He'd done it. Somehow, impossibly, he'd—
The water behind him began to boil.
Nero's relief vanished as he turned toward the pool. The crystal-clear surface was churning now, bubbles rising from the depths where the vast thing slumbered. The blue glow from the fungus reflected off the disturbed water, creating patterns that hurt to look at.
Something was waking up.
Then he felt it—a pressure around his ankle.
Nero looked down and his heart stopped.
A dark tendril, thick as his arm, had wrapped around his leg. It was cold. So cold it burned where it touched his skin. The tendril tightened, and before Nero could even think to struggle, it yanked him off his feet.
He hit the stone floor hard, his broken ribs sending white-hot agony through his chest. His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the smooth stone, finding nothing.
The tendril dragged him toward the pool.
