The chambers looked strange.
That was Leo’s first thought as they reached the glass.
Most of the parties were only partly there.
A Leo lay slumped against the far wall, one hand pressed to the glass. Blood smeared beneath his fingers as he dragged them downward, writing shakily, letter by letter.
BEWARE
The word finished just as his knees buckled.
He collapsed out of sight.
“Oh gods,” Harlada whispered.
To the left stood a single Bert. Or what was left of one. His armor was cracked, his face swollen beyond recognition, blood drying in thick streaks across his chest. He stood upright, barely, breathing hard through clenched teeth.
Further back—
“Why are there two of me?” Harlada said faintly.
Two Harladas stood in the same chamber. One pacing in tight circles, muttering to herself. The other sitting perfectly still, staring at nothing, hands folded in her lap like she was waiting for permission to stop existing.
Bert swallowed. “I don’t like that.”
And then—something different.
One group stood intact.
Three figures. A Leo. A Bert. A Harlada.
All alive.
All standing close together.
They held up a crude sign, written in charcoal and desperation.
LET’S WORK TOGETHER
Silence pressed against the glass.
“Well,” Bert said carefully, “that seems… reasonable.”
Leo nodded slowly. “Statistically, cooperation improves survival odds.”
Harlada raised an eyebrow. “You say that this place respects statistics?”
Still—she lifted her hands and began to mime.
Three figures.
Together.
Safe.
Across the glass, the intact trio nodded eagerly. They mimed back—same gestures, same urgency. They mimed direction. first left, second right and more. Towards neutral ground.
Agreement.
Then something snapped.
The bloodied Bert roared.
He slammed his fists against the glass, again and again, teeth bared, eyes wild. He pointed at them—then at the other trio—then back at himself.
His mouth formed silent words.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
The glass held.
Barely.
The maze pulsed his same indifferent pulse:
Maze run #9802 commencing in 5…4…3.
***
They moved fast.
Not running—running got you killed—but fast enough that hesitation didn’t have time to grow teeth. The Maze twisted around them, corridors bleeding into one another, the floor sticky in places where blood had dried and been trampled flat.
“Agreed point should be ahead,” Leo said, clutching his notebook like it could protect him. “If the layout mirrors—”
They never reached the end of the sentence.
Something hit them from the side.
A blur of red and rage slammed into Harlada, driving her hard into the wall. Her staff clattered across the stone and skidded out of reach.
“Down!” Bert shouted.
Too late.
The bloodied Bert moved like a broken thing held together by fury. His eyes were wide, unfocused, his mouth pulled back in a snarl that showed too many teeth. He didn’t slow. He didn’t think.
He attacked.
Leo hurled a handful of pebbles, the spell flaring weakly. They bounced off armor and skin alike, leaving nothing but faint bruises.
“Not effective!” Leo yelped.
The berserker turned.
One punch.
It landed squarely in Leo’s chest.
Leo flew backward, hit the wall, and dropped to the floor like his strings had been cut.
“LEO!” Harlada screamed, scrambling for her staff.
Bert stepped forward, hands raised, axe still in his grip but lowered.
“Hey—hey, listen,” he said, backing slowly. “It’s me. I’m you. We don’t do this. We work together, remember?”
The bloodied Bert roared and charged.
“No listening,” Bert muttered.
He threw his axe.
The bloodied Bert caught it mid-air.
For a heartbeat, he smirked.
Then the axe vanished.
Reappeared.
Back in Bert’s hand.
The bloodied Bert lurched forward as if yanked by an invisible chain, dragged off balance toward him.
“Oh,” Bert said. “That’s new.”
He stepped in and headbutted himself.
Hard.
The berserker crumpled instantly, collapsing in a heap of blood and breathless rage.
Silence.
Bert staggered back, rubbing his forehead. “I really don’t like fighting myself.”
Harlada grabbed her staff and rushed to Leo’s side.
***
Bert knelt beside Leo and uncorked a potion with his teeth.
“Drink,” he said, tilting Leo’s head just enough.
The potion glowed faintly as it went down. Leo coughed once, then sucked in a sharp breath, eyes snapping open.
“Status?” he croaked.
“Concussed,” Bert said. “But alive.”
“Good,” Leo muttered. “I prefer that.”
Harlada had already bound the bloodied Bert. Rope around wrists, ankles, chest—tight, efficient, practiced. She didn’t look at his face while she worked.
They dragged him back against the wall.
“No killing,” Bert said quietly. “He’s… me.”
“And he’s dangerous,” Harlada replied. “But not like this.”
Leo pushed himself upright, wincing. “Alone, he’s predictable.”
That was enough.
When the bloodied Bert came to, he did so loudly.
“You traitors!” he spat, thrashing against the ropes. “You worked with them! You let them butcher us!”
“Who?” Bert asked, keeping his distance.
“The three!” Bloodied Bert snarled. “The ones at the glass. Smiling. Planning. You stood with them last run. Watched while they killed my party.”
Harlada stiffened.
“That’s not true,” Leo said slowly.
“Isn’t it?” the other Bert shot back. “Funny how only you walked away whole.”
Silence settled, thick and uncomfortable.
“We didn’t kill your party,” Bert said at last. “This is our first level three run.”
Bloodied Bert was quiet then a laugh—a broken, wet sound. “So I am your lucky charm.”
They left him tied.
Not out of mercy.
They were not sure how he would react.
The four of them stood there, the Maze humming softly around them.
“We’re walking into a trap,” Leo said.
“Yes,” Harlada agreed.
Bert hefted his axe. “So we set one first.”
Behind them, Bloodied Bert smiled “Please let me kill them!”
The three huddled.
