White bloomed across the field, bordered by gentle, swaying spruce. A section of light carved against darkness—beautiful enough to be disarming.

  Oliver laughed as he tossed scattered petals high, his gaze fixed on Ryan.

  Pure, dripping affection.

  But white was a colour easily stained.

  Ian's feet sank into the earth, brushing his fingers against the cold butt of his gun as he swept his gaze across. There weren't any obvious tells of the Rift's entry, although the tracker had led them here. Rift entrances varied drastically—some were near impossible to determine.

  Boots stomped mercilessly into the flowers beside him, squishing the flowers that rose past their ankles. The woman, wearing a constant frown, tugged on the leather gloves that encased her fingers.

  Her knuckles were plated in silver, but a thin rapier hung at her waist.

  "A sword?" remarked Ian.

  Many unconventional weapons existed, though most took to the familiarity of guns and daggers that could be tucked into a belt. Swords weren't incredibly uncommon, but rarer.

  Few relied solely on their abilities, unless they were a crazed beast like a certain over-confident Esper that carried nothing more than the liquid in his body.

  The overuse of abilities, especially if sufficient guiding didn't occur in time, often came with a price. For Victor, without a liquid source, he'd drain his body dry—but that was unlikely to happen so long as he had other blood sources.

  The woman didn't spare him a glance, stabbing a flower with the tip of her rapier. "No rules on forbidden weapons, are there?"

  His eyes had fallen to her wrist, where a worn, woven bracelet dangled.

  Eloise, Ian recalled, had taken a fascination with random crafts to pass time. She'd found string and miserably made a knotted mess, hardly suitable to be called a bracelet.

  He no longer had them, but to him, they'd been more precious than perfection.

  Then, he felt a searing gaze on him and lifted his attention to the woman's stern eyes, amber-green under the sunlight. Chartreuse eyes.

  "Hera," she dropped one word, and strode away.

  Her name. Though she seemed adamant to tell him, he didn't care to determine why. She bitterly shoved through the endless stream of flowers, adjusting the bag of rations looped over her back.

  He followed. Sweet, honey-like scents wafted past his nose, almost cloying. Sickening.

  "It's intense, but very sweet, don't you think?" Ryan, at some point, had slid beside Ian as he watched Oliver weave two long stems together. The Esper lifted a flower to Ian's ear, brushing the muzzle as he tucked it in. "I'd like to get along with you."

  Flirtatious, like a habit.

  Ian's eyes narrowed into slits. "I'm not interested in your games."

  "Nothing of the sort," laughed Ryan sheepishly. "I mean, alright. You remind me of somebody."

  Was this an act of innocence? What hid beneath that smile, those warm eyes? Ian's heart pounded, a buzzing in his ears as he yanked out the flower, allowing its slow descent to the ground.

  "Your reputation precedes you," he said with more bite than intended.

  Ryan cocked his head. "Which is...?"

  "A dog in heat that never ceases."

  Ryan's shoulders stiffened as he drew back, coughing into his palm. His brows creased. "That bad? I admittedly have a fair share of partners, but it's all willing pleasure." He exhaled, scratching the back of his neck. "You're handsome, but I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."

  Ian's eyebrows knitted deeply, crossing his arms.

  Discomfort clawed at his chest, and he hoped the Rift would swallow them soon, exposing the pretty lies they wore.

  He tipped his chin to Oliver. "You're not worried about letting that brat waddle around?"

  Ryan laughed. "An A-level isn't anything new." He glanced sideways and suddenly froze, staring at Ian's profile. His fingers reached out, and Ian jerked his head, swiping them away. "Your eyes..."

  Ian's hand palmed his gun. "What of them?"

  "I don't mean anything bad, they're nice." He cleared his throat as he waved at Oliver. "I've met a lot with black eyes, but rarely ones as dark as yours. A true black."

  Eye colours greatly varied, but it was unknown whether due to the breeding experiment, or the artificial nature of some Guides, that a complete black came rare. Many were speckled with colour, or a shade closer to dark brown.

  "There was..." Ryan's voice drifted, his smile dropping. "Somebody once—"

  A tremor tore through the earth, and Oliver yelped from afar. A fissure ripped through them, tearing the meadow as dirt flung in the air, and a fleshy creature emerged. It wore a skin made of dirt and flowers, the fleshy bulb coiled in barbed vines.

  A tentacle peeled away from the bulb, snapping against the meadow.

  "Ryan, Ryan, Ryan!" Oliver yelped as it snaked forward, sliding around his waist before tossing him into the air. The flailing Guide screamed as the top of the bulb unfurled to reveal rows of jagged teeth. "Help me!"

  With a snap, the jaw crunched down and sent another rumble through the ground.

  "Oliver!"

  Ryan choked, paling as he dashed towards it.

  "Wait—!" Ian reached to stop him, but the Esper had taken to the air, slamming his feet against invisible steps as two pistols spun into his palms.

  Bang—!

  The gun fired across the trembling chaos, scattering among tossed dirt and flowers. The tentacles smacked across the air, slamming into his abdomen as his body was flung backwards. Blood spurted from his mouth as he groaned.

  He tumbled, rolling onto his feet as his movements staggered, and fired another two shots.

  Hera let out a string of curses, each fouler than the next, and nimbly darted forth with her sword aimed high. Her body dexterously arced through the air, slicing through the whipping tentacles as fleshy chunks thudded to the earth.

  Each chunk cast another rumble that hammered against their ears.

  "Thanks!" Ryan shouted, jerking his head—but that split of distraction was a mistake.

  The tentacle whipped out again, smacking the gun out of his hand as it tore a hideous gash across his palm. Ryan cursed. "Just stay still, won't you?!"

  The two flew across, slicing and shooting, and they ducked under the whipping plant, to no avail. Eventually, the ropes ensnared them and flung them into its bulb.

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  Ian swerved to Victor, who stood by the spreading fissure. "Is that the entrance?"

  Victor lifted a cold gaze, smiling. "Would you like to guess?"

  Ian temporarily set aside the desire to strangle the useless Esper, and skated his gaze across the field as his thoughts whirred. No other direction or entry. Monsters often veered clear of the Rift openings, instinctively frightened of being dragged into the slip.

  "Thoughts, Guide?" murmured Victor.

  "Screw you," sneered Ian as his attention snapped back, and his body lunged towards the lotus monster. It's fleshy, wide petals unfurled as he dashed along the whipping tentacles, slippery under his pounding steps.

  Smaller tendrils snapped towards his body as he leaped from thick tentacle to the next. One snapped against his shoulder, and he gritted his teeth, his step staggering. Red slicked the torn wound, but he leaped into the twitching mouth.

  He plummeted into a devouring darkness.

  A sickeningly soft appendage pulsed around him as the rancid stench of rot assaulted his senses. He slipped further with each contraction, nausea coiling in his stomach.

  The pressure continued to tighten, squeezing around the ache in his ribs.

  His breath caught, suffocated.

  Just as dizziness rolled in his head, it loosened, and suddenly, he was falling. Ian gasped, swallowing a brief breath before he slammed into a bitter liquid that bit into his skin. Thrashing, he lunged for the surface, thrusting his arms up.

  He reached mindlessly in the dim darkness, grasping for a floating shape.

  It was smooth under his palm, textured and bloated. He hesitated, a gag caught in his throat, but he hugged the tender object close.

  His eyes began to adjust, and colour quickly leeched from his face.

  A human torso, slightly bloated from soaking in the liquids.

  Something brushed against his back, bobbing against the dark waters. Stiffening, he slowly drew his gaze askew. Sounding him, in the lightly pulsing chasm, were floating chunks of flesh and bodies, dismembered limbs and strings of hair.

  His hold on the torso slipped, slicked with liquid—blood or water—and he jerked, but before he could plunge, a hand hauled him across a furry, dampened surface.

  Ian's body lurched as he choked, and a throbbing gnawed at his skin.

  He spat out a mouthful of liquid as his tongue prickled and uselessly scrubbed against his lips, jerking his head up. Hera's gaze seemed to glow, peering behind her crow mask.

  Her long, damp hair had been slicked back, and she stood with crossed arms.

  She clicked her tongue. "Don't die with those damn eyes."

  They seemed to draw a fascination, frequently wherever he went. He'd heard delights from some researchers who hovered, eager to watch agony writhe in the black pools of his gaze. Though they came rarely, they'd inject far more than required to watch him squirm.

  Thrashing against his restraints, gasping like a fish out of water.

  His fingers curled his palm as he staggered into a stand, brushing his hand over the pulsing wound. "Should I pop them out for your safekeeping?"

  Metal glided between her fingers, snapping short right before Ian's open eyes.

  A sharpened silver spoon.

  "I don't do jokes."

  It was close enough that with one blink, his eyelashes would brush the edge. But he didn't flinch, drawing back as he jutted his chin to the massive soup bowl of flesh and limbs. "Spoons? Do you carry them around in case you want a drink of something like this?"

  Her nose scrunched, the tip revealed underneath the jutting beak. She shoved them back into her belt. "Utensils for eating."

  "Sharpened utensils," he deadpanned.

  "Multi-purpose," she stated, shrugging.

  Ian debated it solemnly. Considering the quality of weapons often monopolized by Zone 0, he decided he could accept it. Although he personally didn't flavour his meals with a dash of blood.

  Victor, however, probably did.

  He crouched on the buoyant surface—the bloated carcass of a large beast, stomach protruding, as it sloshed with Ian's movements. Liquid dripped tantalizingly slow from the ceiling, plucking into the surface. A low rumble emitted from deeper in the chamber, spewing a foul odor.

  Likely, they were in the monster's stomach.

  Suddenly, his arm robotically lifted into the air, waving. It was like a detached limb, unbound by his control despite feeling every sensation. Hera snapped her gaze to him, frowning.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  Then, a tall shadow floated over, emerging from the distance. Shadows slipped away to reveal a calm, smiling mouth. "You seem eager to see me, puppy."

  Ian snatched his hand down. "You have your own arms—use them."

  "Why would I when I prefer yours much more?"

  Before Ian could retort, Hera cursed and fished out a floating arm grimly, thrusting it out as she crouched low. Something splashed, two figures scrambling for balance as they reached out.

  "Don't be a wimp, and dig your fingers in there! Or drown for all I care!"

  A sharp exhale sounded, and the hand squeezed the limb as she yanked them closer.

  The two others wore pale expressions, on the verge of throwing up as they clutched a floating thigh each. Hera nudged over a torso, gesturing for them to grab it.

  Ryan helped Oliver on, swallowing his nausea. "So. This is the creature's stomach."

  Hera snorted. "No kidding."

  Oliver's gaze snapped to her, sharper and darker, or was that the shadows that carved it so? Ian drew his attention away, lifting his chin to peer at the distant pulsing skin, squelching as it breathed.

  "We find a way out of here, or we'll serve as the next floats for whoever falls inside."

  Ryan covered his mouth, grimacing as he imagined the scene. Ian ignored him—and then he heard it. His ears twitched as he jerked his head to a distant corner where a dull, hardly discernible light glowed.

  He squinted, making out a slit in the stomach lining. Was that the entrance?

  Rounded, bulging flesh jutted out like a staircase leading up. Then, a short shadow leaped up them—who was that?

  In his observation, his body leaned forward, and his foot slipped when a hand snaked around his waist, sneaking a shameless squeeze before pulling him back.

  "Careful," mused Victor. "Unless you're eager for a swim?"

  Ian duly raised his eyebrow. "If I swim, you swim."

  "Is this a proposition?"

  Ian stared in disbelief, shaking his head as he gripped Victor's arm and used it as an anchor to lean, catching a better glimpse. Victor, surprisingly, simply gazed at him but remained still.

  As Ian suspected. He was more charming when he didn't talk.

  But he finally saw the child's face, lit with a bright smile. Oliver—younger, wearing a crown of bleeding flowers.

  "There." He pointed, and all heads snapped to the shadow in recognition.

  Hera narrowed her eyes, resting a hand on her hip. "What is this? Some sort of memory game?"

  Ryan frowned, sighing deeply. "Whatever it is, let's make our way over. The Rift might lean on psychological aspects rather than a specific terrain."

  In the end, despite their disgust, they were all experienced Guides and Espers. They reluctantly grabbed a limb and paddled through, sloshing liquids.

  Ian's gaze briefly drifted to Ryan and Oliver. The latter sniffed, clutching Ryan's arm, slightly tucked behind him. Maybe that was why Ryan didn't see it, how the Guide hung around him like a loyal, sweet puppy—

  —a puppy without fear, despite his purposeful sniffs.

  Ian's fingers dug into the limb, but he continued paddling through the murky waters.

  Ryan offered to head up first, gesturing to Oliver. "We'll go first." He moved to lift Oliver, who hiccuped, trembling. "Come on, Ollie, it's a little gross, but we have to hurry. I'm right behind you."

  Oliver's delicate throat bobbed, and he clutched onto the platforms with a squish, grimacing. After they climbed up, Hera crouched low and launched herself off the belly with a spring, nearly knocking Ian off.

  She landed on the first platform, feet sinking into flesh, before she darted up in the blink of an eye. Ian watched and measured the distance. Ryan had used his ability, but from how he helped Oliver, he couldn't extend it. Hera—she was just inhuman.

  He turned. "Summon your ice."

  Victor raised his eyebrows at the demand. "Are you sure? I wouldn't know the results of stimulating its stomach with frost."

  Ian didn't know the consequences of invigorating its digestion, and sighed. It seemed he'd have to try and dig into the stomach lining, though he didn't know if that would result in adverse effects.

  Before he could stretch, the Esper beside him calmly lowered into a crouch.

  Ian glanced down. "What? Are you praying?"

  Victor's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Do I appear as somebody who believes in God?"

  "Maybe somebody who believes in the devil." Ian cocked his head, frowning. "Are you taking a break, or what?"

  "Climb onto my back."

  Four unexpected words. Ian's breath stilled, but deciding there were few other options, he nodded. He climbed over, swinging his legs by Victor's hips as he stood.

  He was by no means small, especially after the few months that he'd been fed plump and trained. At that thought, he stiffened. He wore a muzzle, but when did he become a dog?

  Nevertheless, he wasn't polite and ground his feet into Victor's palms, scrambling up as he stretched the other's clothes. He stepped onto the Esper's shoulders and stretched out, the tip of his finger brushing the bottom when his foot suddenly slipped.

  His body jerked, and he kicked out his leg.

  Smack—!

  A wet, crisp sound echoed as his foot ground against a surface. His stomach churned as he slowly drew his gaze down.

  There, rather obediently, his foot pressed right against Victor's face, settled between a cold gaze.

  "....."

  He coughed and hurriedly climbed up. When he reached the platform, he peered back to observe the pretty face now graced with a disgusting footprint.

  Victor's chilling voice sounded. "Do you plan to help me up, puppy?"

  Ian blinked. "You know what?"

  The Esper lifted his gaze, smiling still. "Hm?"

  "I don't feel like it." Ian straightened, rubbing his sore neck. He got away with a lot these days, but... he stared at the clear footprint mark and cleared his throat. "It's a good opportunity to flap your wings and show off, as you enjoy doing."

  The temperature plummeted, and goosebumps skated across his skin.

  Ian wordlessly averted his gaze and hurried up the slippery platforms. After all their time and indenting that pretty face, all his subconscious fears had long retreated.

  In fact, spite encouraged pettier acts, but as a reasonable adult, Ian refrained.

  What could Victor do, anyway? Kill him?

  At the top, the little Oliver hopped into a gaping tunnel of flesh, dashing into a blinding light. Hera kicked Ryan's butt, shoving him inside. "Get on crawling."

  "I'm going, I'm going!" Ryan took to the front as Oliver shot a spiteful glare at the woman, who cocked her head arrogantly.

  They climbed inside, one after another, while a frost emanated from Ian's back.

  He didn't turn, calmly entering the tunnel. As the saying went, hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. With that firmly in mind, he resolutely left Victor behind.