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This time, stripped of his equipment in his last encounter, he looked around the armory with a different perspective. After witnessing the ineffectiveness of conventional weapons against the seemingly impervious form of War, he was careful in what he chose.

Though this time, the options seemed to be different than the ones he was presented with before. In fact, nothing even seemed to be the same at all.

"...Huh, what\'s all of this?" He questioned in a mumble.

What were basic, standard-issue weapons before now had some unique traits to them; a broadsword with a black-and-gold handle and a crimson jewel embedded in its center; a bow that seemed to be made out of a snow-white, curly wood with a string that softly glowed.

There was a way to test the true nature of the weapons, or at least, what their existence meant; though his ability to hone in on mana was still vastly suppressed by unknown means, he held his hand forward and drew a calm breath through his lips.

Feel it like the wind at your fingertips; the natural flow of energy through the world–the leylines and roots of life; sense the mana, he thought.

Easing himself into a state where he could once more gain a sixth sense for mana, he was able to begin sensing it, though faintly; what he found was that, indeed, there were traces of magical energy left in the unique weapons now occupying the armory.

So these are enchanted weapons of some sort, then? He thought, why did these show up now, though? And how?...Well, I guess nothing should surprise me anymore. This place is all kinds of weird.

Even if he knew they were enchanted with some sort of mystical abilities, likely each possessing their own unique traits, he had no way of knowing what exactly the tools were capable of.

"Hmm…" He pondered.

Of course, he was most accustomed to swordplay, leading him to pick up the red-jeweled broadsword that was displayed on the wall like a grand heirloom. It came with a scabbard of lavish, black leather with silver-and-scarlet decorations running along its length, seeming expensive to his untrained eye.

Hopefully this helps more than the last sword–though I can hardly imagine much of anything cutting past that armor of its, he thought.

While a shield was something that he would like to keep on hand to defend himself with, it was questionable to him if any such shield would be effective in the face of the killing power of the entity lurking in the labyrinth.

I\'m not much like Everett…Unless it\'s with a spell, shielding isn\'t my forte. If I let it get to the point that I need to block, well, I\'m probably already mincemeat, he thought, best thing I can do is try to avoid being in that position in the first place.

This time, he found himself only picking up the sword and attaching it to his belt with the intention of keeping a light load held so that he could attempt to maintain some level of stealth and swiftness.

Once more, he set out from the armory and back out into the depths of the daunting labyrinth of black. This time, the air felt thinner and laced with a gnawing anxiety; knowing what sort of enemy prowled the halls dug deep into him the severity of the situation.

If I can, I should get an idea where it is and plan around that, he thought.

With a new attempt at exploring the maze-like dungeon, he went through a new pathway, taking the rightmost corridor.

"What the…" He mumbled.

Quickly, he found this path to wield its own unique trait as his boots stepped down with a "squelch" as if stepping into goo. Somehow he didn\'t notice it until he was already a good few steps into the dark corridor, but it seemed to be the entirety of the floor; a swamp of the dark-black substance.

The problem was, it wasn\'t exactly lukewarm; the black sludge he had found himself walking into was steaming hot.

"C\'mon…" He muttered impatiently.

It was incredibly sticky, clinging to the soles of his boots like glue, making it a Herculean task to lift his feet from the floor of steaming goo.

He wasn\'t aware there would be additional obstacles in the labyrinth, but when thinking of the abstract, nefarious nature of the realm, it wasn\'t surprising.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

It was loud, but distant: the unmistakable weight of the massacre machine\'s steps drumming through the halls. The sudden existence of this noise brought Emilio to a momentary pause as his breath went silent for a moment.

Right after he regained focus, he hastened his attempts to march through the sticky, hot goo, as troublesome as it was.

No! This is bad! Really, really bad! He thought.

Even with enhanced strength granted to him by the reemergence of his system, it required a strenuous, tiring effort to yank his boots from the goo for each step. Still, nothing was a greater motivator for his legs than the heartbeat of machinery that served as a precursor for death itself.

Move! Move! He told himself.

There was no doubt it was coming closer, though the lessened rapidity of the metallic steps led him to believe that War was not aware of his location; at the very least, that is what he had hoped dearly for.

Nearly to the end of the corridor, he didn\'t notice it until getting close enough, but there was an oval passageway connecting to the next room, or rather, leading into what looked to be another corridor of sorts.

"Nnngh–!"

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Too close.

Far too close; too sudden.

He could directly feel the weight of those thunderous steps, grating his nerves and erupting his heart in a desperate thump. Sensing those stomps becoming more rapid, now able to hear the hiss of steam and low, distorted growls and groans of the flesh-forged machine of death, he forced himself to move with haste.

"Nnnh–!"

In order to break free from the ooze, he ditched his boots entirely before leaping the final meter into the oval doorway, landing in a peculiar pathway.

The walls were a deep, dark red and unnaturally wavy; it looked as though he was traversing colossal intestines as there was a substance that secreted from the walls.

"...What is this…?" He mumbled under his breath.

It had stopped.

The moment he entered this abnormal hallway, the sound of the entity\'s footsteps had gone silent. That\'s all there was now around him; silence and mystery. Beneath his feet, he could feel the slippery substance that laid slick on the abnormal ground, which itself was covered in small ridges that made movement awkward.

It\'s always just one thing after another in this place…I\'d say "give me a break", but then I feel like I\'d just be jinxing it, he thought.

Feeling a level of frustration in the perplexing, troublesome environment of the isolated hall he trudged through, he moved on nonetheless with the final key driving each step forth.

It was a twisty path; the corridor was disfigured and somewhat spiraling in its shape, forcing him to walk at an almost sideways angle at points. Supplemented by the slippery substance that lined the walls and floors, it made for a troublesome walk.

"...Everything just has to be trouble here…" He muttered under his breath.

With every step further, he found the corridor to become progressively more challenging in its structure; it got more narrow and the liquid secretion from the walls became more plentiful. It had a funky smell to it; like a mix of corn and expired milk, it met his nose unpleasantly, but that was the least of his concerns.

"Urgh…" He let out.

By this point, after moving through the red-lined corridor for a few minutes, he was forced to hunch over and do his best to avoid bumping against the slippery walls.

Again came a decrease in the size of the hall, causing the young Dragonheart to be placed on his hands-and-knees, crawling through the wavy passageway.

What the hell is this…? Where is this leading me, anyway? He thought.

There was no avoiding the substance now, as he crawled along the floor, constantly having to touch the walls, he felt an odd sensation running through the body. It was as if the odd liquid was invading his pores, causing a spike of coldness to rush through his veins before his vision came to sway.

"Wh…wha…" He let out.

A total loss of balance came as he found himself unable to properly order his thoughts, as if a fog had appeared in his brain, intercepting his train of thought entirely.

Ringing filled his ears as his vision distorted in totality; the walls morphed around him, growing mouths that taunted him with laughter.

"Gya-ha-ha-ha!"

"Foolish, boy! Foolish, boy!"

"Never escaping! Never escaping!"

It was nauseating to listen to, driving him mad as the laughter penetrated his ears and rang his skull, forcing him to put his head down and cover it with his arms.

"No, no, no…shut up!" He yelled out.

Maddening, it was; there was no covering his ears from the head-swirling laughter as it resonated inside of his head, taunting him the more he tried to escape it:

"Stupid, boy! Stupid, boy!"

"Dragon whelp got too big for his britches!"

"Never eccaping! Never escaping!"