The heat recalled that of natural sun, agonized Naciv. All of his strength was failing. Just trying to stand sapped his stance.

  Through his blurry gaze, the sight of Rinea walking alone into the vast maze of pillars pricked him. Why did it look like she had regained her footing? Confidence… that they were near Floor Forty? Whatever brought her up baffled him. His paranoia could only think of one possible reason; that damn weirdo was near her feeding ground. He knew it. She was a canis sapien—a werewolf.

  In his foggy mind, he wasn’t speculating anymore. He was convinced that horned girl was one of Gaia’s. However, he lacked evidence. His own gut feeling wasn’t enough. Those things would be dismissed easily as paranoia. He needed something concrete, otherwise he would be accusing an innocent person. Something flawless to prove to Anathema, to show he wasn’t useless.

  He rubbed his forehead. Yes. He wasn’t useless. He just needed to… Wait. Why was he so eager to prove it to Anathema? For all intents and purposes, that being hunted his kind. He was the enemy to him and all vampires. Why was he trying so hard for?

  The view of spires in this hexagonal room loomed over him. Jagged his breathing was, like someone under a panic attack. He rubbed both of his eyes now, trying to wipe the blurry away. It was then he noticed his own hands drenched in sweat, dripping off his shaky fingers.

  This heat had really got to him. He reasoned with himself this dungeon really sapped his mind—his rationality was rock bottom.

  He never had that drive to validate himself before. He wanted to live. This dungeon, he swore, would not claim him. The dungeon didn’t respond. Eerily silent blew to him with the hot winds.

  In the distance, Rinea moved with unprecedented speed. She lunged over and scaled up obstacles like they were nothing. It only fuelled Naciv’s paranoia even further—pushing him to accepting his own gut feeling.

  A chill settled into his face, seeping into his entire body. “You were never good with the heat, errand boy.” He turned over to find Xylia waving her wands around at him.

  “Don’t call me that,” he replied in jest, “Thanks.” He gazed behind her. “Ana-Wattyson isn’t with you?”

  “The Sage? Why you ask that? You’re worried about him?”

  He shook. “No… it’s just. You’re always next to him…” He had good hearing and knew what she and Wattyson talked about. It wouldn’t be farfetched to assume she would be clinging to him. The tone of her voice being defensive explained just as much.

  “Hmm… he’s with the Chosen One right now. Talking about something. Arlene asked me to go to you since you’re shaking about like a zombie.”

  So it was Arlene who noticed… then Anathema never cared. Of course, he wouldn’t. Why would that monster? Wait…

  Again he sought validation or any attentions from him. What was happening to him?

  “Talk about what?”

  “I don’t know. I just hurried here for you because,” she flailed her wands high, “I’m a good person and the best mage of all time.”

  Naciv brushed her off. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve been saying that since this dungeon spawned.” He sat still, letting Xylia’s cold winds sweep all over him.

  “Naciv,” Xylia said sharply, dismissing all previous joking tones, “What is going on with you?”

  “W-What do you mean? Nothing is going on.”

  Xylia lowered her wand, pointing them away. “Then be subjected to the heat if you don’t answer.”

  The harsh heat swooped in to fill the absence of air. His entire body burned in sweat immediately. He felt like he was being dehydrated again.

  “Ok ok!” he gestured his arm, pleading. “I’ll answer honestly!”

  The cold returned, balancing the hot temperature of this floor. His skin softened like they weren’t completely dried up moments ago.

  He looked to Xylia, that piercing violet glare. It was too similar. Too… much like Him. Horrified at how fast a person could become Him.

  “You’re turning into him.” He muttered quietly under his breath.

  “What?” She leaned in, ear first. “What did you say? I didn’t catch that.”

  “Nothing.”

  Turning his attention to Rinea… or where she was last seen, he spoke with trembling lip. “I just… this whole thing is too much. I…”

  Stopping himself got Xylia even more curious, more inquisitive. What he was about to say was amounted to speculation—dangerous and paranoia one at that. Accusing others of what amounted to treason in the Adventurer’s Guild.

  Biting his lip, he went with it anyway. “I don’t trust Rinea. I… I think she’s the culprit behind all of the deaths past Floor Forty.”

  A sharp sensation immediately settled onto his head. “Do you realize what you’re saying?!” Xylia shouted, but controlled—not loud enough to garner attention. “On what basis, errand boy?! Rinea is a trusted member of the Guild in Toulasi!”

  She pushed her wand further against his forehead. It didn’t feel chilly anymore, more freezing and numbing. “Explain, errand boy.” Her high pitched voice didn’t feel light in the slightest.

  Too much like Him. Too much Anathema. He gulped down. “Think about it, Xylia!” He brushed off the wand and reached for her shoulder.

  His hand slapped away. “Do not touch me! I want your words, not your need for comfort!”

  Naciv was frozen. His hand slapped away coldly. He was isolated. Again. He wasn’t even accepted by his unalive kind. Only his sister did and now she was gone—killed while serving a village elder in some faraway village.

  Pride was being pricked away slowly, chipped away with every rejection. Being an adventurer was his pride—the only thing left to being people. Now that too was lost. He did something. He said something outrageous without any evidence beside his own gut.

  Looking up, Xylia’s face was mixed; disgust and worried, inquisitive yet pity. His throat caught up like he needed to let something out but couldn’t. Only cough echoed out.

  “I…,” he stammered and stuttered, “I-I…”

  “What?”

  “I… I’m sorry. It’s just—“

  “I don’t want to hear the self-pity, Naciv. Tell me why you suspect Rinea!”

  He choked again. Werewolf. He believed she was a werewolf. Another dilemma hit him. Xylia wasn’t a hunter, nor did she hold anything pertaining to the supernatural. No one beside him or Wattyson knew of that side of the world.

  He could just tell her, but trust needed to go both ways. To her, he didn’t have enough. What if this wound up to him being blood hunted by his own kind?

  “I… ughh,” he agonized over, plucking out his own hairs. This was it. Even if Xylia wouldn’t buy into it, he would at least gain someone who could walk him out of this hellhole of a dungeon. How would he tell her without breaking the vampire’s creed?

  His breathes were rapid before calming down to slow methodical and deep. “Think for a moment,” it was barely a whisper, “Rinea is the most experienced out of all of us in this dungeon. Hence she had the most record diving in this season.”

  Eyeing up to the short mage, she was listening. A small smile crept on him. “Most of Rinea’s party got wiped out. Don’t you see the correlation? All of them in the records were reported dead after Floor Forty.”

  Xylia’s eyes twitched. “That is assuming she went over to Floor Forty! Her highest record is Thirty-Five. How would you explain that?!” Pressing again her wands into him.

  “Just think about it! Who in the Guild write the report and survey the dungeon? It is her! She’s the one!”

  “You are accusing her of treason and forgery?! You? You! Someone who highest record in this dungeon before was only Thirteen! How do I know you’re not just jealous?”

  Her hand shook before tightened into a fist. “Is this revenge then? Huh? For her picking on you since the dive started?” Her voice dropped low and disappointed. “I thought I knew you to be better.”

  “IT’S NOT THAT!” He glared into her. His eyes were fuzzy; his pupils were diluting. “THIS IS MORE THAN THAT! WE ARE ALL DEAD IF WE DON’T—“

  “Don’t what?!”

  Naciv clicked his tongue. “If Rinea runs free, we will all be killed by her! She is the interloper! She is the monster that invaded and took home in this dungeon!”

  “That doesn’t make any sense! She lives in Toulasi long before this dungeon respawned. You’re saying she’s a monster, then how do you explain her human appearance and her needs like that of a human? She’s a draconid, the same as any draconid!”

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  He couldn’t argue with her, not on that. Mentioning about werewolf would solve this, but breaking the vampire’s creed was something he must not do.

  That silence cemented. It confirmed to Xylia. That fuzzy eyes and diluted pupils were signs. She lowered her wands. “You’re not well, Naciv… You’re delirious.”

  Without waiting for his reply, she turned and rushed to the two—Arlene and Wattyson.

  “Wait!” Naciv’s word fell on deaf ears as he collapsed onto the ground—only hollow thud echoed. He knew himself more than anyone. This wasn’t him in delirious! It wasn’t!

  “Please…” he muttered, “Listen.” It was directed to everyone and no one. He failed. As a person, as an adventurer and as a friend. The one thing he hadn’t failed at… was being a vampire. Something he swore to never be even after he was turned.

  Yet how many times did he let other people down? How many times did he have to run away instead of resolving the issues? Many bridges were burned. His vow to stay human didn’t save anyone, let alone his sister. What a useless ploy to play-pretend being human.

  Naciv snapped his head up and glanced all around. Narrowing his eyes all over. He felt it. Something was taunting him. That voice… whose voice was that? There wasn’t anyone nearby.

  “Your pupils are shaking and diluting into a blurry mess…” Arlene crouched and checked on him who remained silent.

  This entire dive was already a failure, and Arlene feared going any further would risk everyone. He was just the first casualty in the making right now.

  “Will he be okay?” Xylia asked, still firing cold spells at him.

  “I don’t know. Veia had said people who suffered delirium remained like that for a week and then forgot everything in the dive.”

  Naciv then spoke, “I’m not delirious.”

  Arlene firmly took to his shoulder. “Perhaps not, but these are signs.” She stood and looked to the maze of pillars. “We’ll wait till Rinea returns, then march back out. This dive is already doomed.”

  “I… I can still go on. I’m fine!”

  Xylia slapped him on the head, this time with that chilling wand. “No, you’re not. We will return once Rinea’s back. I will drag you back if I have to.”

  Arlene sighed and left Xylia to watch over him. The constant flow of exhaustive winds didn’t help either. The heat must’ve got to him. This silence floor would take a tool on every one soon enough.

  Even then, she was wrestled with two choices; to wait for Rinea or leave without her. She had no way to find her or contact her. There was another choice; just send Xylia and Naciv back, but then the thought whether they made it out would plague her mind.

  She could only wish for Rinea to return faster, and safely.

  Her companion was still seated on the fallen pillar. “Watty,” she called out as she walked to him, “Do you… perhaps want to go find Rinea?”

  “Huh?”

  She crossed her arms and kicking his shin. “You’re a retired hunter. That means you’re used to terrain like this. Just find her and call her back. We’re leaving.”

  “Oh?” Wattyson shifted and crossed his leg. Now Arlene couldn’t reach that shin. “I thought you wanted to slay that interloper.”

  She nodded. “I do. However, the whole party is crumbling apart and now we have someone going delirious. I can’t risk any longer.”

  “Huh? Someone went Delirious?”

  “Yeah. Naciv.”

  Wattyson stroked his chin, looking off to the closed horizon. Arlene picked up on this. Did he know something? Where was he looking at? Those pupils weren’t directed to Naciv’s.

  Just speculating wouldn’t do anyone good. She had to go for it. “Say, Watty,” she strode and hopped, sitting beside him. “What do you know of the delirium?”

  The man shrugged lazily. “Only what you told me back in the Guild? Why?”

  “I don’t know… I feel like you might know more.” She smirked. “Gut feeling.”

  “That’s very subjective, Arlene.”

  “It always comes true when one deals with you, O’ Grand Chaos.”

  Wattyson glanced down, rustling as he crossed his arms. He then stood, then immediately sat down again on the cold steel floor against the marble pillar. His entire movement suggested he was tired, but Arlene knew he hadn’t done anything to suggest otherwise.

  Resting his staff to the side, he gazed up to Arlene. “Let’s go over something real quick. You’re… suggesting there is an interloper, right?”

  His tone didn’t suggest anything serious, nor any prelude to a lecture. It was… casual—contradicting the situation they were in.

  Arlene sat down across him. “Yeah. Dungeons don’t spawn monsters that will eat people or monsters alike. The whole delirium too,” she looked to the delirious member, facepalming himself with Xylia shoving cold air against him, “That’s not in the dungeon’s playbook.”

  She unbuckled her longsword and placed it in front. “This ‘Invader’ is probably something from the hidden world—your world; the supernatural.”

  Wattyson nodded along to her reasoning, though he was struck by that sword. “Why did you… place it there?”

  Arlene shrugged with a smile. “Just felt like it.”

  Looking at him, she saw her companion was stealing glances, darting to all their surroundings and at Xylia and Naciv.

  “Alright,” he let out softly, barely audible, “Here’s what I think. Let’s talk about the ‘Delirium’ first.”

  Sensing this was something only meant for her ears, she shifted closer and leaned toward him—almost reaching his chest.

  “You know it’s hard to talk like this?”

  “You’re too quiet.”

  “Just… Just sit next to me.”

  “Right.” She chuckled to herself since she took this chance to find some normalcy—the one she made anew with Wattyson. It was strange to be able to find comfort in something as small as this. Just talking with him gave her enough opportunity to pause.

  She rolled to his side and leaned against the pillar. “So, what about ‘Delirium’?”

  Wattyson rolled his eyes and lifted up two fingers. “There are two types of delirium.”

  Glancing around one more time, he spoke quietly like they were secrets. “First, it’s the most common one. People becoming delirious due to stress or mental state—like Naciv.”

  “Right, I understand that.”

  “Of course… You’re the Chosen One, after all.”

  “Then what’s the second one?”

  He looked to the maze of pillars once more before returning to her. “Do you remember what I told you about? On the way to Toulasi?”

  She narrowed her eyes, scratching her chin. “You got to be more specific.”

  “About one of the supernatural?”

  “Vampire?”

  “No. Werewolf.”

  “Right, people with ability to morph into animal. What’s that got to do with delirium?”

  The question ticked something in Wattyson. He just stared at her briefly. “Right, it doesn’t.” He flicked a finger. “Right now anyway.”

  Arlene titled and raised an eyebrow. She nodded for him to continue.

  “Werewolf or in general fanatic of Gaia have been around in the world for a long, long time—from what I’ve gathered anyway.” With every sentence end, he looked up to check their surroundings. “Hence they have at some point interacted with normal people.”

  “Right, that makes sense.”

  “Because of this, there are times an average person or those Gaia’s fanatic will come into contact. Gaia’s fanatics are ruthless and will slay anything in their path of purity. This happened so often back then,” he knocked on his own chest, “that mundane people develop innate fear of them.”

  “What?” She scoffed, but didn’t find it unbelievable. Vampires were a thing, but… “You’re saying there are beings that can instil such generational fears that… people just forgot about this supernatural being?”

  “They are not generational fears,” he paused biting his own tongue, “they are natural fears. Like our innate fear of fire and height, they in their warforms were so terrifying back then it cemented itself into our nature.”

  Arlene didn’t take this in lightly. She thought vampires were the worst of it, and werewolves wouldn’t be any different. Same tragic monsters that gave away their humanities for eternal life of power and consequential suffering.

  That a being like that could bring such fear into people’s nature. She thought to the saying ‘There’s always a bigger fish’. It applied here now. What she knew was just the tip of the iceberg.

  “Wait,” she clutched to his forearm. “How did they just disappear? If they are so dangerous like that, how did we all forget about it?”

  The reply didn’t come right away like usual. Wattyson studied her as she had that face—the same one she wore back in the Red Grove when told of vampire’s existence; Determination. Fiercely burning determination.

  “It’s… like every supernatural. There came a point when the mundane races outgrew the supernatural. There are more of us than them.” His voice was measured, careful for only her to hear. “They hid, and wage whatever purity crusade they believe in against the other like vampires. We are just collateral casualties.”

  Arlene let go of his wrinkled shirt, didn’t realize how much strength she applied. Though to Wattyson, he didn’t seem to care.

  “You’re only telling me this,” She glanced to the two then the maze of pillar, “because you think the interloper is… a werewolf?”

  He nodded slowly then tilted his head up to the closed hexagonal ceiling. “Yes. I don’t have much evidence, but the delirium those people were suffering from? It reminded me of such thing. Especially the memory loss.”

  Tapping his own head, then glanced to the floor. “Any state of delirium wouldn’t wipe someone’s memory? Why this? It had to be something or someone doesn’t want to be known.”

  He traced his staff against the smooth metallic floor, drawing a clawed hand. “Do you remember the claw marks and the forensic of those clothes and monsters’ bones? I could only think of a werewolf—any Gaia’s fanatic, really.”

  These words were carefully let out. For how much he hated the supernatural, he spoke in measured tone, choosing how to articulate the matter carefully to not expose Naciv as a vampire. He understood how oppressive vampire society was if Naciv was discovered in public.

  Without hesitation, Arlene stood up with her sword. “We are leaving.”

  She didn’t wait for him to retort. “I’ll go find Rinea. Watty, you stay here and protect those two.”

  “What are yo—“

  A holy chant muttered out, enveloping her in a flashy blue light before simmering around her. “I won’t take the risk waiting for her to come back, not while there are chances of us facing something we have never seen before.”

  Wattyson lunged, holding onto her free hand. “Wait! You need to calm down.”

  “I am calm.” She didn’t brush him off. “I have a responsibility to protect them, especially Rinea. She volunteered to scout ahead while faking her trembling. I’m the Chosen One, I can find her easily!”

  “Then let us go together.”

  “Didn’t you explain it yourself? If a werewolf encounters us, who will be safe from the ‘delirium’? I can’t risk those two with us.”

  “I understand.” He clicked his staff, finally standing up. “But we’ll be safer in numbers. Think about it! Delirium affects people’s mental state, right? Being together should help keep each other’s sanity in check.”

  “What about the werewolf’s strength? You said it can destroy a towering tree with a single punch easily!”

  “Yes, I did say that, but think about it? Us being divided will just increase our chances of disaster. I can’t protect them myself, and I know you can’t fight to the fullest against something dangerous and unpredictable. Together however, we can do it.”

  “If we both are fighting it, who’s to say they will survi—“

  A piercing screeching noise echoed throughout the floor—sounded like a metal door dragging against the floor. They both looked in that distance and saw the silhouette of a massive gate being opened—the floor’s exit to Floor Forty.

  Either something had come up or Rinea found an optimal path and opened up. Whatever it was, Arlene already decided to abort this dive. She looked to Wattyson who held her hand tightly, urging to do what he suggested.

  Her hand tightened around the hilt before loosening, she sighed out. “Alright, let’s go.” She clutched his hand and pulled him along—to Xylia and Naciv.

  “You two! We need to go. Now!”

  Wattyson was finally let go as she paced herself faster—under the speed spell she casted on herself. She intended to act as a vanguard and scout.

  “Naciv.” He called and nodded at him, quickly gesturing a thumb crossing his neck then shook his head. Naciv stood immediately, grabbing his gear. The vampire recognized that look in his eyes and his gestures—expect fight ahead. He rushed ahead to pace with Arlene.

  “W-W-What’s going on?!” Xylia frantically stared at the two speeding off. “Sage? What’s happening?”

  “We have to find Rinea.” He paused, letting her ready herself. “After that, we’ll be leaving this dungeon. Arlene deemed this dive to be a failure.”

  She didn’t retort back as she swiped her big wizard hat and shoved her bundle of wands into a bag. She gulped and nodded—already expecting Arlene to call this dive off.

  The short mage was about to sprint after them, but Wattyson crouched in front of her—turning his back to her.

  “Come on.”

  “S-Sage! I can run by myself!”

  “You’ll be too slow. Come on.”

  She huffed, cheeks flaring. “Ok fine!” She jumped on him, allowing herself a piggyback.

  Their objective had changed. No longer to kill whatever was dwelling in Floor Forty.

  Find Rinea, then get out.