In the span of several days, their journey had taken them through an intricate labyrinth of canyons and gorges that cut through the fractured landscape surrounding the Rupture. Each valley bore a legend, its name whispering tales of ages past.

  The Valley of the Soaring Eagle had been the first. Amidst the weather-beaten rocks that littered its rugged terrain, they had looked to the skies in hope of catching sight of the eagle from the legends. Eagles did nest high above in the towering cliffs, their echoing cries accompanying the companions on their journey. However, none matched the grandeur of the legendary bird whose wingspan was said to cast shadows over entire villages. Even so, the sight of these magnificent creatures spiraling in the air against the backdrop of a fractured sky was awe-inspiring.

  Their journey led them next to the Valley of the Crying Giant. There, a solitary, enormous stone palm and fingers rose from the earth, seemingly reaching for the heavens. The sight gave credence to the ancient tales of the giant who once roamed these lands, tears etching canyons into the earth. The companions contemplated the sheer size of the stone appendage, concluding that the remainder of the stone behemoth must be buried beneath eons of dust and glittering ash. Faelun, overcome by curiosity, ordered the novices to uncover the rest of the stone giant. It was Buren who spared the novices the futile task, insisting they had little time to spare.

  The Basin of Serene Waters presented an unexpectedly tranquil setting amidst the fractured landscape. At first glance, the lake nestled in the basin appeared ordinary, its calm waters reflecting the bizarre beauty of their surroundings. However, when Emeric decided to take a refreshing dip, he found himself besieged by an uncontrollable urge to tell the truth. Evangeline, unable to resist the opportunity, began to interrogate the knight. Emeric, in response, fled from the water's edge, hands over his ears, hollering all the while to drown out Evangeline's insistent questions. He didn't return to the camp until the peculiar effect had worn off, his usual joviality replaced with a newfound caution around the seemingly placid pond.

  Throughout their journey, they witnessed the enduring remnants of the Rupture's cataclysmic arrival. From the strangely twisted vegetation that clung to the rocky walls of the gorges, to the bizarre rock formations that had been sculpted by the ceaseless wind, the world around them bore the scars of a past calamity. The glittering ash that seemed to pervade every nook and crevice was a constant reminder of the unseen forces at play in this fractured landscape. Despite its ominous nature, there was a strange beauty to it all, a testament to the resilience of nature, enduring and adapting in the face of catastrophic change.

  The path they now found themselves on was an eerie testament to the Rupture's might. The wind and the particles carried by it had eroded the ground over the centuries, but there must have been a vein of stronger rock that could withstand the abrading without wearing away. What remained now snaked perilously over an abyss of impenetrable darkness, rising above the surrounding ground, the only way to pass the chasm. It was as if the land itself had risen, forming a serpentine bridge through the fractured landscape. The landbridge was narrow, strewn with stones and dusted with the ever-present shimmering ash. Nature had attempted to reclaim it, with vegetation sprouting in nooks and crannies and creeping along the wall, its gnarled roots piercing through the stone.

  Leading their horses by the reins, they inched along the path, their nerves tingling with each gust of wind that threatened to topple them into the void. They walked, clinging to the rocky face, while the horses, their eyes wide with trepidation, moved gingerly on the narrow ledge. Their hooves skittered on loose stones, sending them tumbling into the yawning chasm. The eerie clatter of stones disappearing into the depth echoed around them, amplifying their apprehension.

  "Are you sure about this path, Faelun?" Torvald's gruff voice was swallowed by the wind, but his grim expression spoke volumes.

  "Yes," the Cleric called, holding his stack of guiding graphs firmly as they fluttered in the wind. "'The Back of the Serpent' spoken of in the surviving legends can be nothing but this vertiginous path. Just look how it calls to mind the sinuous form a giant snake!"

  The travelers no longer questioned the calls of their elder, as they had come to trust the man's judgment when it came to ancient legends and symbols, at least during his lucid moments in the day. However, their trust in the cleric was not without its trials. By day, Faelun was a beacon of knowledge, guiding them through the labyrinth of canyons. Yet, as night fell, his lucidity seemed to diminish, his mind getting lost in the twisted paths of the past and the present. The novices, entrusted with his care during these troubled hours, often found their sleep interrupted, their youthful energy tested by the demands of their responsibilities.

  As the vegetation grew denser, forming an almost impenetrable wall of green, Buren moved to the front of the group. The Gauntlet, imbued with an unyielding strength, made quick work of the tangled foliage. Each swing cut a swath through the stubborn growth, opening the way forward.

  The slow pace, however, offered a welcome respite from the day's arduous journey. It offered them the chance to converse, the tension of their precarious journey easing with the shared camaraderie.

  Emeric, never one to shy away from a conversation, called out to Faelun. "Cleric, any chance we could find the Valley of Ferocious Women on those papers of yours?"

  A puzzled expression crept onto Faelun's face. He rifled through his notes, his brow furrowing with each passing moment. "Valley of Ferocious Women? I don't recall any such location in the legends," he said, his tone filled with uncertainty.

  Emeric chuckled, his armor jingling with mirth. "Oh, you know... in every good ancient legend, the heroes always seem to stumble upon a village inhabited by just women who just so happen to be looking for proper mates. At least that's how it goes in the legends worth telling. Considering the size of this canyon network, there's got to be one such valley around here."

  At this, Evangeline, who rarely missed a chance to barb him, said: "I find it fascinating, Emeric, how you can maintain such enthusiasm for drink, revelry, and women, given that you've supposedly taken the vows of Penance."

  She adopted an innocent look and continued: "I wonder what your order is going to think when they read of your behavior in my report."

  "And I thought Inquisitors were supposed to stay out of the spotlight, yet here you are, demanding my attention once again," Emeric countered.

  "Even when in the brightness of sunlight, the real intentions and thoughts of an Inquisitor remain in the dark'", she recited. "I always follow the tenets of my order, while you seem to have forgotten them. Or maybe you failed to learn them in the first place? Despite days of—as you call it—sneaking about, I'm still unsure whether you can read or not."

  "So, you have been sneaking glances at me," Emeric stated, grinning.

  "You have a gift for missing the point, dear Knight," Evangeline said. "It is my role to sneak glances. You're nothing special in that regard."

  Her explanations fell on deaf ear. "Sure, sure," Emeric said. "As for your confusion about my behavior: don't worry, it's all part of the program."

  She frowned. "What program?"

  "My Path of Penance," he said. "See, the self-abnegation and strict discipline are necessary for those starting out on the Path, who are ruled by the dark forces via their uncontrolled emotions, like lust, pride and anger. However, an adept, such as myself, is in control the whole time, so I can engage in behaviors that would easily lead an untrained, unrestrained person down a dark path."

  "Nowhere in the teaching does it say anything like that," she spouted. "Right, Father?"

  The elder agreed with her: "The central texts I'm familiar with all agree that the point of the training regimen is to develop the mind and heart to the point where one no longer yearns for those pleasures and instead looks upon them as dangerous, like poisonous spiders that lie camouflaged in beautiful flowers."

  The Knight wasn't deterred in the least by this. "Oh, it's all there if you know how to look," he said, waving his arm dismissively. "You have to learn how to read between the lines."

  "So that's how you get your information," Evangeline exclaimed, smacking her palm on her forehead dramatically. "You can't read the lines themselves, so you find some meaning in the spaces between them."'

  With Emeric and Evangeline entrenched in their verbal skirmish, Buren found his attention drifting to the conditions around them. The wind, he noticed, had taken on a new vigor, tugging at the greenery that stood tall and stubborn in their path. It whistled eerily, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the canyon, and he felt the path beneath him—the Back of the Serpent—shift and sway in an unsettling rhythm.

  Despite the increasing intensity of the wind, the rest of the party remained oblivious, ensnared in the boisterous banter. Emeric, his voice rising above the wind, decided to change the topic of conversation. Turning to the novices, he asked with an animated flourish, "So, tell me lads, what could make a pair of young men in their right mind choose the Inquisition of all the possible organizations? There are so many more...shall we say, 'entertaining' alternatives!"

  "No, no, no," Cadoc started, casting a glance at Elwin who remained characteristically silent. "You've got it all wrong, Emeric. The Clergy was our original goal, ever since we were kids. That was the plan."

  "But Elwin," he continued, his tone a mix of affection and exasperation, "decided he wanted to switch lanes. You see, he's prone to landing himself in trouble without me, so naturally, I had to follow suit. That what his mother always used to tell me: 'He's such a gentle boy, head in the clouds. He's lucky to have a friend like you.'"

  Emeric, enjoying this moment of camaraderie, turned towards Elwin and asked, "And what about you, Elwin? What led such a 'gentle boy' down this shadowy path?"

  Elwin flushed a little at being put on the spot, and after a pause, he muttered, "I thought...I thought I could do more good there, you know? Fight the unseen evil...be the thing in the night that the beasts fear."

  Emeric laughed heartily, slapping his knee in amusement. "So, the Inquisition's propaganda machine really did a number on you, huh?"

  "But I'm sure your fear of public speaking had nothing to do with your decision, right Elwin?" Cadoc interjected with a smirk, causing the others to burst into laughter.

  "I'd take a revenant over a full congregation any day of the weak," Elwin insisted.

  "I don't think you'd take either one," Cadoc said.

  As the mirth subsided, Cadoc continued, "In all seriousness though, we're planning to lean towards the scholarly side of the Inquisition. There, the lines between the Clergy and the Inquisition grow fuzzy."

  Faelun, who had been quietly following the exchange, gave them a nod of approval. "Good choice, boys. I see promise in you." Then, as if to remind them of their place, he extended his sweaty socks towards them, "Now, would you kindly wring these out?"

  Emeric, still grinning from the jovial conversation, then shifted the focus back to Cadoc. "Why the fascination with old books and tales though? Joining the Knights would allow you to make history, not just read about it."

  Cadoc's face lit up at this, his passion for their chosen path evident. "You see, Emeric, our history is like a tantalizing mystery. If even a fraction of what is written in the legends about the pre-Flood world is true, the path to the future lies in uncovering our past. And that past is mostly preserved in the form of religious legends. That's what we aim to do."

  As his words resonated with the group, they each realized the depth of the novices' dedication. This wasn't a haphazard choice for them, but a well thought out mission. And with that, they all felt a little more united in their shared endeavor.

  As the group enjoyed the lively conversation, Torvald, their rugged driver, finally decided to break his silence. His voice was harsh, tainted with bitter experiences. "Good intentions and fancies are one thing," he started, causing the group to go quiet. "Living in the real world, that's another story altogether."

  He turned his gaze on the two novices, studying them closely. "Are you boys ready to crush the people who've kept these legends alive? Because that's the reality of how the Faith operates."

  Cadoc and Elwin shot back defensively. "Only those who refuse to convert and share their knowledge are crushed," Cadoc asserted, his voice trembling slightly.

  "But would you be willing to apply the thumbscrews on those very uncooperative people?" Torvald pushed on. "Because that's what the Inquisition is needed for."

  The novices grew silent at this, the reality of their chosen path weighing heavily on them. They swallowed hard, unable to meet Torvald's probing gaze.

  "It's only the dark side of the Inquisition that the public remembers," Evangeline interjected, her voice calm but firm. "Its work is much more varied and subtle than that. But we don't shy away from doing what is necessary."

  Torvald harrumphed gruffly in response, not fully convinced. Buren observed this exchange quietly, his gaze drawn towards the scarred face of their driver. The bright, intense stare in Torvald's eyes reminded him of his own. The Gauntlet bearer couldn't help but think that Torvald, like him, was a man who had seen too much.

  As the atmosphere grew more solemn, Emeric changed the tone of his questioning. "Why do you work for the Inquisition, Torvald?" he asked, his voice gentle, "When it's clear you don't hold them in high regard?"

  Torvald heaved a sigh, and his eyes took on a far-off look as he prepared to give his answer. "The Inquisition isn't any worse than the other organizations that talk big," he started, his voice tainted with bitterness. "They all set their rules, claim it's to protect people, but when true evil arises, the type they should fight against to justify their existence, they leave people to fend for themselves."

  There was a heavy pause. Finally, Evangeline spoke up, her tone tender. "I'm sorry, Torvald, for whatever happened. The Inquisition couldn't stop the Malignant One before its influence spread." Her intuition was right. The war with the Malignant One was exactly what Torvald had been referring to.

  With a harsh edge to his voice, he retorted, "The Inquisition completely failed in their information gathering. Whispers were heard in every tavern of something dark growing in the South long before the Faith admitted its existence."

  His eyes became distant, lost in the tormenting memories of the past. "I'd gotten so used to hearing all kinds of rumors on the road that I paid them little mind. I ferried cargo all around the kingdom, and so I heard a lot."

  His voice faltered a little. "That's why I left my family behind, even when rumors started about smoke coming from the next village over, and word had stopped coming from there for days. I believed the Faith when they told me it was all lies, all fearmongering."

  His confession felt like a dam bursting, as if long pent-up emotions were finally flooding out.

  Torvald's voice took on a bitter edge as he continued. "The Knights, too, were only sent to battles they could easily win. The common folk, on the other hand, were left to fend off the roving bands of Fouled." He touched the stump of his ear. "Stories of glory are often born from knowing which battles to fight and which to omit from history entirely."

  The group fell into a contemplative silence, each mulling over Torvald's words. After a pause, Torvald spoke again, his voice filled with a weary acceptance. "It's hard to find any work in the post-war economy. There's little to transport, and the roads are dangerous, filled with deserters turned robbers, and beasts that have developed a taste for human flesh. The Inquisition needed a driver, and a nearly deaf one seemed like the perfect fit for them. It saved them the worry of their words falling on untrusted ears."

  His confession hung in the air, painting a somber image of his reality. "That's why I work for the Inquisition."

  Evangeline looked puzzled. "But, Torvald, your hearing seems as sharp as anyone's, despite your torn ear."

  A slow, sly smile spread across Torvald's weathered face. "Well, I might have exaggerated my hearing loss a bit during the hiring process."

  At first, a few chuckles echoed through the group. But as Torvald's grin widened, their laughter grew louder and more genuine.

  The sense of them being kindred spirits increased in Buren's mind. The driver also seemed to have a realistic outlook, and recognized an opportunity when he saw one, putting reason before his personal feelings. Buren had not expected such behavior from the driver. He thought how, if not for the Gauntlet, his position in life might be something very similar.

  Emeric raised a mock-serious eyebrow and jabbed a finger towards Buren. "Aye, another part of glory is knowing who to travel with," he quipped, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Considering that, we're bound to stumble upon a whole heap of it."

  His arm swept wide, indicating Buren, who rolled his eyes.

  Upon hearing this, Faelun lighted up, his already feverish writing intensifying. "Indeed!" He exclaimed, not bothering to look up from the parchment on his lap. "I am in fact penning the story of our heroic Gauntlet-Bearer as we speak. The Hero of the Grey Battle, the Knight's Iron Hand, bravely hacking his way through the infernal shrubs of the foreboding Back of the Serpent."

  Buren turned, disbelief etched across his features as he saw the Cleric in action, the quill in his hand dancing across the page in a blur of ink and enthusiasm. The old man's eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, his lips moving silently as he repeated the lines to himself, ensuring each word is as dramatic as the one before. Their arduous journey through the Rupture's labyrinthine canyons had never seemed quite so poetic before.

  The novices approached Faelun once again, curiosity flaring in their youthful eyes as the mention of stories and legends again spurred their imaginations. "Cleric," Elwin begins, his tone serious, "tell us of the Rupture. I've heard tales that the Flood itself began there, bursting forth from the depths when the earth split apart. Is there any truth to this?"

  Faelun's aged eyes drifted toward the horizon as he nodded thoughtfully. "The accounts we have are conflicting and sparse," he confessed, "but one thing remains certain—before the Flood, there was no Rupture. After, it was there, splitting the land asunder."

  The novices leaned in closer, eager for more insight. Elwin and Cadoc share a look, then turn back to the Cleric. "But what do the legends say? There must be stories about its birth," Cadoc pressed.

  Faelun smiled, bemused by their relentless curiosity. "Ah, you're not easily dissuaded, are you?" he remarks. He cleared his throat and began.

  "One tale tells of a monstrous beast that dwelled in the earth's depths, slumbering for eons. When the Flood began, the creature awoke in a terrible rage, rending the earth apart in its fury, creating the Rupture."

  "A second legend speaks of a cosmic event, a star falling from the heavens. It struck the earth with such force that the land itself fractured, leaving the scar we know as the Rupture."

  "The third, more philosophical, suggests that the Rupture is a physical manifestation of the world's sorrow at humanity's failing, a testament to the collective grief and guilt we carried into the Flood era."

  "And finally," Faelun's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "there's the legend of the ancient birds. Supposedly, these magnificent creatures lived deep within the earth. When the Flood began, they burst forth from the ground, taking to the sky in a spectacular exodus, never to be seen again. Some say this legend is tied to the Soaring Eagle Valley. Perhaps those very birds once soared through these very skies."

  Cadoc leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest with a skeptic look on his face. "What kind of eagles would live underground?"

  "Giant ones," Emeric piped up from behind them, his voice filled with faux solemnity. He lifted a hand to his mouth to suppress a grin, his eyes alight with mischief.

  "Sound like a flight of fancy to me," Cadoc declared.

  Faelun turned in his saddle, shaking his head with an exasperated look. He steadied his horse with a gentle pat on its neck before he addresses Cadoc's skepticism.

  "My dear novice," he began, "I never claimed these creatures were eagles. The legends themselves are vague, as if our ancestors struggled to put into words the sight of these beings taking flight. What I said was that there might be a connection between these tales and the one of the Soaring Eagle Valley."

  As he talked, Faelun's fingers absent-mindedly skimmed over the worn parchment he held, tracing the inscriptions etched upon its surface. The wind tugged at the edges of the paper, but he kept it secured with a firm grip. His gaze seemed distant, as if seeing the images painted by the ancient tales in the very air before him.

  Torvald broke into their conversation, a touch of curiosity in his tone as he addressed the Cleric. "For all your learning, Faelun," he said, with a pause that made it seem like he was just thinking out loud, "I've hardly heard a peep about the Faith's teachings from you. Not that I mind too much, when we have someone else filling the quota of self-righteous proclamations" he added, glancing sidelong at Evangeline, "but you'd think a man of the cloth would be more eager to preach the virtues of his faith, not fill these young minds with old tales that might confuse their perception of what's important, namely the best of people, above everyone else's."

  Faelun, unperturbed by Torvald's critique, merely nodded his head in understanding. His hands were still, his quill poised above the paper in his lap. "Your observation is astute, Torvald," he began, his voice calm and level. "Indeed, there are many forms of service within our Faith. Some of us are ordained to study and interpret the Faith's teachings, their lives devoted to the discovery of new truths within our doctrines, and the reiteration of the old ones to speak to the people of the time and address contemporary issues."

  He paused to glance at the novices, their faces a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. "And then, there are those of us who delve into the teachings of other traditions, the echoes of wisdom from a world long past. Though it may not seem so at first glance, our roles are not mutually exclusive. Both pursuits serve the Faith's ultimate goal, which is the betterment of mankind and our return to the state that was always intended for us."

  With a final nod, Faelun picked up his quill again and resumeed his scribbling.

  Torvald took another stab at the Cleric, his grizzled features pulling into a grin. "You sure do get hot and heavy over these old tales, don't you, Faelun? Can't say I've seen the same sparkle in your eyes when yapping about the Faith's preachings."

  Faelun choked on the driver's crude expression, the quill in his hand stuttering across the parchment. Evangeline's gaze, though seemingly distant, had surely taken in the exchange, and Faelun knew he needed to tread carefully.

  "My excitement, as you've put it, arises from serving the Faith," he countered, his voice steady. "My studies of these ancient legends are a means to an end, a path towards understanding and ultimately, advancing the Faith. It's a more... indirect route, perhaps, but it leads to the same destination."

  Torvald grunted, his mouth curving into a smirk. "Well now, ain't that a tidy excuse. Took you a fair bit to spin that yarn, didn't it? Even an Inquisitor would be hard-pressed to find fault in such a proclamation."

  Undeterred by Torvald's jab, Faelun retorted with a semblance of good-natured sarcasm. "Well, it seems you have a budding interest in our Faith, Torvald. So, let me indulge you."

  And with that, Faelun launched into a sermon, his voice filling in the narrow path. "The rightful place of man has been usurped by unnatural creatures, the corporeal manifestations of mankind's own darkness. Born from the murky depths of the Flood, these creatures feed on this darkness..."

  But Torvald had heard enough. He groaned aloud, waving a dismissive hand. "Alright, alright, you've won. Talk about whatever you please, just... spare me the sermon, would you?" Faelun's mouth curved into a satisfied smile, victorious in the verbal joust.

  Emeric's voice cut through the sounds of exertion and the endless rustling of vegetation. "Buren, you need a breather? Maybe some water?" He called out, eyeing the considerable distance Buren had carved through the thicket single-handedly.

  But Buren simply waved him off dismissively, his gaze fixed on the path just ahead. The soil grew thin there, unable to support the larger, tougher plants they had been battling. Only grasses and small shrubs sprung from it. He saw it as a reprieve, just a few more strokes and they would be through.

  And then, just as he predicted, the vista opened up around them. An astonished silence enveloped the group before dissolving into a chorus of surprise. The abyss below stretched out, seeming to consume all light and space, the path ahead fracturing into a zigzagging, corkscrew pattern. The stones underfoot were brittle, their weight sending shards tumbling into the depths below.

  Buren, however, was not as taken aback by the landscape as his companions. Instead, his attention was drawn to the Gauntlet, its subtle vibrations building in time with the growing wind. It was as if it resonated with the elements, responding to the changing weather. A frown etched itself onto Buren's face. This, more than the brittle path or the abyss, gave him pause.

  Cadoc had edged closer to the drop, a sliver of trepidation etched on his young face. "It's a long way down," he admitted, voice wavering just a touch. "If this is just one chasm amongst many, I can't even begin to comprehend the mother of all abysses, the Rupture."

  From his spot behind the reins, Torvald snorted. "Is this really the best route the Cleric could find?" he groused, casting a skeptical eye at Faelun. "Looks more like an obstacle course than a road."

  Evangeline, meanwhile, studied the natural stone bridge they were to cross. The structure was a haphazard array of stony protuberances and precarious outcroppings. "We really should've brought a geology specialist," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "Someone who could tell us if this thing will hold our weight."

  Emeric, ever the optimistic one, laughed off the concerns. "That bridge has stood there for who knows how long," he assured them, pounding his chest with a gloved hand. "It won't collapse under our weight!"

  Buren, however, wasn't so easily placated. A sense of unease was bubbling up inside him, fed by the growing intensity of the Gauntlet's vibration. He raised a hand, signaling for the others to hurry. There was a feeling in his gut, a premonition of impending danger, and he was rarely wrong about such things. It was time to press forward, and quickly.

  "We're sitting ducks out here, all lined up," he thought, and regarded the stumps of the sturdier flora he had left behínd. "And we have myself to thank for getting rid of the last thing we could use for cover."

  A sudden pulse from the Gauntlet sent a jolt through Buren, a shockwave that resonated up his arm. Almost simultaneously, an aurora-like burst of light flared on the horizon, its luminescent tendrils reaching up into the heavens like an incandescent flare.

  Faelun, terror etched on his face, recognised the phenomenon for what it was. "That's a major burst from the Rupture!" he called out, his voice shrill. "A quake and pressure wave are on their way!"

  Buren, propelled by the Gauntlet's warning, knew they wouldn't outrun the danger on foot. "Everyone on the wagon, now!" he commanded. Turning to Torvald, he ordered, "Drive as fast as you can."

  Torvald balked at the idea of barrelling across such an unstable path at speed, but there was no time for debate.

  "Sheer insanity!" he called as he lashed at the horses, his muscles bulging with effort, the reins pulled taut as he fought to maintain control over the panicked beasts.

  And so they raced across the bridge, the wagon teetering dangerously as it negotiated the jagged turns, zigzagging across the path. The ground beneath them, once solid and reliable, now seemed little more than a treacherous tapestry of brittle stone and dust.

  At one point, during a particularly sharp turn, the wagon heeled over, two wheels lifting off the ground. Everyone inside gripped anything they could, their bodies swaying with the motion, their eyes wide with fear. As Torvald righted the wagon, a collective breath was released.

  In another spot, a corkscrew portion of the path tested the wagon's agility to its limits. The wheels skidded dangerously close to the edge, a pebble's throw away from the chasm below. A chorus of gasps filled the air as the wagon teetered, its precarious balance holding just long enough to pull them back from the edge.

  All the while, a blast of wind bore down on them, an ominous wall of dust fast approaching. The ground quaked beneath them, the impending impact of the pressure wave a constant, terrifying promise.

  It was a mad, desperate dash across the abyss, their lives hanging by a thread as they raced against an unforgiving force of nature. The wagon, their only hope, rocked and swayed on the precipice, threatening to spill them into the void. But they held on, their fear replaced by determination, driven by the single, collective desire to survive.

  As a vanguard of the main blast an unforgiving rain of projectiles rained down on them. Small stones, whipped up by the force of the explosion, punctured the cloth canopy of the wagon, whistling in the air like bolts and leaving marks on the wood where they hit.

  "Cover your eyes! Get behind me!" Emeric called out, unsheathing his shield with practiced ease. Evangeline took cover against his back with a graceful move, while the novices pulled Faelun by both arms, all collapsing in a heap. The surface of the Knight's shield pattered and clinked in a rapid-fire staccato as the rain of stones collided against it.

  Torvald, shackled to his seat by duty, bore the brunt of the onslaught. Small drops of blood blossomed on his skin where the gravel hit, peppering his face and hands. He managed a grim smile despite the pain, commenting, "At this rate, I'll be short an eye as well as an ear."

  Buren, however, was unphased. The Gauntlet, humming in response to the impending threat, became a shield of its own, swatting away larger stones that threatened real damage, so both he and Torvald could stay where they were and not worry about their eyesight.

  Suddenly, Evangeline, having hidden her face behind her helmet, which protected the eyes with a fine-mesh grille, pointed upwards, her voice drowned in a yell. "Look out! Big one coming down!"

  Above them, a boulder, dislodged from its perch by the power of the blast, hurtled towards them. Torvald shook his head, "We won't make it," he uttered, his voice a thin veil of despair.

  But Buren wasn't about to give up. "Go faster!" he commanded Torvald, readying himself for what was to come.

  With grim determination, he launched himself forward, propelled by the force of the Gauntlet. He sailed over the horses, off the edge of the path, and into the abyss below. For a moment, he was a silhouette against the sky, a lone figure defying gravity and fate alike.

  With a swift motion, he grabbed the side of the path, and with another wrench of the Gauntlet that taxed every ligament in his body to the breaking point, flung himself upwards. His trajectory intersected with that of the boulder, and he struck out at it with the Gauntlet, a thought echoing in his mind: "This is going to hurt."

  The impact was deafening. The boulder split in two with a thunderous crack, fragments showering in all directions. The force of the collision left Buren dazed, his vision blurring momentarily.

  With the last of his strength, he guided his trajectory back to the wagon. He crashed through the punctured canopy, landing in a heap amidst his stunned companions, as the two halves of the boulder passed the bridge on different sides. The wagon rumbled on, the rain of debris lessening, but the dust storm was closing in.

  "Nearly there!" Torvald's voice rose above the din, a rallying cry amidst the chaos. But the quake that Faelun had predicted was upon them, and the landbridge beneath their wheels convulsed, mirroring the writhing movements of the serpents it was named after.

  For a moment, the wagon was airborne. Everyone inside was lifted off their seats, floating weightlessly in the confined space, before gravity asserted its dominance and they crashed down onto the jostling floor of the wagon.

  Through the shredded canopy, they could see salvation. The far side of the chasm was tantalizingly close, but fate played a cruel trick. The shaking landbridge, seeming to grow a will of its own, swung wildly, its far end detaching from the solid ground.

  The path in front of them, once leading to safety, was now thrashing in the open air, resembling a decapitated snake in its death throes. Their path was blocked by a sheer rock face, its surface pockmarked with wind-carved caves and tunnels.

  Buren's voice, taut with urgency, cut through the cacophony. "The bridge won't hold! Aim for a cave, Torvald!"

  With a final, desperate cry, Torvald drove the exhausted horses forward. The wagon shot off the failing overpass, sailing through the air. The riders held their breaths, as if the very act of breathing could tip their precarious balance.

  And then, by some miracle, they made it. The mouth of one of the caves yawned open before them, and the wagon tumbled inside, swallowed by the darkness within. The rumble of the quake seemed to close in around them, the cave's echoes turning it into the echoing sounds of a titanic digestive system. Their wild escape had led them into the belly of the earth, safety reached by the slimmest of margins.

  As their wild ride came to a halt within the shadowy cave, the tortuous land bridge, the Back of the Serpent, seemed to retreat from them, leaving them with no way back. Eventually, the pulsating bursts of the Rupture died down, the last echoes of its destructive power fading into silence.

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  Emeric broke the uneasy quiet, his voice echoing off the cave walls. "What in the Flood is that bridge made of?" He sounded genuinely curious, his question hanging in the air. Solid rock, after all, did not undulate and twist like the Serpent had.

  Faelun, ever the scholar, offered a shrug. "Much about this region is unknown," he admitted, his tone reflective.

  Evangeline, however, was less impressed by the mystery. "Probably a giant root or something forming the center of the bridge," she mused, her voice dismissive. "The rock is likely just the surface, collected there over the centuries."

  But their scientific musings were cut short by Cadoc, his voice heavy with pragmatism. "Don't we have more pressing matters to discuss than geological quirks?"

  "He has a point," Torvald said. "We are now off the planned path, and there is no way to correct the course."

  He gestured into the darkness ahead of them. "Anyone have any idea what awaits us in these tunnels?"

  It was then that they truly noticed their surroundings. The cave around them was windswept and filled with odd, towering formations. Stalactites hung like jagged teeth from the cave roof, their points gleaming eerily in the scarce light. Stalagmites rose from the floor, twisted and warped by time and the elements into hulking, grotesque statues. The walls were slick and shiny, the cave's innards carved and sculpted by ancient gusts of wind, leaving behind patterns that seemed to dance and writhe in the flickering light emanating from the cave opening.

  "I must confess," Faelun admitted, looking around at their shadowy surroundings with an appraising eye as the rest of them lit torches, "the ancient people of these valleys avoided these tunnels, believing them cursed. As such, I can't provide any knowledge to aid our navigation."

  "Cursed?" Elwin's voice echoed off the stone walls, his tone nervous.

  Faelun, oblivious to the rising tension among the group, launched into a monologue. "Indeed," he started, absently brushing dust off his robe. "I've theorized that the curse is most likely one of two things. Either the tunnels are simply precarious, making it easy to get hurt or lost... or," he paused, turning to look at each of them, "the legends of the people who relocated here after the Flood might hold truth. The Rupture's impact could've driven them underground and warped them somehow."

  As Faelun concluded his eerie explanation, the tension in the air became almost palpable. Evangeline seemed to subconsciously tighten her grip on her weapon. The flickering light from the torch in Emeric's hand wavered as he nervously cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence with a half-hearted joke. "Maybe it's just the curse of the giant underground eagles we talked about earlier."

  Cadoc didn't seem amused. Instead, he glanced over to the mouth of the cave, considering their predicament. "We might be better off leaving the horses and trying to climb up to the valley. That was our original route, after all."

  Buren, who'd been studying the cave entrance with a focused gaze, shook his head. "No," he declared, his voice firm. "We'll take the tunnel." He knew travel by foot would be too demanding on the Cleric and they would never make the journey in time.

  "But the tunnel could just lead to a dead end," Cadoc countered, his tone edged with concern.

  Buren didn't respond immediately. Instead, he lifted a finger in the air, his eyes scanning the darkness of the tunnel ahead. It took a moment for the others to grasp his silent gesture. When they mimicked his action, they felt a subtle, steady breeze brushing against their fingertips.

  "Eh," Emeric shrugged, "where there's wind, there's an opening. Somewhere. Guess we'll just have to find out where."

  "The fact the wind is blowing in our faces suggests that the other opening is closer to the Rupture, as it is the force putting the masses of air in motion," Faelun pointed out.

  "The horses need a rest," Torvald pointed out, eyeing the trembling, lathered beasts with concern. Sweat dripped off their flanks, their coats riddled with small cuts and bruises from their perilous dash across the bridge. Their legs were visibly quaking beneath their weight, a clear sign of exhaustion.

  Buren nodded, understanding the urgency. "Tend to them," he ordered Torvald, "and have them ready to move as soon as possible."

  With a nod, Torvald moved off to see to the horses, murmuring soothing words as he carefully began to tend their wounds and calm their nerves.

  The rest of the group set up a makeshift camp, opting to stay within the mouth of the cavern where the fading daylight could still reach them. The cavern floor was cool and hard beneath them, the wind from the tunnel causing a slight chill to permeate the air.

  Buren stood at the edge of their light, his figure barely more than a silhouette. His gaze was locked onto the inky darkness of the tunnel, his stance rigid and alert.

  Evangeline, having geared herself up, approached him. Her boots, designed to muffle her steps, whispered against the stone floor as she approached. Her helmet under her arm and sword secured at her side, she was ready to proceed.

  "I'm going to scout ahead," she announced, a hint of steel in her voice.

  But as she attempted to pass Buren, he raised an arm, blocking her path.

  She balked at the silent command. "I can take care of myself," she retorted, her brow creased in indignation. "Besides, I'll be better off on my own, without these lumbering oafs alerting everything to our presence with their plodding steps."

  Buren remained steadfast, his arm an immovable barrier.

  Evangeline tried another tactic. "Surely you don't believe the Cleric's old wives' tales," she challenged, a hint of exasperation creeping into her voice.

  Without a word, Buren turned to face her. The look in his eyes, dark and deep, like they had gazed into darkness for so long they began reflecting it, stilled any further protests in her throat.

  "When it comes to the underground," he said, his voice grating against the silence, "I have learned to assume the worst."

  Then, he turned back to the tunnel, resuming his silent vigil.

  Evangeline stared at him for a moment, hesitation creeping into her posture. Finally, she seemed to accept his wordless warning. Her posture straightened as she set her mind and took a place by his side, her gaze, too, falling onto the enshrouding darkness of the tunnel ahead.

  They stood that way for a while, neither saying anything. Sounds of the wind whistling, as well as water drippling down, could be heard from the tunnel ahead.

  "I guess being the hero and saving the kingdom is not like it is in the tales of bards," she said, when she could no longer contain herself.

  He didn't say anything, but his sullen silence spoke volumes.

  Evangeline turned her gaze from the tunnel, studying Buren's profile. "You know," she began, her voice echoing softly in the cavern, "part of what we Inquisitors do is understand how a person's mind works. What drives them. How they might respond in certain situations."

  Her eyes, sharp and discerning, flickered over his face, as though seeking clues within his stoic expressions. "Most people are rather simple to understand. Greed, lust, the desire for fame and glory - these are the usual motivators." She paused, the silence enveloping them like a heavy cloak. "But you, Buren," she continued, her voice lower now, "You're not so easy to pin down."

  A slight frown creased her brow as she stared at him. Buren remained silent, his mind churning with her words. He knew she was probing, seeking to draw out his secrets, his motives. He had to be careful with what he showed, what he said.

  "Your apparent motivation," she continued, undeterred by his silence, "is to serve the Faith, as penance for whatever deeds you committed during your quest against the Malignant One. This conviction of yours is... compelling."

  Buren could feel the weight of her scrutiny. Despite the chill in the tunnel, a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. But he remained silent, his gaze fixed on the obsidian void.

  "But I believe there's more to it," she said. Her voice was quiet, but it filled the silence of the cave. "You're a man driven by duty, yes, but that duty seems to stem from your own personal moral code. And that," she added, her eyes taking on a hardened glint, "makes you difficult to predict."

  He could feel the intensity of her stare, even as his own gaze remained locked on the tunnel. She continued, her words heavy with implication. "Your morality seems rather black and white, leaving little room for compromise. And that, coupled with your unyielding determination, means you could go to any length to accomplish your goals."

  Her words hung in the air between them. Buren didn't need to turn to her to know the serious look that had settled on her face.

  "And that makes you dangerous, Buren," she concluded. "Because such predictable righteousness ironically makes you unpredictable. Especially since you've kept your ultimate goal to yourself."

  When he still didn't react, she smiled casually, and said: "Just something that popped into my mind when I wondering what gives you your sharpness on these endless watches you are so keen on having."

  She turned her attention back towards the tunnel before them. After a while, she added, like an afterthought: "Thanks for the save back there, by the way. We would have been mush at the bottom of that abyss, if it even has a bottom."

  Buren nodded, his demeanor communicating that it was nothing.

  They stood like that for what felt like ages, as time has a habit of moving at a snail's pace when one has to pay unflinching attention at nothing happening. In reality, it was a few hours. Buren didn't have any problem trusting his flank to the Inquisitor, and she also seemed relaxed in his presence. For they both knew that as long as their goals aligned, they could trust each other completely, but when that no longer applied, all bets would be off.

  Torvald's voice echoed in the cavernous expanse, cutting through the tense silence. "Horses are good to go," he announced, striding over to them with a reassuring pat on his steed's flank. The creatures, resilient as they were, had calmed and their heaving sides had slowed to a steady rhythm.

  Emeric, leaning against the wagon with a pensive expression, suggested, "Maybe we should hold off until morning. No sense in navigating these tunnels in the dark."

  Buren shook his head decisively, looking towards the darkness stretching out before them. "We move now," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "We've rested, and it will be pitch black in the tunnels whether it is day or night."

  "Right," Emeric muttered, accepting the decision with a nod. They began to pack up their temporary camp, the sound of clinking gear and rustling fabric filling the cave. Faelun, the Cleric, took his place in the wagon, his frail form bundled against the chill of the cavern.

  The rest of them took up their positions around the wagon, torches in hand, their flickering light casting a warm, inviting glow against the cool, dark stone. Additional torches were affixed to both ends of the wagon, their flames dancing wildly in the cave's drafts, casting elongated shadows that seemed to writhe and twist along the cavern walls.

  With one last glance towards the fading light of the cavern entrance, they embarked on their underground journey. The horses' hooves clicked against the stone, the echo following them into the bowels of the earth. As they moved deeper into the tunnel, the sunlight waned, its soft glow surrendering to the all-encompassing darkness. The sounds of their progress filled the tunnel - the steady clip-clop of the horses, the low murmur of their voices, the rustle of their clothing - becoming the only indication of life in the echoing stillness.

  Their procession rounded a corner, the wavering light from their torches cutting through the absolute blackness, the shadows flickering and dancing on the rough stone walls. Cadoc and Elwin instinctively gravitated towards the center of their formation, drawn by a need for the security provided by their companions.

  Buren, however, swiftly cut off their movement with a sharp gesture. Despite the enveloping darkness, the leading man's orders were clear. He had crafted their formation with purpose, and he intended for it to be adhered to. The unbroken circle of light would make sure they could not be blindsided from any direction.

  They soon reached a crossroads in the tunnel, the path branching out in multiple directions. "What now?" Emeric asked, peering into the inky blackness, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

  Without a word, Buren pulled out a wick from his pack, igniting it with a quick flick of his flint. The small flame cast a minimal light, but it was the trail of smoke that Buren was interested in. Rising into the still air, the smoke lazily swirled, then gradually began to drift down the pathway they had come from, carried by a faint but discernible breeze blowing from the exit somewhere.

  "That way," Buren declared, pointing down the pathway that the smoke was being pushed away from. With a renewed sense of purpose, they adjusted their course, continuing their journey into the darkness with only the flickering light of their torches to guide them.

  "For a man born and raised in wintery woods, you sure know your way around underground tunnels," Faelun observed, breaking the silence that had fallen over their procession.

  Buren remained quiet, his gaze fixed on the path ahead, illuminated only by the flickering torchlight.

  Unfazed by the lack of response, the Cleric continued. "The stories of your deeds often mention your journey through Tartarus as part of your quest, but the details are always so varied that it's hard not to assume each bard has embellished them. Might you illuminate the issue now, for posterity's sake? I promise to record it faithfully, as I consider myself a historian first and foremost."

  Buren shook his head in response, not breaking stride.

  "Even without words, it's clear the journey couldn't have been easy," Faelun murmured, more to himself than to the others.

  At this point, Emeric interjected, his deep voice resonating in the tunnel. "Leave the man alone, Cleric. The last thing we need right now is the novices pissing themselves and the lady losing her sleep over Buren's stories."

  Evangeline, unperturbed by Emeric's comment, retorted, "I can sleep when I please, and stay awake as long as I need. I control my fear, it doesn't control me."

  Buren was grateful for the change in subject. Emeric had been right about one thing: his experiences in Tartarus would rob anyone of sleep. Every gruesome detail, every harrowing encounter was etched indelibly into his memory.

  "Every time I venture underground, I swear it will be the last," he thought, the flickering torchlight casting long, dancing shadows over the uneven tunnel walls. "Yet, every time, circumstances force me back."

  He shook his head slightly, as if physically trying to dislodge the haunting recollections. There was no use dwelling on the past now, not when the present held its own set of challenges. His focus needed to be on the path ahead, not the ghosts trailing behind him.

  The journey through the serpentine labyrinth progressed at a steady pace. They followed the breeze, their path punctuated by short pauses to help the weary horses over inclines or to clear away the occasional rubble. A few times sounds like skittering or tapping heightened their anxiety, but their source remained elusive, concealed by the misleading echo of the cavernous labyrinth.

  After a stretch of tense silence, with all of them straining their ears for first signs of something scurrying in the darkness, Evangeline's voice cut through the quiet like a sharp blade. "Take a look at this. What do you think, Father?" She asked, her voice bouncing off the cold stone walls.

  Turning towards her voice, they found Evangeline illuminating a series of crude paintings on the cave wall with her torch. The flickering firelight danced over the mysterious symbols etched into the stone, giving them an eerie sense of life. "Anything you can use to direct us?" she asked.

  Faelun squinted at the markings, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. "No," he confessed, "these markings are unlike any I have ever seen."

  He approached the wall, his torch held high to cast a larger circle of light. The symbols on the wall were simple lines and spirals, but they carried an unsettling jaggedness, as if they had been etched in fury or fear. Following these were what appeared to be illustrations of many-legged insects, then vaguely humanoid figures with too many limbs, multiple heads, and misshapen parts.

  "What do you make of this?" Emeric asked, his eyes wide as he studied the bizarre figures.

  "The study of ancient cultures and their art has revealed some common themes in paintings and other art, including wall paintings," Faelun explained. "Most start with simple shapes in their cave paintings, then move on to depicting animals, either for worship or hunting, followed by self-portraits of the painters."

  Cadoc, his voice trembling slightly, pointed at the misshapen humanoid figures. "You don't think... those things were the ones who painted these, do you?"

  "As I said," Faelun answered, seeming more bothered about having the repeat himself than over their situation, "is that I am unfamiliar with this style, and can only make general speculation."

  Buren, with a firm flick of his wrist, sent his torch spinning into the air towards the ceiling. As the torch spun, its dancing light flickered against the upper reaches of the cavern, casting transient shadows that flitted like restless spirits.

  There, stark against the stone, were images of a red sun looming above, harsh black lines raining downward as if casting a dreadful pallor. And around it, a multitude of handprints smeared in paint. Some were humanoid, but many were grotesquely altered - too many fingers, too few, or hands that appeared as if melded together in some sickening fusion.

  The torch tumbled back down, and Buren caught it deftly. The painting was plunged back into darkness, but the images lingered in their minds, as chilling as if they were still staring at them. The group stood transfixed, their eyes wide in the gloom, their faces ghostly in the flickering torchlight.

  With a sharp gesture, Buren cut through their paralysis, signaling for them to get on the move.

  Emeric swallowed hard, breaking the silence as they resumed their trek. "What the Flood were those?" he asked, his voice quavering slightly.

  Buren gave him a sidelong glance, his face unreadable in the torchlight. "Hope we don't find out," he said, and they could hear the sincerity in his voice. Their hearts echoed his sentiment, and with a newfound urgency, they pressed on deeper into the echoing labyrinth.

  As they continued their slow, cautious march, the skittering sound resumed, growing increasingly louder the deeper they ventured. It filled the cavern, bouncing off the stone and filling their ears with its unsettling noise.

  "What could that be?" Elwin asked. Nobody answered, preferring to keep their conjectures to themselves.

  Buren ordered the formation of a vanguard, himself leading the group, flanked by Emeric and Evangeline, their weapons drawn and ready. Just as the sound seemed so close that whatever made it was bound to appear within the reach of their torches' light, the skittering was joined by a rustling noise, like the sound of dry leaves tumbling in a gust of wind, and then it fell silent.

  Their steps slowed, halting at the sight of something strewn across the cave floor. As the light from their torches fell onto the shapes, they saw the stark, white bones of a multi-headed canine. Buren bent to lift the skull, revealing empty eye sockets that gazed back at them with hollow emptiness. Suddenly, a cockroach scuttled out of one socket, crawling onto his gauntlet. He shook his hand, sending the insect skittering back into the darkness.

  "Canine creatures with up to seven heads have been known to inhabit the underground," Faelun called. "This one must have been young, since they can get quite a bit larger. Could you bring the bones here? I'll take them back to the Capital for further study."

  A sudden rustling sounded from above, and they instinctively turned their eyes upward. But the torchlight only extended so far, and the cavernous ceiling was lost in the dark. Buren gestured to Emeric and Evangeline, signaling for them to remain vigilant and ready.

  Emeric adopted a defensive stance, his sword and shield held at the ready, while Evangeline gripped a short sword in each hand, her eyes scanning the shadows. "I don't like this," Emeric muttered, his voice echoing uneasily around them.

  "Don't worry, I'll protect you," Evangeline shot back, although her light-hearted tone was strained with tension.

  With a grunt, Buren sent his torch spiraling upwards, the fire drawing whirling patterns in the darkness as it ascended, its orange glow repealing the blackness from that dark corner of the underground.

  In the flickering torchlight, the ceiling initially appeared to be covered in a strange, scale-like pattern. However, as the torch rose, the 'scales' began to shift and move, revealing themselves as six-legged creatures clinging to the cave's surface. The illumination glinted off countless beady, black eyes, each pair focused directly on them. From each insect's head, long antennae twitched in the shifting light, casting long, creeping shadows against the rocky ceiling.

  "Cockroaches," Emeric murmured, disbelief dripping from his words.

  "Giant cockroaches," Evangeline added, her voice filled with revulsion.

  A collective shudder seemed to pass through the mass of insects. They began to scuttle downwards, an eerie wave of chitinous bodies pouring down the walls. Yet, they halted at the edge of the torchlight, held back by the brightness that seemed to confound them. The air grew thick with the sickly-sweet scent of their bodies, a mixture of rot and damp earth that made the back of the throat tighten.

  The cockroaches themselves were enormous, each one roughly the size of a cat, their bodies a shiny black that shimmered with a sickening iridescence under the torchlight. Their antennae were unusually long, whipping back and forth in constant, jittery movement, while their multitude of tiny legs clicked and scratched against the stone. The rustling of their wings and their skittering steps echoed eerily around the cave, turning the silence into a cacophony of grotesque whispers. Greenish saliva dripped from their mouthparts onto the floor, and Buren saw some of them still munching down on what he assumed were parts of the canine, judging by the coarse fur.

  Elwin, driven by sheer terror, broke formation and retreated from the advancing insects. The cockroaches, sensing the light retreating, advanced even further. Buren barked an order, telling Elwin to hold his position, and the young novice stuttered to a halt.

  "They fear the light," Buren called. "Use it."

  With a tremble in his arm, Elwin waved his torch at the oncoming swarm, forcing them to hesitantly retreat. Yet their retreat was slow and their chittering complaints suggested an anticipation, as if they were encouraged by the young man's fear.

  Cadoc, unable to merely watch, shouted words of encouragement:

  "They are just bugs, even if larger than the ones back home," he called. "They're more afraid if you than you are of them."

  Bolstered, Elwin lunged forward, swinging his torch wildly at the cockroaches with a shaky roar. The insects, displaying surprising agility, danced away from the fire. As one, they flapped their wings against the flame, the sound of their wings beating a dreadful buzz. The torch's light was snuffed out, the area around Elwin plunging into immediate darkness. His terrified screams pierced the air, nearly drowned out by the hungry chittering and rustling of the swarm.

  "No!" Cadoc yelled, breaking from his own position to charge towards the struggling Elwin. As he abandoned his post, the torchlight retreated with him, leaving an open path for the cockroaches. The insects surged forward, a tide of ravenous chitin bodies.

  Buren acted quickly. "Close ranks!" he ordered, lobbing his own torch to illuminate the spot Cadoc had vacated. Swiftly, he lit another from his supplies. Their formation contracted, falling in closer to the wagon, the light of their torches staving off the dark tide of cockroaches. Buren joined Cadoc at Elwin's side, attacking the scurrying creatures that were covered his thrashing form. Their torches and the swift swipes of the Gauntlet's talons forced the cockroaches to reluctantly retreat from their intended meal. The insects hissed and screeched, frustrated by the human intervention, but the combined light and attack deterred them, for now.

  With grim determination, they hauled Elwin back into the ring of light, heaving him onto the wagon. The novice was covered in bleeding bite marks, his body convulsing in uncontrollable terror. His mewling whimpers echoed through the cavern as he struggled blindly against his saviors. Although he was in a bad state, they quickly concluded his wounds weren't life-threatening. Cadoc had to maintain a firm grip on the panicked novice, his arms around him in the wagon, preventing him from bolting into the darkness.

  Meanwhile, the cockroaches pressed in from all sides, skittering over the ground and walls and obscuring everything that wasn't bathed in bright light. They seemed to draw courage from their minor victory, daring to challenge the light more directly. Emeric swung his torch at the forefront of the swarm, but the bugs attempted to smother the flame with their wings. Anticipating this, he quickly jerked the torch away, keeping the light safe for the moment.

  Evangeline raised her voice over the cacophony of chittering insects. "What now?" she called, her gaze darting around their rapidly shrinking haven. "They have us pinned. We can't stay here until our torches burn out!"

  From above, more cockroaches dropped onto the canvas covering of the wagon, scurrying into the shadows that the direct light couldn't reach. Others slipped underneath the wagon, unseen but not unheard. The horses whinnied nervously, their eyes wide and whites showing.

  Emeric weighed in with his suggestion. "We could try running, just like on the bridge," he said, a touch of hope in his voice.

  Torvald, however, immediately shot down the idea. "That's out of the question," he said firmly. "If we gallop into the dark, the horses will stumble, break their legs. We'll be sitting ducks."

  The front line of insects had begun to buzz their wings in a unified rhythm. More and more joined the drone, building a wind that swept across the cavern. It buffeted the group and caused their torches to flicker, their light waning. The boundary of safety shrunk, permitting the cockroaches to inch ever closer.

  "I'd rather die fighting than be devoured in the darkness," Evangeline stated defiantly, stepping forward with her sword held high. But before she could make another move, Buren's raised palm halted her.

  "These creatures, no matter their number or their hunger, are still insects. They fear anything larger, anything that poses a real threat," Buren said, his voice echoing in the hollow expanse. "They want easy prey, so I'll give them just that."

  Without another word, he brought a talon to his own shoulder, slicing through skin and muscle. Blood began to seep from the wound, the metallic scent instantly heavy in the air. "I'll draw them away. You keep moving, and don't you dare stop."

  "That's suicide!" Emeric countered, his voice laced with disbelief. "Running headlong into the darkness - you won't stand a chance!"

  A grim smile played on Buren's lips. There was no mirth in it, only a cold acceptance of the reality of their situation. "If we stay here, we stand no chance either. None of you can move like I can. I'm the only one who can buy us any time," he stated matter-of-factly. "Given what we've got, it's the only plan that makes sense."

  None of them could counter his words. The air was thick with tension as they each prepared for what was to come, their faces etched with fear, worry, and reluctant acceptance.

  Buren drew a deep breath, steeling himself for the imminent plunge into the darkness.

  He chuckled darkly to himself: "I swear, this will be the last time."

  With a sudden burst of speed, he launched himself towards the wall, torch in his left hand casting a wavering pool of light in front of him. The cave wall appeared, and he reached forward with the Gauntlet, and the moment he made contact with the stone, he pushed off again, propelling himself further into the abyss.

  A chorus of gleeful screeches filled the cavern as the cockroaches surged forward, drawn by the scent of blood and the promise of an easy meal. They flowed after him, a tide of clicking exoskeletons and fluttering wings, leaving a clear path for the others to continue their journey.

  "Drive, Torvald! Drive!" Evangeline's command echoed through the cavern, urgent and desperate. They scrambled onto the wagon, fending off the few daring insects that ventured too close with the waving of their torches. As Torvald snapped the reins, the wagon lurched forward, wheels grinding against the stone floor.

  The bodies of cockroaches too slow to escape the wheels and horses' hooves crunched beneath them. The sound, a sharp and sickening chorus of popping exoskeletons, added to the nightmarish cacophony of their escape.

  Evangeline cast a last glance over her shoulder. Buren's torchlight, once a beacon in the cavernous expanse, had dwindled to a mere pinprick of light in the distance. It moved erratically, mirroring his bounding strides as he led the chitinous horde away from them. The echoing drone of the swarm's wings was a monstrous roar, a rustling vortex of sound that filled the cavern to the brim.

  She watched, breath held, as that tiny speck of light grew smaller and smaller, flickering against the seemingly endless backdrop of darkness. Then, as though swallowed by some immense, unseen creature, the last vestige of light winked out, leaving nothing but darkness and the echoes of their flight.

  As the adrenaline faded and Evangeline felt certain enough they weren't being followed, she ordered the wagon to halt. She held her torch high, the rising smoke tracing invisible currents in the air. She squinted at the wisps, her mind tracing the wind's path, before she pointed towards a particular tunnel. "That way," she declared, her voice echoing in the eerie silence.

  Cadoc, who had been attending to the whimpering Elwin on the carriage floor, looked up in disbelief. "You can't seriously think we keep going after this," he said, his voice choked with barely concealed fear.

  "We are on a mission," Evangeline responded, her voice flat, yet unwavering.

  "A mission that will get us killed!" Cadoc retorted, his voice rising to a shout. "Pardon me for saying this but you can't replace the Bearer of the Gauntlet, and without him I don't see how we could ever stand a chance. He's the only reason we've even made it this far."

  Emeric, unusually quiet till then, interjected, "I think she's right. If we give up, his sacrifice will have been for nothing. I say we continue the mission, for him."

  Faelun, who had been silent, finally spoke up, his voice steady. "I wouldn't count the Marquis out yet, no matter how slim his chances seem. He's pulled off quite improbable deeds before."

  "A man of faith, after all," Torvald murmured, his voice just barely audible over the soft crunching of the wagon's wheels over the cave floor.

  Cadoc, while still stroking Elwin's hair to soothe him, let out a resigned sigh. "Fine, let's keep going then. But I'm sure we'll come to regret it."

  Faelun, who had been about to respond, suddenly jerked, his arms reaching awkwardly towards his back. A gasp slipped from his lips as a cockroach emerged from under his cloak, quickly slipping away through the gaps in the floorboards before anyone had the chance to crush it underfoot.

  Emeric and Evangeline glanced at each other, noting that the alarm had made them instinctively raise their weapons, and lowered them with a roll of their eyes.

  "I think I'm going to crush every bug I see from now on," Emeric said. "Just on principle."

  As they journeyed deeper into the labyrinthine tunnels, the symbols on the wall seemed to multiply, forming a cryptic tapestry in the torchlight. Eventually, the narrow confines of the tunnel gave way to a yawning expanse, a cavern so vast its edges vanished into darkness.

  Evangeline halted the group with a gesture and then, to their surprise, began to click her tongue sharply. The clicks echoed in the vast space, bouncing off unseen walls. As Emeric opened his mouth to question her, she held up a hand, signaling for silence. The echoes returned, a distorted echo of her original clicks. After a moment, she lowered her hand and said, "This space is hundreds of feet in each direction."

  "Inquisitor trick?" Emeric asked, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

  "Inquisitor trick," she confirmed with a nod.

  She held her torch high, watching the curling tendrils of smoke as they danced and swirled in the air currents. "There are probably columns or the like dividing the path of the wind," she said, her voice reverberating in the vastness of the cavern. "We're going to have to look for the exit the old-fashioned way."

  Cadoc groaned at this revelation, his sound echoing back from unseen distances. Despite the heavy air of uncertainty and tension, they pressed forward, the rhythmic clatter of their wagon wheels and clopping of horse hooves filling the cavernous silence.

  Piles or mounds of stone appeared in their path, and they meandered between them. Each stack adorned with the mysterious symbols that had become so familiar. A sudden jutting structure loomed ahead, a column of stones topped with a grisly assortment of animal and human skulls.

  "A totem," Faelan murmured, his voice hushed with apprehension.

  Evangeline moved her torch closer, illuminating the hollow cavities within the stone mounds. Entrances, or perhaps exits, yawned ominously from each one.

  "It's a village," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath in the echoing cavern. "We've stumbled right into the midst of whatever lives down here."

  Scattered around the stone structures, the detritus of life—or death—littered the cavern floor. Crushed bones, gnawed to splinters, mixed with the discarded shells and twitching legs of the giant cockroaches.

  "Get us the Flood out of here," Emeric hissed to Torvald.

  "You don't have to tell me twice," he grumbled, urging the horses to quicken their pace.

  As they circled the grim totem, an equally grim discovery met their eyes. A crude vat had been carved into the cavern floor, its contents a dark, oily liquid filled with unidentifiable chunks of floating meat. The stench that wafted from the vat was enough to make them gag, a rancid smell that filled their nostrils and coated their tongues. The very air seemed to thicken with it.

  "Fascinating," Faelun murmured, his eyes roving over the macabre scenery. "I think we can safely assume that whatever resides here is carnivorous, possessing at least a rudimentary level of intelligence. Their fondness for such brutal displays of violence is particularly intriguing."

  Emeric hushed him sharply, his attention solely on the ominous shadows around them.

  "Could you do us a favor and crawl into one of these huts?" Faelun asked, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "I'd love to know if they have indoor lavatory systems or if they prefer a more communal arrangement."

  Emeric stared at him in stunned silence, his disbelief palpable. Before he could respond, however, an indistinguishable chatter echoed through the cavernous darkness, sending chills down their spines. Instinctively, they all turned towards the sound.

  At first, all they could discern were two pairs of eyes, the torchlight reflecting eerily off the shiny orbs. Evangeline's voice was a low whisper beside him. "If they attack, you handle the one on the right, I'll deal with the left." Emeric responded with a firm nod, his heart pounding against his chest.

  As the shape in the darkness began to move closer, the tension in the air was almost tangible. When it finally lumbered into their pool of light, they saw it was not two creatures, but one. One grotesque creature with two sets of arms, legs, and heads, a deep split running down the middle of its body. It hovered at the edge of their light, its movements unnerving and erratic, sometimes standing upright on two legs, sometimes scuttling about on all limbs, much like a gigantic, nightmarish spider.

  The creature was a grotesque mockery of human form, its body an amalgamation of redundant limbs and features. Each head possessed a visage twisted and gnarled, with beady eyes that gleamed a sickly yellow. A flat nose adorned each face, too wide and too low, reminiscent of some primitive beast. Its mouths, filled with jagged, yellow teeth, stretched into eerie grins that were more unsettling than comforting.

  Its skin was a sickly pale, mottled with patches of discolored flesh, stretched taut over its dual skeletal structure. It offered its hand to them, the arms it extended were overly long, the flesh marred with irregular lumps and random clusters of hair. The fingers on its upturned hand were too long, tipped with ragged, claw-like nails.

  "Is it...trying to be friendly?" Emeric wondered aloud, his voice trembling slightly as he watched the thing smile and beckon to them.

  Faelun piped up, "Well, why don't you go and find out? Could lead to some important findings."

  Emeric shot him a horrified look. "I'm not going anywhere near that...that thing."

  A soft "Uh, guys?" echoed from behind them, Cadoc's voice filled with dread.

  "I think we should just keep moving," Torvald murmured, his eyes flickering nervously to the darkened edges of the cavern.

  "I'm thinking," Evangeline muttered, her gaze darting between the bizarre creature and the looming darkness beyond.

  "Guys!" Cadoc hissed a bit louder this time. As if on cue, they all turned towards him, snapping "What?" in unison. Their blood ran cold as Cadoc pointed towards the darkness, where countless eyes gleamed back at them, an ominous audience silently observing their every move.

  Evangeline's torch sputtered and spat, casting long shadows and stark relief on the twisted forms that shambled from the abyss. These were not just monsters; they were grotesque parodies of humanity, each one scarred by the wild forces of the Rupture. The flickering firelight danced across faces split by gaping tears in the flesh, revealing a nightmarish tableau of pulsating organs and gnarled bones.

  Clothes in tatters hung from their misshapen bodies, obviously vestiges from people they had preyed on previously. They were attired in a grotesque patchwork of garments, salvaged from the fallen. Evangeline saw the familiar woven linens of her homeland alongside the rich silks of far-off lands, the styles ranging from antiquated to current fashion.

  Their weapons were as crude as they were effective, fashioned from sharp stones and sturdy branches. The warped creatures wielded these with a fierce intensity, the rhythmic thumping of their weapons on the cavern floor echoing menacingly in the silence.

  Faelun seemed awestruck, marveling at the twisted beings before them. "Smart enough to have a decoy and fashion tools... my report on this will surely stir the Clergy, if I live to tell it," he mused, the threat of impending doom not really seeming to affect him. "Father Barbarosso will turn green with envy when he hears of my findings."

  Evangeline, Emeric, and Torvald, armed with only a riding lash and walking stick, formed a protective circle around the wagon. The tension in the air was palpable, and Emeric finally broke the silence, calling out to Evangeline, "What now?"

  Her response was curt, laced with bitterness, "So, now you want me to make the decisions?"

  "You've done such a stellar job leading us thus far," he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just look what you've accomplished in mere two hours!"

  "Enough of this," Torvald grumbled, "We need a plan, and we need it now."

  "Okay, me and Emeric draw their attention, while you turn the carriage a round and--"

  Evangeline's instructions were cut off mid-sentence as a rock hurled from the encroaching darkness connected with Torvald's head. He crumpled to the ground, a stream of blood already trickling down his forehead.

  The monsters advanced, their distorted faces twisted with a grotesque mix of glee and fury, their chattering and cackling echoed menacingly around them. Another volley of stones hurtled through the air. Emeric, his shield raised, deflected most of them, while the rest clanged off Evangeline's armor, jarring her but not causing any real harm.

  "New plan: just kill as many as you can!" Evangeline shouted, drawing her twin short swords.

  "That's the smartest thing you've said all day," Emeric shot back, the grim humor doing little to mask the direness of their situation.

  Emeric, with sword in hand and shield at the ready, threw himself into the fray. He was a tempest in the storm of twisted bodies and gnashing teeth, his shield acting as much as a weapon as his sword. He slammed it into the face of an oncoming beast, its jaw dislocating with a sickening crunch. Another creature lunged at him, only to be met with the edge of his shield, the impact sending it reeling back into the crowd, missing most of its teeth.

  Evangeline, meanwhile, danced a deadly ballet amidst the chaos. Her movements were quick and precise, every strike finding a critical tendon or artery. She danced around a lumbering brute, severing its hamstring with one swift slice, and then a quick jab to the throat brought it down, gurgling and gasping.

  Over by the carriage, Cadoc brandished a dagger as he rushed to Torvald's aid, dragging the dazed man closer to the relative safety of the wagon. A creature pounced at him, but Faelun was ready. With a grunt, the Cleric swung his staff, connecting with the creature's head. It dropped like a stone, out cold.

  "Could you tie it up and lift it to the wagon?" he asked the novice, who seemed almost as stunned by the elder's accomplishment as the creature. "I'll do vivisection on it once things quiet down."

  In the initial melee, Emeric and Evangeline moved with a well-practiced synergy, their blades flashing like twin streaks of lightning in the semi-darkness. Emeric, broad-shouldered and solid, bore the brunt of the initial onslaught, his shield absorbing the crude blows of their enemies' clubs and spears, their primitive weapons glancing off harmlessly.

  His sword, sharp and lethal, cut through the twisted flesh of their assailants with merciless efficiency. Each stroke was followed by a spray of dark, viscous blood, staining the ground around him. A brutish creature lunged at him, its gnarled hands clutching a splintered club. Emeric effortlessly blocked the clumsy strike, his shield bashing the creature's skull with a bone-jarring thud. A swift follow-up from his sword sent the creature sprawling, its lifeblood pooling beneath it.

  Beside him, Evangeline fought with a cold, lethal grace, her twin short swords dancing in a blur of deadly precision. She weaved in and out of the enemy's reach, her lithe figure a blur as she exploited openings with nimble footwork. The crude weapons of their enemies proved ineffective against her tightly-fitted armor, their dull strikes bouncing off, leaving superficial bruises at worst.

  Her opponents did not fare as well. With every twirl and strike, her blades cut through their most exposed spots with surgical precision, leaving the creatures lame, or with their lifeblood pouring between their fingers until they collapsed. A monstrosity, a twisted mockery of humanity, lunged at her with a crude spear. With an agile sidestep and a swift parry, she disarmed the creature and swiftly ran her blade through its throat. The creature collapsed in a heap, its life draining out onto the cavern floor.

  Together, the two warriors held their ground, a lethal whirlwind in the midst of the advancing horde. Gore splattered, bodies fell, and the foul scent of blood and death hung heavy in the air. The sense of triumph was always fleeting, they both knew, but for a moment, it seemed they could hold their own against the tide of deformed monsters.

  Despite the initial success, Evangeline and Emeric's defenses began to falter. The sheer number of the mutants, their natural cover of darkness, began to outweigh the skill and fortitude of the two fighters.

  "Keep it up," Emeric encouraged, his voice strained, "I think we can drive them off if we slaughter enough of--"

  Emeric's optimism was abruptly severed mid-sentence when a grotesque whip, wrought of gut and sinew, lashed out from the darkness. It coiled around his ankle with predatory precision. Before his blade could sever the fetid line, he was yanked from his feet and sent sprawling on his back. His torch, clutched in his shield hand, tumbled from his grasp and lay flickering on the cavern floor. Emeric was then violently dragged into the enveloping darkness, his grunts of surprise quickly drowned under the oncoming horde.

  "No!" Evangeline's outcry echoed Emeric's surprise, her focus abruptly shifting to his sudden predicament. Yet as she pivoted to follow, a small, multi-armed monstrosity sprang upon her from a stone hut. It grappled her ferociously, twisting her arms behind her back with abnormal strength. More of these abhorrent beings swarmed her position, their rough, eager hands prying her dual short swords from her grasp. She was hoisted high, a gruesome trophy paraded above the heads of the twisted creatures.

  From her elevated position, she bore witness to the rest of her team's downfall. The wagon was overrun, Faelun's staff ripped from his grasp, Cadoc skewered through the shoulder by a crude spear, his agonized cry piercing the cacophony. Their remaining torches were stamped out, extinguishing their scant circle of light and submerging them into an all-consuming darkness.

  The triumphant howls and hoots of the mutants filled the cavern, creating a nightmarish symphony of gleeful savagery. Their repulsive odor, a mix of decay and unwashed flesh, pervaded her senses, along with the nauseating feel of their calloused hands gripping her armor. Darkness and dread closed in, the grotesque laughter of their captors the last thing echoing in their ears.

  "Unhand me!" Evangeline bellowed, thrashing violently against her captors. The grotesque creatures responded with delighted chitters, their clawed hands grappling to restrain her. Her protests were silenced as her helmet was roughly yanked off, her golden hair spilling around her shoulders. A damp, repulsive rag was forced into her mouth and tied tightly behind her head, muffling her cries.

  Further protests were futile, her struggle weakening as her armor was torn away piece by piece. The rough bindings cut cruelly into her exposed skin, causing her to wince with pain. She heard similar struggles and muffled protests echoing around her, the sounds of her comrades being similarly subdued.

  Despite her training, despite the years of conditioning to face the horrors that lurked in the shadows, a creeping fear began to coil in the pit of her stomach. It wound around her heart like a constricting serpent, filling her with a sense of dread she'd seldom known. It was a fear born not just from the physical danger but also from the unknown. Her captors were creatures that belonged to the deepest, darkest corners of the world, and now, they were completely at their mercy. And from what they had seen, their intentions would not be to her liking.