The new room was colder.
Miles could see his breath puffing out in short bursts.
Concrete walls. No windows. No doors — except the one they'd fallen through, now sealed tight above them.
And no way back.
Levi cursed under his breath, struggling to stand.
Miles offered a hand without thinking — a small gesture of trust that, somehow, meant everything in a place like this.
Levi took it.
Kayla stayed slumped against the far wall, head bowed.
Miles didn't trust that.
Not anymore.
A metallic chime rang out, bouncing from the corners of the room.
Another monitor dropped from the ceiling on thin wires, buzzing and swinging slightly.
New rule, flashing harsh and red:
> RULE #19: WHAT YOU BLEED, YOU BIND.
Miles narrowed his eyes.
Before he could react, the far wall shuddered.
Cracks split across the concrete.
A hand — massive, misshapen — punched through the wall, sending chunks of stone clattering across the floor.
The Bloodhound.
It had found them.
Kayla gasped, scrambling back.
Levi tightened his grip on the shard of mirror, but it was laughable against something like that.
Miles scanned the room, looking for anything —
Any edge, any weapon, any door.
Nothing.
Only a square metal hatch set into the center of the floor. Bolted shut.
The Bloodhound heaved its bulk through the crumbling hole in the wall, snarling. Its claws scraped bloody lines down the concrete as it advanced, dragging its ruined body forward.
Its stitched chest cavity still throbbed with that faint human pulse — a piece of Kayla fused inside it.
A piece of betrayal.
The monitor above them shrieked again, glitching:
> "What you bleed..."
> "...you bind."
Miles realized — too late — what it meant.
The Bloodhound wasn't just tracking them.
It was bound to Kayla.
As long as she lived, it would never stop.
It wasn't just hunting them.
It was hers.
Miles looked at her.
Kayla, panting, terrified — but also stubborn. Desperate.
"I'm not leaving her!" she cried, seeing the decision flash across his face.
Levi barked out a dry, bitter laugh. "Might not be your choice anymore, sweetheart."
The Bloodhound roared, lurching closer.
The floor trembled under its weight.
Miles made a snap decision.
"Split up!" he shouted. "Draw it off balance!"
He sprinted left; Levi bolted right.
Kayla hesitated, caught in between — the worst place.
The Bloodhound hesitated too — torn between targets.
Miles skidded across the floor, grabbing a broken piece of rebar from the debris.
Not much. But better than nothing.
He spun, planted his feet — and charged.
The Bloodhound met him with a howl, claws flashing.
Miles ducked under the first swipe, the metal screaming as it scraped the floor.
He rammed the rebar upward — straight into the creature's side.
It shrieked.
Black ichor sprayed across the floor, sizzling wherever it touched.
But it didn't fall.
It didn't even slow.
It whipped its massive arm around, smashing Miles across the room like a ragdoll.
He hit the far wall hard, ribs screaming.
Vision doubled.
World spun.
Through the haze, he saw Kayla frozen in terror.
The Bloodhound turned to her.
Hungry.
Inevitable.
Levi roared something incoherent and charged, stabbing his mirror shard into the thing's leg.
A desperate, useless act.
The Bloodhound barely flinched.
It reached for Kayla, claws ready to tear her apart — or worse — when the monitor above crackled violently, new words flashing:
> FORGIVENESS RESETS THE BINDING.
Miles forced himself to move.
Forced himself to think.
Forgiveness.
Not weapons.
Not sacrifice.
Something older.
More human.
"Kayla!" he shouted, dragging himself upright. "Tell it you're sorry!"
She stared at him, horror-struck.
"I — I can't—"
"You have to!" he roared.
The Bloodhound's claws caught her shoulder, dragging her down.
Kayla screamed.
Miles shoved off the wall, sprinting toward them, every nerve screaming.
"DO IT!"
Tears spilling down her face, Kayla choked out:
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I left you behind! I didn't know it would —"
The Bloodhound froze.
Mid-lunge.
Its body shuddered violently, spasming, black ichor leaking from its seams.
It took one step back.
Then another.
It shrank in on itself, collapsing like a rotting tent.
With a final, wet shriek, it imploded into a pool of dark, steaming liquid.
Gone.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Kayla sobbed quietly.
Miles dropped to one knee, gasping for air.
Levi just stood there, dazed.
The monitor above flickered once more, softer now:
> RULE #19 COMPLETE.
> PASSAGE GRANTED.
Across the far wall, a hidden door ground open — a narrow stairwell leading down into deeper blackness.
Miles wiped blood from his face and climbed slowly to his feet.
He didn't look at Kayla.
He didn't trust himself to.
He just said, voice rough:
"Move."
And together — broken, bloodied, and barely bound together anymore — they descended into the next nightmare.