucking into the cold metal just as the enemy's footsteps grew louder behind them.

Luke sprinted toward the cart, his feet sliding over loose stones, heart pounding like a war drum in his ears, and shoved the cart with all his strength. The rails screeched. When he looked back, his lungs froze. Three Midnight Wardens emerged—the two from before, and a third.

They were running. The cart screeched loudly and began to slide on its own, picking up speed.

"Faster!" Angelica shouted, her eyes wide, her voice slicing through the air like a blade—there was no more time to think.

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Luke dove into the cart at the last possible second, his body slamming into the metal, which groaned under the impact, just as chaos closed in behind them like a ravenous beast.

The Midnight Wardens charged after them, their armor clinking like the tolling of funeral bells. The sound of their roars filled the tunnel—brutal, merciless.

Angelica turned with trained precision, her eyes sharp as blades, bow already drawn with military steadiness. She fired arrows in rapid succession, one after the other. Bursts of light exploded on impact with the enemies, but it had no effect. The Wardens kept coming, blind with rage.

Then she shifted her aim, eyes cold and calculating, turning her body with fluid grace—not toward the enemies, but toward the ceiling above them. The next arrows shot upward, piercing the rock above like spears of light trying to bring down the pillars of the earth itself. One. Two. Three. Each arrow punched into the ceiling.

Explosions of light burst overhead. Chunks of stone began to fall. The entire tunnel shook as if the mountain itself were waking from a thousand-year sleep, groaning and grinding under growing pressure.

She didn't hesitate. Every arrow was released with the precision of someone who knew she couldn't miss—not here, not now. More arrows. More detonations. The ceiling began to collapse in columns. One of the Wardens was hit directly, but kept going, shoving rubble aside with pure, burning hatred. The cart was speeding up, racing down the tracks that zigzagged through the cavern. Luke held on tightly, eyes fixed on what was behind them.

And then—

The sound exploded with deafening violence, echoing off the cavern walls like thunder trapped inside a stone drum. The tunnel collapsed completely.

Stones and dirt came crashing down like a living avalanche. Somewhere in the mine, trapped water finally burst through the fractures, gushing with explosive force. The whole world behind them seemed to fall apart.

"Shit…" Luke muttered, his eyes locked on the thin cracks spiderwebbing across the ceiling, spreading like evil veins—an omen of imminent collapse. The structure above was about to give way—and if it fell, there would be no way out.

The cart picked up even more speed. The slope grew steeper, faster, until water and debris began chasing them, devouring the tracks like a hungry wave. And then—the track simply ended, dropping them into the void. The cart shot off the edge, diving into the abyss like a bolt of steel, leaving the crumbling tunnel behind.

Luke grabbed Angelica tightly and flung open his cloak to glide. The impact still jolted them. The cart slammed against the cavern floor below. Luke tumbled across the stone, muscles in shock. He looked up, gasping, and saw the tunnel above fully collapse.

Sealed.

"We almost… died," he whispered, his voice frayed and trembling, carrying the weight of relief and disbelief that they were still alive.

Above, the tunnel openings looked like distant windows to an unreachable world. They were at the bottom of the mine—the final point, a massive pit dug so deep it seemed forgotten by time itself.

Charlie wasn't there.

Luke activated the Assassin's Mark, his hand trembling in the instinctive gesture, searching for even the faintest trace of her amid the oppressive shadows of the mine. Nothing. No glow. No outline. Just silence. She was too far.

A rough, faint sound—a cough—echoed from somewhere in the cavern, like the darkness itself was dying. He sprinted toward Angelica, his steps uneven, stumbling over rocks and debris. She was collapsed, a deep, open wound across her abdomen. Blood pooled slowly into her clothes, hot and dark as it trickled down.

"Angelica…" he called out, his voice barely a whisper.

Her eyes were closed, her breath labored. Her lips trembled. When she finally looked at him, her gaze was clouded with pain.

"I…" The word came out fragile, caught on the thin thread between consciousness and the end, as if it fought to exist.

He cradled her in his arms, desperation tightening his grip, feeling the heat of her blood running through his fingers as he pressed against the wound, as if sheer will could stop her from slipping away.

"I'm getting you out of here. Just hold on."

He tried to lift her, but she grabbed the collar of his shirt—not with strength, but with enough resolve to stop him.

"You going to scale that wall? Carry me to the top? Then cross the collapsing tunnels? Face the Wardens, starving for blood?" Her voice trembled, but every word landed with the cruel weight of truth.

Her chest rose and fell with effort, each breath a ragged whisper of pain, as if she were pulling air through shards of glass.

"The truth is… I don't have a few more minutes, Luke. I won't make it to the top. Not even halfway."

He swallowed hard, throat tightening.

"We have to try." His voice came out steady, even as the world around them crumbled—as if he could defy the impossible by sheer force of will.

Angelica gave him a faint, melancholic smile—the kind that holds more farewell than hope. She pulled him closer.

"I've only held on this long… because I needed to say something to you. Because out of everyone, you're the only one I trust now."

Angelica coughed, the sound sharp like tearing paper, and a thin stream of blood slid from the corner of her mouth.

"The one who did this to me…" she whispered, voice full of pain and fury. "It wasn't a Midnight Warden… it was Paul."

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