Mark gulped as he stared at the circular passage embedded into the stony ceiling.
"Fall back," Madame said in a severe tone.
Both he and Nahar obeyed without asking any questions. After a few minutes of cautious but hasty retreat away from the passage, they finally left the unnerving area.
Mark's gaze sharpened as he glanced at Madame. "Could that passage be related to why you're looking for Freddy?" he asked.
“Mr. Afronte,” she barked, none of her usual joviality in her tone. “Please—shut up.”
He lowered his head a bit, silently apologizing.
The next few minutes passed in silence. They didn't decide on what to do next; well, they couldn't. The passage complicated things. It was clearly anomalous, and there was a non-zero chance that it might have been related to the destruction of Camp Violet.
When they read through all of the reports that summarized what happened to Camp Violet, one of the things that stood out was what had happened to Freddy Stern. The whole case surrounding him had been a bit of an anomaly.
On the same day the Camp Violet destruction incident happened, he ran off into the Wastes. Then, scouts were sent out to search after him. Not some random pushovers, either; elite agents. Peak professional two-stars with many years of experience. But they hadn't returned from their mission. Even their corpses had never been identified.
The thing with this whole case was that although a search of the surrounding area had been done and survivors and equipment had been retrieved, the investigation of what precisely had happened, well… it hadn't been that thorough. It had only aimed to accomplish one thing—disprove that the camp had been destroyed by a rival faction. In the end, this was the only thing that actually mattered.
The investigation had ended the moment they made the conclusion that some form of a hostile entity from the caverns was the thing responsible. As for what exactly it was, it didn't actually matter; all it meant was that this area was too dangerous to continue excavation. A consequence was that the investigation had left behind many loose ends that nobody had any interest in tying.
Mark couldn't stop his gaze from slowly moving in Madame's direction. Her back was held straight, her expression was stony and stern, and her arms were crossed. She was silent; she was thinking something through.
Why was she looking for that man?
The mysterious circumstances behind the man's disappearance grew more bizarre with each new discovery. Mark suppressed the feeling of sickness that bubbled in his gut. What now? Where was this leading to? What kind of horrors was he guilty of inflicting upon that man? But he pushed it down.
This was no time for a mental breakdown.
Suddenly, they heard the sound of footsteps making their way towards their location. All three of them, including Madame, immediately got into a stance and turned to face the sound.
So far, they hadn't encountered a single living thing within the Wastes. As the trio observed the figure of the decaying body of a woman appear before their eyes, they realized that that still hadn't changed.
"An undead!" Nahar exclaimed. "There must be a death-affinity deviant nearby,” he concluded, keeping his calm as he glanced around, passively scouting the area.
The woman's body was already severely decomposed, and the undead could barely walk. Nasty pus dripped down the side of the armor, and its steps sloshed with the mangling of rotten flesh on its feet.
"Wait," Mark suddenly breathed out as he raised an arm. "Look at the equipment. Wasn't that worn by one of the three scouts sent after Freddy?" he recalled.
"Indeed," Nahar confirmed. "That's Jenny Walker."
The undead woman was still awkwardly shambling towards them. Such an undead should have been no threat to their party—but it was at this moment that both Mark and Nahar noticed that Madame hadn't dropped her guard.
"Where… Where am I?" a low, gurgling voice sounded from the undead woman.
Mark took an involuntary step back in surprise. "That thing can speak!?"
"Thing?" the undead asked. "Speak? Who are you? What… Where am I?" It moved its bloodshot gaze to stare at its rotting arm. Its eyes shot open, revealing the faint outline of black, square pupils.
Suddenly, a twang echoed through the caves as a bolt pierced straight through the zombie's skull. Madame's arm had morphed into a crossbow of tendons and bone, and she was already regrowing another piece of bone ammo.
The undead did not drop to the ground. Madame fired again. Plucky twangs and wet thuds sounded repeatedly as bolt after bolt embedded into the undead's rotting flesh, but the attacks failed to take it down.
"Insolent!" the creature screeched. "Blasphemy! You dare raise an arm against the High Priestess? Intolerable!" it shrieked.
Yet another shard of bone flew out, but the undead dodged it this time. Neither Mark nor Nahar could sense it until that moment, but as the creature released its full power… they realized that this was a three-star opponent. And it was powerful.
The undead screamed bloody murder as its body began to morph. It grew, replacing its rotting, mangled flesh with solid limbs wrapped in gray skin. The tight armor stretched to its breaking point, shattering with pieces flying into the cavern walls, where they embedded themselves with metallic clangs and ricocheted with high-pitched clinks.
Suddenly, with a burst of movement, Madame flashed forward and impaled her entire right arm through the center of the undead's torso. The creature initially seemed unperturbed, but then Madame backed off.
Her right arm, however, the one she just embedded into the undead, stayed where it was, detaching from her body.
Then, it started glowing.
The two men swiftly fell back, hiding behind the nearest obstacle as the shining limb ignited. After the deafening burst, the sound of rotting flesh splattering all over the walls soon followed. The explosion echoed through the cavern, circling through the empty space and sounding as if dozens of other explosions were going off.
"Holy shit!" Mark breathed out.
Madame suddenly appeared right before the two of them, her entire right arm and all the equipment on it missing.
"You may come out now," she said. "It's dead for good."
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
"Was that really necessary?" Nahar asked as he pointedly stared at Madame's missing limb.
Indeed. Although those with a life affinity could relatively easily regrow limbs, returning them to their perfect state was costly and time-consuming. And she should have been able to overpower that creature even without such a sacrifice.
"That is for me to worry about, dear," she said as she grew out a fleshy appendage to replace the lost limb. Her expression appeared turbulent as she stared at the scattering of stinky, rotting gore. "This is the first time we’re ever seeing anything like this," she said.
Mark and Nahar immediately knew what the woman was talking about. Both men were highly educated and had immediately noticed the same thing. Mindless undead could be created through death-affinity abilities, but making them sapient just wasn’t possible. Let alone creating an undead with not just a star but three. If someone—or something—with such a power existed, the implications were immense. This was escalating fast.
The two men waited to the side while Madame examined the corpse. Whatever she was looking for, she wasn't pleased with the answers she discovered. "Follow me," she said. "We're going back to that passage."
So they did. They retraced their steps and found the eerie circular opening embedded in the ceiling. Its aura was as nauseating as the first time they saw it. The woman closed her eyes, likely examining the Netherecho. Both of them soon followed cautiously, taking a look for themselves.
Almost as soon as they closed their eyes, they shot them back open, yelping and taking a few frightened steps back. "What the hell is that?" Nahar shouted.
Mark silently echoed that statement. He had never seen wisps like those in his life—pitch-black, square-pupiled eyes surrounded the passage, staring deep into their souls.
Madame clicked her tongue, turned around, and started running back. The two men followed, asking her what exactly she was running towards, but she refused to elaborate.
After almost half an hour of travel, they finally made their way out of the Wastes. Once there, the men saw Madame rushing at the first monster she could find, a fat lizard thing that she grasped by the back of its neck and then abruptly started running back.
The two men followed her; eventually, they returned. As soon as they did, Madame abruptly snapped the lizard's neck and threw it right in front of the circular opening. Then she closed her eyes.
Unable to restrain their curiosity, the two men also took a look. The wisps gradually gathered around the corpse; they rushed at it, but most simply bounced off. This continued for a long while—all that really happened was that more and more of them were ramming into the body.
Suddenly, as the wisps grew dense enough, some bounced off and started floating towards them, aiming at their bodies. Mark reacted instinctively and left the Netherecho when he spotted that; Nahar soon followed. But Madame had decided to stay, likely manually defending her body from the invasion of these freaky, abnormal wisps.
After a very anxiety-inducing half-hour of waiting, Madame's eyes finally shot open, and she glared at the lizard's corpse as it fumbled and started getting up to its feet. She conjured a dense fireball in her left hand and threw it at the monster, creating a violent explosion of gore.
As they stood there silently observing the charred remains, they all had the same thought—what the hell was going on?
***
Rahal had only one thing to say about his older brother’s death—it served him right. Janhalar had always been selfish, focusing on himself using the excuse that he was doing it for the clan. And look where that brought him. He died, and his body had been defiled. Critical treasures he kept in his personal storage ring—where they were the “safest”—were now lost, putting the future of their entire clan into jeopardy.
And, as was the case with every stupid error his brother committed, Rahal was the one who had to ensure that they weren’t lost forever.
Surrounded by three elders on each side, with their scout following behind them, Rahal led the eight-man group on what felt like a wild goose chase through the interspace. His long, white hair trailed down his back, and the red lines on his face made concentric circles. He looked much like his brother, the only notable exception being his striking blue eyes.
Thankfully, they had Larem’s help; otherwise, they couldn’t track these people. Whoever they were, they were highly proficient at covering the evidence of their passing. Well, at first, at least. For the first ten passages, they had left close to no tracks, but then, likely deeming themselves safe enough, they stopped bothering.
It had already been more than a month, and most their search party had been able to achieve was keep pace with the fleeing individuals. This deep within the interspace was dangerous. Lethal. Difficult challenges and frightening monstrosities lurked behind every corner, and as such, they had to make their way forward carefully.
The people they were following, however, seemingly weren’t limited by the same obstacles. And they didn’t seem foolish or rash, either. Not one nasty predator was disturbed in their wake, and they hadn’t unwittingly walked into a single hellish environment so far. These people were experts at navigating the interspace, and with each passing moment, they grew more convinced that they weren’t human at all.
Their search was no question of revenge for the defiling of their patriarch’s body. No, they had more important reasons to go after these people. There had been two treasures in Janhalar’s possession that needed to be retrieved at all costs. First was the starfire mirror rose extract. And the second was the prime vestige. Both were crucial enough that even their deaths would be a worthwhile investment to get them back.
Which was to say that they had come prepared to die.
They trodded through a jungle environment. Mud coated their uniforms, and the sounds of abominable parrot-esque monsters screeching their lungs out echoed all around them as the plants themselves moved to assault them and slow their progress.
Although they made sure to confirm that they were safe enough to travel, they couldn’t afford to take things slow. It was uncertain whether their quarry knew they were being tracked, but either way, they were moving fast.
Yet again, they found themselves at a loss for where to go next, and Larem had to use his talent again. The man kept his talent going until his eyes started bleeding, and ultimately, he spotted the next trail, quite a bit away from the direction they had been heading in.
But that wasn’t all he witnessed. “Take care,” he said in a slightly nasal voice. “I believe they are close.”
Rahal prepared himself for combat.
He was a caster by specialization. Although his blood-manipulation-enhancing talent wasn’t patriarch material, he was mighty proud of it. Power-wise, the only person in the entire clan who could outdo him was Nahar. That kid was a true monster.
He pulled a wand out of his dimension ring and grasped it tightly. It was made of bone, with a red crystal on top. All the others got ready, too, and they made their way forward.
Indeed, Larem had been telling the truth. Their quarry wasn’t far—the two individuals they were chasing were… resting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were being attacked. Initially, he believed that they could potentially be powerful enough that they simply didn’t care. Until he and all of the elders surrounding him finally felt the duo’s power.
“Wha—!?” he couldn’t stop himself from yelping in shock.
Although surprisingly well-concealed, these people's presence was that of… two-stars!? He didn’t know whether to smile or frown. Something was off. They could clearly hold their own even in the depths of wild passage realms—so how?
“Don’t drop your guard,” he told his party. “You never know what they could be hiding.”
They coordinated their strategy and surrounded their enemy. Once they got close enough, Rahal could see their faces. The two people appeared to be a short man and a tall woman, crouched and conversing. Their hair was black, and their equipment was decent but nothing special. They appeared to be little more than two ordinary Caucasian archhumans.
What caught Rahal’s attention, however, was their eyes.
Their pupils were in the shape of eerie squares, and a general air of wrongness surrounded the two.
Eventually, all the combatants got into position. With a flash of his will, Rahal revealed his power, and the others took the cue to jump out of the bushes and surround their quarry.
Their targets didn’t panic; instead, they swiftly but cautiously raised their guard and prepared for combat.
“It appears that we have been surrounded,” the man stated the obvious with a thick accent, sounding almost Middle Eastern, but not quite.
“Do not engage, Kaefalge,” the woman commanded, much to the man’s chagrin. She also had an unusual way of speaking, but it was less her accent, and more the fact that she overprounced her words and spoke slowly but clearly. “Diplomacy always comes first.”
“Do not school me on diplomacy, Firrita,” the man responded.
Rahal cautiously observed their exchange as he evaluated the situation. Everything about them was odd. Their stance was unusual, but he could sense great experience oozing from how these two held themselves. There was no fakeness to it—their power was on full display. They were truly two-stars. But their experience didn’t at all match their power.
Rather than beat around the bush, he decided to cut straight to the point. “You two looted the corpse of a man with an appearance similar to ours. Hand back everything you took.”