The first rule Eiran learned about NULL was simple.
If nothing attacks you, it means something is watching.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the world dulled.
Color drained—not fully, but enough to make everything feel distant, like a memory recalled too many times. The air was heavy, carrying a faint metallic scent that clung to the back of the throat.
Floor Eleven.
No corridor. No chamber. No obvious boundary.
They stood in what looked like an abandoned town square.
Stone buildings leaned at unnatural angles, their windows black and hollow. A dry fountain occupied the center, its statue worn down until its face was unrecognizable. No corpses. No blood.
That alone was wrong.
"Formation," Karsen whispered, raising his shield.
Eiran shook his head. "Not yet."
The priestess glanced at him. "There's nothing here."
"That's the problem," Eiran replied.
The system window appeared.
FLOOR 11: CONDITION — OBSERVATION PHASE
CLEAR REQUIREMENT: UNDISCLOSED
The rookies exchanged uneasy looks.
"Observation… of what?" one of them asked.
Eiran crouched and placed his hand against the stone ground.
It was warm.
Not from heat—but from friction. As if something had been moving across it repeatedly. Circling. Measuring.
"Do not touch the buildings," Eiran said. "Do not look into reflections. And if you hear your name—ignore it."
The swordsman stiffened. "That specific?"
"Yes."
NULL did not invent its cruelty. It refined it.
They advanced slowly into the square.
Footsteps echoed—but not always theirs.
At the edge of his vision, Eiran caught movement. A figure standing at the mouth of an alley. Too still. Too thin.
When he turned fully, it was gone.
The priestess gasped.
"There was someone there."
"I know," Eiran said.
The fountain creaked.
Stone scraped against stone as the statue's head rotated slightly—just enough to face them.
No system alert. No enemy designation.
The rookies froze.
Eiran raised his hand.
"Do not react," he said quietly. "Floor Eleven isn't trying to kill us yet."
"Yet?" Karsen whispered.
"It's deciding who it wants first."
The sound of breathing drifted through the square.
Not human. Not singular.
As if the town itself had lungs.
Eiran felt the familiar tightening behind his eyes. The pressure of responsibility. The knowledge that whatever happened next would not be fair, not strategic, and not survivable for everyone.
This floor would not be cleared by strength.
It would be cleared by loss.
And NULL was very patient about choosing which loss mattered most.