Seth Forsyte moved forward, his blade in hand and his senses on high alert. The Second Floor of the Black Tower was nothing like the first. Instead of the graveyard littered with undead, he now found himself in a labyrinthine maze. The air was thick with tension, and the walls seemed to pulse with an eerie energy, as if they were alive, watching his every move.
“This is ridiculous,” Seth muttered under his breath, his voice echoing through the narrow corridors. He was frustrated. The thrill of battle, the rush of leveling up—it was all absent here. Instead, he was stuck in this twisted maze, where every turn seemed to lead him back to where he started.
The walls were made of dark, cold stone, slick with moisture. They towered above him, their tops obscured by a thick, swirling mist that
