Victoria stood at the threshold of the 20th floor, her hand resting on the pommel of her spell-blade. The atmosphere was stifling, the air smelling faintly of ozone and something disturbingly like a hospital—clean, sterile, and cold.
Suddenly, the heavy iron doors at the end of the corridor burst open.
The sound of frantic, uneven footsteps echoed off the stone. Two figures stumbled out of the darkness. The first was a Knight, his black iron armor dented and smeared with a translucent, glowing slime. He was dragging his shield behind him, his breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps.
Leaning heavily against him was a Woman. She was in a state of total disarray, clad only in her lace underwear, her skin pale and shivering. Her eyes were wide, darting around with the look of a trapped animal. She had no weapon, no boots, and no cloak—she had been stripped of everything but her life.
"Get back!" the Knight roared, swinging his sword blindly toward the empty air behind them. "It's coming! It doesn't want your blood—it wants your mind!"
Victoria stepped forward, her violet mana glowing faintly to signal she wasn't a threat. "Stand down, Knight. You’re past the threshold."
The woman collapsed to her knees, clutching her arms around herself. "The clothes..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "They made us take them off. Like we were being prepared for a bath... but the water was... it was teeth."
Victoria caught the woman before she hit the floor, draping her own heavy traveling cloak over the survivor's shivering shoulders. "Who made you? What is down there?"
"The Processors," the Knight spat, leaning against the wall as blood leaked from under his visor. "They don't hunt like beasts. They hum. They sing into your head until you want to be eaten. I only got her out because my helmet’s inner lining is lead-shielded... but the others... they just stood there. They unbuckled their own armor and walked into the dark."
Victoria’s amber eyes narrowed. She looked at the woman, whose eyes were still flickering with a faint, hypnotic glaze.
"They’re still in there, aren't they?" Victoria asked. "The rest of your party."
"Dozens of them," the woman sobbed. "Just standing in lines. Waiting to be 'cleaned.' Please... don't go in there. It’s not a floor... it’s a slaughterhouse for souls."
Victoria stood up, the air around her beginning to hum with gravitational pressure. She didn't look afraid; she looked deeply, dangerously insulted. The idea of a monster treating humans like mindless cattle triggered a cold rage she usually kept buried.
"I am Victoria Smith," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "I don't leave people in lines."
She reached into her satchel and handed the Knight a high-grade mana potion. "Take her to the surface. Alert the Guild that Floor 20 is a 'Mental Hazard Zone.' Tell them I’ve gone in to stop the humming."
The Knight looked at the lone mage, then at the dark, pulsating doorway she was about to enter. "You're going in alone? You're going to end up like the rest of them—stripped and hollowed out."
Victoria stepped into the shadows, her silhouette framed by the violet light of her own power. "The dungeon has tried to hollow me out before. It usually breaks its teeth."
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