I ran with everything I had.

It wasn’t because I feared pursuit—no, the bat clan wouldn’t be coming until they’d figured out how to staunch the fire from spreading. By the time I’d crossed the gate, nearly a third of it was already ablaze. Then, there was the inescapable fact that they just weren’t nearly as fast as me. I was officially one of those running zombies you see in movies.

And I loved every second.

The tunnel I traveled in twisted and turned, but had no branching paths. Despite leaving me no way to throw off my pissed off enemies, I decided that a singular road was more of a benefit than a setback. I didn’t have to stop and consider where to go next, and I didn’t have to worry about leaving tracks. All I had to do was run.

Smiling like a lunatic was optional, but it didn’t feel like it.

The feel of my body’s rhythmic cadence was almost entrancing. Each of my steps vibrated up my leg as I ran and jumped across the rocky hazards. Sudden shifts in elevation and bends broke up the potential monotony of the lope, keeping me on my toes mentally as well as physically. Though it wasn’t the crypt parkour I envisioned down in the necropolis, I felt that the activity was a fine consolation prize. An active body was like pure, unfiltered freedom. I wanted to run and never stop.

My first trap ruined the moment.

Out of nowhere, a trip wire appeared, but I was going so fast my legs just sort of went right over it. I skidded to a halt a few feet later, nearly plunging into a pit trap. Two inches of the front of my boots hung over empty air as I stared down at the dirt I’d kicked down the hollow. Gently, I took a step back. Getting impaled on spikes probably wouldn’t kill me, but it would definitely ruin my aesthetics.

I know I died a virgin, but I am pretty sure you only want to be leaky in private.

I searched for other traps and found another pitfall close to the first. The thing that bothered me was that I was pretty sure the tribal people didn’t build these obstacles. They weren’t just lazy, their blocky architecture was only a step above a cow dung house. Barring the temple, naturally, which I wasn’t even sure they built.

So the question was, who did?

Only one way to find out!

Now, at a much more cautious pace, I set forth again. With darkness being no obstacle for my undead eyes, I easily spotted the next snare: a bear trap. Using my bastard sword to trigger it, the large clamp slammed into the metal with a ringing sound. After gently prying my blade out of the gap, I stuck the new acquisition to my adhesive belt. An enormous clamp would surely come in useful in the future, what with the current trajectory of my life.

I missed the pressure plate that came up next, but the tiny darts that shot from the wall failed to penetrate my leather breastplate. With the poison spent on worsening the state of my armor, I saw no point in keeping the projectiles.

Traveling around the carnival of obstacles didn’t take more than half an hour. Several more tripwires, a couple of pits, and even a crossbow mechanism rigged with a magic ward kept me on my toes. None of it presented a threat to me. Frankly, I kind of found the experience entertaining, like I was a treasure hunter. The whole theme paired well with my jungle exploration earlier.

Before long, the tunnel cavern opened up into a dusty, small bricked room with a rotten wooden door. The cozy space reminded me of an old dirty cellar.

So that’s it? A straight half hour of running from an ancient death cultist temple to end up in someone’s grubby basement just doesn’t seem right.

I hoped that meant I was near the surface.

Still wary of traps, I carefully walked across the room, sending dust and filth fluttering away. The state of the stuffy place told me few people ever came this way, and that made me wonder why the bat people had bothered to guard the area.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

If there was a trap on the door, it collapsed along with the wood after I pushed it open. The rotten planks broke into a noisy heap that set my nerves on edge.

I peered into the next room, seeing only a rotted corpse and more bricks. The only exit was the one I’d just come through. Sense Undead didn’t detect a thing.

I pointed at my soon-to-be-minion and said, “It’s a dead end!”

No one laughed at my joke, but that didn’t stop me from chuckling.

The body’s plain looking clothes were in better shape than the usual remains I’d found in the Ossuary, and most of his skin was still present. I figured the poor guy had been dead for about a year, but I had no education to back up my suspicion.

Reaching down, I grabbed his pinky and was pleased to find a very strong skill present in his bones. The man before me had been a master locksmith! There were only two reasons I could guess why a safecracker was down in the depths beneath the city. The first was that he was part of an ill-fated adventurer group. I didn’t think that was likely, given that I didn’t find any skill for using a weapon. Although, bringing a guy down here to open something, and then murdering him, wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for that sort.

The second explanation was that he was part of a group of thieves. And the more I thought about that possibility, the more I liked it. Who else but a group of criminals would bother turning a walkway into a quagmire of traps? How exciting!

I cut off a pinky bone and added it to my collection around my neck. Being able to pick a lock would definitely come in useful. Next, I animated the stinker and set to searching the room for a hidden exit.

An hour of searching left me frustrated. I could find no hidden indentation, an obvious handprint, or even a mounted candlestick to turn. I’d even gone down in the filth on my hands and knees to check the seams in the stonework. Playing at treasure hunter was getting old fast.

After dusting myself off, Galahand and I started prying at the mortar between the bricks. My champion used his blade-like nails, while I chipped away with a dagger. Another half hour later of working the plaster resulted in success, when one loosened brick unleashed a hellish smell. The air that drifted in from the cavity had the unmistakable odor of excrement.

The revelation terrorized and made me jubilant in equal measure. For I knew at once that my earlier hypothesis had proven sound. Only one type of person sojourned through shit filled corridors.

Criminals.

The earlier settlers that eventually created the kingdom of Allwyn had built Valbryde on the ruins of an old Zu-Rakan city. Possibly the biggest Zu-Rakan ruin ever found. After all, my experience in the catacombs certainly gave credit to the enormity of the underground remnants.

Over time, people cleared the catacombs directly under the streets of foul magic and creatures, and repurposed them as a place to dispose of waste.

Pretty sure Thalzaxor didn't like that.

House Learmonth rose to prominence amongst the minor houses for taking over the unenviable upkeep of the sewers. In polite company, that translated into them having their own specialized teams for fighting the many frights that beleaguered the sprawling tunnels below. And, of course, engineers for maintaining the pipes and waterways.

However, behind closed doors, many of those same fighters and tradesmen had aliases for smuggling operations, and worse. House Learmonth was the de facto ruler among the scum of the city, controlling gambling, whoring, and illegal alchemy with an iron fist.

Still, their control of such a large area was far from absolute. Gangs and guilds independent of their reach weren’t unheard of. In fact, I even knew a few to be powers in their own right. Such as the assassin’s guild.

That I was near, or possibly even in, the sewers under the city didn’t put me in the clear. Monsters roamed, cutthroats fought, and my complete lack of direction ensured that I couldn’t let my guard down.

With my long sought after goal so close, I couldn’t help but feel a touch of trepidation. I tried hard to rein in my desire to feel the sun on my face and the fresh air across my nose. Such sentiments would only make slogging through the fecal muck that much more difficult.

It wasn’t easy.

The machines in my previous life had kept me from the open sky for so long, giving nothing more than a window to the world outside. I was akin to a fish that watched the ocean from its bowl, desperately longing for just the merest taste of that awesome water. My hope raged in my heart, threatening to break down my mental walls like a tsunami.

I knew the emotions would not abate, so I fixated on the task ahead. With one brick already removed, the others nearby became easier to pull. I used the claw of my warhammer to rip and tear down the divider, as if it was a personal affront to my person.

When the wall collapsed, I found myself face to face with a room of grimy men.