#arc.labyrinththree

[arcjintae]

a rose and its thorns,

@arcsora

the walls seem to further stretch skyward. he's small, insignificant; even when he, too, reaches for the sky and finds himself empty-handed but for steel. and for once, there's silence. he welcomes it. 

sweat beads at his forehead and he wipes it away, follows that with a shaky sip of water. he douses his fingertips with water, tends to the aging wounds where curving claws of bone once protruded. the then pain of knife-like shards slicing through his skin trumped the fear of death by stomp of the spider from before. ( like a mallet slamming down on each individual finger ) but all there was to do was bear it for now, even as he lost feeling in two fingers. he was so close.

every time he reaches for the air, it's stolen away. should he dig into his flesh and pull apart his ribcage for closer examination of his lungs, he believes them to be shriveled - burned at the ends from the fire he swallows with every run. yet, in the wake of fire, he smiles. it's one of triumph, that he's a reckless youth with a god’s power in his veins. and he can't be stopped.

and the struggle to stretch his lungs leaves him with starry vision and vertigo that causes the sky-reaching walls to swirl and close in on him until he closes his eyes and looks away.

he's had enough of bullshit and partnering with the others for one day, but -

ah. sora.

now there's someone who relieves him. she never failed to meet his standards of, well, acceptability. it meant she wouldn't hold him back, wouldn't be the dead weight dragging him six feet under. a pendulum’s swinging in his ears, counting down to the very seconds until the final phase commences. he feels it.

“well, well, look who it is.” he clicks his tongue, sizes her up, and nods, pleased, “did you answer my call for a good partner or is it luck?”

[arcromi-blog]

– lose it

@arcjinhyuk

For all that Romi can meddle, can question, can pry secrets free from those that refuse to speak, her powers are far from helpful in the field when it’s riddled with chaos and overflowing with violence. There’s a certain amount of prediction that can be made in the minds of opponents, but it’s hard to follow when she’s focused on fighting. Hard to compete when she’s not allowed to fire a gun. 

By the time she reaches the third phase of the maze, she’s run ragged. Shaking fingers and aching knees from too many hours spent running. She’d long since given up casting her mental net to try and find a staff member, to dig free some secret or another that would lead her to a short cut. That would, of course, be far too easy. The interest of fairness is apparently lost on them entirely, however, because Romi would possibly trade a leg if that meant she could shoot flames out of her hand for the duration of the trial. Instead, all she can do is pick up on a familiar mind nearby and push herself forward to weave through shifting walls in an attempt to find it. 

She finally gets fed up, stops for a moment and lets herself collapse back against a wall as she lodges her own thoughts into Jinhyuk’s head. Stop fucking moving. I’m close. Romi inhales deep, ignores the dull ache in her side and pushes forward yet again, until eventually she stumbles upon Jinhyuk, lets out a sigh as she reaches back to tighten her long-destroyed ponytail. “Any idea what’s lined up next?” she asks him, though goosebumps spring up along her forearms as she comes closer, notes abstractly that the walls are starting the narrow.

[arcmoonsoo-blog]

fear and loathing.

@arcareum ; 10:25pm, the labyrinth phase 3

all things considered, moonsoo should be in worse shape than he is. the maze thus far has been built away from his strengths; enemies that won't sit still long enough to listen to his whims, a mechanical being lacking the sort of cognitive function needed for him to be useful. but moonsoo has always been adaptive. not in the way one would list out as a positive trait, but adaptive nonetheless. it's born from cowardice, pushed forward by selfish desires and the assumption that his needs are greater than everyone around him. so he'd reeled in someone in the first phase to act as a shield and weapon all in one, had run into mona after the ever changing walls had pushed them together, and she had been the perfect destructive force to rip the spider limb from welded limb. 

so he stands as prideful and poised as ever as the grinding of the walls shift again. new corridors, a strange sense of unease, and it has moonsoo hunting down his next puppet to keep him out of harm's hands. eventually he finds her, lost in a perfume of heavy copper with exhaustion gripping at her bones. she wasn't as lucky as he was, it seems. but she never really is. 

"areum." he calls out,  one hand sliding against the rough stone of the wall as he wanders her way, lets it drop in favor of tucking two fingers under her chin, turning her this way and that like he's looking for damage. not that he could really do much of anything if there was, areum had always been in charge of stopping up their wounds long enough to keep them both from dying. the air feels heavy around them, and moonsoo drops his hand when he decides she's not about to keel over. "which way?" he asks, shoulder fitting to the wall as he lets it bear his weight, one hand slipping into the pocket of his pants "or do you need a break? you look a little worse for wear." he asks her, and it comes out nearly mocking. but then, he was never raised to be a very compassionate boy.

[arcyeonghun]

ʟᴀᴄᴜs ᴛɪᴍᴏʀɪs

But even the lunar tides grow worn and weary, constantly kissing the rubble that dusts the surface of its mate. Why do you think there are footsteps, and not feet, left?

The capacity at which humans can tolerate stress tends to be overlooked. And though experts claim martyrs and miracles, what deems these humans competent enough to be granted even just a moment of immorality which reigns a cut above the rest? Is it simply Darwinism? Are these individuals the fittest amongst their species? Or perhaps, have they been naturally selected to not succumb to destruction as their fellow humans have? They say a battle of mind over matter, mind shall overcome.

But does the mind really overcome?

The reverbing hums that regurgitated amongst the cacophony of insect chatter spun and manifested through the canals of his ears, forcing him to partake in drinking the accumulating resonance that clamored in the gray matter that sloshed through his skull. As the spinning needle conducted by a symphony of cicadas blew their impromptu through his flesh, the rise and fall of his chest began to subside. Each breath that caught in his throat manifested careful consciousness as he finally managed to slow the pulsing that throbbed at his neck, sinking its teeth along his veins before swallowing the calm that would soon swim through his blood.

A chill kissed at his nape as he felt the foundation crumble beneath him.

The walls are shifting with an eerie silence, slicing through predetermined patterns as they danced amongst the plane to reveal onyx barricades draped amongst a coal mezzanine. The amount of clairvoyance that is revealed deceives his eyes, offering fog crusts amongst the obsidian labyrinth. Tilting his head back as his pupils adjusted to the change in light, he was met with infinite obscurity that conjured a feeling of anxiousness in the pit of his being.

It takes a slew of miscounted minutes before the process of his nerves wakes through his bones, nipping at his stiffened muscles to rotate his joints forward – as if each segment of his body were not his own, but one piece of a whole tempting him to bring them all forward. And he hears the crack of his own exhausted voice slip through his parched lips, move. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, his aching arches force him forward and through the halls of the plagued embankment that has him trapped between it.

And he counts each steady step to keep himself focused, his eyes locked on each foot setting itself in front of the other.

One, two, three.

It starts to feel natural, comfortable even, as he continued through the passage while the walls felt as if they were engulfing him deeper and deeper into its belly.

Sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven.

And he wonders if there is a sudden incline, peering behind himself only to see the same trail behind him as is forward. Yet, his breaths are getting slower, steeper as if each one were desperately begging to escape.

So he speeds up.

Seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty.

Acrid, copper tainted bile formed in the back of his throat as he finally noticed that he was not responsible for the anxiety that began to consume him.

The walls were getting narrow.

And he stops counting.

A sudden flood grips around his throat, delving him into the sapphire brine that cages him within itself. The blood in his fingers escapes as he feels his vision disjunction, seamlessly revealing a path to the surface above him with cement licking at his ankles. And when he opens his mouth to utter a scream, a breath, a word – it’s gone.

There isn’t even a puddle around his feet.

The rest is left to his body as he hears the stammering steps propelling him forward, aiding him in an escape that would hopefully allow him to regain his sanity that has been forfeited once more to the single thing that kept him hostage. And he’s panting until he sees the vague outline of a figure, forcing him to slow but not quick enough as his body slams into the other

"...Geez, you saw me coming at full speed, and didn't bother to move!"