Chương 45: First Run Completed

Lloyd was in some kind of white space. It was empty and full at once — as if all the energy of the world were passing through him, through every atom, every cell of his body. There was no floor beneath his feet, no ceiling above his head — only an even, endless glow in which the very idea of direction dissolved. When he used to descend into the dungeon, it had felt like falling into the deepest abyss of this world, where darkness clung to his skin and pressed on his chest. But now everything was different.

Now he felt himself rising toward the heavens themselves. A strange, almost unnatural euphoria spread through his veins along with the low, steady light that cast no shadows and seemed, somehow, to hum — quietly, at the edge of hearing, like a distant choir without words. The whiteness pressed on his eyes, but it didn't blind him. It simply was — on every side, without borders, without up or down, as if someone had erased the very concept of space and left only a sense of infinity and a strange, almost sacred calm.

And then, suddenly, a violet window appeared before him — translucent, its edges softly pulsing, as if breathing in time with some invisible heart — and a voice followed. Quiet, insinuating, almost gentle, as though it had known Lloyd for a long time and was speaking to an old friend. [Prepare to exit the game...]"A game?"

Before he could gather himself, the magical energy — his own, yet somehow foreign — surged forward with wild speed, dragging him along through the whiteness, which suddenly began to fracture into a thousand shifting colors. Multicolored particles of light streamed through his body, leaving behind a cold prickling sensation, as if a thousand tiny needles touched his skin for an instant and vanished, while somewhere at the edge of his mind a rumble began to build, like wind howling through a narrow corridor.

A few seconds later, Lloyd opened his eyes. He was standing in the same tunnel he already knew well — damp, smelling of earth and old stone — the very place where he'd first entered this cursed dungeon. The air here was thick, almost tangible, tasting of mildew and something metallic, as if iron were rusting somewhere nearby. Only the door that had once led inside was gone now — and it had stood right in the middle of the passage, attached to nothing, like a gate to nowhere.

Now there was only emptiness where it had been — the bare, damp floor of the tunnel, as if the door had never existed at all, as if the dungeon had erased the memory of itself. Of all his belongings, only a long-dead phone remained in his pocket. That, and a life-worn orange jacket, black pants, and red sneakers — all of it torn, smeared with dried green residue, its smell still lingering at the edge of his awareness, sour and unsettling, clinging to him like a bad dream that refused to let go.

The wounds hadn't disappeared. They only reminded him of what he'd been through.

"What did X mean by 'a game'?" Suddenly his vision went dark for a second — sharply, as if someone had switched off a light inside his skull and then switched it back on just as fast. He swayed, bracing a hand against the cold, rough wall of the tunnel, feeling the stone's dampness seep between his fingers.

"Well, thinking about that clearly isn't happening today." Lloyd stood like that for a few more seconds, listening to the silence — a deep, underground silence, almost alive, broken only by the occasional drip of water falling from somewhere above with a hollow, drawn-out sound, and a faint, barely audible creaking, as if the stones around him were slowly settling under the weight of centuries. Then he took a step. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

He made his way toward the tunnel's exit, cradling his burned arm — it throbbed with a dull, pulling pain at every movement, while in the distance a faint gray light was already glimmering, promising an end to this stone labyrinth. The boy lay in a hospital room. He was covered in bandages — on his face, his neck, his forearms — and his right arm was wrapped completely, from wrist to shoulder.

Here and there, patches of ointment dotted his skin, aiding the healing of his wounds and leaving behind a faint smell of alcohol mixed with something herbal, blending with the familiar hospital scent of bleach and starched sheets. Outside the window, the morning was gray and overcast, and stray raindrops traced winding paths down the glass, while somewhere in the distance the city hummed faintly — cars honking, someone hurrying along a wet sidewalk. He simply stared at the ceiling — there was nothing else to do.

White plaster, a crack in the corner, a dim lamp someone had forgotten to switch off since the night before, now washed pale against the gray daylight. Lloyd huffed a quiet laugh.

"Well, they're chalking it all up to me falling through a manhole into the sewer." His smirk widened, turning almost predatory.

"Can't believe they actually bought that. Though if I'd told them it was because of a dungeon, they'd have called me insane." As Lloyd later learned, he'd spent three days in the dungeon. Three damn days wandering its dark tunnels, a hair's breadth from death, among creatures ordinary people didn't even know existed — and every hour down there had seemed to stretch on forever, as if time in those stone depths obeyed its own, alien laws. Just then, the door to the room creaked open slightly.

A rather stout woman in her fifties stepped inside. A white coat was draped over her blue blouse, and the glasses hanging from a chain swung gently against her chest with every step, clinking softly against her buttons. She smelled of hospital antiseptic and something minty — cough drops, maybe, or gum — her shoes squeaking softly against the worn linoleum. She stopped beside Lloyd's bed, giving him a careful, appraising look. — Mr. Lloyd, I think you're visiting us a bit too often.

Her brightly painted lips curved into a smile, revealing straight, almost too-white teeth — the kind you only get from years of habitually smiling at patients regardless of mood. Lloyd just nodded silently — he had neither the strength nor much desire to answer her. His body still hummed with exhaustion, as if the memory of the dungeon wasn't in any hurry to let go, clinging to his bones with a dull, aching weight. The woman looked him over carefully from head to toe, her gaze lingering on his bandaged arm.

— You've only been here two days, and most of your injuries have nearly healed already. How is that even possible? Your regeneration is remarkable for an ordinary person. Lloyd had stopped being an ordinary person long ago. And he knew exactly why his wounds healed so fast.

"But she doesn't need to know that." He huffed, keeping his voice level and casual. — I'm pretty resilient, ma'am. She smiled wider, pulled a small notepad and pen from her coat pocket, and began jotting something down, glancing at him over her glasses now and then, shaking her head slightly. — I can't even imagine how you managed to fall like that, and get burns on top of it. But I'm not a detective, just a doctor, so I'll keep my questions to myself.

She tucked the notepad and pen back into her coat pocket and headed for the door, her soles rustling against the linoleum, the door hinges giving a soft creak behind her. — Well, I won't torture you any longer — at this rate, we'll discharge you tomorrow. Beds are in short supply as it is.

The door clicked shut quietly, and the room fell silent again — only the hum of the old lamp and the occasional patter of rain against the glass breaking the stillness, while somewhere beyond the wall, in the corridor, hurried footsteps passed and the muffled squeak of a gurney rolled by.

Lloyd looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, finally letting the exhaustion take him — and the last thing he felt before drifting off was a quiet, barely perceptible hum, the same one from the white space, as if it were still ringing somewhere at the very edge of hearing.

"Well. Looks like my life is just getting started."