Chen fought hard to slow his descent but to no avail. With panic setting in, he wondered if at any moment he would strike a wall or something else with bone-crushing force. Covered in slime and out of control, he slid faster and faster. He flailed in fear as he plummeted through cold air, wondering how long he had until he struck the bottom. Out of instinct, he snapped his body around and reached out with his right hand. His fingers slipped as they brushed across rough stone, before they took hold of a sharp crevice. The sudden halt in descent nearly wrenched his shoulder from its socket.

He gave a sharp cry as pain flared in his right shoulder. He let go of the crevice and plummeted the rest of the way down. He offered some prayers to Changxi to prevent him from falling to his death. Fortunately for him, he landed on a large mound of hay and straw. Even with the cushioned fall, he lay on the nest for several long minutes, breathing hard.

After what appeared to be eternity, he dragged himself off the nest and leaned against the cool stone, holding his right shoulder. From the woven peace of cloth tied to his loin, he removed some herbal plants and began to chew them. The chief priest had given them to him to relieve pain. After some minutes, he shook off his grogginess and gazed around, his vision slowly adjusting to the gloom of the place. He was at the center of a large circular chamber that resembled a lair of a dread-beast.

A dread-rat?

He hadn't seen much in his life, but he knew what a rat's lair looked like. And what he was staring at, resembled a giant rat's nest. He looked at the nest closely and nodded in gratitude and fear. Hadn't he landed on the padded straws and hays, he would now be lying on the floor over forty feet below, gruesomely wounded or, more likely, dead. However, he was still walking in death's shadow. The owner of the nest, the dread-beast could be nearby. That would be a certain death.

The search was getting more and more dangerous for him, but the enticement of his soul getting aligned kept luring him in. Craning his neck, he gazed upward. He could just make out the edge of the tunnel from which he had fallen, around twenty feet above. There was no way he woud reach that but it didn't matter. From what the chief priest had told him, the soul orbs should be in the opposite direction, a little deeper into the dungeon. Many times he was tempted to activate the item given to him but he continued going.

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A short distant away, he saw the two massive stone doors on the opposite sides of the chamber, both closed. Behind the giant doors were the soul orbs he was looking for. He could see the latch to the door but it was too high. Then, he saw the tall statue, hewn of red jasper, beside the doors. If he could use the statue as a ladder, he should be able to open the door.

Spurred on by renewed hope, he felt for crevices and protrusions and started inching his way up the statue. Although he couldn't feel much pain on his right shoulder, he found it difficult to use. Yet he didn't stop.

As he reached the back of the statue, he perceived a peculiar odour in the air, sharp and metallic, like the scent of the air before a lightning storm. The hair on the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably. It was at this moment that he began to suspect he was not alone in the tunnel. He stayed for nearly five minutes like a frozen statue on the back of the stone statue. No sound reached his ears. Yet the hair at the nape of his neck slowly prickled upward, and he found himself turning his head around to stare into the impenetrable blackness behind him.

Something was out there! Something dreadful!

Chen touched the shaft of his dagger, reassuring himself with its wooden feel. The dagger was not as good as a sword but still sharp and deadly. He resisted the impulse to draw the weapon. He would wait until he had discerned the nature of the threat. Carefully, silently, Chen continued climbing up the back of the statue. Now he climbed with utmost stealth, creeping slowly upward, not making the slightest whisper of sound. Yet he could not escape the disturbing the knowledge that something was out there in the darkness. As the village scoundrel, he had acquired a few traits on his own. Basic survival instinct.

After gaining some height, Chen froze again, still no signal reached any of his senses to confirm the existence of the threat. Yet he needed no confirmation, so utterly convinced was he that some dreadbeast lurked in the darkness.

And that dire creature was almost certainly coming for him. As he climbed higher, the prickling on the back of his neck remained. He hastened his effort, and still the feeling stayed with him. He stopped suddenly and listened, but again he heard no sound from the blackness surrounding him. Could he be imagining things? After all, he was in the pit of sorrow which was, admittedly, a terrifying place. It only seemed natural that his nerves would play tricks on him.

And then a low but deep squeal emerged from the darkness behind him. Immediately, he knew he was in danger. Fear thrummed through him—fear such as he had never known. It became a dread panic that rooted him to the back of the statue and clouded the already hazy senses of his eyes and ears. The pounding of his heart echoed through his brain and seemed to reverberate into the forest itself.

Whatever was out there squealed again, and Chen could sense it feeding upon his fear. The squeal had been soft and deep.