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Sprint forward—hesitate and you’re dead. The ground fractures beneath your feet; phantom barriers materialize mid-leap. Leap blindly, and the ceiling collapses. No second chances. Every flicker of movement is a gamble—even the air betrays you. Glowing spores? Toxic. Falling stars? Razor-sharp. Fungi pulse with venom, luring the reckless. Speed is survival, but momentum’s a blade’s edge. Trust nothing. Slow down, and the walls close in. Stutter, and the floor vanishes. Victory isn’t earned—it’s stolen in the half-second between a breath and oblivion.
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