The descent to the second level greeted Eni with a stench of decay as heavy as a tombstone. In the dim light filtering down from above, she counted four of them. They were larger than the ones upstairs—their muscles bloated with corpse gases, and their movements seemed more coordinated.

  Eni didn't hesitate. Overconfidence, fueled by her first victory and the Voice's whispers, surged through her veins. Her tactic was simple to the point of primitiveness: a sharp kick with her heavy heel to the stomach, forcing the corpse to double over, followed by a swift, cold swing of the axe to the neck. The first fell. The second gurgled, its head gone. She was almost laughing, feeling invincible in her short uniform and violet stockings. She was the goddess of this dungeon.

  But the world of pain does not forgive pride.

  The third zombie didn't wait for a strike. As Eni wound up for another swing, the dead thing—possessing an unexpected, jerky burst of speed—threw forward a fist like a chunk of gray concrete. The blow landed right on her temple.

  The world burst.

  The sound of the impact echoed in her skull like breaking glass. Eni flew back, her shoulder blades slamming into the cold concrete. A white flash flared before her eyes, instantly replaced by absolute, impenetrable darkness. She was blind. An unbearable, high-pitched ringing filled her ears, drowning out everything else. Her balance went mad: the floor fell away beneath her feet, the ceiling pressed down on her shoulders.

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  A wave of nausea nearly turned her inside out. Eni tried to scream, but only a pathetic rasp escaped her throat. She could hear them. She heard the shuffling steps of the dead approaching, their claws scraping against the floor. The feeling of helplessness was so sharp that her heart felt like it was about to burst.

  She jumped up, stumbling and hitting her elbows against invisible corners. By some miracle, she managed to escape to the stairs leading to the first floor, but the darkness didn't retreat there either. Blind, she thrashed through the hall, unable to find the exit. She was trapped in a concrete box with predators that saw her perfectly.

  "Eni!" Suddenly, through the ringing in her ears, the Voice broke through. It sounded unusually nervous, its majestic calm gone. "Eni, listen to me! If you want to live—listen! Turn right. Now! Go forward!"

  She didn't think. She had no time for doubt. She obeyed the Voice like a puppet. Her hands groped along the cold walls, tearing her nails on the rough concrete. "Stop!" the Voice shouted again. "Now left. And run, Eni! Just run straight!"

  She lunged forward, expecting to crash into a wall any second, but instead of stone, a sharp, biting cold of fresh air hit her face. Beneath her feet, instead of crumbling concrete, was soft, damp grass. The ringing in her ears began to fade, giving way to the distant rustle of the forest.

  "Eni... you can... rest," the Voice sighed heavily, its tone returning to its usual softness. "The zombies... they hate the light. You're safe now."

  Eni collapsed onto the grass, not caring how her clothes looked or how high the hem of her uniform had ridden up. Her sight slowly returned: first blurry spots, then the green of the leaves and the gray sky. A feverish tremor shook her whole body.

  She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. These weren't the quiet tears of a heroine—it was the raw, childlike crying of someone who had just stared into the abyss. "I... I was so scared!!" she wailed, shaking with sobs. "If I had... Ah... If I had died like tha-a-at..."

  She rolled on the grass, pulling her knees to her chest, the violet fabric of her stockings getting dirty in the earth. The Voice in her head spoke again—quietly, almost gently, like a mother by a cradle, trying to calm this storm of despair. But Eni already knew: in this world, behind every power hides a horror, and her "invincibility" was just a pretty wrapper for an eternal nightmare.