Clive's group moved deeper inside.
The next corridor did not greet them with piles of corpses or the suffocating stench of blood like before. The air here was colder, more damp. The stone walls looked rougher, as if this passage had been carved without any concern for comfort or order.
In some sections, the corridor narrowed sharply, their shoulders nearly brushing the walls. Then, without warning, it widened again, forming irregular cavities that swallowed the torchlight and reflected it back in fractured shadows.
Silence.
Not empty silence.
But a silence that hid something.
There were not many monsters in this corridor.
Yet from the first glance, the difference was clear.
Their bodies were more varied than anything they had faced before. Some were tall and thin, with arms so long that their fingertips nearly scraped the floor when they stood upright. Others were short and compact, thick layers of hardened bone protruding from their shoulders and backs, forming natural armor that looked uneven and asymmetrical. Some moved low to the ground, their claws scraping against stone with thin, irregular sounds, like needles dragged slowly across rock.
They were not clustered together.
They were scattered.
And each of them felt heavier.
Denser.
More dangerous.
Clive raised his hand.
The group stopped instantly.
No one spoke.
For several seconds, the only sounds were the faint hiss of the torches and their own breathing. Their eyes moved slowly, sweeping across corners of the corridor, gaps in the stone, shadows behind wall protrusions that seemed too dark for such a narrow space.
They were not looking for a large monster.
They were looking for the small one.
"There are no corpses," Ted murmured softly. "Too clean."
"Or they were eaten by these things," Zorilla replied without turning his head. His gaze remained fixed on one corner of the corridor that felt darker than it should have been.
Dorde shifted his footing slowly, changing his stance without making a sound.
"I don't like corridors that are too neat," he said. "It usually means something is watching."
Clive nodded slightly.
"There's a chance he's here," he said. "Don't focus only on what's in front."
Too late.
One of the monsters lifted its head.
Its movement was slow, almost lazy, as if the large body had only just realized that something did not belong in its territory. Torchlight reflected off its dull eyes, then ignited faintly, like embers buried under ash.
A roar escaped its throat.
Short.
Rough.
Not an attacking scream, but a low sound that vibrated deep in its chest. A signal. A warning not meant for humans, but for the others.
The monsters in the corridor reacted.
Not simultaneously.
But clearly in response to one another.
One monster raised its body higher. Another stopped scratching the stone and turned its head. Several changed the direction of their steps, forming an uneven arc in front of Clive's group.
There was no formation.
But there was awareness.
They began to close in.
Their steps were heavy, yet carried an unintentional rhythm. Claws scraped against stone with short grating sounds. Their breathing was clearer now, deep and coarse, filling the narrow corridor with pressure that slowly intensified.
Clive raised his sword slightly higher.
"Tight formation," he said. His voice was not loud, but it cut through the sound of the monsters' breathing. "Don't push too far forward."
They adjusted their spacing without moving much.
Ted stayed half a step behind Clive. Dorde covered the left side. Zorilla stood slightly to the right, leaving room for swings and maneuvering.
The first monster attacked from the right.
Its body lunged faster than its large size suggested. Its weight was felt even before impact, in the pressure of air shoved forward as its claws swung.
Clive did not retreat.
He twisted his wrist a fraction of a second before the clash, deflecting with a narrow angle. His sword struck hardened bone, and a harsh vibration traveled from the hilt into his arm, up to his shoulder.
He let out a low grunt.
The counterattack came immediately.
Not a full swing. A short, precise cut.
His blade sliced into the monster's shoulder, cutting through flesh and part of the bone. Hot blood sprayed, splattering across Clive's arm and dripping onto the stone floor.
But the body did not fall.
The monster jerked, stumbled back half a step, then remained standing as a heavy roar burst from its chest.
Not dead.
Ted moved in instantly from the side.
He did not wait for a perfect opening. He created one.
His sword stabbed beneath the rib cage, piercing soft flesh, then he dragged it sideways to widen the wound. Blood poured out, and the monster finally collapsed with a dull thud.
"Tougher than the ones earlier," Ted shouted. His breathing was heavy, but controlled.
On the other side, Dorde held back two monsters trying to circle around.
He did not attack.
He restrained.
The tip of his sword moved just enough to force distance. Every time a monster tried to step in, Dorde shifted his footing, changed his angle, and closed the space with his own body.
He read their breathing.
Waited for a step taken too far.
Zorilla slammed into a low-bodied monster on the right.
His strike was brutal, full of power. The monster's body was hurled into the stone wall, hitting it with a clear cracking sound.
But it did not die.
The creature rolled, let out a broken growl, then struggled back to its feet with jerky movements.
Zorilla frowned.
"They're different," he said. "They can take hits."
The battle continued.
But its rhythm changed.
There was no aggressive push like before. No advance taken without consideration.
Every step was remeasured.
Every swing of the sword was tested, as if they were studying a new enemy rather than finishing one off.
Clive kept scanning the corridor between attacks.
His eyes did not only track the monsters in front of them, but also the shadows on the walls, the dark corners, the gaps that felt too quiet.
There was no pressure in the air.
No sensation of being weighed.
No presence that pierced their awareness.
And yet, that absence was exactly what unsettled Clive.
"He's not here," Clive said. "It's too risky to stay longer."
His voice sounded flat, but the decision was not impulsive. He had been calculating it for several minutes already. The number of monsters. Their room to move. Their breathing. And most importantly, the absence of a variable that should have been present.
Ted stabbed the neck of the last monster attacking him. His sword slid under the jaw, piercing soft flesh, then he yanked it free with a hard pull. Blood sprayed briefly before the body collapsed.
He exhaled heavily.
"It feels strange when he's not in the first corridor," he said, wiping sweat that ran down toward his brow. "Or did Glenn's group kill him already?"
"No," Dorde replied quickly.
He was still guarding the left side, his shoulders rising and falling with breathing that was starting to lose its rhythm. His eyes remained sharp, too alert for someone already tired.
"We all saw their expressions when they came out," he continued. "That wasn't the face of people who got a core. That was the face of people who almost had it."
Zorilla rolled his shoulders, easing the tension in his muscles.
"That small monster is still alive," he said. "But he might be injured. That's why he wasn't in the first corridor."
Clive did not respond.
He kept watching the corridor ahead.
Twenty minutes passed slowly.
Not because time felt long.
But because every second was filled with small pressures that never fully eased.
The monsters in this corridor were different.
They did not fall quickly. Their bones were denser. Their flesh was tougher. Each strike that would normally be enough to kill now only slowed them down.
Every kill demanded two or three additional movements.
Their breathing began to change.
Not panic.
But weight.
Sweat dripped into their eyes, briefly blurring their vision. Their arms felt stiff each time they raised their weapons again. Their fingers started to go numb around the sword hilts.
Zorilla stepped back half a pace after smashing one monster, only to realize another was already too close.
"The distance is getting tighter," he said. "I don't like this."
"Focus," Clive replied without looking back. "We're not here to clean the place out."
They knew.
Their goal was not to last long.
Not efficiency.
Not numbers.
That had already been achieved in the first corridor.
Their goal was one thing.
The core.
And its owner was the small monster.
Then,
something changed.
Not sound.
Not a roar.
Movement.
Clive saw it first.
Not ahead.
Not to the side.
But behind a tall shadow formed by the uneven walls of the corridor.
The small figure appeared slowly.
Not fully stepping out of the darkness.
As if deliberately allowing only half of itself to be seen.
Its body looked thinner than the last time Clive had seen it. One shoulder slanted slightly, its balance altered.
And its right arm.
Gone.
Severed up to the bicep. No bandage. No protection. The flesh at the end was rough and red, the wound not yet fully closed. Every movement of its body seemed dragged by that imbalance.
Its face had changed completely.
The sneering smile that once made Clive feel watched was gone.
Only anger remained.
A sharp, raw gaze, no longer filtered through cold calculation. Pain and loss had hardened the lines of its face. Its jaw clenched, teeth exposed as its lips pulled back in an expression of pure hatred.
It watched them fight.
But not from a safe distance like before.
Not from a fully protected position.
Pain had clouded its mind.
Its hatred toward Glenn's group boiled without direction, and the humans before it became the nearest targets.
It wanted to kill.
To tear.
To rip apart.
To eat their flesh.
To drink their blood.
Not as a plan.
But as an impulse.
Unconsciously, it moved closer.
Still cautious.
But no longer as cold as before.
Clive felt it.
Like a thin pressure on his skin, not in the air.
"He's here," Clive said shortly.
Ted glanced quickly in the indicated direction.
He cursed under his breath.
"I see him."
Zorilla shifted his position, stepping slightly forward to protect the right side.
"He's crippled," he said.
"Don't underestimate him," Clive replied. "That makes him more dangerous."
The small monster waited.
Observed.
Searched.
And finally, an opening appeared.
Dorde was forced back.
Three monsters pressed him from three directions. One from the front, two from the sides. He held the first with his blade, twisting his body to avoid the attack from the right, but the space on the left was too narrow.
His breath broke.
His focus split.
Clive was holding back a large monster that was forcing him to retreat.
Ted was locked in with two monsters that gave him no room.
Zorilla was half a step too late to close the distance.
No one could help.
The small monster moved.
Fast.
Almost unseen.
It emerged from Dorde's blind spot, its body low, movements efficient. The small knife in its left hand shot straight forward, without a wide swing, without any warning sound.
Aimed at the chest.
At the heart.
If Dorde's instinct had been delayed by even a single breath,
he would have been dead.
He dodged.
Half an inch too late.
The blade missed his heart.
And buried itself into his left arm.
Flesh tore.
Hot blood sprayed.
Dorde roared, not from fear, but from the sudden, deep pain.
The small monster leapt back instantly.
Light.
Fast.
Its eyes glowed within the shadows.
And this time,
its sneering smile was nowhere to be seen.