Samantha and Marco moved down the marble hallway, shedding their earlier hesitation. Their blades and spells cut through every lunging Echo Wraith with practiced, ruthless efficiency. Combat blurred into a fifteen-minute loop, the repetition honing their skills. When they finally paused, Marco pulled up his stats menu and blinked. He noticed a few system messages he missed which the AI conveniently put under “Echo wraith slaying expertise”.

  There was no grand fanfare or glowing level-up banner that announced the change—just quiet, incremental growth earned through practice and given through subtle tooltips. This mirrored life, exactly how they designed the Neuralchip protocols to function. Killing mobs provided immediate relief, but training yielded permanent progress.

  “Sam, check your stats,” he said, wiping sweat from his face. “See anything?”

  Samantha flicked open her menu. Her eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise. “Huh. Yeah. I got a level up!” A wide grin spread across her face as she swung her sword in a flourishing arc, savoring the improved control and speed. “I don’t even remember the last three fights but we’re actually getting stronger. I just hope the gains stick when we get kicked out of ALAN… if we ever get kicked out.”

  Marco smirked and jabbed Samantha’s arm. “Hey, no fair, you got a level up. That said, yes, they should stick. You cracked the Neuralchip code, remember? The whole point is that sustained, incremental input leads to permanent neurogenesis. We’re literally growing new pathways with every mob we kill.” His explanation bridged the absurdity of the game and the reality of their science. These weren't just temporary game mechanics; they were structural changes to their minds and muscles.

  “Ow.” Samantha nudged him back. “With strength like that, why did you roll wizard? You’d wreck things with a warrior build.”

  “I like magic better. More style,” he replied, adjusting his purple robes. They finally felt less ridiculous, more like a uniform. “And you’ve got melee handled. I’d never keep up with you. Plus, I think ALAN nudged us into certain directions for reasons, remember?”

  “Yes, I keep forgetting this hell is a form of cognitive-neuroscience therapy.” Samantha conceded.

  They pushed further down the hall, their confidence growing alongside their stats. The marble floor shone beneath their boots, but the tension remained. Eventually, a massive golden door loomed on their left. It was more than simply large; its surface was a riot of intricate, glistening designs. It felt less like an invitation and more like a warning, reflecting the opulent, judging nature of the hall itself.

  Marco slowed instantly, logic raising alarms. “Something about this feels… wrong. Too elaborate. Let’s skip it.” His programming background warned him against traps concealed by decoration. Anything that distracting usually hid danger.

  Samantha’s tactical instincts agreed. They moved past, scanning the walls and ceiling for tripwires or hidden glyphs, until another doorway came into view: a heavy structure of dark wood and riveted steel, thick as a bank vault.

  “Well, well,” Samantha said, eyeing it with professional interest. It looked solid, industrial, and solvable. “Another door.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  She gripped the large, round iron handle and pulled hard, but it didn’t budge.

  “Step aside.” Marco grinned, injecting a bit of playful bravado into the tension. He flexed his arm in a comical show of force and tried again. The door rattled violently in its frame but held fast. A low metallic clunk echoed from inside.

  “Did you hear that? When I shake it, you hear the deadbolt holding it in place,” Marco said. The sound betrayed a simple mechanical lock, a problem far more comfortable than psychological riddles.

  Samantha pointed to the clearly visible iron keyhole. “Maybe it’s just locked. But if its just a deadbolt, let me kick it!” Samantha tried but the door's bolt was much too thick to give way.

  Marco cursed under his breath, leaning his forehead against the cold steel. “Well fuck. We can’t break in. It's a simple lock and we have no key. Guess that means we’re going back to the creepy gold door.”

  They retraced their steps, the hallway eerily quiet now that they had cut down every mob. The marble floor gleamed, silent Greek statues standing sentinel along the walls. The initial awe they’d felt had dulled. The gods were no longer divine; they were just atmosphere.

  The ornate golden door loomed ahead again, its surface glinting like sunlight trapped in metal.

  “I really don’t want to open this,” Marco muttered, eyeing Samantha for a plan. “Something about it feels… wrong.”

  “Yeah, me neither. But unless you’ve got another plan for getting a heavy iron key…” She gestured at the elaborate handle. “Ready?”

  Samantha pulled hard. Nothing.

  “For fuck’s sake.” She groaned, pressing her foot against the base of the door for leverage.

  “What, locked again?” Marco leaned closer, studying the engravings. “No keyhole this time. That last one was just a deadbolt. This feels different, like… a puzzle.”

  “Look here,” Samantha said, pointing near the arch. “Symbols. Each god of the Greek pantheon.” The familiar glyphs encircled the top edge of the door like a celestial lock combination. “Gold always meant divinity and perfection in my childhood imagination. Maybe we need to invoke them.”

  Marco raised his staff. “Start with Hephaestus. God of fire and forge.”

  He fired a focused fireball at the symbol. The flame wrapped around the golden surface, briefly turning the metal molten orange before flickering out. No change.

  “Well, that’s not it,” Marco said.

  Samantha turned to a marble huntress statue. “Artemis. Goddess of the hunt. Maybe the answer is sacrifice.”

  Marco frowned. “What kind?”

  Samantha pulled a rancid hunk of Chubrat meat from her inventory and laid it at the statue’s feet.

  Marco smirked. “Sacred barbecue.”

  He ignited it. The meat seared, filling the air with a nauseating stench. A deep rumble shook the hall. The Artemis glyph flared to life.

  “Holy shit, it worked, and I leveled up!” Marco smiled and breathed.

  “Rat kebabs for the gods. Totally normal,” Samantha said.

  She pointed to the next statue. “Apollo. God of healing.”

  “Sacrifice of injury,” Marco realized.

  They placed Wraith Powder at the statue’s feet. Marco closed his eyes, channeling empathy.

  “Heal.”

  The powder dissolved in light. The Apollo glyph ignited.

  Marco stepped back, exhilarated. “ALAN is forcing symbolic synthesis.”

  “It’s the Falk-Hernandez Protocol in D&D form,” Samantha said. “Rage destroys. Care renews. I guess we give each statue what their doors demand and maybe it will open?”