The Barrow Lord’s blade, an edge honed on countless murders, broke first. Then Finn’s, unable to withstand the forces clashing above it.

Shards of metal sprayed outward, pinging off the chamber walls. Finn stared at the broken hilt in his hand, numb with shock.

The Barrow Lord looked no less stunned, its ruined sword falling from nerveless fingers.

For a heartbeat, the tableau held, monster and man, staring at each other over their broken blades.

Then the moment shattered as its clawed hand shot out, faster than Finn’s exhausted eyes could track. Talons closed around his throat, wrenching him off his feet.

Finn choked, scrabbling desperately at the iron grip crushing his windpipe. Black spots swarmed his vision. He could feel his strength ebbing, his struggles growing weaker.

[Finn — HP: 10%]

Through the encroaching darkness, he caught a glimpse of Nyx—

—She appeared above them, her dagger driving into the Barrow Lord’s throat.

[CRITICAL HIT!]

[POISON STATUS HAS BEEN APPLIED!]

Black blood sprayed as she ripped the blade free and struck again, and again, a snarl contorting her beautiful face.

[CRITICAL HIT!]

[CRITICAL HIT!]

The monster snarled, its grip loosening just a fraction. But it was enough.

Finn sucked in a desperate breath and rammed the jagged shard of his blade deep into the Barrow Lord’s eye socket.

[CRITICAL HIT!]

It sank to its knees, clutching its throat with its free arm, a rasping gurgle spilling from its lipless mouth.

Then, slowly, ponderously, it toppled backward. Finn wrenched himself free as it fell, hitting the ground hard.

For a long moment, he simply lay there, chest heaving, staring at the cavern ceiling spinning lazily above him.

[FLOOR 2 BOSS DEFEATED: Barrow Lord - lvl 20 Elite]

[FLOOR CLEARED]

[Bonus Objective: Defeat Boss with less than 20% HP remaining - COMPLETE] 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

[LEVEL UP x2!]

[Finn Morrow - Level 12]

[Nyx Sanguina - Level 12]

[Loot Acquired: Voidsteel Sword Shard x 1, Barrow Lord’s Blood x 3]

He looked to the side to find Nyx crumpled beside him. Her face was ashen, twisted in pain. But her eyes fluttered open.

"Bearer..." A ghost of a smile curved her bloodless lips. "We seem to make a habit of this. Ending every fight in the dirt."

Finn huffed a laugh that was more than half a sob. "This one nearly finished us. It’s a miracle we’re still alive."

"Nearly." She coughed, flecks of blood staining her lips. "And yet here you are, still breathing. You have a stubborn talent for it. I would not call that a miracle. I would call it you."

He didn’t know what to say to that. He glanced down, her dress was soaked through, a gash across her ribs gaping where it should have closed by now.

"No." Her gaze slid from his. "I have not fed in a very long time, and what little remains of me after being sealed doesn’t seem to be enough. To be brought so low... it is not a thing I wished you to see."

"Tell me how to help."

She seemed to contemplate for a moment. "There is a way. If you would permit it."

"Permit what?"

She raised a trembling hand to his throat. Her fingers brushed his skin, right over his jumping pulse.

"Blood, Bearer. Yours. Living. It is the only thing that will mend me before this floor is done with us."

Finn swallowed hard. He’d known what she was from the start, but the reality of it, the visceral image, chilled him and thrilled him in equal measure. Beneath both, steadier than either, was the simple fact that he wasn’t going to refuse her.

He tilted his head and bared his throat.

Something flickered behind her eyes — relief, or restraint giving way. With the last of her fading strength, she drew him to her.

He felt the sharp prick of her fangs against his throat. A sting, a sudden pressure. And then she began to drink.

It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. A pull, a draw, as if she were tugging at something deep inside him. It burned and ached and sent fire racing through his veins.

He gasped, his hands fisting in her tattered dress. She drank deeply, each pull of her mouth sending fresh shudders through him. He could feel his heart laboring, his breath coming short.

Just as darkness began to creep in at the edges of his vision, she withdrew. Her tongue swiped once, twice over the punctures, and the sting faded to a dull throb.

Finn sat back, one hand rising dazedly to his throat. "Nyx..."

She was already sitting up, the terrible wounds sealing before his eyes. Color bloomed in her cheeks, vibrant and alive.

When she looked at him, her crimson gaze was incandescent.

"You taste of something I have not tasted in a long time, Bearer." Her cheeks grew slightly redder. "I think it would be wise of me not to ask again soon."

Before Finn could answer, a soft glow bloomed at the edge of his vision. They turned to see a shimmering portal swirling into existence where the obsidian spire had stood.

"That portal seems different," he said. "Help me up?"

She slid an arm beneath his and lifted him with more strength than she should yet have had. They made their way over.

As they approached, text resolved across its surface.

[Floor 2 Cleared. Select destination:]

[→ Descend to Floor 3]

[→ Return to Surface]

Finn studied the text for a long moment. "A choice every second floor, then. Surface, or deeper."

"So it would seem." Nyx tilted her head. "I await your decision, Bearer. Daylight, or the dark below?"

He kept looking at the portal. "Neither. Not yet."

"...I beg your pardon?"

"Floor’s cleared. Nothing left down here to find us." He was already easing the rucksack from his shoulders, fingers clumsy with fatigue.

Bandages. Some canned tins. Two water bottles. "We rest. Eat. Move when we can move."

"Indeed."

He set the water bottle down and finally looked up at her. "I thought we’d die on Floor One. Or Two." He took a deep breath. "I don’t think that anymore. I think — if it’s the two of us — we might actually see the bottom of this place."

The silence after was long enough that he wondered if he’d said something stupid.

When he glanced over, Nyx was watching him with the faintest curve to her mouth. She didn’t agree. She didn’t correct him either.

"Very well. Allow me to help you organise our things."