Finn and Icarus charged at the centipede as one—Finn's greataxe gleaming in the dim light, his muscles coiled like steel springs, while Icarus gripped the borrowed knife so tightly his knuckles turned bone-white.
The creature's legs scraped and clattered against the stone floor, a horrid, rasping noise that set his teeth on edge. It darted forward with alarming speed, its mandibles snapping shut with a sound like cracking bone. Finn swung his greataxe in a wide arc, the blade glinting in the dim light, but the centipede reared back, narrowly avoiding the strike.
"Keep it busy! Go for its underside!" Finn barked, his voice taut with strain.
"O-Okay!" Icarus shot back, darting sideways. The centipede's head swiveled toward him, its bulbous, chitinous plates glistening with a sickly, oily sheen. His heart hammered against his ribs as he slashed out with the knife.
The blade skittered harmlessly off its armored hide.
The creature hissed, its spined tail whipping around like a flail. Icarus ducked—just in time—but felt the rush of displaced air as it passed inches above his scalp.
"Keep your eyes on its tail, dammit!" Finn snarled, hacking at its flank again. The centipede twisted away, unscathed.
Icarus grit his teeth, frustration mounting. I'm trying.
But it was too fast, too agile. Every time they moved to strike, it slipped away like smoke through their fingers.
Together, they wove around the creature in a deadly dance—Finn's axe carving deadly arcs, Icarus' knife darting in and out—but nothing seemed to work. The centipede reared up, its tail lashing out at Finn, who barely raised his axe in time. The impact sent him skidding back, boots scraping against loose stone, his face contorted in pain.
Seizing the opening, Icarus lunged, slamming his shoulder into the creature's side. The thud of impact reverberated up his arm, but the centipede didn't budge—its armor absorbed the blow effortlessly.
"You're stronger than you look," Finn grunted between ragged breaths before swinging again, this time clipping the end of one of its legs. Dark ichor spurted as the centipede screeched, its body thrashing.
"Not strong enough," Icarus muttered. His muscles burned, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. A strange energy simmered beneath his skin—foreign yet familiar—urging him forward despite the fatigue. But it wasn't enough. He needed more.
The centipede came at him again, its mandibles snapping. He ducked low—narrowly losing his head—and thrust the knife upward, aiming for its belly. The silver blade scraped against the hardened plates, finding a joint in its armor—and breaking through the surface of flesh.
Just barely, but enough.
The creature shrieked, its tail whipping around to slam into his ribs. Pain exploded through his side, and Icarus was hurled across the cavern floor, the air blasted from his lungs.
"Get up!" Finn roared, limping forward to hack at the creature's head. "Don't let it pin you!"
Icarus pushed himself up, vision swimming. His body felt like lead, but anger—white-hot and searing—flared in his chest. Anger at the monster. At himself. At the faceless ones who'd made him this way. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out all else.
Fight after fight, always running, always hurting. When will it end? When will I be FREE?
Icarus charged again, this time with no fear, no hesitation. Finn's eyes widened, something between shock and admiration flashing across his face.
"Hey, slow down! Are you mad?"
"Just keep it distracted!" Icarus shouted back before slamming his fist against the centipede's side with all his might. He felt a raw torrent of energy wash from his chest to his arm, erupting into the creature. A sickening crack echoed, and something gave way in his wrist. But somehow, it worked.
The creature recoiled, hissing in pain. Icarus blinked in surprise—it worked? But there was no time to think. He leapt back into the fray, his knife flashing out in a flurry of desperate strikes.
"Hey! Wait!" Finn called out, but Icarus barely heard him. A rage boiled over, white-hot and blinding. Strength coursed through him, an unnatural force pushing him beyond his limits. He swung again and again, feeling the blade bite deeper into the creature's flesh. The centipede lashed out, missing Icarus but catching Finn across the chest with a glancing blow. Blood welled through his armor as he staggered back.
"No!" Icarus cried out, but his voice seemed distant, lost in the torrent of sensations consuming him. The creature turned on him, sensing weakness, and Icarus felt his fury burn brighter.
Not again. Never again.
He hurled himself at the centipede, fists pounding against its hide, feeling the carapace crack beneath his assault. His vision blurred, his mind flashing back to the darkness of his imprisonment, to the faces of his captors—their cold eyes, their cruel smiles. They had made him this way, he was sure of it. These sensations grew more familiar the more he surrendered—to the rage, to the frenzy. Strength surged through his veins, increasing with every heartbeat, every breath. Something squirmed in his chest with discomfort.
Focus, child. Do not lose yourself.
A flicker of clarity—brief, fragile—cut through the storm. The centipede screeched, its tail whipping out again, and Finn barely dodged in time, his face pale with pain. "Hey, get it together!" he barked. "Aim for its underside—what the hells are you doing, kid?"
Icarus growled, wrestling to regain control of his limbs. The creature lunged, and he dove under its tail, rolling against the hard ground—before driving his knife up into its belly. It screeched, thrashing wildly, but Icarus held firm, driving the blade deeper. Finn stepped forward, his axe coming down in a powerful blow that cleaved through one of its legs, spilling dark ichor across the rocks.
The centipede reared back, unsteady, its movements frantic and erratic. It tossed Icarus away, and in that fleeting moment, he saw it—a faint glow pulsing from the gash in its chest, a flicker of light that drew his attention like a beacon.
"There!" he shouted, staggering to his feet and pointing at the glow. "Something's inside it!"
Finn's brows furrowed, and he nodded, an understanding dawning between them. "I'll distract it! You go for its core!"
He charged forward, axe swinging, drawing the creature's attention. It turned on him with a hiss, its tail whipping out, but Finn dodged, moving with a speed that belied his wounds. Icarus took the opportunity, diving beneath the creature, sliding across the ground on his knees. He saw the glow, closer now—a green, crystalline shard embedded deep within its chest, pulsating with a strange, otherworldly light.
With a roar, Icarus thrust his hand into the gap between its armored plates, feeling the heat of the creature's innards burn against his skin. The centipede convulsed, its body writhing in pain, but he held on, gripping the shard with all his strength. It was stuck fast, buried deep, but he pulled with everything he had, muscles straining, vision swimming with effort.
"Now!" Finn shouted, driving his axe down on the creature's head, momentarily stunning it.
With a final, desperate jerk, Icarus tore the crystal free and pushed himself away. The centipede thrashed—then suddenly froze. With one last, violent shudder, it collapsed to the ground, its body twitching as the life drained from it.
Icarus fell back, panting, the crystal still clutched in his hand, its glow fading. Finn staggered over to him, his face pale, blood dripping from his side. "Good... work," he managed, but his voice was faint, his strength nearly gone.
"T-Thank you," Icarus breathed, his hands shaking, body rattling with the last embers of adrenaline. "You're not s-so bad yourself."
Finn only smiled, a weak, bleary smile. "Maybe," he whispered, his eyes closing as his strength ebbed away. He crumpled to the ground beside him, his body slack. Moving to catch him, Icarus tumbled weakly as well, unable to stop the aches spreading through his body, and his world faded to black.
---
You did good, child.
A cool, ethereal voice spoke quietly from the void, and Icarus jolted awake in surprise, his mind reeling as consciousness slowly returned. Waves of nausea threatened to overwhelm him—if not for the fact his belly was already empty. W-Wait, you're back?
I never left.
He rose with a groan, uncertain if he should feel relieved or not, and opened his eyes, his vision swimming, his body aching in ways he couldn't quite place. A fire crackled nearby, its orange glow flickering against the rough-hewn cave walls. Shadows stretched long and jagged, dancing like specters as the flames struggled against the oppressive dark.
A young man—Theo—sat cross-legged beside the fire, gnawing on a strip of dried meat with the casual ease of someone who hadn't just fought for his life. His spiky brown hair was matted with sweat and grime, his forest-green eyes glinting mischievously despite the exhaustion lining his face. He waved the meat at Icarus like a peace offering.
"Morning, sunshine," he said, grinning. "You look like hell."
Icarus swallowed, his throat dry as sand. His chest burned where the centipede had struck him, but when he pressed a hand to the wound, he found only smooth, unbroken skin beneath the tattered remains of his shirt.
Again.
He shuddered.
Tara sat beside Theo, her dark curls tied back in a messy knot, her bow resting across her lap. She wasn't eating. Instead, her sharp, distrustful gaze was fixed on Icarus, her fingers tapping impatiently against the weapon.
Finn was nowhere in sight.
"Where—?" Icarus croaked, pushing himself up onto his elbows. His muscles screamed in protest, but he forced himself to stay upright. His words trailed off with a start as he noticed a shape in his peripheral vision. The centipede's corpse lay in a twisted heap several feet away, its armored plates dull and lifeless, its many legs curled inward like a dead spider's. The air smelled of blood, sweat, and something acrid—the lingering scent of the creature's ichor. Icarus scrambled back, his mind reeling.
"Easy there," Theo said, tossing the meat aside and leaning forward. "You were out for a while. More banged up than ever. Our mate Finn tried to patch you with a tonic, but uh, must've been a bad batch since it didn't seem to do much." Icarus glanced up and down his arms, searching for any injury, but surprisingly, everything felt fine. No blemishes. No pain beyond a dull throb.
"But... wasn't... that doesn't make sense. Wasn't I—?"
"Well, that's what we've been tryna figure out. After you passed out, you sort of started to, I dunno—seize up?—and kinda pulled yourself back together. We couldn't make heads or tails of it. I mean, no tonics? No healer? How'd you manage it? Magick, I reckon," he grinned at Icarus, a tenacious curiosity in his eyes.
Icarus didn't know how to respond. He simply didn't know. He couldn't do this before—not without Sable's intervention, from what he could remember. So how could his body heal so inhumanly?
Was he even human?
Tara finally spoke up, her tone stiff. "You shouldn't have lived. You were shredded and crumpled multiple times. Who are you? Are you alone?" She was clearly angry, but Icarus couldn't make sense of why. He hadn't hurt them, had he? No, the opposite. They'd come to help him, and he'd stepped in to return the favor. So why pester him like this? Just for his healing?
"I am," he croaked, his throat dry. "I... I awoke here not long ago. I just want to find the way out." He only partially answered her questions, as he himself wasn't entirely sure how much he trusted the group. How much could he say? What if they recognized details? Or worse—turned him back over to his captors?
"Awoke here? As in knocked out or something? What of your party? They didn't just up and leave you in a Delve of all places, did they? That's mad!" Theo gave him an incredulous look, his brows furrowed, and took another bite of meat.
A Party? Like a group of friends? Was it normal to explore caverns with one? Why was theirs here? And what the hells was a Delve? Icarus racked his brain for how to respond.
"I-I'm sorry, I don't really remember very much. It's like there's a big gap in my memory. I think I was stranded here." He chose to play it safe, divulging only what was absolutely necessary. Given the fact they'd risked their lives to save him and watched over his body, surely they were good people—enough to guide him out of this place. He just prayed they didn't pry.
Caution is good, the now-familiar voice whispered in the back of his mind. It took all he had not to flinch, forgetting its presence in his weariness.
Theo nearly spit out his food and exchanged a silent glance with Tara before turning back to Icarus. Finally, it was she who spoke. "What? Are you saying you don't know? You're in a pit infested with all manner of creatures and almost certain death, and you don't know why?"
Icarus shook his head, avoiding her deadly gaze. "You guys are the first I've seen here. I'd be dead if it weren't for you. So thank you. And Finn—"
"Finn nearly died thanks to you—"
"—Alright, let's slow down a bit there..." Theo interjected, raising his hands placatingly. "Let's not get frisky. We all had plenty of input in that fight, and it's not really fair to blame one dude for—"
"This is your fault too!" Tara scoffed. "If you had just followed Finn's orders—"
Icarus jumped to his feet, eyes wide, scanning the walls. "Wait, where is he? Is he okay? He didn't..." A dwindling fear crept up his back at her words. He couldn't have...
Theo seemed to understand. "Oh! No! Finn's fine. Just scouting the tunnels that lead back outside. Said to give you one of these when you woke up." He whistled low, pulling a length of roasted meat from the fire, skewered on a long rod. "Here," he offered it to him.
Icarus exhaled slowly, trying to steady the tremor in his hands. "I—um, thank you." He'd intended to politely decline, but a loud rumble in his belly interrupted his words. He blushed and took the rod, head down. "I don't know how to repay you."
"Ah, don't even worry about it, mate. You kinda saved our asses back there too when you went all *woop pow* on that thing. I ain't ever seen anything like it. Probably woulda lost if you hadn't gone into that frenzy or whatever. You got balls." He began ghost-punching the air in mimicked combat, and Icarus swallowed hard.
Frenzy. Theo wasn't wrong—that was the only word Icarus could think of to describe his crazed state. A fury of emotions had crashed through him in that fight. He wasn't sure when he'd begun to lose control. Just like in the waterbed, he'd lost all sense of restraint. This couldn't keep happening. This wasn't him... was it?
Theo's grin faltered for just a moment before he forced it back into place. "So," he said, clapping his hands together. "You got a name, or should we just keep calling you 'the nutcase who punched a whiptail'?" Tara grumbled something, but Theo ignored her.
Icarus took a bite from the meat, biding his time for a response, but was caught off guard by the explosion of flavor cascading in his mouth like a waterfall. It was tender, juicy—the most flavorful thing he'd ever tasted. Theo must've noticed his shock, watching the juice trickle down his chin, and gave him a thumbs up, his green eyes blazing in the firelight. "Good, huh? Picked up the seasonings from my pop's shop. Among a couple other things."
Icarus tore into the meat without a second thought, letting it soak in his mouth before remembering the conversation. Finally, he decided. "Icarus," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "My name is Icarus." The words felt foreign on his tongue, like something borrowed.
"Icarus," Theo repeated, nodding. "Fitting. You did fly a little too close to the sun back there, huh."
Tara scoffed. "More like crashed into it."
Theo shot her a look before turning back to Icarus. "Don't mind her. She's just pissed because you were more use in that fight to Finn than she ever was."
"That is not—" Tara started, but Theo waved her off.
"Anyway," he continued, "you're lucky Finn's got a soft spot for strays. Otherwise, we might've left you for the next monster to snack on. He's a big softie, that one, always taking the word of his goddess like law. You wouldn't happen to follow any beings or deities yourself, would you now, Icarus?"
Icarus stiffened, unsure of his meaning. "No? I uh, wasn't aware that was the norm. Like I said, I don't really remember much before waking up here."
Theo's smile didn't waver, but something suspicious flickered behind his eyes that Icarus couldn't quite place. "Well, that's a relief."
A tense silence settled over them, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. Tara's fingers stilled on her bow, her gaze boring into Icarus like she was trying to peel back his skin and see what lay beneath. He focused on his food, gnawing until there was nothing left, and swallowed hard.
"We're leaving when Finn gets back," she said finally, glaring at Theo. "This guy gives me the creeps. We have no reason to keep endangering ourselves with someone who won't even tell us why he's here—we've seen no traces of anyone else Delving here today either. He's obviously lying about something."
Icarus hesitated, irritation beginning to egg at him. "I'm not lying, I—"
"Bullshit."
"Tara," Theo warned.
She ignored him, turning fully to face Icarus now, her fingers tightening on her bow, dark eyes burning. "You just expect us to believe you happened to be here, alone, unarmed, with no memory? And then somehow survived getting mauled by a whiptail centipede? You don't even have shoes, for fuck's sake! None of this makes any sense!"
Icarus looked down at his bare feet, scraped and dirty but—just like the rest of him—strangely unharmed. He didn't have an answer for her. But he began to understand her paranoia. Any sane person would be, at the very least, put off by what they'd witnessed. Yet Finn had made sure they watched over him.
Theo shot her another look before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Alright, alright. Let's keep things simple then. I don't think we'll get much of anywhere till we figure this out. What do you plan to do, Icarus? Have you any clues of where to go? Any keepsakes or identification? Maybe a Traveler's card, since you at least knew your name?"
Icarus closed his eyes, trying to grasp at the fragments of his shattered memory. Trying to find some excuse, some answer to give them that would placate this discussion. Yet it was unavoidable—he knew this would become a problem sooner or later, even if he evaded his captors. How could he prove what he himself wasn't entirely sure of? Could he trust them with anything more than his name?
They may be bold, but I do not detect insincerity. They are afraid, boy. Afraid you may be a predator in disguise or plotting to take their treasures. Show them your chest. That will do for now.
Show them my wha—?
His hand shot to his sternum, and Icarus realized what it meant, feeling the voice's intent like it was his own. Oh. But... what if—
Just do it, boy.
He swallowed, then let out an exasperated sigh. "I-I'm not lying when I say I don't remember much outside this cavern—this Delve, as you called it. Just fragments, pieces of memory that I still can't tell are dreams or not. Alone. No supplies. No shoes," he shot Tara a frustrated look. "Just these..."
Icarus tugged at the collar of his ruined shirt, smearing away the grime and dried blood on his chest to reveal the eerie, cryptic markings etched on his skin. They pulsed faintly in the firelight, coiled with long tendrils of black around the symbols, like dark vines wrapped around a sign.
Theo's forced smile vanished. Tara went still.
"Wh-What the hells is that?" Theo asked, his voice hushed, eyes wide with shock and unease.
Icarus shook his head, unable to meet their eyes. "I don't know."
Tara's fingers twitched on her bow—he hadn't even noticed she'd notched an arrow to the string. "How convenient," she muttered, her voice steeled with anger, a brewing storm ready to thunder.
"I'm telling the truth. It was here when I woke up. I thought it was a tattoo, but—" he hesitated, waiting for the voice in his head to guide him further. It made no attempt to interject. "But then I noticed the symbols—the markings—they changed. Moved. When I get angry or upset, they just seem to react. I don't know why it happens, but I can just feel it. Like a snake worming inside me. I don't know what to do, but I'm terrified." His voice cracked, and he began to cough loudly, heaving before Theo reached for a waterskin at his side and handed it to him silently. Icarus drank, letting its cool relief trail down his neck, and straightened himself.
"It-It looks like runes to me. I see them sometimes when traders come to Tarken, but," Theo's eyes glazed over his chest in a mix of awe and horror. "These are—insane. Like they're carved into your body, but... you're right. They're moving!" He turned to Tara, pointing in awe at the marks like a child. Her face told another story.
"D-Dark magick! It's dark magick! Get away from him, Theo!" She shoved her ally away, making him stumble, and lifted her bow with shaking hands, an arrow aimed at Icarus' head. He staggered back.
"Woah, wh-what?!"
"I knew it! I knew you were bad news! What the hells have you brought upon us? Just who are you?!" she practically screamed at Icarus, her furious gaze clearly panicked.
"I don't know! It's like you're just not even listening!" Icarus snapped, frustration boiling over. His head throbbed, the markings on his chest burning as if in response. She pulled back on her bow.
Theo held up his hands, staggering to his feet and trying to step between them. "Hey! Stop it! Look, let's just both take a breath—"
"No," she cut in, her eyes never leaving Icarus. "This isn't right. You saw what he did back there. That wasn't natural. And now he's got runes carved into him?" She shook her head. "We should kill him. Before he kills us."
Theo's jaw clenched. He slowly walked to her, reaching to pull down the bow. "Don't be stupid here. We're not killing anyone. Let's just wait for Finn to get back, and he can—"
Tara snapped, shoving him away. "You don't get it, Theo. We almost died. We were winning until he got in the way. Finnick still had a charge left in his axe from our fight with the Manticore—I kept track. But this guy," she gestured sharply at Icarus, "he blew it. And still, he lies. Just look at the ring on his finger. He's a dark Magus. It's clear as day."
Confusion riddled Icarus' mind, and he looked where she was pointing—it was the snake ring Sable had given him. He'd almost forgotten he had it. But it couldn't possibly be—images of his captors and their torturous experiments dawned on his mind, making him shudder. The old man who'd nearly killed Sable. Was he a 'dark magus'? What did that mean for him if he carried his ring after death? Why would Sable give it to him if it would merely endanger him?
"I-I don't..."
Before Icarus could respond, heavy footsteps echoed from the tunnel behind them. Finn emerged from the shadows, his armor battered but still intact. Blood seeped through a hastily wrapped bandage at his side, but he moved with the steady confidence of a man who had endured far worse.
"What is going on here?" he said, his voice a low rumble.
…