I rise from sleep slowly, sense of space all fuzzy, drifting between two realities. I am Reska, curled tightly around the naked body of Homura like she’ll vanish if I ease up even a little. I am Alice, relaxed and unafraid, one arm resting lightly over a fully clothed Cheshire.

It’s always an odd feeling, waking up from these dreams. I don’t feel like I’m ever at risk of losing myself to them or forgetting which girl I really am. It’s more like… empathy. The more I experience Reska’s ordeals, the more I share her hopes and worries and all the messiness in between. And there’s a lot to think about this time.

I saw a precursor to the Labyrinth. I saw nightmares made manifest. I saw black doors that promised tragedy. I saw pain and suffering and a liar giving comfort. I saw a strange and twisted mirror to my own relationship with a girl who says she loves me.

Cheshire looks blissed out beside me, her eyes still closed, chest rising and falling evenly, a soft smile on her peaceful face as her head rests against my chest. I feel a low vibration and realize that she’s actually purring, which almost gets a chuckle out of me. Her beanie fell off at some point in the night, exposing those distinctive cat ears of hers, and I idly raise my hand to scratch behind them.

This is nice. I wish we could stay like this. I wish I didn’t have to worry about gods and monsters and an evil twin. I wish I could just… love. But I don’t know how to do that, so instead I brood.

There was so much detail in that dream, so many revelations about Reska and Homura and their story. I feel like we’re getting close to the end. I think my next dream might show me the moment that Homura ruined everything. I’m dreading it.

Poor Reska. She just wanted to be loved, and she fell for entirely the wrong person. I can feel Reska’s heartache, and the longing, and the complicated bouquet of emotions that she still has for Homura Annatar Bloodfallen. Reska was alone and hurting, and Homura told her that she deserved better. Homura told her it was okay to be different. It’s okay to be a monster.

I don’t know how I should feel about that, but I know I feel something. Reska’s story resonates with me, and I’m sure it resonated with Homura, but I don’t know if Homura made the right decisions, even setting aside whether she means any of it. Reska was full of pain and self-loathing and would rather carve herself open than lash out at someone innocent, and I’ve been there, I empathize, and I think that she deserves love and help from someone who isn’t going to betray her like Homura’s about to. But… there’s more to it.

Reska’s story is a love story, and a queer love story at that, and queer people and monsters are old bedfellows in the eyes of the world. There’s history, at least back on Earth and in the country I’m from, of casting queers as monsters and monsters as queers. For a long time, if you wanted a gay character in your work of media, they needed to be a villain or be dead by the end of the movie, preferably both. Plenty of essays have been written about the history of queer coding villains, especially Disney villains like Gaston, Jafar, and Ursula.

There’s much harsher history, too, of violence and fearmongering beyond the big screen. Propaganda about predatory lesbians coming to disrupt the all-American nuclear family and steal away dutiful housewives, or hungry gay men leering after your sons, or trans people being called all that and then murdered for it. To be queer is to be seen as a monster even when you haven’t hurt anyone. An abomination to be put down just for being different.

And sometimes, when someone calls you a monster for long enough, you want to say, “Fuck it, yeah, I’m a monster and I’m not ashamed. I’m a vampire and a lesbian and I’m going to steal your girlfriend and drink her blood, and then I’m going to have hot sweaty werewolf sex and you’re not invited.” There’s a desire to reclaim the word in the same way we’ve reclaimed words like queer, and there are plenty of out and proud self-described monsterfuckers among the queer community. There’s something altogether romantic about being a monster.

But Reska doesn’t have that cultural context. Reska feels like she’s a monster because the people around her call her a monster, and they call her that for reasons much harder to argue with than wanting to kiss another girl. She knows that she’s different from everyone around her, everyone else in the whole world, and that isolates her. The lies they tell about her in the throes of their small-minded fear make her feel like she’s an atrocity waiting to happen, and sometimes she loses control and she sees exactly what they’re afraid of. You can’t convince her that she’s not a monster, not when it goes that deep. And then along comes a girl who sweeps her off her feet and tells her, “Even if you’re a monster, I still love you anyway. You don’t need to prove you’re not a monster to love and be loved. I will love you in all your monstrosity.”

And that’s beautiful. That is a very beautiful and much needed message for a hurting abuse victim to hear, and it’s coming from a liar whose conception of right and wrong is so deeply warped that she still fantasizes about brutally murdering everyone who’s ever made her feel small.

The thing is, I think that comforting Reska in that moment was the right call. I even agree that a lot of Reska’s issues with controlling her magic come from the hostile environment she was raised in. If it had been someone else in that scene, I could believe they really wanted to help Reska. I could call it an act of love. But coming from Homura… I know it was manipulation. Why would Homura be concerned about Reska stealing that mirror creature’s free will when she’s dreamed of having that power since she was a child?

The trouble with romanticizing monsters is that sometimes they really do hurt people, even if they don’t want to. The vampire, the werewolf, the girl with a living shadow. Sometimes the word “monster” actually means something. Reska needs comfort and love and to feel like she’s not just cursed forever from the moment of her birth, but she also needs help. And I think Homura’s idea of help would just mean finding acceptable targets for Reska’s abilities.

It doesn’t feel right to blame Reska for what she did, because it was only an accident. But then, so is manslaughter. If I were in her shoes, I’d certainly think myself guilty. Of course, I always have something of a double standard when it comes to blaming myself for things I’d forgive others. If it’s someone else, they deserve support and a second chance. If it’s me, I deserve a bullet to the head.

Ha. Maybe that’s too dark. This stuff is just… messy. I’m worried about what Reska is becoming, and about what Homura already is, and about what that means for me. Love and monsters.

“The problem with thinking,” I muse aloud softly, “is that it inevitably leads to feeling like shit. This is why people envy jellyfish.”

Cheshire opens her gorgeous eyes and smiles at me with an expression of dreamy rapture. “Would you still love me if I were a jellyfish?”

I reply, “Of course. I would feed you shrimp every day and clean the filter on your tank twice a week.”

“Aw, you do care.” She stretches, gives me a quick kiss, and then settles back on top of me, splayed out like a cat. “What were you brooding about?”

“I don’t brood,” I protest with feigned indignance, still scratching behind her ears.

“Darling, that might be weakest joke you’ve ever told, and I’ve seen the contents of your old YouTube channel.”

I hiss and look away from her, immediately mortified. “That’s—gah, why did Nyara show you that of all things? Actually, no, not even touching that one, it’s deflection time. What are you so happy about, Chesh? You look like someone slipped you ecstasy.”

Cheshire smiles with teeth. “You’re not far off.” There’s hunger in her mismatched eyes as she says, “It’s funny, the things you can do to a brain when you’re God. Nyara scrambled a lot more than just my personality when she opened me up and took a knife to my soul. Being held by you gives me a chemical rush better than any drug I ever tried when I was living on the street. It’s a neat trick, because I’m not even a chemical existence anymore, just a shadow in the dreamspace. She carved my soul with qualia of addiction and the cognitive echo of chemical fixation. I’m addicted to you, Allie, and I can’t bear to be away. When you reject me, I get pangs like cold turkey. When you accept me, it’s better than food and sex and sunshine.”

“Oh. Uh.”

She laughs, and then she hugs me tight and rubs her head into my neck. “I feel amazing right now. Here’s an advantage of not having a real body anymore: most of the time, I get complete control over the signals I send and how I react to any given situation. In theory, that level of composure could make me a master manipulator, at least if I had experience in that area beyond begging for scraps in the form of a cute animal. But right now, after a whole night in your arms, after a day of being embraced, I am euphoric.”

“Wow. Fuck, that’s messed up.” I stare at Cheshire awkwardly as she continues to lounge atop me and bask in the chemical cocktail of my presence. “I’m sorry? You’re welcome? I have no idea how to react to that. The Demiurge is terrifying. Let’s talk about something else: I was brooding about the latest Reska dream. It had a lot of meat to it and I want to hear your opinions on it, now that I have someone I can talk to about it and I’m not just flailing about in my own brain.”

She props herself up on her elbows and rests her chin her hands, still beaming. “Sure, share away.”

So I tell her everything. I tell her about the labyrinth before the Labyrinth, and the mirror creature that reminds me uncomfortably of the Beast I met, and all the fears gnawing away at the princess and her lover. I tell her about the black doors. There’s a dire inevitability to the story, knowing it’ll all unravel.

“Most of it seems pretty cut and dry,” Cheshire says, “but there are a few details that puzzle me. Like, what’s the red-eyed monster looming over Homura’s shoulder? Is it meant to represent her blood magic, or a hint at the Beasts of the Labyrinth, or something else entirely?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure I really understand Homura,” I admit. “Is everything she says a lie, or does she really care about Reska in some twisted way? She’s quick to her defense, but I don’t think she really respects Reska’s agency, not with how she forced the issue of the black doors. She named herself after two devils, but the mirror thing framed her as believing in some notion of ‘necessary evil,’ someone who believed she was making hard choices for a just cause. And that cathedral… Reska may feel guilt, but I think it’s Homura who felt sinful and influenced that final chamber.”

“Mm. Going from the theory that you and Homura share at the very least some key formative experiences, what do you think of her relationship with sin? Or, for that matter, with justice?”

I stew in that, picking my words carefully. “I think… if it’s our birth, our sin, our fury, then maybe I do understand her. Her brain—our brain—has been broken by the context of a religious upbringing. She’s a sinner, cursed with sin from the moment of her birth and drowning in it with every bad decision she’s made since. And the people around her are all hypocrites for not admitting what vile sinners they are too. She’s full of hate and rage and desperately trying to channel that into something righteous. She wants to believe that hurting people can be a righteous act, because it’s all she wants to do. Pain that needs an outlet. A monster killing monsters.”

With my free hand, I conjure Vorpal. I say, “Violence and pain, sin and justice; are these pieces of her understanding of Blood? She reached her first affinity when she swore to right the injustice that had been done to Reska. In that moment, and later in the duel with Bladesinger, she forged strength from suffering.” I bite my lip, then push on. “Is it that… does it have to mean something? Is that what it’s about? That every drop of our blood spilled by our own hand or someone else’s has to be paid back in meaning, in strength, in justice for suffering?”

Vorpal weighs heavier and heavier in my hand, and then the red blade catches fire—crimson flame, like Homura wielded in her duel—and feels light as a feather. The flames flicker out, and the sword returns to normal, but I have my answer; Vorpal is awake.

Cheshire claps. “You did it! And all it took was delving a little deeper than you’d like into your lingering emotional baggage. How’s it feel?”

“Garbage,” I mutter as I send Vorpal back to my throne world. I sigh and sink into the mattress. “I see too much of myself in Homura. Not just the sin shit. When Reska broke that mirror monster, Homura was fascinated. I know exactly how she felt: she saw that atrocity, that violation of free will, and she thought, ‘How can I make this mine?’ I see the worst of myself in her.”

Cheshire laughs at me, which I find a little rude, and then she pokes me hard in the chest and says, “You, Miss Broodypants, are all bark and no bite.”

I frown. “Excuse you?”

“You’re so eager to call yourself the bad guy, and you know why? Because it’s the only way you can think of to deal with your guilty conscience. No one blames a demon for being a sinner, right? So every bad thought you’ve ever had and every mistake you’ve ever made can just get washed under the rug, and you won’t have to reckon with what you’ve done and who you’ve hurt, with what you could do to change, or with whether your mistakes really do make you unlovable. Kill the unknown. Kill the uncertain. Be the monster.”

I sit up and lean away from Cheshire, discomforted. “That’s not—”

She leans in, breath hot, and she says, “It’s bullshit. It’s all absolute bullshit. What ‘evil’ have you actually done since I made you a demon? What sins are crawling down your back? Who have you hurt that wasn’t trying to hurt you?”

“I made a deal with Avaya,” I insist, hackles raised. “That’s a pretty literal deal with a devil.”

“You made a deal to kill a monster,” the catgirl dismisses. “No one in this city will cry when Vaylin’s gone, and there’s nothing stopping you from sticking a knife in the imp’s back the second she stops being useful.”

“Back in the warehouse, I let those figments die. I could have saved them.”

“And our target would have gotten away to warn the other torments. It was a tough call, but they didn’t die for nothing.”

I’m getting prickly from this argument. I snarl, “And what about my plans to kill Dante? Do you have a justification for murdering an innocent man?”

Cheshire just smiles sweetly. “I don’t need one, because I call bullshit; you’re not going to kill that kid, and we both know it.”

I fall silent.

“You’re terrified of abusing your power over me, even though I was made for that express purpose. You talk a big game about turning on Dante and Esha, but you’ve only acted to strike against Averrich and Vaylin. You act harsh and cruel to protect yourself, but deep down you still want to be a good person.”

I grind my teeth and look away from her. “There’s a huge gulf between wanting and being.”

There’s a pause, and then she says, “I can prove it to you. Do you remember when we talked about superpowers, and you asked for mind control? You had a fantasy at the ready about corrupting the masses and ruling like a god-queen, but you didn’t complain when I didn’t offer it, and you haven’t really tried for it since. And when I told you what Nyarlathotep had done to me, you were horrified. Fascinated, yes, absolutely, but the horror was stronger. The idea compels you, but you can’t overcome the distaste. The appeal of the fantasy bristles against the awful reality.”

“Is that your evidence? Cheshire, I’d jump at the chance for a spell that could do that. I’ve held off because I don’t want one that’s half-assed. Once we murder Vaylin, I’m absolutely making a mind control spell.”

“Why wait?” Cheshire slips off me and stands up, then cups her hands and holds them out toward me. Shadowy mist swirls within them, and a crown of blood forms amid the darkness, hovering over her outstretched fingers. She grins, her smile too wide for her face. “We don’t need Vaylin. We never needed Vaylin, but especially not after that conversation with the Toymaker. Wanna hear a secret, Allie? You are so much more than all of them. You are a scion of Shadow, heiress to the Leviathans, and you are the Demiurge’s favorite child. You could make them all listen. You could bend everyone in this building to your will. If I gave you this spell, you could use it on the hunters, on the priestess, on Averrich and Vaylin and everyone else in this whole damn city. Whoever you like, whoever gets in your way, you could grab them by the brainstem and make them love you and fear you and worship at your feet. So if you really want that… if you really want to bring this world to its knees and kill free will and rule on high as the demon empress of the Labyrinth… then just take it.”

I freeze up, staring into the shimmering form of that tantalizing, terrifying spell. “How?” I ask, buying time to think. “I mean… how does it work? What does it do?”

“You’re deflecting, darling, but I’ll indulge you. It’s all in your Truths. Blood can be love, and it can be bonds, and it can be bloodborne transmission. Take all your fear and your hunger, all your love, and when you mix in the corrupting influence of the Shadow Throne what you get is a perfect virus to infect the world with. We can turn your very existence into the cognitohazard ALICE that’ll slip inside hearts and minds and souls and consume them with yearning for your love and fear of your disapproval. It’ll make them like me, piece by piece, nearly impossible to stop, until all of Pandaemonium is just Alice and Cheshire. Become the Red Queen, the hegemon who ends the arms race. Ascend as the archdemon Malady and claim your destined Throne. Be loved. Be obeyed. You’d never have to fear betrayal again. You’d never have to be alone. Take the wheel of the world and you could build a paradise or a new hell and either way they’d all thank you for the effort. You could have everything you’ve ever wanted. But tell me truly, Maven Alice: is that really what you want?”

I do. I don’t. I’m terrified. I’m enthralled. I don’t know what I am.

There’s a voice in me that says take it, take it, and claim the dominion we rightly deserve. Aren’t we owed some recompense for all our pain?

But then I think that pain isn’t currency and justice can’t be bought. Who are we to play God with the world? We’d be a monster. A contradiction of all our beliefs, a violation of all our morals. There’s no ethical way to be queen of the world.

Who cares? Who really fucking cares? Godhood is an abomination but better it be us on that throne than anyone else. We chose this path. No one expects a demon to be a good person.

That’s a bullshit way of thinking. Cheshire was right. Bashe, Esha, Dante… they all saw good in us. If we deny that, if we spit on that promise, then all we’re doing is running away. We have to be better than that.

I close my eyes and laugh. I’m tired. I’ve tried. I can’t live up to that. Why shouldn’t I run away? Why shouldn’t I take the easy road? Give me a good reason, for once in our miserable life.

Because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I became that kind of monster.

Then don’t. Die for your morals. Leave those of us with resolve to finish the mess you made.

You wouldn’t be able to live with it either.

Then I’ll change. That’s the whole point of being a demon, isn’t it? I can take a knife to my soul and cut out all the parts that are too weak to walk the path of a ruler. I can kill the part of me that cares about stupid, petty, worthless morals. I can cut and cut and cut until nothing is left but the raw, bleeding core of me. ‘Till I’m just want and will. And then you court of wretched fools will finally be silent and leave me to my work.

You’re only talking to yourself, Allie.

I let out a deep breath. Yeah. Yeah, I know. I just… I need to figure this out, and there’s too much noise, but I am the noise, and the everything, and the nothing. Does any of that make sense?

Breathe. Think. Take it slow. Be logical about this. We can project personalities and argue amongst ourselves all we like, but that’s not going to bring us any closer to a solution. This is the psychological moment. This is our crossroads. Where should we walk?

If I accept that spell and use it, there’ll be no going back. You can’t erase a choice like that. And there is a part of me that desperately wants that power. I want to be powerful. I want to be loved. I want to live without fear. And I’m not good enough to have any of that fairly.

Sometimes I feel like all I am is rage and grief and longing. I’ve had moments where I felt like I’d burn the world if given half the chance. There’s an ugly, twisted part of me that tells me I deserve to be the villain. I deserve to do whatever I damn well please, and I’ll be justified in doing it, because pain is a justification without equals.

But pain is a liar, and the girl in my dreams warned me about those.

“Okay. I have my decision.”

Cheshire looks at me expectantly, the crown still held out. “And?”

“I can’t do it. I won’t.”

The geist smiles, and then with a flourish of her hand the crown vanishes, the dark spell it represents forever locked away. “I know. And I’m glad.”

I dangle my feet off the side of the bed and put my head in my hands. “What am I, really? Avaya was right about me, when she saw my throne world and called it shallow. I’ve papered over chaos, but I still don’t have any real answers. Demons are supposed to sharpen themselves into something pure, but I’m a mess of contradictions. I know I have to stop the Machinist, and Averrich and Vaylin, and the Noble who has my name, and maybe the Emissary… but that’s all just reaction. It’s a list of tasks, it doesn’t say anything about me. It doesn’t help me shape my soul.”

Cheshire sits down next to me and leans against my shoulder. “Well, is there anything you want to do? Not something you have to do because it’s in your way or it’s the obvious quest objective, but… something you want to do just because you want it, fully and without caveats.”

I think about that for a long moment that stretches into another, and then I look at Cheshire. For all my fears and all my doubts… she’s been there for me. The only person across two worlds that I can really trust with the fullness of my being. She knows what I am and she loves me for it, and I’m so grateful for that… but it wasn’t her choice. So I say, softly, “I want to save you.”

The catgirl laughs. “From what?”

“She put you under the knife and stole your free will. I’m not going to forgive and forget just because the result has been convenient to me. I will find a way to free you. And I hope that when it’s done you’ll choose to still be with me. But it has to be a choice.”

Cheshire boops my nose. “See? Big softie. Now let’s go save Sanctuary.”

She fades to black mist before I can retaliate with anything more than a hiss.

We leave our little side room and find the others still waking up and going through preparations and breakfast. I’m hungry, but I’m always hungry, and I honestly don’t feel like eating regular food right now.

Dante is apart from the others, leaning against a wall and just staring into space with a complicated expression on his face. That doesn’t seem like him, so I slip over and ask, “Hey, uh, are you okay?”

He startles at my approach, but quickly adjusts and offers me a nervous, half-hearted smile. “I, uh, yeah. Totally.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Okay, no, definitely not.” He hesitates over his next words, then says, “I keep thinking that I want to go home, and then I feel bad about wanting that. I just… I wasn’t ready for this. I thought I was, but I was wrong. I watched people die. I was burned alive and the only reason I’m still standing is because some higher power decided my life was worth more than theirs. And that’s kind of messing me up.”

I lean against the wall next to him. “You could, you know. Just make a wish and you’ll be back in your house safe and sound, and all of this a fleeting memory.”

“I know. I could. But, I can’t. I’d be running away.”

I can’t help but chuckle a little at that. “I mean, hey, I absolutely get that. But you don’t owe this world anything, okay? If you want to go home, do it, and don’t let anyone guilt you. This isn’t your mess to clean up.”

He grimaces. “If only. But the Goddess told me—”

“She lied,” I cut him off. “She does that. She’s a vicious two-faced prick.”

Dante blinks in surprise and leans back. “What?”

“Look, I’ve had the vast displeasure of speaking with her twice now, and I can confidently assure you that the Lucid Demiurge is an absolute bag of dicks. She’s cruel and petty and she likes to fuck with people, and that’s why she dragged you here.”

Cheshire fades into view beside me. “I’ve met her more than twice, and I second everything Alice just said. The Demiurge has personally tortured me.”

Dante is aghast at that, and then he falls pensive. After another moment, he asks, “If that’s true, then why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Honestly?” I shrug. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react, or if you’d believe me. You seem like a decent person, but I’m a paranoiac and you have a magic sword. There was a lot to get through and you didn’t have any reason to take my word over hers. It was easier to let you have that lie.”

Dante goes silent again, and Cheshire fills the air. “The Toymaker never does something out of altruism. She just wanted you to entertain her. If you choose to leave, she won’t stop you; she’ll just focus on other toys.”

He looks between the two of us. “You’re really not lying, are you? That’s… wow. I mean, that sucks.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I can sympathize.”

Dante clenches a fist, briefly, then lets it go. “You know, I could take you with me, if you wanted. If I don’t owe this world anything, then neither do you.”

“Nah. I could argue our situations are very different, ‘cause they are, but I don’t need to go down that rabbit hole. Truth is, I don’t wanna go back. And I won’t if I can help it.”

He looks at me with an altogether puzzled air. “Is there really nothing you’ll miss? I can’t imagine just leaving Earth forever and never looking back. I’m already homesick and it’s been, what, two days?”

Ha. I mean… I do have my regrets. I wish I could have left an explanation for the people in my life who care about me. Some kind of goodbye for the handful of fools who’d actually be sad that I was gone. But I don’t need to tell him that. “Sucks that I won’t be able to finish reading Chainsaw Man,” I tell him instead. “It finally got me into manga.”

He laughs, but he clearly doesn’t believe me. “Well, still. I think I’m gonna see this through.”

I pat him on the shoulder. “Happy to have you. Let’s go beat up a crazy dude.”

We wander back over to the rest of the group to find them finished with breakfast and getting ready with help from the Guild, who’ve brought out all manner of gadgets and artifacts and useful tools. The first one I saved, David, tries to offer me my pick, but I’m not really feeling it.

“I’m good on toys,” I tell him. “If you can spare it, what I really need is blood.” I show off my fangs. “I am a demon.”

He winces. “Ah, yes. I remember.”

I also wince. “Right! That was you. Sorry about that. I meant ‘you’ as in the collective, not you specifically. You’ve given me enough.”

“I will… see if I can round up any volunteers.”

He does, though it takes him a few minutes. I’m polite with my food and make it quick, taking only a little from each of the three that come forward. My instincts chafe at the restraint I’m showing, but if I’m going to deny my darker nature then I damn well better commit.

Once everyone’s ready, we’re ushered to the mirror that leads to our target. I organize us into a new marching order: myself and Dante in front, my loaners from Avaya covering the back, and the hunters sharing middle row with Simon. Eren grumbles about it, but knows better than to actually push.

The mirror is uncovered, and we step through.

The Corridor of Reflections is as I remembered it, and our journey through the prismatic mirrorscape is swift. On the other side, we emerge into a space not too different from the headquarters we were just in. The Machinist’s workshop is still and silent, with tools and components that look untouched for days or longer. There’s a few closed doors leading to other rooms.

“I’d send my bird ahead,” Kado offers, “but he can’t open doors.”

“Don’t bother.” Cheshire appears next to me. “I’m not sensing any life in this building beyond a few lingering bugs.”

“Think that Guildsman lied to us?” Eren asks.

I shake my head. “I freed their whole organization after the Machinist enslaved them. They’d have no reason to hide his location. Fan out and look for another mirror.”

It doesn’t take us long to find it. This workshop is more barren than the halls of the Guild’s headquarters, and there’s really only a handful of rooms to search. One of them has a second uncovered mirror, and after forming back up we pass through.

This time, though, the Corridor is very, very off. The rainbow lights are dim, the colors muted. The walkway beneath our feet is glass, yes, but shot through with streaks of black like obsidian. I look around, and there’s this odd sense of perspective like I’m at the bottom of a fishbowl. Ahead of us, the walkway quickly becomes stairs that descend deeper, toward the very bottom of the Corridor.

I look for the black tower, and for the first time I feel distance from it. I can still see it, it’s still close, but not close enough to touch. Just out of reach. That concerns me.

Simon and the hunters are clearly nervous, which makes Dante nervous even though he lacks the context to understand why this is so unusual. Still, they follow me as I push forward and take the steps down toward the next mirror-portal.

On the other side of it, I emerge into darkness. Real darkness, and that’s even more concerning; everywhere in the Labyrinth has high visibility even during what passes for night, but now things are finally dark. I’m standing on a big metal platform, something square and industrial-looking with plates and rivets and hazard lines. Each corner of the platform has a giant chain welded to it that leads off into the pitch blackness that surrounds the metal square on all sides.

The darkness around me is thick and impenetrable, and the far side of the platform is hard to make out. In the blackness beyond, shadows roil with unseen movement like invisible serpents disturbing the sea on a moonless night. The air is fever-warm; a familiar, unsettling heat.

Behind me, the others file in, and immediately I smell fear from the healer and the hunters. It’s Dante who’s first to speak: “Where the hell are we?”

“Hell,” I reply blithely. “We’re in Hell.”

Simon steps forward and holds out his hands, and an orb of light flickers to life above them. The orb is dim, fragile, and it blinks out as quickly as it appeared. Simon scrunches his face and commands, “[Sanctuary’s Light]!” and again the orb flares dimly before vanishing. The healer’s face becomes very grave. “Ms. Alice, could you please tell me if you feel any stronger, right now?”

“Huh.” I flex my fingers and focus inward, finding an unexpected sense of vitality that’s growing by the moment. I feel the same strength I felt after winning my first throne duel. I pull [Swarmheart] from my inner world and cast “[Carrion Heart].” Dozens of beetles, maybe hundreds, coalesce into being and are sacrificed, and the largest beetle I’ve ever summoned is born from their deaths. It’s taller than me by half, and it looks somehow more corporeal than the others I’ve summoned, that impossible sense of realness that I get when I watch Cheshire materialize. “Yeah, definitely stronger.”

“Then it as I feared: we have stepped into the Abyss.”