JOSHUA:
The platform groaned as it halted.
A door appeared in front of us—tall, wooden, and lined with intricate carvings of strings and masks. It didn't open. Not until we all stepped forward, unsure if we were ready.
Olamilekan still hadn't said a word since waking up from the Mindcage. Leona kept glancing at him, and Ibou's eyes hadn't left his face. There was something they weren't saying. I didn't press. Not yet.
The door creaked open.
And we stepped into a nightmare.
---
The room was a theater.
No, not a room. A whole underground opera house, massive and decadent. Velvet curtains. Dusty seats. Chandeliers swaying gently from a breeze that had no source.
And on the stage?
Puppets.
Dozens of them. Hanging from wires. Still.
Until they weren't.
The strings jerked—and so did my heart.
They danced.
Jerky, twitchy, wrong. Wood clacked against wood as they pirouetted and spun across the stage with grotesque grace. Their faces were porcelain, painted with exaggerated smiles and weeping eyes.
"Those aren't normal puppets," Leona whispered. "They're… watching us."
She was right.
The moment we stepped down the aisle, all heads turned toward us in perfect, eerie synchronization.
Then came the voice.
"Audience participation is required."
The lights dimmed.
The stage flared to life.
And one of the puppets lunged—faster than any of us expected.
I reacted first, shadow bursting from my palms, slamming it mid-air.
It shattered into splinters.
Another replaced it instantly, climbing the walls like a spider on wires.
Then more.
Ten. Twenty. Thirty.
Ibou unsheathed a curved blade and slashed through two with terrifying speed. "The strings—aim for the strings!"
He was right again.
Olamilekan didn't speak, but his hand glowed with a golden hue—darkness lining the edges. He flicked his wrist and three puppets combusted mid-air, their wires melting like thread in flame.
But even as we fought, something felt off.
There was no end to them.
No source.
No rhythm.
Just endless waves.
And then… the real one appeared.
At the center of the stage, a colossal figure dropped from the ceiling—an enormous marionette, twice the size of a man. It wore a black cloak and a cracked white mask. Strings extended not from the ceiling, but from its own hands—each string connected to the smaller puppets we'd been fighting.
"The puppeteer," Ibou said grimly.
The thing raised its arm.
And Olamilekan froze.
Literally—he stopped moving, his limbs stiffening as if bound by invisible cords.
His eyes went wide. He tried to speak. Nothing came out.
I saw the string—faint, glimmering—looped around his wrist.
It wasn't just controlling puppets anymore.
It was trying to control us.
I acted on instinct. My shadows shot up and sliced through the string—clean cut.
Olamilekan dropped to his knees, panting. His body was his again.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"You owe me three now," I said, forcing a grin.
Leona threw a barrage of fire toward the Puppeteer's head—it twisted unnaturally, avoiding every shot.
Ibou was already moving. "We take out the hands," he barked. "Break the control!"
We split up.
Olamilekan and Leona took the right, Ibou and I took the left.
The closer I got, the colder the air felt. Like the strings were made of frost and despair. My vision blurred, and whispers clawed at the edges of my mind.
"You are the weakest link."
"You envy him."
"He will leave you behind."
Danakah's voice from the Mindcage echoed again—"The darkness in you is mine."
I bit my tongue till I tasted blood. Not today.
I leapt—my blade of shadow slicing upward.
Ibou moved like liquid fire, spinning mid-air and cutting straight through the left hand.
The marionette shrieked—a soundless pulse that rattled the room.
Leona's flame flared gold—too gold—and she blasted through the right hand with Olamilekan's help. The strings collapsed like cut cords. Puppets fell mid-twirl, lifeless.
The Puppeteer twitched, staggered… then cracked straight down the middle.
And inside?
A corpse.
Shriveled. Gray. Hooked up to the control board like a conductor to an orchestra. Its eyes were wide open, but empty.
We stepped back as the stage crumbled around it.
The theater darkened.
Then—
The elevator reappeared.
Floor Four, cleared.
---
As we ascended again, no one spoke for a long time.
Until Leona said softly, "They're getting smarter."
Ibou nodded. "And stronger."
Olamilekan looked up, face still half-shadowed. "We haven't reached halfway yet."
"Next floor might be worse," I added.
"No," Ibou said grimly. "It will be worse."
We all stared at the ceiling as the lift rose.
This tower wasn't just full of monsters.
It was full of lessons.
And if we weren't careful, it would learn more about us than we ever wanted to know.