Bernard gave a short tug on the rope once he determined that the other side of the Rift was clear of immediate danger. When he passed through he found himself in a damp cave. He doubted it was particularly deep since there were roots winding their way through the walls, but it was deep enough that the roots didn't make it all the way to the floor of the cave and he didn't have any contact with whatever plant life it was that those roots represented.

It was only the second time since Aegis came to Earth that he lost contact with the forest and he didn't like it. He wasn't counting the mushroom Rift, since he had a connection to the fungi in that one, even if it was a bit off putting. He almost subconsciously put a hand on one of the roots, but ripped it away not even a full second later.

The plants didn't entirely exist in this bubble of space or whatever it was inside a Rift, and the rest of them were in the void. There weren't words to describe the sensations he got from them. He certainly wasn't about to touch them again. He much preferred the strange sense of disorientation and loss brought by the separation to that. Still, it hadn't been hard to determine that there was nothing overtly harmful present, since the Rift had been spitting out crabillas and there were none of those in sight.

He genuinely enjoyed his Gift of the Jaguar perk. Being able to see in the dark was worth losing a bit of his color vision. He even found himself sniffing the air instinctively, and somehow instinctively knew that nothing other than the single crabilla passed through this area in the last couple hours.

The others came through one after the other. "Okay, that was quite unpleasant." Leo said with a grimace. He got nods of agreement from the rest of the team, even though Bernard was positive he was the only one that could see anything. Light abruptly flared into existence as Margaret produced a torch from her pack and lit it somehow. "Oh, look at that! These roots are strange, but we're definitely in a lava tube."

The others all looked at him incredulously. "I doubt it's an active lava tube. Hasn't been for a long time either, look at the roots and all the sand on the ground. Lava wouldn't leave any of that in place, and this tunnel ends at the entrance. It's probably been moved from somewhere else. Which is fascinating in and of itself, do you think the Rifts form around chunks of actual places and move them, or do you think they spawn an environment randomly?"

"I think this place gives me the heebie jeebies, those plants stick all the way through to the void, and I would like to get this over with." Bernard said matter-of-factly. "Come on, let's go." He started down the tunnel, sticking to the middle and well away from the roots.

The others followed behind him, but Leo was an endless fountain of questions. "What do you mean they stick into the void? Did you connect to them the way you connect to the forest? What did they say? What is it like?"

Bernard cut in when he stopped to take a breath. "It was horrible, and I don't want to talk about it." Then, knowing full well he had to give the man something he reluctantly described the experience. "Once they cross whatever barrier that keeps us out of the void they stop being entirely plant, and most of what I got was incoherent screaming."

Light began to bloom in the tunnel ahead of them and the conversation lapsed into silence as they prepared for whatever was coming. Before long they reached an exit of sorts to the tunnel. It let out into a significantly larger cavern, not all of which was entirely inside the rift. They could tell, because parts of the ceiling consisted of nausea inducing roils of color instead of root-riddled stone.

They collectively decided to not look up after that initial glance without the need for discussion. The cavern floor was unnaturally even. There were a few columns here and there, but for the most part it was just an even, level sand floor. With no less than six half-crab, half-gorilla monsters running around. Luckily they were all quite a bit smaller than the one they fought.

"I wonder why they're all the same." Leo whispered. "If voidlings are creatures spawned from the void itself, shouldn't each be different?"

"Aegis probably enforces their shape and abilities." Margaret replied.

"But if it has that kind of power, why not prevent them entirely or force them into a harmless form?" He tilted his head a bit. "Hold on." After a minute or so he finally continued. "It can't prevent them from spawning, nor dictate their form, all it can do is limit their power within certain ranges and influence the form. The more concentrated the void energy, the stronger the voidlings and the less influence it has on the form."

"Aegis?" Bernard asked.

"Aegis."

"So how do we want to handle this?"

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"We should probably see if we can lure them to the narrow area one by one." Margaret answered with a shrug. "That way if we get more than one, or even all of them, they won't be able to surround or gang up on us."

"I can draw one in." Peytah said with a shrug. Bernard squinted at him for a second. He was positive shrugging wasn't a thing with the natives when he first met them. In fact, virtually their entire set of body language cues was different from the ones he was familiar with. He only got by due to the fact that Aegis effectively rendered everyone perfectly fluent in every language. It didn't work exactly like that, but it was close enough to not matter.

They got into position, and after double checking everyone was ready Peytah nocked and arrow and let fly. The poison tipped shaft sank deep into the nearest voidling's hip. It roared and spun to find its assailant, only to take another arrow to the upper arm. Just like the first, it disregarded the pain normally associated with such wounds and charged at them. A couple of the others followed, but to Bernard's relief they didn't get the full six. Half wasn't great, but it was far better than all.

Peytah stepped back well behind Bernard, joining Margaret and Leo in the ranged combatant line. Henry, on the other hand, stayed near Bernard. He was only a few feet behind him, and ready to engage the moment he spotted an opening.

He didn't have to wait long.

The first to arrive was the one Peytah injured, and Bernard was able to get in a nasty hit to the monster's squat, hairy shin with Thistle as it tried to run past him that sent it tumbling to the ground. It had been so focused on reaching and brutalizing its attacker that it completely ignored him.

Henry promptly jumped on its back and hammered on the back of its neck with all his might. Bernard wrote that one off, trusting the others to finish it while he occupied the others. He intercepted the first, swatting it with Thistle and angling himself to be knocked into the second's path when the inevitable retaliatory attack hit him.

A flash of sadness washed over him for a second as he realized he was getting used to being hit and tossed around like a ragdoll. Worse, he was starting to plan around it. It didn't last long, as the anticipated blow landed and his thoughts were consumed by the need to focus on the battle around him rather than introspection.

Thorns erupted from his armor and he stuck to the second brute. They both tumbled to the ground and through some miraculous twist of fate, Bernard ended up on top for once. He didn't waste the opportunity, punching it in the face with his thorned gauntlets and every ounce of might he had in him. Thistle had wrapped partway up his arm and out of the way, except for a coil of vine covered in thick venomous thorns that wrapped around his right fist.

There was no technique, no skill, just raw, primal, rage-and-fear fueled strikes. It felt like he was brawling with it for an eternity, but he knew it couldn't have been more than a few seconds before the first hit him again and tossed him clear. Before the downed one had a chance to recover a stone spike erupted from the ground at the base of its skull.

Water blades ripped the other one apart shortly after in an almost awe-inspiring display of overkill. "Oops. These are a lot weaker than the first." Margaret said with a sheepish grin.

Bernard gave her a flat look. "Of course they are, they're smaller." He had been out of the path of the spells, but well within the 'splash zone' and as a result, coated in gore. She was lucky his armor ate gore and that nothing would stain.

"Size doesn't always- nope. Not saying that. You win, but only because I refuse to say things that would open me up to childish jokes." She put her hands on her hips defiantly. Almost as though she expected him to argue over who won their non-argument.

"Good, I'm glad you recognize my superior observational skills." He smirked as Leo and Henry laughed. "Next set, or do we need to rest a few minutes?"

"Next set."

"Next."

"Ready."

"I'll draw them in again." Peytah said as he recovered one of his arrows from the first voidling. The one in its hip hadn't survived its tumble.

The beginning of the second round went much the same as the first, with the first voidling to reach them being brought low and dismantled by Henry and Peytah. The rest of it went significantly worse for Bernard. Instead of the backhanded swing he expected to get after clubbing the second one, it rang his bell. The overhand blow dazed him and sent him stumbling backward, leaving him out of position to intercept the third.

Lashes of razor edged water sliced across the second before it had a chance to try and finish Bernard off. That ended up being a mistake. The third reacted to the attack on the second faster than anyone expected, and despite Leo raising several stone spikes to obstruct its path and deal considerable damage it got close enough to swat Margaret across her hip.

She was flung into the wall with a sickening crunch before slumping to the ground like a puppet whose strings had just been cut.

Bernard had always heard people describe intense rage as 'seeing red.' An idiom born from bullfighting, due to the color of the cape they used to taunt the bulls. Up till this point he hadn't experienced any level of rage that affected his vision. When he saw Margaret fall though, fall because he failed to handle the only job he had, he was suddenly furious.

An inarticulate scream erupted from his lips as he forgot his probable concussion and flung himself across the distance with more strength than he realized he even had. He crashed into its back, locking an iron grip on the back of its neck with his left hand and bashing Thistle onto the back of its skull as hard and fast as he could.

It fell to the ground.

He kept swinging.

Eventually someone pulled him off of it, and he let them because its head was caved in and splattered everywhere. His rage transformed instantly to an intense mix of sorrow, shame, embarrassment, and guilt. "Is she okay?" He panted, turning to face Henry as he spoke.