1

The panic-stricken mercenaries fled the mining facilities by any means available, becoming inadvertently scattered in the process. Only the thought of escape by the swiftest path possible from this hellish city burned in their minds. But their nemesis was not removed from the picture and allowed them no easy exit, living or dead. Through the linkstones carried frequent messages telling the troubled tale of their flight. A small group led by Tuberkan opted for the straightest available route, across the tunnels connecting the district with the residential layer. But their pursuer was both faster and knew the way better, appearing to block their path and forcing the men back again.

“It’s in the tunnels!” the huntsman’s warning sounded through the stones. “You must turn back! It’s following us, turn back—aag!”

Tuberkan’s voice disappeared from the line and the listeners elsewhere could only imagine the cause. With the most direct way to safety closed, the others sought to circle around, through the vault hall, and up the main stairway. But in their hurry, they forgot that the service tunnels were also linked to the stairway, and their intentions easily predicted.

“Aw shit, it’s in the stairs!” Minsk’s voice picked up. “It’s in the stairs! We can’t go up! Go back, go back!”

“It’s too fast!” Till despaired. “There’s no way out, we’re trapped in here! What are we going to do!?”

“Fuck, we’re all going to die in here!” Ren’s voice cried.

“Where’s Gronan?” Hrugnaw’s voice asked. “Has anyone seen Gronan?”

“He’s not with us, I lost sight of him,” Aft responded. “Faalan, did you see where he went?”

“I don’t know,” Faalan answered. “I lost sight of him after the chamber. He was heading northward, I think.”

“Then he’s trapped!” Gubal commented. “The only way out is up from here!”

“He’s gotta be dead by now!” Minsk added. “Fuck it, we’re on our own!”

“What the shit are we going to do!? Is there no other way out of this place!?”

“Everyone!” Aft’s voice spoke up, with less fear and panic in his tone, making the others fall quiet. Despite his youth, he was not a clan head for nothing. “Listen to me! There is another passage in the south end of the industrial district! It’s separate from the tunnels! Head back and make for there, if only you can!”

“We’ll never make it!” Trod’s dejected voice remarked. “Even if we did, what good would it do!? We still can’t get to the higher levels if the monster’s in the stairs!”

“Aim for the plaza we left from!” Waramoti’s voice spoke. “We’ll regroup and make our last stand there! Together we may still have a chance!”

Whether or not the others agreed with him about their odds, they wouldn’t speak of it.

To live together or to die together—that was the best they could do now.

Faalan was far separated from the others. Learning that the central staircase and the tunnels were held by the enemy, he had kept in the industrial district, waiting for more news before making his move. Till and Tidaal had kept there with him. Exercising somewhat greater caution than their allies in the flight, they had been left a considerable distance behind, which turned to their advantage. They were likely closest to the passage Aft had mentioned and headed now towards the southern limits of the area.

The three went up ladders to get off the ground level and followed along a narrow workers’ grate bridge, which took them through the back wall into a vast mineral processing hall on the other side. Below and everywhere around, for the full length and width of the space, spread a sea of conveyor belts and crossing walkways, forming a three-dimensional labyrinth puzzle of dizzying scale.

Nothing here had changed in eons, as if business were merely on a temporary hold and expected to resume soon again. On the belts about lay raw ore in rough heaps, on the way to the line of enormous crushing wheels on the other side. Between the belts were also conveyor chains, linked to which were open-top metal caskets, for delivering other types of materials for processing. Of the three present, likely only Till had any idea how these machines were used, and their functionality was nothing short of a Divine mystery to the other two.

Disregarding the bewildering anthill of machines and pipe works, the group turned their eyes to the far south corner of the hall, where a larger opening could be spotted, pierced in the wall. It was likely the passage connecting to the third layer, which Aft had described.

Picking up the pace, quickly discerning the most efficient path to the destination with his gaze, Faalan resumed jogging along the walk bridge, his companions following close behind. But they weren’t even halfway there yet, when he suddenly spied movement in the corner of his eye and turned, if only a little too late.

“Kuh—!”

Something flat and heavy struck him in the side, knocking the warrior off his feet.

Faalan tumbled over the waist-high railing beside him, was unable to catch a hold of it, and fell onto the conveyor line that ran parallel to their path, some seven feet below. He hit his back painfully on the edge of the container hanging from the chains, but fortunately landed on the inside of it, instead of falling on to the bottom of the hall. Grinding his teeth, he lay on the chunks of ore, temporarily disabled by the pain on his back and side, struggling to breathe. Were he a common man, his injuries might have been worse, but due to the elven blood in him, the warrior was rendered a degree more resilient to such trauma. His mentors in the remote past had thoroughly tested the limits of his hardness, thanks to which no fear came to him now and he soon mastered his pain.

What happened?

The culprit of this unexpected assault was shortly revealed. No monster had caught up with them so suddenly. What had struck him could have only been the sledgehammer of the mercenary who had run right beside him. That man, Tidaal Virnan, now gazed over the railing to check Faalan’s fate, displaying no surprise or shame.

“Wha—The Hel are you doing!?” Till stopped and turned back, stunned by the attack, for which no obvious cause could be seen. “He’s one of ours!”

“You get out of the way,” Tidaal gave the engineer a halfhearted reply, striking him in the chest with his hammer’s long handle. While Till doubled over, gasping for air, the mercenary bashed him in the side of the head. The hit was not particularly hard, but neither were bare human heads the best of shields. Till fell down limp onto the grating, a bleeding bruise in the side of his head, and whether he was dead or simply unconscious was up to guess.

“Now,” Tidaal said, turning back to Faalan. “It’s just you and me, luv. No third wheels.”

“What are you doing...” Faalan forced the sounds out of his throat, having still difficulty breathing, and struggled to get up from his trap. “At a time like this...?”

“Why, I’m doing it precisely because it’s a time like this,” the redbearded mercenary replied. “Ain’t none of us gonna make it, so it’s gotta be now or never. I’m not letting that creepshow take you—you’re all mine!”

Tidaal stepped up onto the railing and leapt over, landing on the conveyor bridge directly above Faalan’s container.

“I still haven’t forgotten the asskicking you gave me back in Utenvik,” the man continued, weighing his hammer. “When we first met—you remember that? It’s a debt I always meant to pay you back some day.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Faalan groaned and turned. He had dropped his sword when he was hit. There was only a small, short-bladed hunting knife on his belt, which wasn’t the finest of weapons.

“You don’t exactly get in this line of business and stay sane,” Tidaal pointed out. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to tell them you put up a fight.”

The man swung down his hammer. He was too far up to reach Faalan directly, but that wasn’t what he was aiming for. Instead, he hit the chain holding the back end of the container. The rusted links couldn’t withstand the blow, but shattered, causing the heavy iron casket to tilt. It was still held up by the other three corners, but Tidaal went on to cut the chain on the other side as well, and the entire back half of the box was fully released.

“Even if it’s not entirely true,” the mercenary remarked, straightening his back.

All the ore poured down, raining onto the structures below with loud clamor and clangor, before landing onto the floor thirty feet below. But the passenger did not follow along. Faalan reached out and grabbed onto the still intact upper edge, and was thus left hanging.

Though his stunt appeared to have only delayed his fate.

Stepping ahead, Tidaal held up his hammer again.

The third chain was shattered. Only one more was left, and it was clearly not in the condition to support the cast iron container all by itself.

“Ghh...!” Ignoring the persisting pain in his side, Faalan exerted his strength, kicked up, and swung himself onto the next container a couple of feet ahead, his fingers barely reaching its back end. The remaining chain broke the instant he let go, and his previous holding place went plummeting down.

“You know, I’m really disappointed in you,” Tidaal said, unhurriedly stepping along the bridge, and was above him again. “Since we got here, you’ve been acting like a different guy completely! What happened? You were sharp as the butcher’s knife back then. No emotion. No mercy. Absolutely no chances. You wouldn’t have ever done something as gobsmacking stupid as turning your back on a guy with a hammer. Don’t tell me you actually thought we were friends now? After we went through this jolly little adventure together? No, you wouldn’t be that fucking daft!”

He struck again, starting with the bottom corner chain. As it was severed, the lower part of the bind lashed down like a whip and Faalan had to pull back his other hand to evade it. Clenching his teeth, enduring the searing pain in his back, he let himself turn around the one-handed grip, reached around the corner of the container, and moved to the side of it.

“Naw. I think I know the real reason,” Tidaal mused and crouched, watching his struggle. “It’s the mum, huh? You found somebody who cares. You realized you’re not alone in the universe anymore, that it’s not all just blood, pain, and misery. Isn’t that wonderful? That’s enough to change a man. Hey, you know what? You’re just like my brother.”

Faalan climbed on along the container’s side, to get away from the mercenary. But this time, Tidaal moved to cut his exit, hurriedly breaking a chain from the opposing end. The container was left wobbling precariously, the two remaining chains in the mirroring corners creaking and groaning under the additional load.

“Yep. My brother was like that,” Tidaal resumed, waiting for the warrior’s next move. “He was the meanest, the baddest, the hardest hardass son of a bitch I’d ever known. A real menace! Not a soul out there who wasn’t scared shitless of him. The guy was everything I wanted to be. Powerful! Then, he goes and finds himself a woman. He’d had women before, yeah, but this one was supposedly something real special. And all of a sudden, the guy’s all smiles. Uh-uh, no more killing. No burning houses, no breaking people’s kneecaps. No fun allowed. The man thinks he’s got a future now! Thinks he’s something he’s not—not a total fucking villain.”

Faalan looked up. Would the chains hold if he tried to jump up to the bridge?

No, likely not.

“So you know what I did?” the mercenary asked him. “I went and shagged his broad on his wedding day. Yup, that’s what I did. You see, that’s what all women are, in the end; creatures of lust. They just can’t help themselves. All they think about is pleasure, how to best use a man, how to suck the juices right out of him, take everything he’s got, until he’s just skin and bone—useless! Then they move on to the next poor bastard. And the trick, my friend, is to use them before they use you. Have your fun, but don’t you ever trust one! ‘Cos that’ll be the last mistake you ever make. Oh, but you’ve already made yours, I guess.”

Tidaal lifted his hammer, aiming for the left side chain. The last one wouldn’t be able to carry the rock load for even an instant. But there was no escaping left or right either. Faalan could only go up, after all. Quickly pulling up, lifting his knees, he stepped on the edge of the container and leapt up for the conveyor bridge, where Tidaal stood, right as the latter struck down. With a bang, one chain was burst by the hammer, the second by the sharp increase in load, and Faalan’s foothold disappeared from under him.

But he made it. He caught hold of the above beam. Resisting the pain, he pulled his weight and climbed up to confront the rogue.

Even on equal footing, Tidaal was still a dangerous foe. Certainly not one to face unarmed. The man swung his war hammer sideways to brush the champion down. Faalan crouched and leaned back to evade, but though he had recovered somewhat by now, the muscles on his side were still stiff and aching, and it slowed him.

“Hng…!”

As Faalan involuntarily paused, Tidaal charged him and kicked him hard in the chest, knocking him on his back onto the barely a foot-wide platform. Not wasting an instant, a mad, murderous gleam in his eyes, the mercenary raised his weapon again. Faalan could only avoid being crushed by rolling sideways and dropping back down to hanging, the hammerhead striking off sparks from the metal bare inches from his fingers.

“Good try!” Tidaal told him. Faalan tried to climb up again, but the mercenary kicked his foot off, leaving him suspended. “But no. No more heroics for you!”

Faalan sought for another way out of his predicament, but was forced to admit his chances looked poor. The other conveyor lines below were too far apart for him to reach by jumping. Dropping down to the floor, he would likely break his legs. There was no way around it. He was completely at the mercy of his enemy.

“You know what I’m gonna do when we’re done here?” Tidaal asked him, savoring his advantage, turning his hammer around. “I’m gonna go and find your mum—if she’s still alive, that is. And I’m gonna knock her up so hard she’s gonna have quintuplets next. Think about that, on your way down.”

Planting his boot on Faalan’s fingers, to prevent him from escaping again, Tidaal brought his weapon high up overhead, apparently aiming to break his wrist first. Even if Faalan could somehow endure the hit and keep holding on with the remaining hand, the same would only be repeated. His hand trapped, he couldn’t reach for his knife on the same side either. It was over.

As a warrior, he could only accept his end with dignity.

Faalan inhaled and relaxed his shoulders, waiting for the decisive strike to fall.

“Hm?”

As he did, he heard, to his surprise, a sharp swish in the air.

A blink of an eye later, a thick crossbow bolt pierced straight through Tidaal’s right thigh.

“Aargh!” the man cried out, wavering, and his strike fell aside, landing on the beam above Faalan’s head, missing its mark.

Groaning, Tidaal staggered back, barely keeping his balance on the narrow bridge, dropping his hammer in the effort. At the same time, Faalan was given the opening to climb back up, which he took without delay, and they were standing face to face once again.

“Here! Catch!” someone yelled from above.

A shining object came twirling down across the darkness, and Faalan reached up his hand by reflex to catch it. With a satisfying impact and weight, his saber had found its way back into his grip again.

Seeing this, Tidaal forgot about his grudge and the pain in his leg. Beholding the valor and grace of that silvery warrior’s upright figure, the light reflected off his bright blade, like he was a figure from the ancient legends come to life, the mercenary stood spellbound, in earnest awe.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he gasped.

And then fell apart by the exertion, his body cleaved lengthwise into two equal halves.

Swinging his sword once more to shake off the blood, Faalan sheathed the weapon and climbed back up to the walk bridge. Up there, he was greeted by the smug grin of his savior, the young bard, bearing his used crossbow on his shoulder.

“Looks like I took the right turn, after all,” Waramoti remarked. “Oh, and I hope you shan’t chop me up for coming all by my lonesomeness! I’m not as quick on my feet as I used to be, and the panicking gentlemen wouldn’t bother waiting for a kid like me. Yet, if you want for proof of my identity, I shall be glad to present to you my top ten ballads from the previous month.”

“That will not be necessary,” Faalan answered. “Come to think of it, this is the second time you have saved my life, though I have failed to give thanks even once. Thank you, Waramoti. I owe you.”

“You’re very welcome!” the bard replied. Then, the realization hit him, making his jaw drop. “Wait! I never told anyone here my name, how did you…You actually know me?”

Faalan merely nodded in answer, as if it had never been a mystery at all.

“But how? When did you notice...?” Waramoti questioned him.

“From the very beginning?” the hero told him. “A man doesn’t change so much, whether he grows backwards or forwards. And the spirit burning within is undoubtedly still that of my old comrade-in-arms.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Waramoti stared at Faalan for a moment, eyes rounded, overcome by a sudden wave of emotion.

“Then say so sooner!” he finally yelled at the warrior. “You—you—blockhead!”

2

Izumi ran along a dark, cramped tunnel. The way took many turns and had numerous branching paths, but her feet never once stopped or erred. She couldn’t even see more than three feet ahead of her in the light of her dim spare lamp, yet she pressed on without hesitation, as if she knew these ancient paths by heart.

That was not the case. A distance ahead of her in the blackness, unseen by any other, floated a small orb of warm light, within which a tiny figure of a girl beckoned her. Izumi kept chasing that light, paying no attention to anything else.

“This way!” Yubilea’s bright voice called to her. “Over here! There’s a way out, just a bit further ahead!”

Every now and then, Izumi glanced back over her shoulder, to make sure she was still being followed. A few paces behind her ran Gronan Arkentahl, quiet and morose. They had lost all the others by now, but Izumi rather trusted in the Divine’s guidance than the panicking mercenaries, and she dragged the Dharvic leader along, half by force. Were he to die here, the expedition would lose even what little hope they had left, and getting back home would turn that much harder.

So Izumi rationalized the matter to herself, after the fact. In truth, her primary motivator was less pragmatic. Likely only guilt. All that filled her mind was how she couldn’t let the man perish without fixing the grievous misunderstanding. She’d had enemies before. She’d had people she was glad to have as enemies, who she could cut down without mercy or hesitation. And Gronan was not one of them.

In this case, was she not the two-faced villain herself?

I’ve changed. Solving problems by making them disappear, killing any who oppose you—I don’t need any more regrets like that! I’m not a monster anymore! I still have a future too!

So far, they were safe. There was no sign of the daemon pursuing them. In a moment, following Yubilea’s lead, they came out of the dark tunnels and stepped out into a wide open space, albeit barely better lit.

It turned out to be the cavern with the enigmatic pyramid.

They had come in through a previously unexplored side entrance in the western wall, at the top of a flight of rough sandstone stairs. Towards right from their position was the mouth of the pentagonal corridor with the ancient scriptures, through which they could get back up again and rejoin the others. And far to the left was the presumed temple of the ancients, the eternal lights burning bright about its majestic entrance.

Passing down the stairs, deeming themselves safe for the time being, the pair paused to catch their breath.

“You okay?” Izumi asked the Dharvic chieftain.

“I’m fine,” Gronan sourly replied, not meeting her eyes.

“Well, that’ll do,” she shrugged, leaning her back on the wall, trying to think about their next move.

“Why did you save me?” Gronan asked the woman with a scowl. “Weren’t you sent here to stop me? Could’ve let the beast do your dirty work. Or did your master ask for my head? Then take it and be on your way! But know that this mug won’t come off so easily!”

Izumi could only sigh wearily in response.

“Even at the risk of sounding too obvious,” she said, “if I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have traveled five hundred miles through ice and snow with you. That’s not my job.”

“Then what is your ‘job’?” he spat.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Izumi stood away from the wall and faced him. “Back when you first asked me. I’m here to get Faalan home, safe and sound. Nothing more complicated than that. Saving the world from evil is more just a hobby of mine.”

“What are you talking about?” Gronan asked, looking deeply confused. “Who are you, anyway?”

With a tired smirk, Izumi answered,

“I’m the hero.”

Gronan made a wry, helpless chuckle out of disbelief and looked away.

“Oh, do you still have your stone?” she changed the topic. “Might want to let your buddies know you’re safe.”

“It fell off as we ran,” the man answered, feeling his ear. “I don’t have another.”

Izumi searched through her own coat pocket instead.

“The guys were wailing so much, I couldn’t hear Yui-chan...” she muttered, taking out the linkstone and fitted it back in her ear. “Um, hello? Izumi here. Is anybody still alive?”

“Izumi?” Waramoti’s voice soon answered. “Thank goodness! You were being uncharacteristically quiet, I already assumed the worst. Where are you right now?”

“I’m at the pyramid hall. The boss is with me.”

“Gronan’s alive? That’s excellent news! The rest of us are regrouping at the third layer plaza. Go through the industrial district, if you can, and south from there. The daemon holds the main passages. It will likely come this way when it realizes where we’ve gone, so you might want to hurry.”

“It’s not there anymore,” Gubal’s voice joined the conversation. “It was right behind us a moment ago in the tunnels, but suddenly stopped and vanished. Don’t ask me what it’s after, but we’re taking the shortcut to you now.”

“Oh, okay. That’s weird.”

“I think we’ll camp at the pyramid for a bit,” Izumi replied. “Until we know where our friend is. There’s only one way in there, so it can’t sneak up on us unnoticed, at least.”

“Very well,” Waramoti said. “We’ll do some scouting after we get the survivors together, and look up a clear path for you. Hold on and stay safe in the meanwhile!”

“Roger that.”

Ending the contact, Izumi turned back to Gronan again.

“Come, we should be going.”

Keeping low and cautious, the pair passed through the shadows of the hall, to the ancient road, and followed it to the root of the primordial temple. It was even larger up close than it had looked from a distance, at least four hundred feet wide, reminiscent of the great pyramid of Teotihuacan in build, and assembled of dark stone. But in spite of its doubtless great age, its sides were not corroded or broken the same way as the road and the other structures around it, but stood smooth and clean all around, hinting of building materials or methods unknown even to modern man.

Two sets of wide stairs led up its lower face, until meeting on a midway platform and merging as one. The stairs were steep, laborious to climb, but in a while, Izumi and Gronan had the pyramid’s entrance before their eyes.

There was a singular passage in, about forty feet wide and ten tall. The entryway interior was covered with panels emitting a steady, pure white glow. The way carried on for a short distance, before concluding in an apparent dead end, barred by a robust metal gate. No keyholes, handles, seams, or obvious opening mechanisms could be seen, as the Silver Saber had previously described, bringing to question whether it was a door at all.

“Have you ever seen such a thing?” Gronan asked, gazing around in wonder.

“Not in real life,” Izumi answered and glanced back.

Even if they couldn’t get inside the building and find shelter there, they had a good vantage point, whence they could see anyone approaching from afar, and steady ground to fight on. It was of slim comfort, but better than playing tag with the speedy monster in the endless tunnels above. With weary feet, the two strode on towards the entrance, shielded by the edge of the temple’s monumental upper half.

Again, Izumi's thoughts were drawn to the purpose of this strange place.

Was it a mere memorial from the age when the gods had still existed, raised in their honor, like the similar buildings in the other world? Or had it been the stronghold of some ancient cult, worshiping neither gods nor divines, but dedicated to a belief set entirely foreign and now forgotten? Or had the pyramid perhaps served a more practical purpose? Had it been a castle, a factory, a library, or some such commonplace facility, where anyone had been welcome?

How old could it be? Had the Precursors made it, or had it ever been here, since the very dawn of time, buried by the motion of the tectonic plates over uncounted years, then to be excavated by the later civilizations, appropriated to serve their needs?

Would anyone ever know? There were none left alive to explain it.

Setting aside whatever the pyramid represented, Izumi and Gronan carried on, hoping to find a moment of respite in its ageless light. But nothing of the sort awaited them there.

“Look out!” Yubilea suddenly shrieked.

Without other warning, the lights of the passage were eclipsed by a black cloud bursting out of nothing, right in front of the explorers faces. The swirling chaos quickly condensed in the shape of their accursed adversary, who had showed up to bar their path.

Startled, Izumi retreated, but tripped out of shock and fell. Tumbling on her back onto the floor, she drew the Amygla in front of herself, in a desperate effort to hold the enemy away, though she already knew it futile at heart. Committing such a critical blunder before a foe that wouldn't suffer the slightest display of weakness could only mean immediate and irreversible game over. Every fiber of her being was convinced that she was dead then and there.

“…?”

However, tense seconds passed, and Izumi’s life continued, against expectations.

The deathblow wasn't coming. The daemon continued to stand still as a wall in front of the two, making no effort to attack. Gripping her sword, ready for anything, Izumi crawled back up to her feet, and retreated, step by step, to Gronan, who stood no less shocked and stunned behind her. Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, the two withdrew from the pyramid’s entrance and back to the stairs.

They were not pursued. Not moving a muscle, not producing a sound, their foe kept back, blocking the way into the pyramid and gave no indication that it even saw them.

A sufficient distance away, the pair hurried their descent and ran across the cavern, as fast as they reasonably could without risking accident and injury. Izumi kept glancing back all the way, thinking she would go insane out of dread and confusion, but everything remained quiet and still.

At the elevated mouth of the southern corridor, they stopped again to look back and could see that the daemon remained still rooted in position, as if returned back to being a statue.

Seeing this, Gronan could no more bear with his overwhelming addlement.

“What is it doing?” he asked, unable to understand. “Why won’t it come after us!?”

“...Maybe there’s something it wants even more than just to kill us,” Izumi pondered.

At her words, an epiphany struck Gronan and he stepped back towards the temple, astonished and enraged.

“The weapon!” he exclaimed. “It’s in there! You know where it is, you thrice-cursed abomination! And you can’t risk us getting our hands on it, or else it would mean your end! Coward!”

“Is that it?” Izumi muttered. “So it didn’t wake up because we opened the treasury, but because we got too close to the pyramid?”

Gears started to turn in the summoned champion’s mind. If the assumption was correct, as it seemed, it changed just about everything in their current bind. Where once was nothing but blackest despair was lit yet again a glimmer of hope. Casting aside her fears and doubts, Izumi made up her mind and turned back to Gronan.

“I know how we’re going to get out of here,” she told him.

And then added, slightly less confident,

“Or well, some of us will.”

3

All the remaining members of the expedition stood gathered on the familiar plaza of the third layer, in between the houses of the ancients, under the solemn stares of their empty windows and doorways. Woefully small had their group become. There were not even a dozen men left of the thirty after the daemon’s rampage, and the remaining faces reflected the dire state of affairs with matching desperation. They clutched their weapons and waited, resigned, for whatever form their end should take to meet them.

The mercenaries’ collective apathy was positively interrupted when instead of a violent death, only Izumi and Gronan came to join them.

Following a brief break to refresh and confirm everyone’s status, Izumi then took the central stage, requesting everyone’s attention. Standing before the loose half-circle of men, she gazed around and nodded.

“I know you’re all tired and rattled,” she said. “And so am I. I’m not very good with pep talks, but the good news is, our ordeal is almost at its end now. I have one last plan to share with you guys, to save our hides. It’s not very complicated, but we only get to try this once, so listen very close.”

Instead of hopeful delight, the woman’s announcement was received mainly with doubtful expressions. How could this crushing death trap be suddenly broken, when all the other efforts had failed so miserably?

“We have the enemy pinned on two fronts now,” Izumi explained. “No matter how fast it is, it can’t both guard the Precursors’ weapon and stop us from leaving. What we have to do becomes super simple then. We will split into two teams, A and B. Team A will do nothing but head straight for the exit, ASAP. Meanwhile, team B will head back to the pyramid in the depths. The daemon will have no choice but to confront them, or else risk checkmate if they acquire the ancients’ weapon. Team B will engage the enemy and buy as much as time as they can, so that team A can get out of here and seal the entrance. Once they do, that’s it, they’re home free. Mission complete.”

The cautious optimism temporarily inspired by Izumi’s casual tone and presentation became again replaced by open confusion over her actual words.

“Let me see if I got this right,” Gubal summarized the main point, while the rest were still searching for words. “You’re asking some of us to sacrifice their lives, so that the rest may live? That’s a tall order. How would you even begin to decide who goes and who stays?”

“I’m not asking,” Izumi replied to him. “The teams are already decided. It goes without saying that only the strongest combatants can stay, or else there’s no point. That’s why, team B will be only myself and Faalan. Anyone else would just get in the way, which is why the rest of you are in team A.”

Certainly, her answer was not making things easier for the others to digest, but only triggered additional commotion and protests. Izumi’s definition of strength was questioned, and most felt she was only throwing her life away in vain. She brought a swift end to these arguments, drawing her greatsword and striking it onto the ground before her.

“As said, it’s a done deal,” she told them. “If you want to be the hero instead, then show me you’ve got what it takes. Believe me, I’m not doing this because I want to. There’s simply no other choice. If you can’t hold your own against the big bad and die too quick, not one of us is getting away. But I don’t need your sympathies either; I’m not going there to die. I haven’t put on my serious face just yet. Unless you want to be there to see it in person, I suggest you pack up nice and quiet. And go home.”

No one argued anymore.

Whether they agreed or not, fighting Izumi for the honor of dying in an impossible fight against the daemon was in no one’s best interests. If she wished to commit a glorified suicide, then it was her choice. They did try to convince Faalan to change his mind too, but the man declared that he shared Izumi’s assessment of the situation.

Nothing more could be done or said about it. Lamenting the two's foolishness, the rest gave up and started to get ready to leave—save for one. That young man had made it his mission to keep questioning the champion to the end, and so he did now as well.

“But Izumi,” Waramoti said and stepped forward. “If we block the exit, you’ll both be left trapped in here, even in the event that you defeat the creature. Shouldn’t we wait for you to come back before we do so?”

Izumi shook her head in answer.

“You know you can’t. It may not be either of us who comes up. You can’t take any chances. Collapse the entrance as soon as you’re out, and make sure nobody ever digs it up again. Can you do that?”

She directed her last question to Aft.

“Uh, if we overheat cheruleum ingots past the critical point, they will detonate,” the engineer theorized. “A few should pack enough punch to cause a cave-in, if we do it in the switch gallery. That’s likely our best bet.”

“That’s fine then,” she nodded. “Still, as said, dying is not the plan. In case we do survive, somehow, we’ll try to find another way out. I doubt the ancients only built one door in a city this big. So if you could wait for maybe a day on the surface before you leave, I’d appreciate it.”

Though she assured them so, Waramoti wasn’t as easily comforted.

“If there was any other way, don’t you think the daemon would have found it and left before? Do reconsider! There must be something else we can try instead!”

Izumi answered him with a playful wink.

“Does the boogeyman have my nose for puzzles? I don’t think so. And if we don’t find any other way within the day…Suppose I’ll make that money bath I always dreamed about. So it’s a win-win situation either way.”

“Don’t mess with me!” the bard told her. “You’d better make it! This isn’t the kind of an ending I had in mind for my story!”

“Really? I think it’s a good ending, though,” Izumi said, smiling warmly. “All those times I called myself the hero, I was only being ironic, you know? But, this once, I might be able to do something actually a bit noble. So if this is the end, I have no complaints.”

“Well, I have plenty!” he retorted. “I’ve already decided this! ‘And they all lived happily ever after’—this story will end in those words and none other! You don’t have the artistic credentials to make revisions!”

Sighing with faked frustration, Izumi wiped the corner of her eye, and gave up on objecting.

“You’re right,” she said, and nudged at Faalan. “Whatever happens to me, I still have to get this guy home, somehow. Even if I have to become a miner to deliver him.”

And so, their course decided. All that remained was to put the final plan into action and have faith that it would work. That those who could still be saved would find the way home, at whatever cost. But whether this tale of theirs would end in joy or tears, or be swallowed altogether by the darkness under Eylia, not one among them could claim to know yet.