Lady Lydia awaited them before an enormous hedge maze that stretched beyond the limits of vision, its towering walls of dark green foliage creating a labyrinth of shadows and whispered secrets. The entrance was marked by an ornate archway of twisted vines, beyond which multiple pathways branched into the verdant depths.
Lydia herself stood beside a pedestal displaying five glass cases, each containing what appeared to be a different component: a graceful hand, a crystalline eye, a beating heart suspended in ethereal light, a shimmering throat that hummed with unheard melodies, and a glowing orb that pulsed with the rhythm of memory.
"Welcome to the Labyrinth of Necessity," she said, her voice carrying the multiple harmonies of her assembled nature. "Before you lies a simple trial with unforgiving mathematics. Six participants, five components. One of you will not return."
Well, that's refreshingly direct about the death quota. Erel felt the familiar tingle at the base of his skull as his mythic awareness detected multiple layers of danger radiating from within the maze. The Ouroboros tattoo on his neck began to warm, responding to the complex network of threats ahead.
"The rules are simple enough," Lydia continued, moving gracefully between the display cases. "Enter the maze, find one of my scattered components, and return here before the sun touches that eastern wall. The labyrinth has traps, dead ends that seal shut forever, and paths that like to rearrange themselves when you're not watching."
Dr. West stared at the maze entrance, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. "So we can work together, or...?"
"However you choose to proceed is entirely your decision," Lydia replied with a pleasant smile. "Though do remember—five prizes, six people. Choose your strategies carefully."
"The spirits are whispering urgent warnings about this place," Madame Ravenwood announced, pressing her hand to her forehead in theatrical distress. "They're showing me glimpses of the paths ahead—danger here, safe passage there. The maze holds many secrets, but the dead remember where the traps lie hidden."
Her spirit guidance is getting awfully specific. Makes sense if she's an anomalite—probably has some kind of essence or mythic ability related to communicating with the dead. But something feels off about how convenient it all is.
Captain Stone was eyeing the maze like a military objective. "How big is this thing? Are we talking a quick search or an extended one?"
"Depends entirely on your choices," Lydia said. "The nearest component might be twenty minutes away. The farthest... well, some previous participants are still searching."
Grey checked her watch with practiced efficiency. "And our deadline?"
"Two hours until the sun touches that eastern wall," Lydia confirmed. "Ample time for the prepared, insufficient for the hesitant."
"Perhaps we should coordinate our search patterns," Ravenwood suggested, her eyes taking on that distant look again. "The spirits are showing me potential paths... I can see echoes of those who came before, their successes and failures mapped across the maze's geography."
There it is again. She always positions herself as the essential guide, the one with vital information. And she's always pushing for coordination—for control over where people go.
"Actually," Captain Stone said with military pragmatism, "splitting up might be more efficient. Cover more ground faster, reduce the chance of everyone missing components."
"But the spirits warn against isolation," Ravenwood protested urgently. "They're showing me visions of what happens to those who venture alone—the maze preys on solitary wanderers, leads them into its deepest traps."
Erel watched her carefully as she spoke. Her response came too quickly, too perfectly prepared. Like she'd been expecting someone to suggest splitting up and had her counterargument ready. And the way she kept insisting on being involved in everyone's path...
She really doesn't want anyone going off alone where she can't influence them. That's either genuine concern for safety, or she needs to maintain control over the group's movements. Given that one of us is supposed to die here, I should probably figure out which it is.
"You know what," Erel said, making his decision, "maybe Ravenwood's right. The spirits have been pretty helpful so far. I'll team up with her—two sets of eyes are better than one."
Better to keep her close where I can watch her. If she's genuinely trying to help, great. If she's playing some kind of game, I want to see it up close.
Ravenwood's face lit up with what appeared to be genuine relief. "Oh, wonderful! The spirits are already showing me a promising path. This way."
That relief looked real enough. But then again, if she's planning something, having someone trust her would be exactly what she'd want.
They entered the maze together, Ravenwood leading with confident steps as she followed whatever guidance her abilities provided. Erel stayed close behind, but kept his enhanced awareness active, watching for any signs that her spiritual guidance might not be what it seemed.
"The spirits are very active here," she murmured as they walked, her voice taking on that distant quality. "So many echoes of past attempts. They're showing me... yes, this way. There's a component nearby, but we must be careful of the path."
She's very sure about these directions. Almost like she's reading from a map rather than interpreting mystical visions.
The hedge walls towered above them, creating a green tunnel that seemed to stretch endlessly ahead. Occasionally they passed side passages, but Ravenwood moved with purpose, following some internal compass that Erel couldn't perceive.
"How exactly do your abilities work?" he asked as they navigated a particularly twisting section, probing for more information. "I mean, I know all anomalites have essence, mythic, and fragment abilities the number of which corresponds to their tier, being a shaper you should have one of each, but your connection to spirits seems incredibly strong."
"It's... difficult to explain," she replied, not looking back. "The dead exist in a state between worlds. They can see patterns across time that the living miss. When someone dies violently, as many have in this place, they leave impressions that someone like me can read."
Sounds plausible. But she's being vague about the specifics, and most anomalites love talking about their abilities.
They walked deeper into the maze, the paths becoming more complex, more twisted. Ravenwood moved with increasing confidence, her spiritual guidance apparently growing stronger as they progressed.
Too confident. She's navigating this like she knows where she's going, not like she's following mystical impressions.
"Here," she said suddenly, stopping at what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary section of hedge wall. "The spirits are practically screaming about this location. There's something significant behind these hedges."
She pressed against the wall, and to Erel's surprise, a section of the hedge swung inward like a hidden door, revealing a narrow passage beyond.
How did she know exactly where to press? The spirits told her about a hidden mechanism?
"Incredible," he murmured aloud, while thinking: That was precise. Way too precise.
They squeezed through the hidden passage, emerging into a circular clearing surrounded by hedges. In the center, something glowed among the roots—one of Lydia's components, pulsing with soft light.
"There," Ravenwood breathed. "The spirits led us true. But..." She frowned, pressing her hand to her temple. "They're showing me danger. The approach is treacherous. Will you retrieve it? Your mythic nature might provide protection mine cannot."
And there it is. She found the prize, but now she wants me to be the one to approach it. Why? If her spirits can detect danger, why can't they tell her what kind of danger or how to avoid it?
Despite his growing suspicions, Erel found himself nodding and stepping forward into the clearing. Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe her abilities really were guiding them safely to the components, and she was just being cautious about the final approach.
But if I'm wrong about this...
He walked toward the glowing component in the center of the clearing, his enhanced awareness scanning for threats but finding nothing obviously dangerous.
The ground gave way beneath his feet without warning.
He plummeted into darkness, the fall lasting far longer than it should have. When he finally hit bottom, it wasn't a clean impact. Dozens of crystalline spikes jutted from the pit's floor at various angles, and his body struck multiple ones on the way down.
The first spike punched through his left shoulder, the crystalline point emerging from his back in a spray of blood. The second pierced his right thigh, grinding against bone as his weight drove him further onto it. A third smaller spike punctured his abdomen, just below the ribs, and he could feel it scraping against something vital inside.
But the worst was the largest spike—a massive crystal formation that had been positioned perfectly to catch falling victims. It drove straight through his chest, just left of center, punching through lung tissue and scraping along his ribs before the tip emerged between his shoulder blades.
Can't breathe. Christ, I can't breathe.
Blood filled his mouth, warm and metallic, as his punctured lung collapsed. Each attempt to draw air resulted in a horrible wet gurgling sound, blood bubbling up from his throat. The spike through his chest prevented any real movement—every tiny shift sent waves of agony through his torso as the crystal ground against bone and tissue.
Above, Ravenwood's face appeared at the edge of the pit. But instead of concern or horror, her expression was cold, calculating. Completely devoid of human emotion.
All that was visible on her face was a wide inhumane grin stretching from ear to ear.
She's not an anomalite. She's not even human. I was right to be suspicious, but I was too late.
Erel tried to speak, to call for help, but the spike through his chest had damaged something critical. Blood poured from his mouth instead of words, each cough sending fresh agony through his impaled body. But worse than the physical pain was what the crystals were doing to him.
They weren't just ordinary crystalline spikes—they pulsed with malevolent energy. Each crystal that had pierced his body was acting like a siphon, slowly pulling his life force, his thoughts, his very sense of self out of his body.
The process was excruciating. It felt like having his soul torn apart strand by strand, each piece of his consciousness being ripped away while he remained aware enough to experience the loss. His memories began to fade—childhood moments, faces of loved ones, even his own name started to slip away as the crystals fed on his essence.
"You were the hardest one to crack, now or the others," Ravenwood continued her voice echoing strangely in the pit.
The others. She's going to kill all of them the same way. Lead them into traps while pretending to help.
But even that thought was becoming harder to hold onto as more of his consciousness was drained away. The crystals were thorough—they didn't just want his death, they wanted to consume everything that made him who he was.
The worst part was the slowness of it. His body was dying from the massive trauma of being impaled on multiple spikes, but the consciousness-draining effect was keeping him aware through every agonizing moment. He could feel his heartbeat becoming irregular as blood loss weakened him, could feel his body temperature dropping as shock set in, but the cursed crystals ensured he remained conscious to experience every second of his death.
Minutes passed. Or maybe hours—time became meaningless as his sense of self continued to unravel. The pain from his impaled body was now secondary to the horror of feeling his consciousness being systematically consumed. Pieces of his identity disappeared one by one—his memories of becoming an anomalite, his understanding of his abilities, even basic knowledge like his own age or where he'd grown up.
Blood continued to pool beneath him, mixing with some kind of fluid that leaked from the consciousness-draining crystals. The combination seemed to accelerate the draining process, making the horrible sucking sensation at his soul even more intense.
I'm going to die here. Not just die—be completely erased. Everything I am is being eaten by these things.
His vision began to blur, but not from blood loss—the crystals were now draining his sensory perceptions directly. Colors faded to gray, then to black. Sound became muffled, distant. Even his sense of pain began to fade as the crystals consumed his ability to feel sensation.
Ravenwood's morbid face was the last thing he saw clearly before his vision failed completely—cold, inhuman, watching his death with the detached interest of a predator observing its prey's final moments.
The consciousness-draining reached his core memories, and suddenly he couldn't remember why he was in this place, or who the woman above was, or even what he was. Identity dissolved into nothing. Consciousness became a fading ember, then a spark, then...
Nothing.
***
Erel snapped back to the present moment with violent, wrenching force that felt like his soul was being torn apart and reassembled. He collapsed to his knees immediately, retching and convulsing as the phantom sensations of being impaled on consciousness-draining crystals overwhelmed his nervous system.
Oh God, oh Christ, I died. I actually died. I felt myself disappear completely.
"Erel!" Adren was beside him instantly, his hand on his shoulder as he doubled over. "What's wrong? What happened?"
Grey moved in from the other side, her detective instincts kicking in. "You just went white as a sheet and collapsed. Are you having some kind of attack?"
"Jesus," Dr. West muttered, stepping closer with medical concern. "Do you have a history of seizures? Any heart conditions?"
The taste of blood filled his mouth—not from any injury, but from the sheer traumatic shock of experiencing his own complete annihilation. His hands shook uncontrollably as he pressed them against his chest, frantically checking for the massive crystal spike that had punctured his lung, even though he knew it wasn't there.
"I'm fine," Erel managed to gasp out, forcing himself to look up at their concerned faces. "Just... had a really vivid daydream about what happens if we screw this up. Turns out my imagination is way more creative about horrible deaths than I gave it credit for."
He pushed himself back to his feet, still shaking but trying to cover it with a weak grin. "Ahh getting impaled on crystal spikes while conscious. Really kills the mood."
Adren didn't look convinced. "That wasn't just imagination. You looked like you were in actual pain."
"Well, you know what they say," Erel replied, his voice still hoarse but gaining some of his usual sardonic tone. "Dying is easy, but dying creatively takes real effort. Apparently my subconscious is gunning for an award."
Pull it together. That was a vision, not reality. I'm alive, I'm intact, I'm still me. But now I know what Ravenwood really is and exactly how she plans to kill us all.
But worse than the phantom pain was the memory of dissolution—of feeling his consciousness, his very sense of self, being slowly consumed while he remained aware. The experience had been so real, so complete, that for a moment he couldn't remember who he was or where he was. The boundaries of his identity felt fragile, uncertain, as if the consciousness-draining effect was still partially active.
That wasn't just death. That was complete obliteration. Those crystals didn't just kill—they erased everything that made someone who they are.
The imaginarium flux cost hit him like a sledgehammer to the skull. Using his essence ability to experience his own death and return from it required an enormous expenditure of supernatural energy, but this death had been particularly devastating. The consciousness-draining effect had forced him to experience not just dying, but the complete dissolution of his identity. The flux cost of returning from that level of obliteration was staggering.
Christ, that used most of my reserves. I can maybe do that once more before I'm completely drained, and even then it might not work if the death is that traumatic.
Grey was still studying him with cop eyes. "You sure you're okay? Because we're about to enter a potentially lethal maze, and if you're having medical episodes..."
"I'm fine," Erel insisted, though his hands were still trembling slightly. "Just a moment of overwhelming pessimism about our chances. You know how it is—sometimes your brain just decides to show you every possible way you could die horribly."
"That's... oddly specific pessimism," Stone observed, but he didn't push the issue.
The others gradually backed off, though Adren continued to shoot him concerned glances. Erel forced himself to stand straighter, to project confidence he didn't feel while the psychological trauma of experiencing complete erasure continued to echo through his mind.
I can't let that happen to any of the others. Ravenwood is a construct and she needs to be stopped.
"You know what," Erel managed to say, his voice stronger now but still carrying an edge of the trauma he'd experienced, "I think Captain Stone's right. We'll cover more ground separately. Everyone pick a different entrance path and we'll meet back here in two hours."
"The spirits strongly advise against separation," Ravenwood protested, exactly as she had in the vision. "The visions are quite clear about the dangers of isolation."
Same response, same tone.
Erel had to fight down a wave of rage and terror as he looked at her. In his mind, he could still see her face watching his consciousness being drained away. The urge to attack her immediately was almost overwhelming.
No. I have to be smart about this. She's dangerous, and I'm still recovering from the flux cost. I need to eliminate her, but carefully.
"The spirits can advise all they want," Grey interrupted, "but logic says we need to be efficient, and splitting up is the most efficient method."
Before Ravenwood could protest further, they were moving toward different entrance points. Erel made sure to note which path she chose—the northeastern entrance, just as in the vision.
Time to turn her own game against her. But first I need a minute to recover from that trauma.
He selected the eastern entrance, but instead of entering immediately, he leaned against the hedge wall and tried to process what he'd experienced. The death vision had been the most horrific thing he'd ever endured—not just the physical agony of being impaled, but the existential horror of feeling his consciousness being slowly consumed while he remained aware.
I can't let that happen to any of the others. Whatever Ravenwood is, whatever sent her here, she needs to be stopped.
The phantom pain was beginning to fade, but the psychological impact would take much longer to heal. He'd experienced death before through his essence ability, but never anything so complete, so violating. The consciousness-draining crystals had turned death into something far worse than mere ending—they had made it into erasure, into the complete negation of existence.
But he was alive, he was intact, and he now knew exactly how to turn Ravenwood's trap against her. The consciousness-draining crystals that had been designed to erase anomalites would be utterly incompatible with artificial consciousness. What would kill him would destroy her completely.
Taking a shuddering breath, Erel entered the maze, using his enhanced awareness to track Ravenwood's movements while avoiding the lethal hazards that the maze hid. He had work to do, and a construct to eliminate.