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Spring • 6 • 1 Deep Down
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In most regards, progress was a good thing.
Be it the simple amenities of modern-day living, medicine, or travelling - in general, advancement of the old improved current circumstances for everyone. Sometimes progress thundered through the world like a roaring river, carving new paths and causing some areas to thrive and flourish while leaving others to dry up and be forgotten. Yet, in the small town of Brigspeel, it had been more of a trickle and come quietly. A few new roads and a handful of more modern houses were built, while the landscape had been altered by telephone masts and power poles. A steady influx of income flowed through the entire region; the wealth due to large and efficient factories that promised great yields and fast production being built in other nearby towns and cities. Over the years, this hadn’t so much changed the face of the tranquil town, but some parts of its rural way of living had undergone a quiet yet unrelenting and continuous restructuring.
The ever-industrious Wolfe family had settled in Brigspeel generations ago, with one of their ancestors building a - for the time - rather modern and grand beverage factory. Distribution had been set up at the convenience store he simultaneously opened. The factory had been the pride of Brigspeel, an inventive yet modest establishment that produced sodas and tonics with recipes passed down through generations of the family. Its quaint charm and the distinctive clinking of glass bottles had been a comforting presence in the town for decades. Whichever Wolfe or factory employee was responsible for deliveries at the time was a constant sight, bringing crates of refreshments to the doorsteps of customers. Nestled at the edge of town, the production site had been made redundant by changes over time; had been pushed aside and relegated to the edges of memory bit by bit.
The Wolfes had tried their best to keep things running because a good few of Brigspeel’s residents were dependent on earning their living there. But, as the years went on, their methods became outdated and the old machinery prone to breakdowns, making business, scarce as it already was, all the more challenging. They tried until the factory could no longer keep up with the demands of an ever-accelerating world and became another casualty of its relentless march forward. And so, one day, the factory’s doors were closed for the last time, forcing the Wolfes to abandon one half of the family business. Selling the land had been out of the question, of course, and the Wolfes owned it to this day.
As was the way of things, nature crept back in to claim what was left behind. Ivy had climbed up the walls until it formed a vibrant coat for most of the building, and the once proud wrought iron sign was almost covered up by greenery. It provided nooks and crannies for a variety of birds, insects, and other critters to build a home there. The huge, multi-paned windows, once bright with the hustle and bustle of work, had become dull with dust and grime - resembling old eyes, glazed over and blinded by time. The entrance, where the workers had gathered in the morning before the doors were opened up for business, now stood silent, the echoes of banter and laughter long gone.
On the far end of this almost forgotten relic of a bygone era was another abandoned entrance, one that led not to relinquished industry but to the underbelly of Brigspeel - an old part of the sewer system. A small brick building stood there, the flat concrete roof that had been added sometime over the years a stark contrast to the muted and dusty red of its walls. Its sole purpose had been to hold the door that provided access for maintenance personnel and prohibited unauthorized access to the tunnels. Past the door, a few flights of nigh ancient stairs led down to a network of rather low and narrow tunnels.
The entire build was cracked at the edges and bore the marks of age, with occasional seeps of water tracing paths down the brick walls. This section of the sewers, much like the factory above, had been abandoned; its original function redundant as new systems were built to accommodate the moderately growing town. The air here was cool, carrying the faint scent of sodden earth and old stone rather than the pungent stench of discharge and decay; the odour more moist than foul - like a forgotten cellar that had been sealed for years. Through the grime on the uneven floor patches of the original cobblestone could be seen, and in some low spots small puddles of water had gathered. They shimmered with dim reflections of the meagre illumination filtering down from the occasional grate or manhole cover in the ceiling above. These faint beams of light, penetrating the gloom, cast a gentle, almost dreamy glow in which dust and particles could be seen floating through the air. In the diffused sight, long shadows danced with even the slightest of movements. The only sounds in this still, almost serene atmosphere were the constant water drips and every so often the unassuming, quiet rustle of unseen creatures in the darkness.
Way down, deep in this forgotten realm, lay a huge cistern, where the temperature dropped even lower and the air grew even more damp - forming a cold mist that clung to everything. The walls were coated with condensation, but not slick, and merely a bit wet to the touch, and the uneven floor, though treacherous in places, was navigable with care. Surprisingly, all was much cleaner than would be expected, almost as if time had erased most of the leavings. In truth, it was more probable that massive amounts of rainwater had rushed through after storms and cleared the muck. The stillness down here held a certain calm, as if this part of the sewer, unlike the run-down factory above, had simply paused. It seemed to be waiting to catch up to the world - or the world to it - and to be remembered once more.
Here in the cistern, the now was but a single moment, preserved in and through time, a vortex where the world moved a bit slower. A place where the old ways still lingered, even if only in the shadows beneath the humble bustle of the world above. This… this was a special place, a dark and sheltered refuge - a harbour where things were possible, where things could happen, and where things could be made to happen.
The enormous vaulted ceiling, arching high above, was lost in shadow, and thick stone pillars supported the ancient structure throughout the space. A hushed commotion filled the gloom, in which the sound of countless rustling bodies and little claws scraping against stone formed a quiet susurrus, an almost rhythmic reverberation that would have sent skittish minds to horrified flight. The teeming swarm filled every available inch of the lower reaches, and the soft soles of their tiny, nimble feet pattered across the ground, the delicate thrum reminiscent of gentle raindrops falling to the ground. Like a wave closing in, slow, steady, and unavoidable, a low hum began to rise and pick up in volume, harmonizing with the eerie chorus of movement and vibrating through the very bones of those who had gathered.
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The atmosphere was charged with an anticipation that seemed to set the air ablaze, while agitation coursed through the assembly like a shared pulse - all adding up to the transcendent, unnatural energy permeating the chamber. The capricious lighting was dim and uneven as it tried to reach down from thin shafts above, from high up where the distant world waited, and peeked down to this forsaken place. This did not bother the gathered multitude, and all their sleek, wedged-shaped heads pointed towards their midst, more than capable to see through the darkness. A round space had been freed there, almost like the eye of a storm. The air grew heavier by the minute, rich with promise and weighing everything down like a tangible force. The flood of bodies, sensing the gravity of the moment and the imminent opening of the proceedings, fell silent. They grew still, as if holding their collective breath in reverence.
Wide, glittering eyes watched intently as a collective of elders began to move forward with deliberation, consisting of individuals from each of the different packs. Their purposeful march and the deference they received from all around gave the gathering a ritualistic feel. So many Packs and Clans had come together, journeyed here from all corners near and far, that even the select elite of elders approaching the middle of the cavern was a crowd. It was a vast group - more than double the amount a pack member had claws. They stepped out from the writhing masses into the centre of the congregation and formed a loose circle. With a gentle incline of their heads and a quiver of their whiskers, they greeted each other. Those who had stepped forward were ancient by their standards, their grey fur slightly shimmering in the sparse light, and their movements slower and more deliberate than those of their younger kin. Yet there was dignity in their steps, and purpose carried them onwards. Each of them, though aged and worn, held an unwavering strength, a relentless resolve, an unshakeable commitment for what was to come. Thusly driven, each of the elders got up on their hind legs, looking out over their kin in farewell, small noses twitching, accompanied by the trembles of their whiskers. Every single other being in attendance bowed down, they were honoured to be in the presence of such bravery and altruism, of such greatness. While all of their hearts bled with the nigh unbearable pain of imminent loss, they still sang with infinite love at the same time. Each of them acknowledged the sacrifice that was about to be offered with radiant pride, and the gratitude they felt for and towards their elders knew no bounds.
In the blink of an eye, the moment was over.
Suddenly, all the innumerable bodies began to move in fluid, concentric patterns as if on cue, the waves pushing towards the circle of elders again and again. The elders themselves had begun to go back and forth in what seemed to be a deliberate dance of intent arrangements, the intricate figures carrying them around one another. During this quiet symphony of motion, the crescendoing hum picked up again, and the elders moved closer and closer until each of them started to emanate a glow - subtle and almost imperceptible at the beginning. Its intensity grew brighter with each passing moment, and the multi-hued light danced about like the flame of a mighty and lively fire. Power began to crackle within it, releasing force in small lightning bolts that shot through the entire space and made the hair in the furs of all the beings in the chamber stand up with charge.
All of their movements increased in intensity, became more urgent, more demanding - until the threshold had been reached, and their collected force was released with a last burst of light. All of a sudden, the glow around the elders changed to an impenetrable yet somehow luminescent darkness, as if ink had been emptied into a glass of brightly coloured water. Wisps and tendrils shot out of and around the elders’ bodies, swirling about and curling away from them like sentient fluid. Straining against the currents of otherworldly power at work, they braced themselves and danced on, pushing through their pain and pressing their bodies together. The blackness grew, and through the wafts of shadows, the elders’ bodies were indistinguishable, blending together more and more. The once separate figures continued their desperate ritual - until the blackness gripped all of them with abrupt force. Their tails were pulled together violently, forming a horrifying, inextricable knot, and as the shadows engulfed them, they vanished into the concentrated darkness without a sound. The surrounding mass of bodies came to a sudden halt, their collective eyes fixed on the centre in terrified wonder.
The circular shroud of pitch black was harrowing to behold and of a fierce, terrible beauty.
A few moments later, the seething, shadowy orb shrank back its proportions, its motions slowing down. The tendrils growing out of it, aggressive and greedy at first, emerged with subsiding regularity and also diminished in size. Soon these appendices appeared almost gentle and did not seem inclined to touch any of the present beings. The legion of attendants stared at the living shadow, anxious excitement tearing at their frayed nerves. At last, the living darkness seemed settled, now reduced from its initial size but still bigger than the largest of the onlookers. For a few moments, the single discernible movement in the vast cistern was the strange, undulating contraction of the pitch black orb in the center, the gentle, pumping pulse reminiscent of a beating heart. With a sound almost like a sigh, it pulsed one last time with amplified force, and a last tendril grew out of the lower part of the orb. The tendril reformed into a slender and slightly curved leg that ended in a small, dexterous, hand-like foot with five delicate toes. Sharp and vicious claws scraped against the stone floor as the foot was set down. The rest of the shadows flowed after, following the graceful step of the foot while transmuting their spherical shape - lithely folding into themselves to caress their contour into a body akin to that of the onlookers. To human eyes, it would have almost looked as if the being had stepped through a black sheet, which then clung to its body. The fluid motion was terrifying - foreign and otherworldly, yet beautiful and majestic.
The new, singular being the heartbreaking ritual had birthed stood with pride, its triangular head held high, and the attending horde dared not to move. Whiskers quivered at the end of its pointy nose, consisting of minuscule strands of shadow, and small, rounded ears perked up. The stout form of the black shroud body was elongated and cylindrical, tapering towards the tail that another long and sleek wisp of darkness had formed. Eyes, if they could be called that, opened in the moving shadows of the face, bathing all they looked upon in ethereal light. With benevolence, they regarded the assembled subjects - able to see not one being in particular but rather all of them at once.
The collective averted their eyes in humble respect and bowed in worship before the one who had been many. Power radiated from the being and transformed the already sheltered feel of the cistern into that of an impenetrable sanctuary. Despite the innumerable masses being present, the place had fallen back into stillness - the absence of sound so profound that it seemed to loom commandingly.
The deed had been done; the miracle had been witnessed.
He was back.
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