16. Is dying the only option?

Seiito knew the truth—no matter how exhausted, no matter how afraid—he had to keep moving. If he stopped, even for a moment, the labyrinth would swallow him whole. Death stalked his every step, patient, waiting for a single mistake. His only choice was to descend deeper. To survive, he had to go lower, floor by floor, into the belly of this endless nightmare.

His mind blurred with fatigue, unsure how many levels he had passed. Every step dragged him further into darkness, and every monster he encountered was fiercer than the last. Their eyes gleamed with hunger, their claws sharp enough to tear through his flesh in an instant.

But Seiito didn't fight—he couldn't. Not with a Healer's powers. He became a shadow, slipping through cracks in the labyrinth's jagged walls, hiding in pools of water so cold they numbed his bones. He evaded and snuck his way past creatures that could end his life in seconds.

Yet stealth wasn't always enough. Some monsters had senses far beyond sight—creatures that could sniff out the faintest heartbeat and hear the whisper of footsteps no matter how careful. When they found him, it was chaos. He would escape only by the skin of his teeth, his lungs burning, his body torn and trembling, barely holding together under the weight of exhaustion.

Each encounter was a waltz with death, an endless, cruel rhythm where every misstep would shatter his fragile existence.

And with each narrow escape came despair, heavy and suffocating. It gnawed at him like a parasite, seeping into his bones. Despair bred hopelessness, and hopelessness whispered the sweetest temptation of all—death.

Let me die already…

The thought slithered through his mind, dark and insidious. What's the point of all this? I'm too weak… It's inevitable…

He staggered forward, his limbs screaming in protest, his breath shallow and ragged. His heart wanted to stop, and his soul begged for release. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the labyrinth itself was trying to drag him into the abyss.

He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails bit into his palms, the sting grounding him, barely. But no amount of pain could erase the truth:

I can't survive this…

This is where it ends… Isn't it?

No… these miracles… they have to mean something…

Seiito's body shook as bitter tears streamed down his face. Hopelessness gripped him like chains around his soul, dragging him into the depths of despair, but he clung—desperately—to whatever fragile thread of hope remained. His sobs echoed through the desolate labyrinth, a hollow sound swallowed by the endless dark.

Why was I still alive? Every time death loomed over him, something—something—intervened. It wasn't luck. It couldn't be. There had to be a reason, right?

But the doubt gnawed at his sanity. Was someone saving him? Or was it just fate, toying with him for amusement?

His thoughts spiraled into confusion and contradiction. Did he truly want to live, or was death the only escape from this endless nightmare? The question clung to his mind like a curse, twisting his emotions into a knot of frustration and fear.

He gritted his teeth, clutching his head as if the pressure might keep him from unraveling entirely. He couldn't die—no, not like this. To give up would betray everything. It would hurt Saka. She'd be crushed… And it would solidify everything he despised about himself.

A weakling. A coward.

Someone who took the easy way out.

And isn't that all suicide is?

The word sliced through his mind like a dagger. It had never crossed his thoughts before, never seemed like an option—until now. Now, it whispered to him like a siren's song, luring him with promises of rest. Rest from the pain. From the endless struggle. From the fear.

Maybe… that's the only way…

He pressed his trembling hands against his mouth to muffle his sobs. No! He couldn't believe that. He wouldn't! Yet the temptation was there, clawing at the edges of his reason. A way to let go. To finally stop fighting.

But… is dying the only option?

I'm not a hero… I don't get sudden power-ups… I'm not blessed like the others…

The bitter truth weighed on his heart. He wasn't special. No god smiled upon him, and no divine gift would descend to save him at the last moment. He was just Seiito—ordinary, fragile, and utterly alone.

Suddenly—

"GAAAAAAAAH!!!"

Agony tore through his body like a white-hot blade. He screamed as a searing heat consumed him, his skin blistering and cracking under the relentless fire. His clothes burned away in an instant, leaving his flesh exposed to the unforgiving flames.

He barely caught a glimpse of the monster that had attacked—a hulking figure of molten rock, glowing cracks running along its obsidian skin, flames licking at its joints. Lava oozed from its mouth in a slow, deliberate drip, and its eyes burned with sadistic violence.

The fire creature roared and swung one massive, flame-coated arm. Seiito was too slow to dodge—

BOOM!

The strike hit him square in the chest, hurling him through the air. His back slammed into a jagged wall of rock, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs and sending waves of agony through his body. His skin sizzled where the flames had touched, the searing heat lingering like poison in his veins.

He gasped, choking on smoke and his own blood. The left side of his face was charred, the skin cracked and blackened, flaking off in patches. Blisters spread across his arms and chest, swelling with fluid and bursting painfully as he struggled to breathe. The scent of scorched flesh filled his nostrils—his flesh.

His vision blurred as the pain overwhelmed him, and for a moment, his mind teetered on the edge of collapse.

Heal. I have to heal…

But his hand wouldn't stop shaking. His voice wouldn't come. The words refused to form on his tongue.

The monster approached slowly, flames flaring with every step. It loomed over him, a living furnace, ready to reduce him to ash.

And in that moment, as his life dangled by a thread, the temptation whispered again:

Just let go…

He clenched his teeth so hard they might shatter. No. Not like this. He refused to die like this.

With trembling hands, he forced himself to lift his burned arm. His fingers twitched, glowing faintly with the remnants of his healing magic.

"Heal…" he croaked, barely more than a whisper.

It was weak. So weak. But it was something.

The fire beast raised its arm for the final blow, flames surging—

And Seiito felt the faint warmth of healing magic flicker across his charred skin, struggling to keep him alive for just one more second.

CRACK!

The ceiling above shattered, rupturing open as a torrent of water exploded from the fissure. A massive waterfall crashed down with violent force, swallowing both Seiito and the Pyrrhagon in its merciless flow.

Seiito barely had time to scream as the freezing water engulfed him, dragging him into the chaotic current. His body thrashed against jagged rocks and narrow crevices, each impact sending fresh waves of pain coursing through him. He gasped for air, only to choke on the icy flood.

The Pyrrhagon roared, its molten form hissing violently as steam burst from its body, the collision of fire and water creating an oppressive fog. For a brief moment, Seiito thought he could hear the beast's fury drown beneath the deluge. But the relentless current swept him deeper into the labyrinth's dark veins, far from the raging inferno.

The water slammed him against another outcrop—crack!—his skull met stone, and everything spun. His limbs went limp, dragged further down by the current, helpless and fading.

The last thing Seiito felt was the cold water biting into his skin and the agonizing throb of his injuries—then, darkness claimed him, like the calm that follows a nightmare.

Seiito's eyes snapped open, his breath sharp and uneven. He blinked, disoriented, finding himself perched atop a steep gravel hill. His legs dangled precariously over the edge of a deadly drop, the jagged rocks below whispering promises of a swift end. The cool air stung his face as his irises slowly scanned the desolate expanse stretching out before him, his mind sluggishly trying to piece together where he was.

The waterfall… it must've dragged me deeper.

He exhaled shakily, assuming he'd been pulled further into the 30th floor—perhaps even lower. The vast emptiness around him gave no clue as to where the labyrinth had spat him out. It was quiet, eerily so, with only the occasional sound of distant water dripping off unseen ledges.

Seiito planted his palms on the rough ground, trying to push himself upright but to no avail.

His limbs screamed with exhaustion, his muscles heavy and sluggish, each bruise and cut pulsing beneath his skin. He whispered, "Heal," over and over, a faint glow weaving through his hands as he tried to mend the worst of his injuries. But it wasn't enough. He could feel the spell patching his wounds like threadbare stitches—delicate, temporary, a fragile facade of recovery.

He exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his aching chest. But no matter how much he healed, there was a part of him the magic could never touch.

His expression darkened. His lips curled into a grimace, and his teeth clenched painfully tight, jaw trembling as frustration simmered beneath the surface. What's the point? The thought cut through his mind like a bitter gust. No matter how many times he mended his flesh, the weariness in his heart remained. The endless running, the wounds, the monsters—it never stopped. And yet, here he was, alive. Still breathing.

Alive.

Seiito dug his nails into the dirt, his fists trembling with rage and despair, both emotions swirling like a storm in his chest. He hated this feeling—being caught in limbo between survival and surrender.

"Why… Why am I even here?" he muttered under his breath, his voice bitter and hollow. His thoughts spiraled deeper into the pit of resentment, gnawing away at his soul. Every encounter, every near-death experience only solidified his anger at himself—weak, pathetic, powerless.

He slammed his fist into the ground, pebbles scattering beneath the force of his strike. "Damn it… Damn it all!"

The thought of relying on miracles, on some unknown force pulling him from the jaws of death again and again, only made him feel smaller—like a puppet strung along, his fate controlled by hands unseen. He loathed it. He loathed being a pawn, being spared only to crawl deeper into the endless abyss of the labyrinth.

His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of helplessness pressing down like a leaden shroud. He tilted his head back, staring into the cavernous ceiling far above him. The silence around him was suffocating.

For a brief moment, Seiito closed his eyes, letting the heaviness wash over him. The bitterness, the exhaustion, the anger—it clawed at him, relentless and unforgiving.

But he didn't have the luxury to break down. Not yet. Not here. He had to keep moving. Even if every step forward felt like dragging his broken body through shards of glass, even if hope was slipping through his fingers like sand—he couldn't stop.

Because if he stopped now…

It would mean he'd already lost.

But there was something in his mind that never left, a question he had thought about for a while now…