The darkness wasn't just lack of light. It was thick and heavy.
The kind of black that pressed against your eyes and made your ears ring with the sound of your own blood pumping.
He felt completely blind and lost. His combat training screamed for him to see what was going on, but there was nothing. Just the heavy weight of the dark and the damp, pulsing feel of the tunnel around him.
One second passed. Two. The silence felt tight, making the thumping in his chest louder. He strained his ears, trying to ignore the sounds of his own body.
Was that movement? Or just his mind playing tricks in the dark?
Then, the scraping started again. Closer this time. From ahead came that dry, shell-like sound, like claws digging into rock.
Another scrape followed, clearly from the left. A third sound – soft, but definitely there – seemed to slide up from behind them. Surrounded. They were definitely surrounded.
Ryder shifted his weight, planting his feet without thinking. His hurt thigh pulsed, a hot throb reminding him of the Goremaw fight, a weakness he couldn't afford right now.
Beside him, someone fumbled in the dark. Rigg. A sharp breath in, then a desperate whisper, maybe a magic word, maybe just asking for help.
Flicker.
A weak, shaky light sputtered back to life. Rigg held his backup glow-rod high, his hand trembling a little. Ryder blinked, his eyes slowly getting used to it.
This light wasn't the faint yellow from before. Now it made a sickly, greenish light, like light shining through dirty pond water.
The shadows it made were twisted and ugly. They stretched in strange ways, twisting back on themselves like they were trying to swallow the small light. It made the already strange tunnel feel even more dangerous.
"Stay sharp," Rigg whispered, his voice tight. His eyes, wide and reflecting the sick green light, darted nervously into the heavy darkness around their small spot of light.
The kid was scared, Ryder saw, but holding it together. Good. Panic wouldn't help them now.
"Feels like the dark's closing in," Ryder muttered, scanning the shifting, tricky shadows, blade held low and ready.
"Not good." He could almost feel the darkness pulsing, like a living thing pulling back a little from the glow-rod's light only to press in again, heavy, from the edges. It felt like being watched by something huge and hungry.
They moved forward, deeper into the heavy feeling of the bad tunnel. The path Rigg followed was hard to see, marked only by faint scratches on the tunnel floor.
Under their boots, the ground got softer, springier, giving way a little with each step.
Not mud. It felt more like packed ash mixed with something soft, something alive. Like walking on dead bodies. The thought made Ryder's skin crawl.
The low pulse Ryder had felt earlier seemed stronger here, like it was part of the place itself.
A deep thrumming sound not just through the ground but through the air, vibrating deep in his chest, making his teeth ache a little. It felt wrong, like it didn't belong.
"Place is giving me the creeps, hotshot," Betsy's voice hummed, "The connection's getting fuzzy, like this place is trying to mess up the signal. Messing with my sensors too. Feels… sticky."
Ryder didn't understand the tech words, but he got the main idea. This place was trying to hurt them, even hurting whatever impossible tech Betsy was.
"Roger that," Ryder replied, keeping his voice low. "Place feels dangerous. Stay alert."
He ran a hand along the wall again, needing to feel what was there. The wall felt different as they walked, changing, like a nightmare.
Part of the wall felt strangely smooth and warm, like tight leather. He tapped it with the end of his sword handle; the sound was dull, soaked up, like hitting thick muscle.
Further on, it changed. The wall was cold now, slippery with dampness that smelled like metal, like old blood. He tapped again. Ting. A clear metal ring this time, like hitting steel hidden underneath. What was this tunnel made of?
The tunnel itself wasn't normal. Walls bulged out suddenly, making strange bumps, then squeezed in so tight he had to turn sideways, dragging his hurt leg awkwardly.
Parts of the ceiling just… ended, cut off into flat empty space above them, like reality was messed up or rewritten. It felt like walking through a glitch, a place where the rules of physics didn't always work.
"This place feels like it's falling apart and being rebuilt at the same time," he muttered, glancing at Rigg.
The kid didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the tunnel ahead, his knuckles white where he gripped the spear. He pointed. "Look."
Ryder followed where the spear pointed. Cut into a section of the fleshy-feeling wall were marks.
Not the clear guide marks Rigg had been following earlier.
He focused on the wall. It was covered in thin, scratchy lines that seemed to twist.
He wasn't imagining it. They squirmed faintly in the green light, like worms trapped just under skin.
He squinted, leaning closer even though his leg throbbed in protest. "Are those markings moving?"
Rigg swallowed hard, the sound loud in the tense quiet. "This is usually where we turn around," he whispered, his voice strained.
"Too late for that, kid," Betsy confirmed, her voice cutting through.
"My internal clock feels off. And the location readings? They're garbage. The tunnel behind you isn't stable. Whatever path we took to get here, it's already changing itself. We can't easily go back. You're deep inside now."
No retreat. A cold knot formed in Ryder's stomach.
Trapped. This whole tunnel felt like one big, badly designed trap, always shifting to keep them lost and cornered.
Standard rules didn't cover reality actively trying to erase your way out.
Then the scraping returned. Louder. From ahead. Scrrraaaape... scrape... A low, deep huffing sound joined it, echoing wetly in the tight space.
Rigg spun, the glow-rod light dancing wildly, painting streaks across the slick walls.
"That sound's bad," he breathed, fear making his voice thin. "That sound's real bad."
From the heavy darkness just past the glow-rod's light, shapes began to appear. Four of them. Moving forward with a strange, uneven step.
Ryder tensed, gripping his blade, the green light reflecting dimly off the jagged edge as the first shape fully stepped into the sickly light.