Backrooms Level 4 Novels & Stories

Pulte said. Pulte was worried about what might happen. He called Ravitz again and this time he quickly answered. "What's going on? What's happening?" Pulte asked. "Oh, get inside the bunkers and guide other people near you to safety. We're in level 3, the monsters have increased in the northwest wall and a couple of them are already above the city." "Have you contacted the doctors? Are they safe?" "Don't worry, the headquarters is the safest place in the city. Most of the people have already gone underground and uh-"

Vida and two other witches were behind us, using their magic to clear the way and open doors. As we went down, we faced more resistance. In a tight tunnel, three dark witches attacked us, using their magic to block our way. I fought back with a mix of magic, while Daxon quickly took down one attacker. Mathias tackled another, holding them against the wall with his strength. "Keep moving," I urged them forward. Level four was a massive underground chamber filled with equipment and storage containers. Exactly fifty-three containers of completed serum lined the walls in perfect rows. Exactly as my father had reported.

I say. “Agreed, but it can’t come from us. We can’t have alphas looking our way, songbird,” he warns me. Shit, he is right. “I sense something alive in the back room, but otherwise it’s empty,” he adds. We go to the back together, and Caleb opens the flimsy door. It’s a long room, and the back wall is filled with cages. The cages are all broken and dirty, and it stinks. The doors are all open except for a few at the bottom. I try not to look at the piles of bones and red dust in the open cages as I head to the closed ones.

Chapter 01 - Her fantasy world The devil bound the jungle from all sides. It seemed impossible to escape from there without coming into their sight. On a misty night, there was nothing but chippers of birds. Once behind a dense tree, a girl was struggling in pain. Her hands seemed to crack vigorously. The blood was flowing deep down to her knees, covering them. She couldn't even utter a word as if someone sliced her dried throat and took out her voice. Tears were flowing from her eyes like raindrops. There was no chance for her to survive further.

Night Four The next morning, the walk back from the chapel stays quiet except for the crunch of frost under his boots and the wet slap of my bare feet on the path. My thighs remain slick with everything he has poured into me over three nights, including cum, piss, and my own desperate squirt, so every step makes my swollen pussy lips rub together while my clit throbs like a second heartbeat. I shiver from the cold, or maybe from the aftershock still rippling through me, and when he scoops me up without a word to cradle me against the furnace of his chest, I don’t fight it. My cheek finds the hollow of his throat where the steady thud of his heart sounds louder than my own raspy breathing.

Chapter: 27. ****** They must have gone down about twenty stairs before they reached the bottom. Boiy opened up another wall that greeted them with a despicable view and smell of rot and decay. They clasped their noses shut with two fingers. "Follow me," Boiy instructed and they all went into the room. The light on Boiy's hand illuminated their surroundings, giving them a dreadful picture of the room. Skeleton bones littered the entire room along with decaying rotten parts that looked like long-dead animals. They all wanted it to be animals since they can't handle the thoughts of them being human. Bri retched, gripping the walls to steady herself so she doesn't fall over. Nancy kept her eyes

The man moaned softly, his head lolling. **<< No time. Noise draws flies. Reynolds’s hidey-hole is close. Level 2, northwest quadrant, janitorial. We loop back, grab him, find another way down. >>** Harlan was already moving back up a flight, scanning the stairwell door they’d passed moments before. **<< This one. >>** He eased the door open a crack, peering into the corridor beyond. **<< Clear. For now. Move fast. >>** They slipped back into the bright, sterile hell of Level 2. The silence was oppressive, pregnant with threat. Distant alarms began a low, insistent whooping – power backups coming online, systems rebooting. The Aerie was stirring.

Chapter 162: The Ascent of the Unlisted The upper tiers didn't smell like the grease-traps or the burning methane lines. They smelled like boiling insulation, ozone, and the distinct, sickeningly sweet tang of automated medical bays processing too much trauma data at once. Dante’s massive three-ton frame didn't just climb; he tore through the vertical access shafts of tier four like a runaway freight elevator. His five-inch obsidian claws dug into the corrugated iron walls, ripping open mechanical conduits and sending showers of bright blue sparks cascading down into the dark abyss of the lower slums. With every explosive leap he took, the baby inside my womb shifted, her weight heavy and so

Hidden against the black background on the back, I finally noticed a line of dark red text. "Still troubled by the one you love not returning your affection? Burn our special incense in the censer, focus on the person you want to become, and pray with devotion. After 81 days, you will be able to swap bodies with them. Note: This method only works when your target is plagued by misfortune." The next morning, Sia paid me back for the bedsheet and took the censer with her. She carefully unwrapped it, placed it reverently by her bed, and eagerly lit the incense to begin her prayers.

Everything is frayed, the seams of my life coming apart. The lounge is silent when we enter, save for the low, hypnotic pulse of jazz through the walls. The front end continues its charade of high-end craft cocktails and polite conversation, but we slip through the hidden bulkhead in the larder, guarded by sentries who offer only a sharp, knowing nod. The back room reeks of aged leather and woodsmoke. It is my fortress. Zane moves to the bar and pours a triple measure of malt. Lucien paces, the floorboards groaning under his weight. Draven leans against the mantel, eyes fixed on the fire as if demanding a confession.