Adorable creature

Ymir's heart hammered against his ribs, his chest tightening like a vise while his muscles locked in place. Sweat carved rivulets down his forehead, and his hands trembled so violently he nearly dropped the knife clutched in his white-knuckled grip.

This crippling sensation was no stranger to him—it had marked his life for the past year. Small tremors at first, fleeting moments of breathlessness, then growing in frequency and intensity. Panic attacks that lurked like shadows in his peripheral vision, and now that shadow had manifested in all its suffocating glory.

Ymir reeled from the assault. Panic was an old enemy, but fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—it served as an ally now, sharpening his senses even as it threatened to consume him. Involuntarily, his eyes squeezed shut, and he began counting prime numbers. Two, three, five, seven, eleven. The ritual usually helped lessen his burden, a mathematical lifeline that could pull him from the abyss of his own mind.

It took nearly a minute for his foggy consciousness to clear. His breathing slowed to a more manageable rhythm, though the tightness in his chest and the anxiety clawing at his thoughts still lingered like unwelcome guests.

Something was fundamentally wrong with him. He could feel the panic attack persisting, as if something was purposefully invoking it, feeding it with malicious intent.

Thinking back to the eye—that colossal, crimson orb suspended above the labyrinth like a malevolent moon—he shuddered. When he had looked at it initially, he'd felt something essential leaving him, as if his very soul was being siphoned away drop by drop. Only his curse had saved him from complete dissolution. Ironic as it was, he found himself grateful for that dark blessing.

He wondered if this persistent feeling of mortal danger that prowled through his consciousness was due to that thing watching him, or something else entirely. His instincts whispered it was the latter.

To test his hypothesis, he drew a steadying breath and looked up again, steel in his spine despite the tremor in his hands.

This time, he was prepared for the monstrosity that awaited. When he focused on that massive eyeball several crucial details became clear. His anxiety didn't spike from the eye's influence—instead, he felt utterly insignificant beneath its gaze, like an ant beneath the notice of a giant. It didn't acknowledge his existence. The realization both relieved and terrified him. He remained unnoticed, but it confirmed his suspicions.

The labyrinth itself was somehow inducing these panic attacks, which meant he was unsafe both physically and mentally. This maze was more than vines, stone, and shadow—it was a living entity designed to break minds before bodies.

The eye was an ever-present sentinel, its purpose unknown but clearly sanctioned by whoever oversaw this trial. Its colossal form cast everything in crimson light, like a bloodshot moon reflecting malice onto the twisted corridors below.

"Since its presence is allowed, considering its titanic scale, it shouldn't be directly dangerous, right?" Ymir whispered to himself, the words hollow even as he spoke them.

He sighed in defeat and diverted his attention back to the corridor, softly illuminated in that unsettling crimson glow. The light made everything appear as if viewed through blood-colored glass, and nausea roiled in his stomach from the cocktail of intense emotions swirling within him—panic bleeding into fear, fear dissolving into anxiety, each feeding the others in an endless, vicious cycle.

No matter how desperately he tried to calm himself, peace remained elusive.

Shaking his head sharply, he forced his worries into the darkest corners of his mind and advanced forward. Each step echoed softly in the oppressive silence.

He reached the end of the first corridor and turned left, making sure not to catch his clothing on the wicked thorns that lined the vine walls like nature's own razor wire. His steps were deliberate and silent—alerting a lurking predator would mean certain death.

Continuing his cautious progress, he reached the midpoint of the pathway when he saw it—the shadow of his first adversary.

It lurked just beyond the corridor's terminus, a distorted silhouette that sent his pulse into overdrive. Panic flared like wildfire, but beneath that terror flickered something else entirely—a jagged thrill, sharp and unexpected.

He had no conception of what manner of monster awaited him in the crimson-tinted darkness. He knew only that their confrontation was as inevitable as the tide.

The shadow moved with irregular breathing patterns, and his steps faltered momentarily as hesitation and doubt crept through his resolve like poison through veins.

The maze's influence seeped into his consciousness like inhaled smoke—a malevolent presence with singular purpose, determined to shatter his mind and soul before claiming his flesh. It gnawed at him piece by piece, eroding his sanity with patient, hungry persistence.

But none of that mattered now.

The moment he'd snapped in the hangar and accepted this trial, his fate had been sealed in blood and shadow. He had died once already—metaphorically, spiritually, perhaps literally. The details mattered less than the truth that burned in his core.

There were no alternatives in this place. No negotiations with monsters. No mercy from shadows.

Kill or be killed.

Win or lose.

Break and die—or break, rise bloodied but breathing, and survive.

Nodding grimly to himself—a gesture to cement his concentration on the confrontation ahead—Ymir crept forward on silent feet until he stopped at the corridor's edge, mere meters from his first trial.

The stench hit him like a physical blow. He lurched backward in disgust, covering his nose as the scent of rotting flesh and decay filled his nostrils. Whatever lurked beyond his vision had been feeding on death itself.

He needed intelligence before engaging, but simply peering around the corner risked detection. Instead, he opted for cunning over courage, drawing his knife and angling its polished blade to catch the crimson light. The metal gleamed like a mirror, and he carefully tilted it to glimpse the danger that awaited.

What he saw in that makeshift reflection left him utterly motionless.

His mind struggled to process the contradiction between expectation and reality, between the putrid stench of death and the impossibly charming creature that sat peacefully on the mossy ground.

"It's so... adorable," he thought, wonder replacing terror. "How can something so enchanting exist in this place of horrors?"

The creature he'd feared was truly a delight to behold—a living garden ornament come to miraculous life. Its perfectly round head was decorated with vibrant green moss and tiny sprouting plants, like a miniature terrarium that provided perfect camouflage. Most enchanting were its pair of warm, golden eyes that radiated gentle curiosity, giving it an almost lantern-like quality in the dappled labyrinth light.

Its small hands seemed designed for tending forest floors, and its compact, gnome-like stature suggested it was a benevolent guardian of small woodland creatures and growing things. This charming being appeared so fundamentally peaceful that Ymir found himself refusing to consider it dangerous.

But in a place designed to break minds and devour souls, appearances were the deadliest trap of all.