The roar still rang in my skull as I hit the stone floor.
I didn't remember breaking free—only the sudden snap of the roots around my legs and the wet slap of them retreating into the ground. My blade dripped with something thick and black, stinking of burnt wood and rot. It steamed faintly, as though whatever I'd cut was too alive to accept the wound.
The mound shuddered once but didn't rise to pursue me. Maybe it couldn't leave the chamber. Or maybe it was waiting, patient as rot.
The tunnel ahead was narrow, the veins glowing dimmer here, like a path lit for retreat. My steps were uneven, and I realized only then that my left boot was gone, swallowed by the roots before I'd cut free. My foot was wet with a sticky residue that made every step cling to the stone.
I kept moving until I was sure I'd put enough ground between myself and the thing. Only then did I slow, pressing a hand to the cavern wall. The stone was cold and damp, beads of moisture running down like sweat. I leaned my forehead against it, feeling the hard pulse of my own heartbeat slowly begin to match the faint thrum in the walls.
The Nameless God broke the silence. You fought poorly.
"I survived," I said, my voice rough.
Barely. There was something like amusement in its tone, though it was sharp around the edges. You think survival is enough? A blade held by shaking hands cuts nothing worth killing.
I looked down. My knuckles were white around the hilt. My hands trembled—not from fear, but from the sudden drain of everything I'd been holding in.
"I haven't fought something like that before."
You haven't fought something alive enough to hate you back.
I forced my breathing to be slower. My chest ached, lungs still drawing in air that tasted faintly of mold and blood. The quiet here wasn't real silence; there was always the low, bone-deep hum of the underground, like the city was breathing beneath me.
I slid down the wall until I was sitting. The stone was slick beneath me, but I didn't care. The cold helped steady me.
The Nameless God's voice dropped lower, almost like it was speaking from further away. The city knows your scent now. The wound you gave it will draw more than eyes.
I thought about the Speaker, their voice like stone grinding on stone. "They knew that thing wouldn't kill me."
No. The pause was deliberate. They hoped it would. Failing that… they hoped it would mark you.
My jaw tightened. "Mark me for what?"
Ownership.
I stayed there, back pressed to the wall, until the shaking in my hands faded. Slowly, I cleaned the blade on what was left of my sleeve, the black residue smearing into faint streaks. Even dulled by my own ragged breath, the steel caught the green light and reflected something colder than the man holding it.
For a moment, I let my eyes close. In the darkness, I almost saw her—the girl's face, wide-eyed and laughing, before the world took her apart. The flash was gone before I could hold it.
I pushed myself upright.
The veins along the wall pulsed once, brighter than before, like the city was acknowledging me—or warning me. From somewhere above, I heard the soft chitter of the hollow-teeth.
It hadn't forgotten me.