CHAPTER 188: [THE MYSTERIOUS BUILDING]

The serpent’s tongue finally uncurled, its slick, muscular length loosening with a slow, deliberate grace. Eli barely processed what was happening until he felt himself lowering—gently, impossibly gently—toward solid ground.

His boots brushed the damp Aerth first, sinking slightly into the mud. For a heartbeat, his body remained tense, his muscles locked in anticipation of pain, of fangs, of death.

But it never came.

The wet, suffocating pressure slipped away from his waist, sliding back into the darkness with a faint hiss. And then—he was free.

The serpent had placed him down. Not dropped. Not thrown.Placed.

Eli stumbled forward, his knees buckling beneath him. His palms hit the ground hard, sinking into the cold, dew-soaked soil slick with serpent saliva. He gasped, the air sharp and wet against his lungs as he coughed, each breath shaky and uneven.

’It finally let me go.’

He stayed there for a moment—on his hands and knees, trembling, dizzy—until the realization hit him fully. He wasn’t surrounded by flesh anymore. Not trapped. Not drowning in the creature’s throat.

He was breathing real air again.

The mist curled around him, cool and heavy, carrying the faint scent of rain and ozone. For a fleeting second, relief surged through him—pure and overwhelming.

But it didn’t last.

A sound rippled through the clearing—deep, resonant, alive.A low hiss that rolled like thunder, shaking through the ground and vibrating up his ribs.

Eli froze.

Slowly, his head turned upward.

And there it was.

The serpent. Towering. Vast. Its scales shimmered faintly in the dim light, catching the moisture in the air like liquid glass. Its head lowered, casting a shadow that swallowed him whole. Those enormous eyes—glowing, unblinking, alien—fixed on him.

Eli went utterly still, the cold seeping into his bones. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his body refused to listen.

’Is this it?’ he thought weakly. ’Was that—"gentle drop"—just a setup before the kill?’

But the serpent didn’t lunge.

It didn’t open its jaws.

It didn’t move at all.

Its slit pupils constricted slowly, then shifted—past him. Not at him. Through him.

Eli blinked, confused. His voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper. "What are you...?"

The serpent’s gaze stayed locked in the same direction, its massive body coiling slightly, scales scraping softly against the grass.

Eli hesitated, then—against every ounce of reason—turned to follow its gaze.

And froze.

Behind him, where mist met shadow, stood a structure.

At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. The edges were too straight, too precise. But as the fog thinned, the outline became clearer—a building.

Old. Weathered. Human.

Its stone walls were cracked and half-buried under vines and moss, green creeping up the faded gray like veins. Broken windows gaped open, their frames warped with age. Wildflowers grew from the crevices, the faint color of their petals almost glowing in the gloom.

The roof had caved in on one corner, leaving a jagged hole that exposed beams long rotted and splintered. But despite its decay, it stood firm—defiant against the years.

And the strangest part—was how ordinary it looked.

No demonic architecture, no twisted runes or pulsating mana formations. Just brick. Concrete. And faint remnants of something like paint or signage, too faded to read.

A human building.

Eli’s breath hitched, his throat tight. "What the hell...?" he whispered, barely able to get the words out.

It didn’t belong here. Nothing about it did. This dungeon was ancient, impossible—yet the structure in front of him looked like it had been pulled straight from Aerth.

His Aerth.

And as he stared, his heart began to race for a different reason entirely.

’Why is there something like this here? And more importantly... why did it bring me to it?’

The serpent behind him let out another low, almost mournful hiss—its sound echoing like a sigh through the mist.

Eli’s pulse quickened.

Because for the first time, it didn’t feel like the creature was threatening him.

It felt like it was... showing him something.

The air felt heavier now—dense, humming with a strange charge that prickled across Eli’s skin. It wasn’t just mana.

It wasn’t just fear. It was something older,

something that seemed to breathe with the earth itself.

The serpent’s hiss came again, low and deep, vibrating through his bones. This time it wasn’t threatening—it sounded almost... impatient.

Eli turned toward it, chest tightening, eyes wide and wild. "Wh—what do you want?"

The creature’s enormous tail shifted behind him, the movement slow and deliberate. The sheer force of it sent a wave through the fog, scattering the mist like ripples across a lake.

The air trembled as the tail swept closer—massive, smooth, and glistening faintly with bioluminescent streaks that pulsed in rhythm with its breath.

He flinched, stumbling backward instinctively. "Wait—!"

But it didn’t strike.

The tail stopped just short of him, pressing gently against the wet grass. The ground shuddered beneath its weight—then, with careful precision, it nudged him.

Not hard. Not enough to bruise.

Just... a push.

Eli blinked, completely thrown. "...Are you—pushing me?"

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. His voice shook, half-disbelieving, half-scared that the serpent might actually respond.

And then—it hissed again.

The sound wasn’t sharp this time. It was slower, softer—drawn out like a deliberate attempt at... something. Communication.

Eli’s breath caught. ’It can’t—there’s no way it actually understands me.’

But the serpent’s tail moved again. Firmer this time. Insistent.

Eli stumbled forward, boots scraping across damp soil, barely catching himself before falling. His gaze flicked from the serpent... to the ruined building.

The fog parted just enough for him to see its cracked stone walls, the vines curling around shattered windows, the eerie stillness that hung around it like a held breath.

Slowly, the realization hit him.

"...You want me to go inside?" His voice was barely more than a whisper.

The serpent didn’t blink. Didn’t move its head.

It just pushed him again—gently, undeniably.

Eli’s pulse spiked, his heart thudding so hard it hurt. Everything in him screamed that this was wrong, that stepping inside a dungeon building brought to him by a monster was insanity.

But what choice did he have?

If he ran, he’d die. If he refused, he’d probably die faster.

He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady. "O-Okay," he muttered shakily. "I’ll... I’ll go."

The serpent’s massive tail retreated slightly, the motion fluid, like it understood—like it was waiting.

Eli took a small, hesitant step forward. The grass crunched faintly beneath his boots. His breathing came out uneven, shallow, but he kept moving—step after step—toward the broken structure.

Every sound was too loud in the silence. His heartbeat. The faint rustle of vines. The soft, wet drag of the serpent’s tail behind him.

He risked a glance over his shoulder.

The serpent’s immense body loomed there, half-coiled, its glowing blue eyes fixed on him. But there was something different now—something that made Eli’s chest tighten.

The light in its eyes wasn’t sharp anymore.

It was dimmer. Softer.

Almost... mournful.

Eli’s throat went dry. ’What the hell is going on...?’

He forced himself to turn back to the building, swallowing his fear. "This might be good," he whispered, though his voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. "At least it stopped moving. Kairo and Caelen could... maybe catch up."

He tried to believe it. He really did.

But as he took another careful step toward the door, the serpent remained still—watching him with an expression that wasn’t hunger, wasn’t hostility.

It looked like sorrow.

’Why does it look... sad?’ he thought, frowning.

Eli took another step forward, the damp grass muffling the sound of his boots. The air around him felt colder now—thicker somehow, as though the mist itself was holding its breath.

He could still feel the serpent’s presence behind him, massive and silent, its gaze pressing against his back like a weight.

Every few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting it to strike.

But it didn’t move. Not an inch.

If anything... it looked almost stiller than before.

Its head was bowed slightly, eyes dim and heavy, and for some reason Eli couldn’t explain, that expression—if it could even be called that—made something ache deep in his chest.

He shook the thought away, forcing himself to focus on the building ahead. The closer he got, the more the structure came into view through the mist.

The vines were thick, almost strangling the walls, curling around faded stone pillars and cracked signage.

When he reached the entrance, he hesitated. The doors—once glass, maybe—were shattered. Only the metal frame remained, bent and rusted, its hinges half-buried under creeping roots.

He leaned in, squinting at what little remained of the lettering carved above it. The words were too eroded to make out, but the outline of a faded cross symbol still clung faintly to the wall.

His pulse quickened. "This looks like..." he murmured, his voice trailing. "A hospital?"

The word felt foreign here, wrong to say in a place that wasn’t supposed to know anything about Aerth.

Eli reached out a trembling hand and pressed it against the door. The metal was cold, grimy under his fingertips. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then pushed.

The rusted hinges groaned in protest. Dust poured down in thick clouds, and with it came the stench of age—old wood, mold, decay.

Something scuttled across his hand.

Eli yelped, jerking back instinctively, shaking his fingers wildly as a swarm of tiny bugs scattered into the light. "Oh, fuck—ugh, gross!"

He stumbled a step away, heart hammering, wiping his palms furiously on his clothes. His skin crawled, but when he looked back up—

He froze.

The door had opened just enough for the light to spill inside.

"Oh my god."