SLAP.

"Wake up, kid. Come on. Breathe."

David’s eyes flew open. He gasped, his lungs burning as if he had been underwater for hours.

The rushing wind from the fall was gone. The golden light from the artifact had vanished. Instead, he was staring up at a high, vaulted ceiling made of rough, ancient stone blocks. It looked like an old medieval tomb, but the edges of the pillars were subtly flickering with a faint, glitching grey hue.

The air was freezing and smelled like stagnant water, burnt iron, and rotting meat.

Garcia was kneeling over him, his face pale and covered in soot, but his fingers were wrapped tightly around David's collar.

"Get up," Garcia muttered, his voice raspy. "We fell straight through the floor. We're deep down now."

David let out a heavy groan, the sound catching in his throat. He tried to push himself up, but a wave of white-hot agony tore across his chest and shoulder. He collapsed back onto the cold stone floor, his body shaking.

Lisa’s claws. The gashes were deep, and the edges of the torn flesh were already weeping a sickly, glowing yellowish fluid.

"I can't..." David wheezed, clenching his teeth so hard they clicked. "Everything hurts."

"You have to," Garcia said, his grip tightening as he aggressively hauled David to his feet.

David leaned heavily against a cracked stone pillar, his vision blurring. He forced his eyes open, trying to orient himself in the dim, shadow-drenched room.

Then, his breath hitched.

Lining the perimeter of the ancient chamber, a row of crude iron spikes rose straight out of the stone floor.

Impaled on top of each spike was a human head.

David’s stomach turned. They weren't ancient corpses. They were Syndicate soldiers. The faceless, black tactical helmets had been violently ripped open or shattered, revealing the pale, frozen faces of the mercenaries beneath. Some of their eyes were still rolled back, and dried, dark blood coated the rusted iron shafts.

It was a warning. A trophy wall left behind by whoever—or whatever—built this sanctuary.

"What... what is this place?" David whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at the dead eyes of a soldier just ten feet away.

"The ancient grounds," Garcia murmured, looking at the stone walls with a strange, hollow reverence. "The Church built this before the Syndicate ever started mapping the levels. It's a sanctuary for The Guide."

David groaned again, his knees buckling. He slid down the side of the stone pillar, clutching his chest.

Underneath his hand, the pain was changing. It wasn't just a burn anymore. The yellow fluid from Lisa’s claws was starting to pulse. He looked down and saw thin, glowing yellow veins radiating outward from the wound, creeping up his neck like a web of corrupted code.

The entity essence was spreading.

"Garcia..." David choked out, his vision turning grey at the edges. "Something's wrong. It's... it's burning me from the inside."

Garcia knelt down, his expression completely serious. He pulled the Church's artifact out of his coat pocket. The ancient relic was quiet now, a heavy piece of dark metal covered in faint, carved symbols, but it felt warm.

"She infected you," Garcia said coldly, pressing his thumb against the center of the artifact. "The Syndicate code in her claws is trying to rewrite your cells. If it reaches your heart, you'll turn into a howling mass of static just like that woman in the jungle."

David looked at the artifact, then up at Garcia's rigid face. "Can you fix it?"

"Fix it? No," Garcia whispered, a dangerous, hard edge cutting into his tone. He raised the heavy metal relic, aligning it directly over David’s open, glowing wounds. "But I can burn it out."

Before David could speak, the artifact erupted into a sharp, piercing beam of golden, digital light.

Garcia slammed the glowing edge of the relic directly into David’s torn chest.