CHAPTER 183: CHAPTER 183: THE WEIGHT OF MANY VOICES

The silence after the Archive’s disappearance was suffocating. The golden glow had died with it, leaving the chamber darker than before, shadows crawling across the walls like predators circling prey. Only the faint shimmer in Lin’s eyes — that unsettling golden flicker — remained to remind them of what had just happened.

Min-joon clung to him, his small hands trembling against Lin’s shoulders. "Lin... talk to me. Please." His voice cracked, each syllable heavy with fear.

Lin’s chest heaved, but not from weakness. No, it was from the storm inside him. Thousands of breaths not his own, thousands of memories pressing against his skull. Every scream, every failure, every blade and bullet that had ended a clone’s life now coursed through him. It was as if the walls between his mind and theirs had crumbled, and all the other "Lins" had rushed in, demanding to be acknowledged.

"I..." His voice faltered. When he spoke again, it was layered — his own tone, but with whispers beneath, faint echoes of other versions. "...I see everything."

Keller finally pushed himself upright, his ribs aching where the golden force had slammed him. He watched Lin warily, gun still in hand though he didn’t aim it. His instincts screamed danger — not from some external enemy this time, but from the man standing in front of him.

"Careful, kid," Keller muttered. His voice carried less anger now, more weariness. "You don’t sound like yourself."

Lin turned his head toward him, the faint glow in his eyes sharpening. "That’s because I’m not just myself anymore."

The words chilled the air.

They stayed like that for a long beat — Min-joon trembling, Keller frozen with tension, and Lin standing between them like something no longer entirely human.

Then the chamber trembled.

The walls groaned, the crystalline panels cracking with shrill notes. Stone dust rained down. Whatever stability the labyrinth had, it was unraveling now.

Min-joon cried out, clutching Lin tighter. "The place is collapsing!"

Keller cursed under his breath. "No — it’s not collapsing." His eyes darted around as another vibration shook the floor. "It’s reacting. That thing you touched... you set off a goddamn alarm."

Lin steadied himself, feeling the tremors like they were ripples in his own body. He could sense the labyrinth now — not in the physical sense, but deeper, like the facility’s systems had become threads brushing against his mind. He could hear doors unlocking, mechanisms shifting, entire corridors rearranging themselves.

"They know," he murmured. "Every floor above us, every guard left alive, every machine Jin buried here... they know I changed."

Keller swore again, louder this time. "Then we don’t have time to stand around. Move!"

They sprinted back into the corridor, the golden chamber vanishing behind them as its light died completely. The path ahead was no longer stable stone. Instead, sections of the corridor shimmered with strange light, glitching like broken glass, flickering between solid walls and jagged voids.

Min-joon’s voice shook. "What’s happening?!"

Lin didn’t answer immediately. His eyes flicked to the distortions, and instinct told him — no, memories told him. One iteration had run into a wall like this before. It had swallowed him whole, shredding him apart cell by cell. Another had leapt through successfully, but emerged years older, his body decayed as though time had punished him for daring.

The echoes inside Lin whispered warnings, strategies, failures. He knew this labyrinth now, more than Jin had ever wanted him to.

He grabbed Min-joon’s wrist, pulling him back before the boy stepped too close to a distortion. "Don’t touch it. It’ll erase you."

Min-joon’s eyes widened, tears threatening again. "How do you even know that—"

"Because I already died that way."

The words slipped out before Lin could stop them, and both Min-joon and Keller froze.

Lin’s jaw tightened. "Not me. But... me." His golden eyes flickered brighter for a second, then dimmed. "Move carefully. I’ll guide us."

They pressed forward, Lin leading them through the unstable corridors. Where Keller’s instincts and Min-joon’s panic faltered, Lin moved with eerie certainty, as though he’d walked these halls countless times — because, in truth, pieces of him had.

Each step was agony in a different sense. Not physical pain, but the weight of so many voices in his head. Some cried out in fear, others in rage, some whispered strategies, and some begged to be remembered. He carried them all. And while their knowledge sharpened him, their presence frayed at the edges of his sanity.

At one point, he stumbled, clutching his temple.

Min-joon rushed to his side. "Lin! Are you—"

"Quiet." Lin’s tone was harsher than he intended, his voice echoing unnaturally. Min-joon flinched, hurt flashing in his eyes. Lin forced himself to breathe, lowering his voice. "I’m fine. Just... too many of me speaking at once."

Keller’s gaze hardened. "That doesn’t sound fine at all."

But they kept moving.

The first enemies arrived sooner than expected.

As they rounded a corner, mechanical shrieks filled the air. Out from the shifting walls emerged humanoid machines — Jin’s "Sentinels." Their bodies were a grotesque fusion of steel and organic sinew, faces smooth and eyeless, arms shaped into blades that dripped with synthetic blood.

Three of them. Fast. Silent.

Keller raised his rifle instantly, unleashing a burst of fire. Bullets tore through one’s torso, but it didn’t slow — it lunged, blade-arm sweeping for Keller’s throat.

Before it could land, Lin moved.

Not with the desperate agility he’d relied on before. No — this was different. His hand shot out, glowing faintly gold, and the Sentinel froze mid-lunge. Its body convulsed violently, sparks bursting from its seams as if something had reached inside its systems and torn them apart.

Then it collapsed in a heap, twitching.

Min-joon’s jaw dropped. Keller faltered, his next shot stalling as he looked at Lin.

The other two Sentinels rushed forward. Keller swore and adjusted his aim, but Lin was already moving again.

His eyes flashed.

The Sentinels stumbled mid-stride, their bodies locking up as though invisible chains bound them. One let out a distorted screech before its head twisted at an unnatural angle, snapping off. The other collapsed, its own blade-arm plunging fatally into its chest.

Silence followed. The corridor reeked of burnt metal and synthetic fluids.

Min-joon whispered, "Lin... how did you—"

Lin looked down at his hand, still faintly glowing. The whispers inside his head quieted for a moment, as if approving. He clenched his fist slowly. "I didn’t fight them." His voice was distant, unnerving. "I rewrote them."

Keller’s eyes widened. "You what

?"

Lin met his gaze, golden light flickering again. "The Sentinels aren’t just machines. They’re fragments — like me. Jin used the same foundation. And now I can reach inside them. Change them. Destroy them."

Min-joon stared, torn between awe and terror. "But... that means—"

"It means nothing can stop me down here anymore." Lin’s tone was flat, almost inhuman.

But even as he said it, he felt the weight of the truth pressing harder. Yes, he had power. Yes, the labyrinth bent beneath his will. But every time he used it, the voices inside him grew louder. They weren’t silent passengers. They wanted control.

One whispered: Burn them all. Don’t trust anyone. Keller will shoot you in the back. Min-joon will betray you when fear takes him.

Another pleaded: Save them. Save everyone. Be better than us. Don’t waste this chance.

Dozens screamed at once, and Lin pressed his palm to his temple again, forcing them down.

Min-joon’s worried eyes locked on him. "Lin... you’re scaring me."

The words cut deeper than the voices.

Lin looked at him, something raw flickering beneath the golden glow. He wanted to say I’m still me. He wanted to promise that. But the truth lodged like a blade in his throat.

Because even he wasn’t sure anymore.

The tremors grew stronger. More Sentinels’ shrieks echoed through the corridors. The labyrinth itself seemed alive now, rearranging with violent intent.

Keller snapped his rifle back into place. "We don’t have time to stand around debating what you are. You’re our way out now, Lin. So either keep it together, or..." He trailed off, his finger brushing the trigger.

Min-joon gasped, horrified. "Don’t you dare—"

Keller’s voice hardened. "I’m saying what needs to be said. If he loses himself completely, if those... things inside him take over, he won’t just be our way out — he’ll be the end of us."

The corridor shuddered again, louder this time. More Sentinels were coming. Dozens.

Lin rose to his full height, golden light flickering brighter in his eyes. His voice, when he spoke, carried not just his tone but dozens layered beneath it.

"Then let’s find out if I’m salvation... or destruction."

And with that, he stepped forward into the darkness, the glow of his eyes the only light guiding them.