Ryckel walked further into the cave. Seeing more streaks of green and guts. So much so that there was one large streak beneath his feet…
Probably must've been from the head.
Using it as a trail, Ryckel followed it, his shoes making tacky sounds against the stone.
"Just who does she think she is? That damn Kima. Saying she killed them as if it's anything." Ryckel mumbled.
He watched the way the green streaks painted the floor.
"If I'd been the one to fight her instead of Syrion…would I have won? Wait what am I even saying." He added.
Did I even win against him?
But he then cut himself off.
Of course I did… or else I wouldn't be here.
His mind started to drift, losing the thread of the present.
"I'd be stronger than her if I went through whatever they had," He muttered, the sound of his own voice thin against the damp walls.
"Luck. It's all just luck and birthrights. Kima's a noble. I'm... well, I'm me."
I'd lap them all.
He smirked.
Ryckel kept walking, eyes tracking the edges of the tunnel.
Then…
His foot sank into a pile of something soft and wet. He looked down.
Guts. Aboleth innards. The cold moisture started soaking through his sock immediately.
Ryckel squeezed my face, the irritation flaring.
Only I could that would end up stepping in it.
He sighed.
***
Sooner or later, the tunnel opened up. A hole was at the end, the scale of it made Ryckel's head light.
It looked as if someone had just painted it completely black, Ryckel couldn't see beyond it.
He then stepped toward the threshold, but he felt a draft. It was encroaching. Chilling.
Then, he heard it, a faint whisper.
The wind?
It felt like the outside world was breathing on him even though he was in a cave.
It felt like the outside world was breathing on him…
His heart plummeted.
The mists!
"Shit!" Ryckel ran back.
His hands hurriedly slapping at his belt, chest and thighs.
Where was the mask?!
He then remembered.
Campfire. I left it at the campfire.
He could feel the panic rising. This was it. He was going to turn into a Zhenren. Everything he's worked hard for.
Would it go just like that?
Maybe it's better this way. There is nothing I can do.
He thought, a dark corner of his brain whispering.
No more burdens. No more failing. Just... the end.
Ryckel waited. One minute. Then two minutes.
Nothing happened.
He checked his hands, no scales, fur, no extra limbs. He wasn't changing.
He then took a breath. He was still himself. Still Ryckel.
He gave a sigh of relief. But that was cut short by another thought.
Wait. Why am I fine?!
Ryckel stood there, the silence of the cave mocking him.
Is it only the mist? If you aren't breathing the physical fog, is the air safe?
He wondered.
If it is true, then that explains why people don't turn while they're tucked in their beds at home.
Ryckel nodded to myself, reasserting his grip on the torch, and stepped into the pitch.
The light flickered, struggling against a darkness that felt heavy, like it had mass.
The green blood was ever present, but also accompanied by soot and charred black marks like streaks of charcoal.
That was odd.
He leaned down, squinting. These marks looked like he's seen them his entire life.
His father's forge, the charcoal Ryckel used to draw…the smell of burnt iron…
These were definitely burns. But what could've caused them?
Then Ryckel decided to move on, the torch slowly hitting the center of the room, revealing the shadow of a figure.
He walked closer, only to almost drop his torch at what the shadow belonged to.
A Zhenren. Most likely an Aboleth like the rest, although it was a mountain of a corpse.
This must be the body that the head at the entrance must belong to…
The Alpha Aboleth.
Ryckel namely dubbed.
It was the size of a small building, covered in intricate, flowery patterns that the others lacked.
Then there were the corpses of humans around it, most of them clad in armour with weapons littered all over.
But it was all still a ruin. The Alpha Aboleth. Six wings, or what used to be six. Three were gone, one was a tattered mess of membrane. And the neck... just a stump. Black tendrils leaked out, kissing the floor like weeping willow branches soaked in ink.
Kima. It all made sense now. But he felt a chill run down his spine.
"I-Is she... this powerful?" Ryckel stuttured, struggling to catch his words.
How could I ever compare to this?!
A hollow feeling opened up in his gut.
A screw-up like him couldn't even dream of doing this.
No.
He shook my head, his eyes narrowing at the corpse.
Remember…
She was lucky. She had the right weapons, the right training. If I had her opportunities, he'd have done it cleaner. Keeping the wings for the trophy.
The grandeur of it all was starting to feel heavy. Ryckel stretched, a long, shaky yawn pulling at his jaw.
Kima was probably asleep by now...
Maybe I should just head back. I've had my fill.
He then decided to turned back.
Squelch.
Ryckel stood.
What was that?
He turned around at the mountain of meat. Nothing. Just the shadows dancing at his flame.
"Probably nothing," Ryckel whispered to himself.
He faced forward and already began to walk.
Squelch.
This time it was louder. Ryckel froze.
No. Kima said she killed everything… I mean… It's Kima.
He didn't turn, he continued on. His instincts beckoning him to pick up the pace, if not to run.
Then this time…
Squelch. Squelch. Squelch.
It was too much ignore. Ryckel looked back and immediately, his fingers went numb.
The torch slipped from his hands, clattering against the cold stone floor. The flames sputtering as his soul seemed to exit his body through his wide, staring eyes.
It was the Alpha Aboleth's corpse was moving. It didn't have a head. But it was still moving.
Standing on its black, spindly feet, swaying with a sickening, rhythmic grace, like a thread caught in a draft.
It couldn't be happening. It was impossible.
---The End of Chapter 4---