The sigh that left my body wasn't human.
It crawled up from the pit of my chest and rolled through the cavern like a ghost with unfinished business, rattling against the molten air until it broke itself into a dozen hollow echoes.
My chest deflated like a punctured balloon, all the adrenaline from the past chaos leaking out in one long, weary exhale that tasted of ash and regret.
Yolmear stood there across the walkway, his lanky frame silhouetted against the flickering forge light, pausing for a second as if deciding whether to charge or collapse.
His eyes, still wild with manic rage, tightened as he viewed us—me, Iskanda, and our ragtag crew huddled like lost puppies.
I couldn't help but quip, my voice cutting through the tension with a smirk that felt more brave than I actually was, "Yolmear, darling, you're late to the party—did you stop for a magma dip and a manicure on your way back from hell?"
He snarled, that deep, rumbling sound vibrating through the air like thunder in a tin can. "You shut your filthy mouth, gutterspawn!" he barked, spit flying, the veins in his neck bulging like overworked worms.
His eyes narrowed to slits as he commanded his men—those ragged, armored goons lurking behind him—with a barked order that reverberated across the forge.
"Chase them down! Tear them apart like the vermin they are!"
The order never made it past the first stomp of a boot. Because before his soldiers could even think of obeying, Iskanda moved—and saints above, it wasn't so much movement as a blur, a ripple in the very air, a living contradiction that made speed itself feel clumsy in comparison.
One moment she was beside me, that motherly smile still playing on her lips, and the next she was a whirlwind of lethal grace.
My mind raced as I stood there, jaw gone completely slack. Yolmear stumbled back a step, his bravado cracking like cheap pottery.
He signaled to two of his men wielding crossbows. "Fire!" he bellowed.
They did so without a moment's hesitation. Bolts sang through the smoke—sharp, metallic, deadly. They sliced the air like angry hornets, but Iskanda danced between them as though she'd been waiting for this choreography her whole life.
Each arrow passed through where she had been, never where she was. And then, mid-spin, she caught one—caught it—fingers snapping around the shaft so neatly it made me question every law of physics I'd ever half-understood.
"Show-off," I muttered, half in awe, half in jealousy.
She didn't hear me, or maybe she did, because then she pivoted on one elegant heel and flicked the arrow back at the nearest crossbowman with the careless grace of someone tossing a hairpin.
It embedded itself dead-center in his throat with a wet thunk that made even my stomach lurch in protest.
From there, what followed wasn't just a fight—it was a massacre.
She spun low, her long strip of fabric flowing between her exposed thighs like a teasing banner, sweeping the other crossbowman's legs out from under him with a kick that cracked bone and sent him tumbling into the abyss with a scream that faded into the magma's roar.
Another charged with his sword raised high, armor clanking like a walking scrap heap.
Iskanda sidestepped the man's blade without effort, her tanned arms coiling like springs before she drove an elbow into his mask. The metal crumpled inward as he dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, gurgling incoherently.
A third goon swung his blade in a wild arc aimed for her neck, but Iskanda ducked under it effortlessly, her messy ponytail whipping through the air as she rose with a palm strike to his chin that snapped his head back with an audible crack.
She followed up with a spinning kick, her boot connecting with his side, denting the armor and sending him crashing into two of his comrades.
As the trio tumbled in a heap of limbs and curses I couldn't help but think to myself, Gods she's making them look like clumsy children playing at war.
I bit back a laugh, the comedic horror of it all twisting my gut as she grabbed a fourth by the throat, lifting him off his feet with one hand just as another man came running around her flank.
"Behind you!" I called suddenly, utterly useless because she'd already turned, swatting away the man's thrust with casual ease.
"Oh hush," she murmured, "mama's busy."
The man pulled back to slash again, but Iskanda twisted her captive like a shield, the blade sinking into his ally's back with a screech of metal on metal.
She dropped the body with disdain before pouncing on the attacker, her fingers finding pressure points through his armor, twisting until he howled and collapsed against the railing.
The last two, seeing their fellows reduced to moaning wrecks, tried to flank her from both sides. Iskanda leaped between them, her body arching in a complex flip that had her landing with elbows driving into their necks simultaneously, the impacts echoing like drumbeats as they crumpled to the floor.
Yolmear let out a little squeal then, high-pitched and utterly undignified for a man of such high stature. His manic rage evaporated like dew in the sun as he turned tail and tried to run.
It was no use.
Iskanda pounced on him in a heartbeat, her form blurring once more as she closed the distance, tackling him from behind with a force that shook the entire structure.
He landed chest-first with a booming thud, the air whooshing out of him in a pathetic wheeze. Iskanda straddled his back, breathing hot and heavy over him in a way that almost made me jealous—gods, Loona, get a grip—I thought to myself, a mix of envy and arousal knotting my insides.
Yolmear began to beg and cry for mercy, his voice cracking like a pubescent boy's. "P-please! Please, I'll do anything! Just—just don't kill me! I'll serve, I'll obey, I'll—whatever you want, I'll—just don't—"
Iskanda leaned closer, her voice a sultry purr, "Oh, sweetie, where's all that big bad energy now? Beg a little louder—I do love a good performance."
That pulled another squeal out of him. Iskanda stood up then, grabbing Yolmear by the scalp and dragging him across the walkway. His body left furrows in the grit as he whimpered like a kicked puppy.
I couldn't help but bite my lip at the sheer absurdity of the sight, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I called out, "Careful with the hair, he might shed all over your boots. Wouldn't wanna ruin the look."
She glanced at me with a smirk before trailing past the cavern's threshold. Then she threw Yolmear in front of the Warden's mangled corpse.
The man skidded to a halt on his knees, his eyes widening in horror at the sight of the headless orc slumped in his pool of ichor.
Yolmear jumped back, scrambling like a startled crab, unable to believe the gruesome tableau before him.
He began stumbling over his words, a jumble of curses and questions spilling out as he pointed at the body, "W-what... how... the High Warden? Dead?" Then he gazed up in absolute terror at Iskanda, his manic eyes now pools of fear, and asked in a quavering voice, "You... you did this?"
Iskanda merely nodded, giving him that same smile of hers—warm, motherly, yet edged with something predatory that made my skin tingle.
"Indeed I did. Congratulations on you're new promotion; the lower layers are all yours now."
Yolmear froze, his body going rigid like a statue carved from confusion, before blinking stunned, his mind clearly reeling as he processed the words.
He stammered back, his voice a mix of disbelief and dawning greed, "M-me? The next High Warden? But... but I was just... you can't be serious."
Iskanda leaned down, patting his cheek with mock affection, "Oh, I'm deadly serious. Run the show down here, keep the chaos contained, and maybe I'll pop in for tea sometime—fail, and well, you saw what happened to the last one."
Yolmear's words faded into hesitant acceptance, nodding slowly as the reality of his situation sank in.
I tried my best to suppress a giggle, the sound bubbling up like fizzy ale in my throat—gods, what a sight, two men signed to be officials, taken down by her in the blink of an eye.
It was ludicrous really, yet at the same time it also scared me to think about what other monsters reside in the upper layers.
Iskanda stalked toward the elevator then, her hips swaying in that scandalous black wrap, calling out to the rest of the crew with a beckoning wave, "Come along now, we've got no time to waste."
We followed with heavy footsteps before packing into the service elevator, the metal cage groaning, the air thick with sweat and relief.
But when I turned back to get one last glance at the Warden's corpse, I saw Atticus and Dregan standing behind, lingering on the cavern floor like statues forgotten in the rush.
My heart skipped, confusion knitting my brows as I called out, "Hurry up, you two—elevator's leaving, and I don't think it does callbacks!"
They just stared at each other, a silent exchange passing between them, before Atticus let out a heavy sigh, "We're not coming with you, Loona."
I blinked, the words hitting me like a slap from a wet towel. I quipped back, half-laughing in denial, "You're kidding, right? After all this drama, you're pulling a dramatic exit? Come on, get in before Iskanda decides to drag you too."
Atticus merely shook his head, his expression serious beneath the grime. Dregan crossed his arms with a grunt. "We've made it this far with strength in numbers right? Split now, and we're weaker for it."
Atticus countered, his words measured and logical. "We've got a huge stockpile of product for the drug business—untouched, ready to fund a rebellion or whatever madness you're planning up top." He adjusted his glasses, sweat streaking his face, before adding, "If we rebuild our forces below, gather allies in the shadows, we act as valuable support for your endeavors—eyes and ears in the hells you leave behind."
My heart nearly melted then, a warm, gooey feeling spreading through my chest despite the comedic absurdity of discussing drug empires in a prison forge.
Brutus tried to protest again, his bandaged stump waving emphatically, "None of that matters. We promised we'd bleed together, remember?" But even he faltered, logic taking him over as Atticus gave him a look of quiet resignation.
Freya spoke up then, because of course she did—always the one to voice the thing everyone's trying not to think about.
"Are you sure?" she asked softly, eyes flitting between the two men. The forge light caught on the sweat slicking her cheekbones, making her look too human, too alive for this half-burnt nightmare of a place. "You really want to stay here?" she added, her voice trembling somewhere between disbelief and quiet admiration.
Dregan cut in with a bellowing laugh, slapping Yolmear—still dazed on his knees—on the back with enough force to make him yelp.
"Aye, somebody's gotta keep an eye on the new Warden here—make sure he don't muck it up too bad, eh?" Yolmear grumbled something incoherent. "We'll turn this pit into a proper operation, lass—send up supplies, intel, maybe even some ale if we're feelin' generous."
I paused for a moment, the weight of their words sinking in like lead in my boots, before, without thinking, I rushed up to hug Dregan.
My arms wrapped around his burly frame as I buried my face in his bloodstained shirt. He gave me a little tease with a pat on the head, his rough hand gentle for once, chuckling, "Easy there, wee one—ye'll get me all emotional, and I ain't got time for tears in me beard."
I pulled back, sniffling with a grin, before embracing Atticus as well, squeezing him tight and whispering, "I'll miss you, you brilliant madman—don't blow yourself up down here."
"We'll catch up in due time," he whispered, his voice steady as he hugged back awkwardly, patting my shoulder like a scientist handling a delicate specimen.
I nodded, backing away with a lump in my throat, before trailing into the elevator where Iskanda waited, her amber eyes watching the scene with amused patience.
She wove some sort of golden sigil into the air then, her fingers tracing intricate patterns that glowed like captured sunlight.
The magic hummed with power as the elevator doors closed shut with a final clang. And then, at last, we began to rise, the platform groaning upward toward the next layer in this perpetual hellscape.
The forge's heat faded below us like a bad dream dissipating at dawn. I leaned against the metal gate, watching the shadows shift as we ascended, wondering what fresh absurdities awaited above.