She released her grip on the last three creatures. They dropped lifelessly to the ground.
With a weary breath, Toloméa shrank her hand once more. Despite having awakened, the gas's vile effects still clung to her like a curse.
Her legs trembled, nausea suddenly surging through her. Still, she forced herself to move, dragging her steps toward the four cages—determined to destroy them all.
Lefelob clutched his broken wrist; sharp, searing pain pulsed through his body.
Cesar, meanwhile, lay unconscious and motionless on the floor.
"Well done…" a voice echoed through the now silent, shadow-drenched chamber.
Toloméa turned her head slowly. She already knew who—or what—stood at the top of the stairs. The same stairs Lefelob had glimpsed moments before, just past an old, splintered wooden door left ajar.
"You're the first… in sixteen long years… to survive the Third Floor."
A low, mocking giggle followed, twisted with malice.
Lefelob scanned the room. His eyes searched desperately for the source of the voice. But its direction was unmistakable.
He turned his gaze toward the door.
"Toloméa… who's speaking??"
She didn't answer. Her eyes remained fixed on the stairway—cold, unreadable. Then, without warning, her body gave out. She collapsed.
"Toloméa?! Are you—?"
He tried to run to her, but the pain in his ankle made him stumble.
Yet he pressed on, limping toward her.
Toloméa was now on her knees, one hand covering her mouth. A fit of coughing wracked her body, and her skin was growing paler by the second.
"I'm all right… Lefelob," she said, forcing a faint smile.
"I didn't think anyone still had the strength to make it this far... hahahaha…"The voice laughed, low and morbid, thick with malice.
It spoke again—and again—its words unrelenting. What began as mocking soon turned into veiled threats, then open provocation. The very air seemed to darken with each syllable.
Toloméa raised her head slowly.
"It's the master of this castle, Lefelob…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Lefelob's eyes shifted to Cesar, still lying limp and pale on the cold stone floor. His brow furrowed in concern.
"What about Cesar?" he asked, urgency rising in his voice.
Toloméa turned slightly, her breathing labored. She let the question hang in the air.Her thoughts were elsewhere.
"But… why did he pass out?" she muttered, trying to make sense of it through her exhaustion.
Lefelob stared at her, haunted by the memory. That blinding light—radiant, divine—had poured into the chamber like a flood. His eyes had been unable to endure it. In the confusion, he had glimpsed its source: Cesar, glowing like a newborn star, his body engulfed in light, pure and overwhelming.
"I… I don't know…" he managed to say, the words falling from his lips like fragments of a broken thought.
"I'm waiting…"The voice struck again, slicing through their conversation like a blade. That same grating, taunting tone now echoed louder, more sinister.
Lefelob clenched his fists. A storm was building in his chest.
"It's all right, Lefelob… You'll tell me later…" said Toloméa softly.
She coughed—violently this time. A few drops of blood touched the floor like falling rubies.
"Toloméa… please. You really want to go and deal with that... That individual...? Don't go up there. We can still find another way out—there has to be…"
But she was already rising. Her legs trembled, her body ached, yet her spirit remained unyielding.
"No," she said, her voice like iron, "I can still fight. One last time…"
Lefelob stood in silence, struck by the resolve in her eyes.He watched her move toward the door, toward the stairs, toward the unknown. Each step was slow, painful—but unrelenting.
He turned to Cesar, rushed to his side, and lifted him into his arms.Then he hesitated.
Should I bring him? Would he be safer here, far from that thing's voice? He wondered.
His grip tightened. No—he couldn't leave him behind.
Without another word, Lefelob pressed on, following Toloméa toward whatever awaited them at the top of those ancient, cursed stairs.
[•••]
Meanwhile, on the first floor of the castle, the guards—those same soldiers who had been ordered to hold position until reinforcements arrived—received a sudden transmission.
The general, still lying wounded nearby, stared blankly at the ceiling above him. His body was broken, but his ears caught every word.
"Sir! The situation outside has finally calmed!" cried one of the guards, gripping a small, ancient-looking radio. "The invading force has been repelled. The Hero is now free!"
A collective sigh of relief spread through the ranks.
"Then summon him at once! Request his intervention—immediately!"
The order was dispatched without delay. Outside the castle, the chaos had begun to fade. The village paths were once again navigable, the shadow of conflict temporarily lifted.
Yuusaba emerged into the quiet streets, scanning the horizon. The strange invaders had vanished. But in the far distance, he caught sight of him—the Hero of Nation Seven—standing tall, surrounded by guards now receiving fresh orders.
"Cesar…" he murmured, eyes narrowing as he looked toward Cesar's house—distant, quiet, standing alone on the outskirts of the village.
He had not yet been informed of the invaders still lurking within the castle's depths.And even if he had known, he would never have imagined that among them was Cesar himself. Or perhaps—deep within—some instinct had already begun whispering the unthinkable.
That uneasy whisper quickly grew into a gnawing dread.
A second wave of guards moved swiftly through the streets, ordering the villagers once more to stay inside.
"But we just got word it was safe!" some protested.
Their cries were quickly silenced. New orders followed.
"There are intruders," one guard told a passerby sternly. "Inside the castle. Return home. Lock your doors."
The alarm had now reached beyond the castle walls.
Yuusaba turned back toward the towering keep, a shadow crossing his expression.
"Cesar… Please... I hope it's not you…"
The hero stepped further into the village streets, exhaling slowly. Frustration flickered across his face at the new orders, so soon after the last were lifted.
"So… the castle's still compromised," he muttered. "And someone made it all the way to the third floor… The forbidden level…"
His irritation faded, replaced by grim intrigue.
He turned to the castle, his voice low, confident, and laced with challenge. A smirk played across his lips.
"Well then… whoever you are, intruder—this time, I won't be so merciful."
[•••]
"Lefelob… stop for a second," Toloméa said, turning to him.
"Oh—" he breathed. He looked at her for a few seconds before understanding. He lowered Cesar gently to the stone.
His still motionless body gently touched the ground. Then, a movement. Cesar shifted, a soft sigh escaping him. His eyelids fluttered; he opened them only a fraction.
"Cesar?" Lefelob cried, relief breaking through his voice as he noticed the movement.
Cesar pushed himself up a little, dazed and disoriented. His gaze swept the room—heavy-lidded, confused—and took in the empty space where the cages and creatures had stood.
"What…?" he whispered.
Lefelob began to explain, but Toloméa cut him off with a sharp nod toward the stairwell.
"No. Not now. We don't have time," she said, eyes already fixed upward.
A cold, mocking giggle threaded through the stone, sliding up the spiral stairs like a living thing.
"Lefelob, Cesar… stay here, for now,"
Silence fell. Lefelob pressed a hand to his wrist, wincing against the pain.
"We're still waiting for you… What's the matter? Afraid now? Did the Third Floor frighten you so?" another voice taunted, new and cruel, a little laugh following.
"We"? Lefelob wondered. Has their number grown?
Toloméa rose, each step deliberate as she began to climb. She could feel her strength fraying, but she could not show weakness before the castle's master.
At the top, figures stepped into the torchlight—human enough, but their smiles were knives. One of them spoke with a wicked curl to his lips.
"I see someone has come forward," he said.
Toloméa didn't answer. She kept her face composed, determined not to betray how exposed Cesar and Lefelob would be on that great, open landing.
"Where are the other two?" another demanded.
Toloméa's eyes widened. The top floor was one vast, shadowed chamber lit only by sputtering torches—no place to hide. Cesar and Lefelob would be utterly exposed.
"I want to see them… now," the man snapped, voice gone flat and dangerous.
Toloméa didn't answer.
He watched Toloméa with a predatory smile. "You knew you couldn't face us alone, didn't you? Miss your prime, hm?" he jeered, each word a provocation.
Her prime? Lefelob thought, even more confused, slightly scared.
A name slipped through the gloom—soft and charged. "Split..." Toloméa said, filled with anger and frustration.
Lefelob's pulse quickened. What was that word? A name of one of them?
The voice continued, bitter and amused.
"You remember my name, then," the speaker crooned, laughter like rust. "After two years behind bars, I didn't expect you'd still flinch."
Hatred darkened her face.
"That look—filled with spite. Hinaji did well. You've always been useless. You can't even protect your little friends hiding on the stairs!"
The three figures nearest him moved together.
Toloméa planted her feet, desperate but resolute. She could not defeat them alone, and yet she would not abandon her companions.
And then, the four figures paused. Three of them moved into a perfect formation around the central figure.
Then, as if obeying some unseen command, those three bodies began to dissolve—melting like molten metal, their shapes distorting and dripping away.
Toloméa stood frozen, her heart hammering in her chest, but she did not flinch. Her eyes never left the transformation before her.
The strange, viscous substance that once made up those bodies began to flow together, merging with the fourth—the central one, the one who led. The other three bodies disappeared into him, as if swallowed by his very being. He stood there now, towering and swollen with power, his posture rigid, proud, and filled with dangerous anticipation.
"I was sure that one day, you would break free," he spoke, his voice filled with dark amusement, each word a taunt. His body was growing, expanding as the strange slime fused into him.
"That's my gift to you," he sneered, his features twisting with malevolent pleasure. "To compliment you... You've earned the right to witness my ultimate form."
He let the words hang in the air, like a challenge thrown across an abyss.
The dark transformation was complete. The power radiating from him was palpable, a suffocating presence that filled the entire chamber. There was no hiding from it now—only the bitter, oppressive truth that this was his true strength, and it was about to be unleashed.
The air seemed to split with them. Where once stood individuals, now towered a single figure: Split—its name—a blade that promised division and ruin.
He swelled taller, broader; thick hair bristled, a long blue tunic tearing at the seams as raw power bulged in his arms and neck. The stone around him trembled with the force pouring through his veins.
Lefelob and Cesar stood frozen, stunned by the monstrous transformation unfolding before them.
The air around him shimmered with heat and malice.
Neither of them could speak. Their breath caught in their throats. The sight was unlike anything they had faced before.
Then, their eyes turned to her.
Toloméa.
She stood alone. Her body swayed with exhaustion, her frame tense but trembling. And in that moment, to both Lefelob and Cesar, she seemed... small. Fragile. As if the weight of what she bore was finally too much.
She was wounded. Drained. Weak. And yet, still she stood.
She was all that stood between them and annihilation.
And she looked so alone.
Split smiled. And then... He spoke, his voice dropped into a cavernous, threatening bass that made the torches gutter.
"You will not leave these stairs alive!!"