Jin moved through the gash in the labyrinth's wall, Muramasa still drawn, its hum fading but steady in his grip. The destruction left by the scythe hadn't just split the stone—it had unraveled a path, the maze unspooled like ribbon in the wake of power far beyond his own. He followed the ruin carefully, boots crunching over fractured tile, the air still heavy with dust and echoing energy.
He didn't speak this time. No "Marco." No joke to fill the silence. The tension in the air didn't allow for it.
This wasn't his domain.
The corridor ahead remained dark despite the torches mounted along the walls. The deeper he moved into the path carved by the anomaly, the more the shadows stretched unnaturally, as if the maze was still trying to remember it had rules.
A low breeze stirred—strange in a place so closed. It didn't feel natural. Jin slowed.
Then—
Movement.
Behind him.
Fast.
