The tunnel seemed to stretch forever, a winding vein of rust and shadow that burrowed deeper into the earth's forgotten underbelly. The air grew thicker with each step, laced with the faint tang of metal and damp stone, pressing against my skin like an unwelcome embrace. My legs ached from the relentless march, the ration bar from earlier doing little more than staving off the worst of the dizziness. But the hollow gnaw in my stomach had returned, quieter now, insidious, whispering that I couldn't keep this up much longer.
Xeno walked ahead of me, his shovel balanced across his shoulders, the blade catching faint gleams from the dying phosphor strips lining the floor. He hadn't spoken since we'd left the maintenance chamber, but I could feel the storm brewing inside him. His strides were measured, deliberate, but there was a tightness in his posture—a subtle clench in his jaw, a fractional stiffness in his arms—that betrayed his annoyance. He didn't voice it, didn't snap or complain. That wasn't his way. Instead, he let it simmer, fueling his vigilance as he scanned the walls and ceiling for threats. Every time Kael's staff tapped a little too loudly, or Lira's boot scraped against a loose pebble, I saw Xeno's fingers twitch on the shovel handle, a silent rebuke he swallowed down.
Lira led the group, her movements as efficient as always, like a machine calibrated for endless forward motion. She didn't glance back often, but when she did, her sharp eyes assessed us with clinical detachment, noting Kael's limp, my faltering steps, Xeno's rigid silence. Kael hobbled beside me, his breathing labored, the wound in his leg pulling tight with every uneven stride. His staff echoed dully against the concrete, a rhythmic reminder of how fragile we all were.
"How much farther to this junction?" Kael rasped, his voice bouncing off the walls in distorted echoes. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chill, and he wiped it away with a grimy sleeve.
Lira didn't break stride. "Close. One more bend. The Harvester's path converges there—it's the only viable exit without risking a collapse."
Xeno's grip on the shovel shifted slightly, the wood creaking under his fingers. I could almost hear his unspoken thought: *If your calculations are wrong...* But he said nothing, just kept moving, the annoyance coiling tighter inside him like a spring wound too far.
I tried to focus on my breathing, in and out, steady as I could manage. The tunnel walls were closing in, ribbed with exposed wiring and cracked pipes that dripped intermittently, each drop a sharp *plink* that set my nerves on edge. Pre-fall graffiti scrawled across one section—faded words like "END IS NIGH" and crude drawings of eyes—made my skin crawl. The old language symbols we'd seen before echoed in my mind, twisting like they were alive. What if the Harvester was already gone? What if we'd lost the scroll forever because of some miscalculation?
A faint vibration hummed through the floor, growing stronger. Lira's head tilted, her hand brushing her holster. Xeno stiffened, shovel coming down to ready position in one fluid motion. Kael gripped his staff tighter, his knuckles whitening.
"Feel that?" Kael whispered, his voice tight.
"Structural settling," Lira said curtly. "Keep moving. We're almost—"
The air changed.
It hit me first as a subtle shift, a warmth that didn't belong in the cold depths. Then the smell slammed into us like a physical force: blood. Thick, coppery, fresh enough to coat the back of my throat and make my eyes water. Not the stale rot of old death—this was recent, violent, the kind that still carried the metallic bite of life ebbing away.
My stomach lurched. I clapped a hand over my mouth, gagging against the wave of nausea. "What... what is that?"
Lira stopped, her body going still as a statue. For a split second, her composure cracked—a flicker of wariness in her eyes—before she locked it down. "Blood. Human. Fresh."
Xeno's shovel angled forward, blade glinting. His breathing stayed even, but sweat beaded on his temple, a single drop tracing down his jaw. The annoyance from earlier sharpened into something more primal: alertness laced with restrained fury. He didn't like surprises, and this reeked of one.
Kael leaned on his staff, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. "A lot of it. Recent kills. We should—"
"We proceed," Lira interrupted, gun already in hand, silencer screwed tight. "The junction is just ahead. The Harvester will be there."
Xeno didn't argue, but his silence spoke volumes. He moved forward, positioning himself between me and the open chamber ahead. The tunnel ended abruptly, spilling into a larger space where the smell intensified, wrapping around us like a shroud. I had to breathe through my sleeve, shallow gasps that did little to filter the horror.
The chamber was vast, a pre-fall relic: high ceilings supported by rusted beams, walls lined with shattered consoles and dangling wires. Faint emergency lights flickered overhead, casting erratic shadows that made the scene even more nightmarish. In the center, piled like discarded lumber, were bodies.
Human bodies.
Dozens of them, stacked in a haphazard mound that reached nearly to my shoulders. Limbs jutted out at unnatural angles, faces frozen in eternal agony—mouths open in silent screams, eyes wide and glassy. Clothes were shredded, skin torn open in ragged gashes that still oozed blood, pooling beneath the pile in viscous puddles that reflected the flickering lights like dark mirrors. The air hummed with the faint buzz of settling flies, drawn to the feast, their wings a low drone that vibrated in my chest.
Atop the gruesome throne sat a man.
He was strikingly handsome, in a way that felt wrong amid the carnage. Muscular, his frame broad and powerful, like a statue brought to life—arms corded with veins, chest rising and falling with easy breaths under a bloodstained shirt that clung to his sculpted form. Dark hair fell in waves around a face that could have graced pre-fall magazines: sharp jawline, full lips curved in a faint, satisfied smile, high cheekbones shadowed by the dim light. He sat casually, one leg draped over the pile, as if lounging on a hill of pillows rather than corpses.
In his hand, a dagger. The blade was long and wickedly curved, blood dripping from the tip in slow, deliberate drops that pattered onto the bodies below, adding to the growing pool. He twirled it idly, watching the crimson trail with detached interest.
The Harvester emerged from a crack in the floor, its segmented body clicking softly as it scuttled forward. The creature moved with purpose, bladed limbs folded submissively. In one appendage, it clutched the scroll—our scroll—holding it delicately, as if aware of its value.
The man looked up, that smile widening just a fraction. His voice was deep, resonant, the kind that sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine—sexy in its timbre, like velvet over steel, but laced with something dark and predatory.
"Xenophores do have their uses after all," he said, reaching out to take the scroll. His fingers brushed the creature's limb, and it shuddered slightly before retreating back into the shadows, vanishing into another crack with a final click.
Then his gaze lifted to us.
His eyes... they were almost beautiful, in a fractured, mesmerizing way. The irises were a deep, piercing blue, but the pupils—they weren't normal. They looked like shattered glass, fractured into jagged shards that caught the light and refracted it in a thousand directions. Blues and silvers danced within them, pulling you in, promising depths of knowledge and beauty if you stared long enough. But there was no warmth there, only a cold, endless void, like gazing into a mirror cracked by something monstrous beneath.
He tilted his head, that deep voice rumbling again. "Huh, three kids and an old man."
The words were casual, dismissive, but his shattered pupils locked onto us one by one, assessing, dissecting. There was power in that gaze, an unnatural pull that made my skin prickle.
Lira's gun was up in an instant, aimed steady at his chest. "The scroll. Hand it over."
Kael gripped his staff like a weapon, his face pale but resolute. "Who are you? What have you done here?"
I froze, the blood stench choking me, the pile of bodies blurring in my vision. My heart hammered, fear rooting me in place.
But Xeno...
Xeno shattered.
It started with a sharp intake of breath when the man's eyes met his. Then his shovel slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor with a metallic ring that echoed too loud in the chamber. His hands trembled, then clenched into fists. Sweat beaded on his forehead, rolling down in rivulets that soaked into the blindfold. His breathing hitched, shallow and fast, like he couldn't draw enough air.
"Xeno?" I whispered, stepping toward him, my voice breaking.
He didn't respond. His body locked up, rigid as stone, but his face twisted in a way I'd never seen—pain, fear, raw terror. His lips parted, but no sound came out. Instead, he clutched at his head, fingers digging into the blindfold as if trying to hold his skull together.
Sweat poured off him now, drenching his hair, soaking his jacket. His knees buckled, and he dropped to one knee, gasping. Tremors ran through his body, seismic waves that made his shoulders shake. The composure—the unbreakable wall that had defined him since the day we met—crumbled like dry earth under rain. He looked small, vulnerable, haunted by something invisible but all-consuming.
The man's shattered pupils gleamed with amusement. "What's this? The blindfolded boy afraid of a little stare?"
Xeno convulsed, a sharp gasp tearing from him. He pressed his palms to his temples, rocking slightly, as if something was eating at his mind from the inside. A headache—no, worse—a storm raging in his skull, shattering thoughts, dredging up buried horrors. His breaths came in panicked bursts, each one pulling a wince from him, like knives in his lungs. Sweat dripped from his chin, mixing with the dust on the floor.
"Xeno!" I cried, rushing to his side. My hands hovered over him, unsure, afraid. "What's wrong? Talk to me!"
He clutched at the blindfold, fingers digging in as if to rip it off, but stopping short. A low moan escaped him, animal-like, pained. The fear was consuming him, eating away at his mind like acid. His usual calm was gone, shattered into pieces. He looked like he was fracturing from the inside out, mind buckling under an invisible weight triggered by those blue, shattered eyes.
Lira fired.
The suppressed shot whispered through the air, aimed at the man's chest. But he moved—faster than any human should, a blur of muscle and grace. The bullet grazed his arm, drawing a thin line of blood, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he lunged, dagger flashing in a deadly arc.
Kael swung his staff, catching the man mid-stride. Wood cracked against muscle with a dull thud, but the man twisted, grabbing the staff and yanking Kael forward with brute strength. Kael stumbled, pain flaring in his injured leg as he hit the ground hard, staff skittering away.
Lira dodged the dagger's swipe, her knife appearing in her hand like magic. She slashed at his throat, a precise, lethal cut, but the man parried with his own blade, metal ringing against metal in a spark-filled clash. They circled each other, Lira's movements fluid and calculated, the man's raw power making every strike feel like an earthquake.
"You dare?" the man growled, voice still that deep, seductive rumble even as blood trickled from his arm. He swung low, aiming for Lira's legs, but she leaped back, firing another shot mid-air. The bullet hit his shoulder with a wet thunk, blood spraying, but he pressed forward, undeterred, his shattered pupils locked on her with predatory focus.
Kael scrambled to his feet, grabbing his staff and swinging it in a wide arc at the man's back. The wood connected with a crack, staggering him for a split second. But the man spun, dagger slashing in retaliation. Kael ducked, the blade whistling over his head, slicing a lock of hair that fell to the ground like ash.
I backed away, heart pounding, eyes darting to Xeno. He was still on his knees, shaking, sweat pouring as the headache intensified. His fingers clawed at his temples, nails leaving red marks on his skin. "Make it stop," he whispered, voice breaking for the first time. "The eyes... shattering... inside..."
The man laughed, blocking another of Lira's knife strikes with his forearm, the blade drawing blood but not slowing him. "Your little group is entertaining. But playtime's over."
He kicked out, boot connecting with Lira's midsection. She flew back, crashing into a console with a crunch of metal and plastic. Her gun clattered away, but she rolled to her feet, knife ready, breathing hard.
Kael charged again, staff whirling. The man caught it mid-swing, wrenching it from Kael's hands with effortless strength. He snapped the staff over his knee like a twig, tossing the pieces aside. Kael backed up, defenseless now, eyes wide with fear.
Lira lunged, knife aiming for the man's throat. He grabbed her wrist, twisting it with a sickening pop. She gasped, knife dropping, but she headbutted him, forehead cracking against his nose. Blood sprayed from both, but the man barely flinched. He shoved her away, sending her sprawling again.
I grabbed Xeno's shovel, heavy in my small hands, and swung it wildly at the man's legs. It connected with a thud, but he barely staggered. His shattered eyes turned to me, blue shards refracting light in hypnotic patterns. "Brave little girl," he purred, voice sending unwanted shivers through me. "But foolish."
He backhanded me casually, the impact sending me flying. Pain exploded in my cheek as I hit the ground, tasting blood. Stars danced in my vision.
Lira was up, retrieving her gun, firing rapidly. Bullets punched into the man's chest, blood blooming like flowers on his shirt. He staggered, dropping to one knee, but didn't fall. Instead, he rose, wounds closing before our eyes—flesh knitting together with a wet, sucking sound.
"Impossible," Lira breathed, reloading.
The man smiled, bloodied but unbroken. "Sin makes us strong. The marks... they heal."
Kael threw a punch, desperate. The man caught his fist, squeezing until bones cracked. Kael screamed, dropping to his knees.
Lira fired again, emptying the clip. The man jerked with each impact, but advanced, dagger raised.
Xeno surged up with a roar, grabbing his shovel. Sweat flew from him as he swung, blade whistling. The man parried, but the force staggered him. Xeno struck again, and again, each blow fueled by terror-turned-rage. The headache still gripped him—his swings were wild, uncoordinated—but the power was there.
The man dodged, slashed back. The dagger cut Xeno's arm, blood flowing. Xeno didn't stop, shovel crashing down like a hammer. The man blocked, but the impact drove him back.
"You fight like a cornered animal," the man taunted, voice still seductive despite the pain. "But animals die."
He lunged, dagger plunging toward Xeno's chest. Xeno twisted, the blade grazing his side. He countered with a brutal swing, shovel edge biting into the man's thigh. Blood sprayed, but the man pressed on, wounds healing slower now.
Lira reloaded, firing into the man's back. He roared, spinning to face her. She dodged a swipe, knife in hand again, stabbing at his eyes. He caught her arm, twisting. She kneed his groin, breaking free.
Kael, cradling his broken hand, kicked at the man's knee from behind. The man stumbled, but swept his leg out, tripping Kael.
I crawled to Xeno, who was swaying, sweat-drenched, headache pounding. "We can't win," I whispered.
The man laughed, standing tall despite the blood. "Smart girl."
He sheathed the dagger, tucked the scroll into his belt. "This has been fun. But I have what I came for."
Lira fired her last shot. It hit his chest, but he walked through it, wounds closing.
"Name's Vesper by the way."
"Until next time," he said, voice a deep purr. He vanished into the shadows, leaving us broken and empty-handed.
The chamber fell silent, save for our ragged breaths. The scroll was gone.