Four metal walls suffocated Ian. He gasped as darkness devoured his vision and squirmed against the enclosed space. After steadying himself, he recalled bitterly what brought him here.

  That goddamn bastard.

  From the dizzying separation of his body and mind, akin to being shoved into a machine turned on rapid speed, they must have entered a Rift.

  A Rift of Victor's designation was a happy game of death, precariously waltzing along a cliff's edge. He sucked in a breath and pressed against the cold metal when a shuffle of movement rustled outside.

  Goosebumps pebbled Ian's skin, and his spine snapped straight.

  Did a human or a monster roam outside? And what would be worse?

  But waiting around like a sitting duck would be the easiest way of courting death. The frigid enclosure squeezed his body from all directions, but he slammed as much as he could toward the noise. A pounding ruptured through his head, and the walls vibrated.

  Pain spiked in his shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and leveraged his weight.

  Again, and again. He needed to escape. By the tenth slam, he braced for an eleventh—

  —And light spilled as another shape slid beside him and promptly shut the door. After minutes of enjoying a claustrophobic intimacy—or, more correctly, Ian's sheer disbelief had rendered him silent—he snapped back to his senses.

  Ian's vein nearly popped from anger. At the non-existent personal space, he could feel the contours of the sculpted body shoved against him.

  "What the hell are you doing?" he seethed.

  Victor bent his head, settling his wayward hands on Ian's hips. He gave a squeeze, while his leg wedged between Ian's. "You were making such a racket," said the man languidly. "I presumed you were lonely."

  "If I wanted company, it wouldn't be yours," gritted Ian.

  "But you are the only one for me, my Guide."

  Ian pinched his hand, hard, only for the infuriating Esper to forcefully flip it and interlock their fingers.

  "Remove that possessive." He tried to pry out his hand and failed. "Thanks for affirming your broken brain circuits. Now I won't feel sorry when I inevitably sacrifice you later."

  The Esper chuckled softly against Ian's ear. "Liar. You wouldn't have felt bad regardless."

  "No," agreed Ian, leaning closer. Their breaths tangled, and a dark mockery twisted his low voice. "If I thought I'd feel bad, I wouldn't have left with you."

  Victor knew of Ian's greed and determination, but he had never sought Ian's resistant affection. Although he was curious, admittedly, to come face to face with those black eyes, dyed in something other than resentment.

  "I'm quite lenient to you," remarked the Esper.

  Ian scoffed and made another feeble attempt at escape. Victor took the opportunity to bridge the non-existent space between them, taking pleasure in Ian's discomfort.

  "Your leniency is peculiar. Try being kind, and I'll feel a little sorry to watch you die."

  "Kind?"

  Ian squinted in the darkness and sneered. "Not in your vocabulary, right?"

  Victor laughed again, a cold, snake-like whisper of distant alienation. He leaned closer, bracketing Ian's sides. Encaging him. "If the kindness you seek is sincerity, then that is a little difficult to do. If it is a mimicry, then I'll be very kind to you, Ian."

  In darkness, all senses became occupied with Victor.

  Discomfort twisted Ian's chest, and a surge of heat muddled his thoughts.

  The longer he remained with this Esper, the more messed up his thoughts became. Out of fear of potential stupidity, he smashed his elbow into the door, forcing it open again.

  It slammed wide, clanging onto the dusty ground. Ian didn't waste time escaping, with the Esper close on his heels.

  They were trapped in a windowless, square room. A row of rusted lockers lined the peeling wallpaper, and a single light bulb hung from a swaying wire, casting an eerie and faint white light.

  Ian stalked to the lockers and forcefully swung them all open, ignoring the one closest to the door. Victor crossed his arms, finding a space to recline. "Why are you discriminating against that locker?"

  "Because it reeks," spat Ian, glancing at the dent along the side that seemed to be imprinted by fingerprints, as if whatever had been inside violently wrenched it open.

  Eventually, four humans stumbled out. One that he recognized.

  Ian frowned and hurried forward, pulling up the slim, gentle-faced Esper. William smiled sheepishly, accepting his help. He dusted off his pants and cracked his neck with a groan.

  "Definitely not a good sleeping place," he murmured.

  Ian frowned, ignoring the other wide stares. "Did you follow me?"

  It was a somewhat arrogant assumption, but William and Sylvan came in a pair, conjoined at all times. They only separated for small tasks within the zone, but never within the Rifts.

  William sighed. "Yes. I'm sorry, but—" His eyes briefly swept towards Victor. "I wanted to make sure you were safe. Syl would've too, you know that."

  Ian's lips flattened, and William's head drooped, like a child waiting for a scolding. In the end, Ian raked a hand through his hair with a weighty exhale. They needed to find a core to escape, and soon, or die trying. "If you need guiding, let me know immediately."

  Victor's cold gaze sliced sideways, narrowing. Ian dismissed it.

  His guiding came at a heavy price for those he didn't like, which included most breathing things, but he wouldn't hold back for somebody he considered one of his own. Just like Lucian.

  Ian would've risked death for Lucian.

  He turned to the other three, a trio that entered together. His attention fixed on the scrawny, malnourished Guide who craned his neck, shying away nervously. His overgrown hair dangled past his ears, as if hiding himself.

  Ian sensed some familiarity, which could only come from one place. But without the other's comment, he pretended to be oblivious.

  The other two arrogantly introduced themselves as Espers. The taller of the two, with a pale, gloomy disposition and square glasses, called himself Luis. The other, shorter, and carrying a larger body, sniffed with displeasure.

  "Beau," he said, scratching his wide chin. "It means beautiful."

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Ian's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced sideways at William, who laughed with his eyes. Indeed, the man was beautifully overconfident. Out of collaboration, Ian decided not to point out the other's mismatched socks that ran up to his exposed knees.

  With introductions hastily out of the way, except for the silent Guide who hunched behind Luis, they took to examining the room. Two doors stood opposing each other, painted in irregular redstrokes. Dust floated in the air, circling the flickering bulb.

  Luis pushed his glasses up with a finger. "Well, obviously, we'll have to open one of the doors. There are no other clues."

  Beau rubbed his stomach. "Get on with it then!"

  Luis' eyebrows furrowed in disdain, and he yanked the Guide by the wrist. He jutted his chin towards the door closest to the lockers. "Hurry up. We don't have all day."

  The Guide shook violently, lifting his wobbling gaze to the door. It was a red, simple surface, but he stared at it as if a monster would burst through at any moment.

  It wasn't an unwarranted fear.

  The rule of thumb was that the first and last often became victims. He staggered forward and then fell onto his bottom. "I-I can't."

  Luis stalked over, yanking his wrist with a bruising grip. "Do you remember the consequences, you filth?" he hissed in a grating whisper. "It's your job to protect your Esper. Don't forget your place."

  The Guide's entire body curled, shrinking into itself as if he wanted to become a small ball and hide away. From the lockers, Ian regarded them solemnly through his beady black eyes before striding forward. A pivot, and his gun found his hand.

  Bang—!

  The sound was deafening in the enclosed space.

  A bullet whizzed past the two, scraping Luis' wrist. He yelped and jumped backwards. Drops of blood splattered, one landing on Ian's cheek.

  The cold raven eyes were unblinking behind the smoking muzzle, his arm straight like a pine tree. No longer did he feel the recoil of that time in the facility. The little events over months accumulated, and he was no longer the same as he'd once been.

  Time had been short compared to his twenty-four years in the facility, but long enough to put worth to his words. To hold a power; a semblance of strength.

  "Is your ability bullshit and cowardliness, or is that just a personality defect?" snapped Ian, lowering his arm. "Learn to shut up, or the next shot won't miss."

  "Y-you—"

  Ian sneered. "Can't talk properly?"

  Without waiting for a response from the stuttering man, Ian shoved past them and grabbed the handle. Before he could twist it, a body pressed behind him and a slender finger crooked in his peripheral vision, wiping away the smear of blood.

  "Careful," smiled Victor as he easily slipped his hand underneath Ian's. "Mutts carry diseases."

  Ian looked over his shoulder through narrow eyes. "What are you doing?"

  "Being kind to you, Ian."

  Victor's hand twisted, tugging the door wide. All heads snapped to the darkness.

  There was nothing else.

  Then came a muted symphony of hissing, joined by a second, and a third. A dozen red eyes snapped open, peering from within. They all blinked.

  Ian's eyes went wide as a shape flung forward, but Victor snapped his fingers. An ice needle shot out, pinning the object to the ground in less than a second.

  The snake thrashed helplessly before wilting like a specimen in a frame.

  After the first, dozens of ice needles floated by Victor's smiling face and surged into the room. Thuds and pained hisses continued in a squelching melody until everything fell into silence. Darkness greeted them once more. And all spectators stood rooted.

  Ian reacted first, snorting as he passed him. "Not bad."

  Victor followed closely with a lighthearted smile, but the remaining four hesitated. William gulped and hurried inside. After rummaging through the piles of pulverized snakes, William found a switch.

  Light glared inside the white bulb, swaying wildly like a pendulum of ticking time.

  William squinted, smearing blood on his clothes. He glanced at Victor warily, who continued to crouch by Ian. Sylvan warned William against Victor with a mouthful of complaints.

  The pink-haired man displayed a rare moment of solemnity, fear sparking across his vision. He curled against William and grabbed his arm tightly. "Promise me, Will. Don't get involved with that weirdo! He's a misfortune bringer, I swear."

  Sylvan rarely disliked a person so vividly, often keeping his thoughts private despite his sunny disposition. William had always hoped that, over time, they'd be able to share their pasts.

  But for now, those quiet days in their small room were enough.

  All he needed was them, together.

  William kicked a snake away from his foot, sighing. He wouldn't have followed if Ian weren't involved. The older man had found a way to charm them both, despite his purposeful distancing.

  William resolved himself and rested his hands on a wall, furrowing his eyebrows. He willed his powers to surface. If he could leave sooner, he'd see Sylvan sooner.

  The brilliant smile that washed away all his dark memories.

  Finally, he sighed in defeat. Ian strode up behind him, and William shook his head bitterly. "I'm sorry, Ian. I don't think I'll be much help with my ability."

  Through constant use and discovery, Espers uncovered a range of abilities or developed their current specialities. Several had a larger range, but William was only a low-level. His prioritization of safer routes stagnated his progress.

  He remembered it, a fresh memory in his mind. The day in the wildness, where he laid crooked against a car's frontshield. His childhood friends abandoned him, leaving him scorched in the lapping heat. Metal clung to his skin, and sweat dripped down his body in an endless stream.

  He thought he'd die there.

  A withered human husk. After enduring so much, born in a middle-tier zone and abandoned, he would die pathetic.

  Then, a figure appeared, haloed by that scorching light.

  From then on, he would've done anything for that angel who saved him. Sylvan laughed when he told him, slapping his back and dishing another bowl of watered-down soup while promising that they'd stay together.

  Sylvan had grinned. "You're silly. But believe it or not, Will, you're the one who changed my life."

  William laughed, and they bickered over who changed whose. It was a pointless argument, but he reflected on it often; those pieces of memories often overlooked.

  Ian, who'd approached William, saw the alternating expressions that settled into a yearning bitterness. He fell silent. He'd estimated William's strength to be average, although there was little opportunity to show it within their simple tasks in the Rifts.

  All he needed was William's survival.

  He ruffled the man's hair. "Don't think too hard. The strength of your little pinky probably doubles those cowards over there."

  The two cowards in question glared at him venomously, but even a fool knew better than to start a fight in the confines of a Rift. Only the powerful, like the female Esper Ian met in his first Rift, could act with such arrogance.

  In the end, she fell at the hands of the ones she looked down on.

  Ian ignored the seething Espers in the corner. They wouldn't act, knowing the thunderous drum of his gun, or the lethality of Victor's casual movements.

  The timid Guide lifted his head slightly, staring at Ian with a burning gaze of admiration. Like a fire lit in a desolate pool of darkness, with hardly enough kindling to create a blaze.

  But sometimes, a small spark created miracles.

  They continued, taking turns to open doors under Ian's raised gun that demanded obedience. Each room contained two.

  Some contained poisonous beasts that came in torrents or singulars, and others held a flurry of arrows that hammered towards them. William grabbed the timid Guide before they entered, and Victor launched Ian towards the ground.

  In the end, the other two Espers sustained the most injuries, while Victor peacefully yanked an arrow from his thigh and tossed it aside.

  After the twentieth door, all six squatted on the ground breathlessly. They'd charged through without stopping, defending against the trivial but dangerous ordeals locked in matching square rooms with a single, waning bulb.

  William rubbed his face, exhaling. "Is it my imagination, or is the difficulty gradually increasing?"

  Ian leaned against a wall, rolling his shoulders. He nodded. "Worse each time. I don't know how many there are, but at this rate, we won't make it."

  Mindlessly charging forward wouldn't bring them to an exit. He'd observed every room thrice, only noting a small scratch against the bottom corner of the door. Originally, there'd been only one, and now there were four.

  Had they passed the fourth level? If so, how many levels were there? Or did the four represent something else—the rate of difficulty?

  Either this Rift was endurance-based, or there was another trick they hadn't discovered. Considering the oddity of the creature that dragged him here, Ian placed his bets on the latter.

  When they opened the twenty-first door, Ian glanced backward and caught a dark shape in his peripheral vision. He retreated back into the room and stood before the second, unopened door.

  Aside from the first room, each contained three doors—one that they entered through, one that they opened, and one that remained closed.

  Not once had they thought of opening the other, as if there was a psychological filter blurring that consideration. His eyebrows drew taut, and his heartbeat jolted. This could be their missing link.

  He didn't hesitate and swung the door wide.

  Inside was drowned in darkness, shadows so black he assumed the wall must've been painted. The light behind him slowly swayed, flickering every few seconds.

  His eyes narrowed, straining to see further into the abyss.

  There, vaguely outlined by the dimming light behind him, a shallow and skinny figure stood in the middle. Long arms dragged at the sides of a willowy white dress, and thin hair veiled its face.

  They faced each other. Ian took a step forward, his heels sinking into the darkness. The noise of the others faded, falling against his back.

  Still, the figure didn't move.

  But he saw the back of a lowered and gaunt head.

  A chilling touch brushed the back of his neck, and instinctively, he jerked around. Only silence greeted him, and the slow sway of the light bulb moving back and forth. For a few seconds, his eyes shifted left and right to follow the creaking movement.

  The back of his neck prickled again, and goosebumps pebbled his flesh.

  His mind whispered hushed warnings—that he should flee in that very second. But he wouldn't.

  Slowly, Ian turned. His heart dropped. Only inches away from him, a white face with bloodshot eyes grinned at him.

  Pain yanked his thudding heart, and darkness consumed him.