The floor didn't fall, it folded.
Not like stone breaking or metal giving way, but like the world itself changed its mind about what floor meant.
One instant they were standing. The next, Miles, Sarissa, and Mara were running across a ribbon of spiraling flesh and obsidian tile that wound downward like a staircase built by madness itself.
"We're going down?" Mara shouted, voice swallowed by wind and the endless moaning of the stone.
Miles didn't answer, the obsidian rings in his eyes glowing with purpose.
Sarissa kept pace beside him, her sword drawn, body wound like a spring.
"He's still alive!"
"I know." Miles panted, looking at his ring from time to time. "But something's trying to end that."
