The first thing that tells me this gate is wrong is the silence.
Not the kind of silence you get when people stop talking. The kind you get when the System should be speaking and it does not. No entry notice. No objective window. No timer.
Just cold air sliding over my skin like the place is breathing.
The corridor finishes forming around us. Rough stone underfoot, pale grit that crunches softly when anyone shifts weight, walls that look like rock until you stare long enough to notice the faint sheen, like they were grown instead of built.
The rookie boy beside me exhales too fast. "Where are we?"
The supervisor sweeps his flashlight along the tunnel and forces calm into his voice. "Standard entry corridor. Stay together. No wandering. We clear and we exit."
Routine words. Rookie medicine.
The girl keeps her shoulders squared, but her eyes are wide. She is holding herself together with stubbornness. "Objective?"
"Two rooms," the supervisor replies after checking his device. "Clear hostiles. Retrieve core shard. Exit."
That is what his screen says.
Mine stays empty.
My overlay flickers at the edge of my vision like a bruise that will not fade.
Detection Risk: 17%System Attention: Locked On
It stays locked even after the transition settles. That is new. In my first life, the System felt like a tool. A window that opened and closed. This feels like something that decided I am worth tracking.
We move forward, slow and tight. The corridor curves, and the bend blocks the view ahead. That is normal. Gates like to make you commit before you can read the room.
What is not normal is the pressure in my chest. E Rank gates have a light weight to them, like walking into a cool basement. This feels sharper, colder, like the air has teeth.
I focus lightly on the walls and let the hidden layer answer.
Gate Classification: E RankInternal Flag: UnstableParameter Drift: Active
Parameter drift.
So the label is a costume.
The supervisor rounds the bend, then stops so suddenly the rookie boy bumps into him.
"Hold," the supervisor whispers.
The corridor opens into a small chamber about the size of a classroom. Low ceiling. Uneven floor etched with shallow grooves, like something dragged itself across it again and again. The air carries a faint metallic smell, like old pennies.
In the center, something hangs from the ceiling.
At first glance it looks like a pale cocoon, glossy and stretched tight. Then it sways, and I see shapes pressed against the membrane from inside. Too many joints. Too long.
The rookie boy makes a sound he tries to swallow.
The supervisor raises a hand, palm flat. "Do not touch it. We go around. Perimeter first."
"Is it alive," the girl whispers.
"It's a gate object," the supervisor says, but his voice does not match his words.
I focus on it.
Entity: DormantThreat Rating: UnknownTrigger: Movement, sound, mana surgeReward Flag: None
No reward flag.
So it is not a chest. Not an objective container. Not something meant to be interacted with.
It is meant to be stepped on by someone who does not know better.
We edge along the wall. Slow steps. Controlled breathing. The supervisor keeps his light low, sweeping for mobs.
That is when I notice the tracks.
Thin grooves in the dust along the wall. Too organized to be random. Too many to be one creature. The floor is telling us the truth before anything moves.
"There's a lot," the rookie boy whispers.
"Quiet," the supervisor snaps, too sharp.
The cocoon twitches.
Just once, but enough that the membrane tightens and shifts around the shape inside.
The room feels like it leaned closer.
My overlay updates.
Anomaly Probability: Rising
The supervisor points toward the far corridor on the other side of the chamber. "Exit. Move. Wall tight."
We move.
The rookie boy steps too fast. His heel scrapes stone. The sound is small. It should not matter.
The cocoon drops.
Not slowly.
It drops like the ceiling released it.
It hits the floor with a wet slap, membrane splitting, and something unfolds out of it with violent speed. Pale limbs snap into place. Thin, insect like, moving too fast and too clean, like it was built for this exact moment.
The rookie boy screams.
The creature pivots toward the sound like it was waiting for it.
The supervisor swings his baton.
The baton hits its side and rebounds as if he struck stone. The creature barely reacts. Its arm flashes, a blur of pale jointed motion, and the supervisor's sleeve rips open. Blood sprays across the wall.
He staggers back, face losing color.
"Retreat," he barks. "Back. Now."
The girl grabs the rookie boy's shoulder and yanks him toward the far corridor. He stumbles, nearly falls, then runs with panic dragging him forward.
I move last.
Not because I am brave. Because I am counting.
One creature is already wrong for an E Rank gate, but the tracks were not made by one.
As we hit the corridor, the creature lunges again. I twist, shove the rookie boy forward with my forearm, keep my hands low, and let it catch fabric instead of flesh. My sleeve tears. I keep moving.
The corridor ahead is narrower than the entry path. The air is colder. The floor slopes downward.
The rookie boy is crying and running at the same time. "We're going to die."
"No," I answer, flat.
Not comforting. Not dramatic. Just a statement.
Behind us, claws scrape stone.
Then more claws.
I look back.
The first creature is not alone. Three more shapes spill out behind it, smaller but just as fast. Pale limbs. Wrong joints. Heads turning too sharply.
The supervisor swears, breath tight. One hand presses against the bleeding arm, trying to keep it from dripping too much. Blood attracts things in gates. Sometimes it matters. Sometimes it matters too much.
We burst into the next chamber.
Larger than the first, thick pillars, floor pocked with shallow holes like something nested here. Dust floats in the flashlight beams. The air tastes stale, like it has been sealed for years.
The supervisor slows, scanning. "Door. Where is the next door."
There should be one. Gates like this give you a clean path. You clear Room One, you move to Room Two, you retrieve the shard, you leave.
There is no door.
Stone walls on all sides, except for a narrow gap between two pillars that looks like a crawlspace. Low. Tight. The kind of space that makes people panic before anything even touches them.
The rookie boy makes a strangled sob. "We're trapped."
The girl peers into the gap, breathing shallow. "It goes somewhere."
"It's too small," the supervisor mutters, then his eyes snap back toward the corridor as the first creature skitters into view.
He raises his baton again. His grip is shaking. He is brave, but bravery does not fix an arm that is bleeding and a gate that is lying.
The creatures spread out, flanking, moving like they have done this before.
One darts toward the rookie boy.
The girl shoves him toward the crawlspace and swings her elbow into the creature's face. Sloppy form, correct instinct. The creature recoils.
The supervisor steps forward to cover them, but his injured leg dips. He is slower now. That is all it takes.
This is where rookies die. Not because the monster is unbeatable. Because the first mistake becomes five mistakes, then the body cannot keep up.
I focus on the chamber.
The hidden layer answers immediately, clean as a knife.
Support Columns: CompromisedLoad Bearing: MinimalCollapse Probability: HighTrigger: Concentrated force
The room is unstable.
Good.
I grab a fist sized stone from the floor. Jagged. Heavy enough to matter.
The girl notices and her eyes flick to my hand. "What are you doing?"
"Get them toward the center," I tell her.
She does not argue. She grips the rookie boy's collar and drags him closer to the crawlspace opening, forcing him to move without thinking.
A creature lunges again.
The supervisor swings. The baton dents a skull and rebounds. The creature's head snaps back into shape like rubber wrapped around bone.
The supervisor's eyes widen.
That surprise costs him.
A claw flashes and rakes his thigh. He grunts, nearly falls, then catches himself against a pillar.
"Move," he shouts, voice breaking.
I throw the stone.
Not at the monster.
At the pillar behind it.
Sharp crack. The pillar does not collapse yet, but it answers with a low groan. A hairline fracture runs upward.
The creatures hesitate for half a second, confused by a sound they did not expect.
Confusion is rare in low tier mobs.
Which means these are not low tier.
Or this is not an E Rank gate.
I grab another stone, heavier, and throw it harder. The fracture spreads.
The closest creature lunges at me.
I do not meet it head on. I hook my forearm under its limb and redirect its momentum, turn it, force its clawed hand into the cracked pillar.
Impact.
The pillar snaps.
The sound is loud enough to vibrate teeth.
Stone above us groans, deep and slow, like a ceiling deciding to give up.
Dust pours down.
The creatures freeze again, then dart backward, too late.
The room begins to collapse.
"Crawlspace," I call.
I shove the supervisor toward it without waiting for permission.
The girl is already halfway inside, dragging the rookie boy with her. The boy is shaking so hard he can barely move, but fear can still be pulled.
A creature leaps for the opening.
I slam my shoulder into it, not to kill it, just to move it, and the ceiling drops a slab of stone between us with a cracking roar. The impact shakes the chamber. Dust surges, blinding.
I drop to my knees and force myself into the gap. Stone scrapes my shoulders. My breath catches. Behind me, the chamber collapses fully, the sound like the world closing its fist.
Darkness. Dust. The taste of grit on my tongue.
Then I slide out the other side into a narrow tunnel and cough hard.
The girl is on her knees, holding the rookie boy close. The supervisor crawls out after me, bleeding, eyes wide, staring at the blocked gap like he cannot believe the room is gone.
Silence settles.
Not safety.
Just a pause.
And the worst part is simple.
We didn't find the second room. We didn't find the objective. We just ran.
I stare down the tunnel. Darkness curves away like it has somewhere to be. The crawlspace behind us is sealed by rubble, and the only direction left is forward.
"There's no door."