The chanting had stopped. In its place rose a single, low hum — a heartbeat that wasn't his own, echoing through every stone.
As he climbed toward the faint, distant shaft, a final voice echoed in his mind — not Griff's, not human at all.
"The door opens both ways, Marcus. Since you carry her light. You carry Me."
Marcus reached the base of the shaft and looked up. The chain of the old lift hung loose, trembling faintly. The air around him shimmered with leftover radiance.
He held Lila close, heart pounding.
Somewhere below, the chamber groaned — shifting like a living lung.
And for the first time, Marcus realized Griff had been right about one thing.
The hotel wasn't haunted.
It was alive.
The sound hit first—a low, grinding roar like the earth itself dragging chains across stone. The Chamber's white light was still pulsing behind Marcus, spilling into the tunnels like molten silver, licking the edges of the walls. The air smelled burnt, electric, and faintly sweet, like ozone and decay.
Marcus staggered to his feet, blinking through the pain. His arms throbbed, his ribs screamed. Beside him, Lila lay sprawled against a heap of fallen dust and cloth, her skin pale but glimmering faintly, as if it reflected that otherworldly light. The sigils on the wall—those impossible, recursive lines that had burned themselves into his retinas—were fading now, retreating like frightened serpents.
Then the tunnel moved.
The walls flexed, muscle-like, stone grinding against itself. A trickle of gravel fell near Marcus's boot.
"Not again," he rasped. He grabbed Lila under the arms, feeling her body unnaturally cold. "Come on, kid. Don't do this to me."
Her head lolled against his shoulder, eyes fluttering. There was a sound—half-breath, half-moan.
"Lila. Can you hear me?"
"…fire… white fire… it burned through him," she whispered weakly, lips barely moving.
Her pulse was faint but there—steady. Alive.
Marcus exhaled in relief, even as he noticed the mark: a small circular sigil, burned just beneath her collarbone. The same crescent-flame symbol that had marked the Chamber door—but here, it glowed faintly gold, not red.
"Damn," he muttered. "You've been branded by both sides."
He hoisted her up again, slinging her weight across his shoulder. The air around them trembled. The chanting from below had stopped—but something else, deeper, had begun. A heartbeat in the stone. It pulsed through the floor, through Marcus's spine.
Ba-thum. Ba-thum.
He started running. Every few steps, the tunnel seemed to breathe, squeezing tighter, the sound of distant stone screaming behind him.
---
The ladder up the service shaft was rusted and slick with condensation. Each rung bit into his palms. He climbed with Lila over one shoulder, her faint murmurs echoing in his ear. Halfway up, the shaft below them shuddered—a massive pressure wave slammed upward, almost tearing him free.
The white light below flared one last time.
Marcus didn't look down. He climbed like a man outrunning gravity.
The ceiling hatch came into view—a metal disk, just a shade darker than the shadows. He pushed it with one hand, but it resisted, jammed from years of neglect.
"Come on!" He slammed his shoulder into it. The pain flared through his muscles, but he didn't stop. "Come on, damn you—"
With a metallic groan, the hatch gave way. Cold air washed over him, sharp with cleaning chemicals and old linen. Marcus dragged Lila up and rolled her onto the dusty floor.
They were in a forgotten laundry sublevel, deep in the hotel's bones. Shelves of faded towels and broken carts lined the walls. A light flickered overhead.
He leaned against the hatch, breathing hard. His throat burned. For the first time in hours, he let himself think.
Griff had let him descend. The whole ritual had been a stage, and Marcus had walked straight into the center of it. But the light—the blast—that had not been part of Griff's plan. That was something else. Something older.
Something divine.
He looked at Lila. She stirred, her face slack with exhaustion.
"Stay awake," he whispered. "We're not out yet."
A sound—shoes scuffing concrete—made Marcus whirl. His flashlight beam caught a figure lurking near the doorway he, trembled, his eyes wide.
"Don't shoot!" the voice hissed. "It's me—it's Elias!"
Marcus exhaled sharply. "Jesus. You trying to get yourself killed?"
Elias stepped into the light, pale and shaking. His glasses were cracked, his uniform shirt half-untucked. He looked like a man who had seen too much and understood even less.
"The floor—did you feel it?" he said. "The whole building—it's like it's breathing! Griff—he's alive down there. I heard him screaming through the pipes."
Marcus glanced toward the hatch. The vibrations had dulled, but faint metallic creaks still echoed through the floor.
"He's not just alive," Marcus said darkly. "He's changing."
Elias swallowed hard. "You stopped the ritual?"
"For now. But he's not done. Whatever was inside that Chamber—it broke free. It's fighting back."
Elias pressed his hands together. "I told you not to go down there, Detective. I told you this place doesn't let anyone leave."
Marcus stared at him. "Then help me make this the first time it does."
The clerk's gaze fell to Lila's still body. "Is she—?"
"She's alive," Marcus said, voice taut. "Barely. But she's carrying something she shouldn't. Griff called it a vessel."
Elias took a slow step back. "Then she's not safe here."
"No one is."
---
They sat for a moment in the dim light, the sounds of the building murmuring like a giant animal turning in its sleep. Pipes hissed, the air vents whined, and every few seconds the fluorescent bulb flickered, casting their shadows long and thin across the walls.
Elias spoke first. "Do you… believe in him? King Hermon?"
Marcus didn't answer right away. He rubbed his temple. "I've seen what belief does. I don't know what he is—but I know Griff serves him. And I know the hotel's feeding him."
"The Host," Elias whispered. "That's what Griff calls him. The eternal engine. The soul that built the foundations. Every room in this place hums with him—every hallway breathes him."
Marcus met his eyes. "Then we cut the power."
Elias gave a small, nervous laugh. "You can't unplug a god, Detective."
"Watch me."