Doctor Buzzard’s lab was a cluttered mess of tables and strange objects and broken machines. A forest of glass, with beakers and vials and flasks and flagons of all shapes and sizes, full of powders and herbs and slimes. Some bubbled over flames, others contained mice or other living creatures in various twisted states.

The doctor approached Gwil, holding a syringe and a small dropper full of swirling silver liquid. “First a paralytic,” he wheezed, “so you can’t attack me.”

Nirva erupted from Gwil’s body, filling the lab with a glimmering haze. His bones cracked as he strained against the ropes. The cacophony rose, clamoring voices, screaming with such raw agony that they stripped Gwil of his senses. A noxious black-red tide rose out of the floor, poured from the walls, flooding the lab—the foul Yalda’blood that veils the World. The voices cried out in harmony, “This is what we are.”

And then the hellish sea vanished.

The ropes bound him as tight as ever. Doctor Buzzard seemed wholly unaware; he’d only stumbled back at the impulse.

“Heehee,” Buzzard tittered. “You’re a fighter.”

Breathless, Gwil said nothing.

Doctor Buzzard brandished the syringe at Gwil as if feeding a dangerous beast. With a quick jab, he stuck the needle through Gwil’s pant leg into his thigh and pushed the plunger.

Numbness scoured his body. Everything went limp. “Shitfuck,” was what he tried to say, but his jaw was slack and his tongue floppy, so only a garbled groan came out.

“And you’re quite fresh, aren’t you? Heehee. I think the sheriff made a risky gamble letting those mundane men bring you here by themselves. Too much confidence in his Invoke. Jackson is a fine specimen too, yes indeed, but you’re brimming with potential. Alas, it will never flourish. Heehee.”

Gwil felt like a sunbaked fish frying on a rock. His brain went frantic as all of its commands were refused. Pins and needles tingled across his skin.

The doctor moved somewhere out of sight. “Have you ever heard of Erithist?” After a beat he said, “Whoopsadaisy, very busy mind, forgive me. But I love to chitchat while I work. And don’t you worry, the paralytic will wear off soon and your faculties will return to you. I’ll have something else to keep you in check.”

Gwil could only think of how badly he wanted to grab this guy, swing him around by his long arms, and smash all this glass to bits.

“Erithist is a very special substance,” Buzzard said. “An alchemical transmutation of the common chemical mercury. It has a unique and antithetical relationship with the anomaly that we call Nirva. It’s quite a complex affair, but the relevant bit is this: Direct physical contact with even a splinter’s worth of Erithist will completely neutralize a Hallowed individual’s ability to channel Nirva, as well as engendering fatigue. Of course, the deadening effect ends when contact breaks. Furthermore, Erithist eradicates Nirva constructs with ease. A few drops on the sheriff’s ropes, and they’ll turn to ash, as I’m about to demonstrate.”

Gwil heard a sizzling sound, and his arms and legs flopped to the floor.

“Now for the Stake,” Buzzard said. “Do you know what a Stake is?”

Gwil thought of dropping Doctor Buzzard off the top of that gigantic wall.

“I’ll give you a minute to calm down and completely quell your Nirva,” Buzzard said. “I suggest you take it, heehee. Otherwise, I’ll use your blood for my fountain pen.

“You see, a Stake is a nefarious tool used to safely incarcerate Hallows. It is…” He went over to a table and retrieved a metal ring. “This collar. I’ll put it on your neck, and then, look here, it’s quite fascinating, actually.”

He held the collar in front of Gwil’s face and pointed to a block-shaped mechanism on the side. The tip of a silver nail gleamed within—the flat end protruded slightly from the outer side of the block.

“Erithist is terribly expensive, you see,” Buzzard said. “It even makes Kaia look cheap. So this invention is quite handy for its frugalness. It works like this: Erithist has a magnet-like attraction to Nirva. Once the collar is attached, the Stake will be in line with your jugular. A single breath of Nirva and, heehee, you’ll earn your second death. Because of Erithist’s unique properties, a Hallow’s enhanced durability cannot block it. Even if you had an Invoke that turned your skin into titanium, it would slip right through.

“Now, I imagine you may be asking yourself, why not simply imbed the needle so that the Hallow cannot use Nirva at all? This method comes with a level of psychological torture, which is excellent for fostering obedience. Additionally, the effects of fatigue are avoided, so that you can still be an effective worker. Ready?”

Gwil might have been troubled by that, since he had no idea how to control his Nirva—it flowed of its own volition. But he didn’t worry at all. He would not die in this awful place that was barely a stone’s throw from Alnam. There was something he needed to do first.

And if he was wrong, it sounded quick and painless, at least.

He took a few deep breaths. The numbness was ebbing away. He could twitch his fingers and toes.

“Ready or not,” Buzzard said. He put the collar around Gwil’s neck and clamped it shut, then took a moment to examine the fit. “You’re the only Hallow we have, and the first in a couple years. Congratulations.” The doctor’s goggles made him look expressionless and inhuman, which added a lot to his eerie visage.

“I will spare you the indignity of being stripped and dressed by me.” He threw a tattered gray jumpsuit at Gwil. “I’m not a barbarian, and I’m sure you’re not in any rush to get to the mines, heehee. We’ll have a pleasant chat while we wait for the paralytic to wear off. I expect you can already wiggle your toes.”

Buzzard raised an overlong arm and pointed at Gwil. “And don’t even think about trying to attack me.” A glowing bead of Kaia clung to his fingertip like tree sap.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Oh, dear! I neglected to mention—you must be careful. If you sustain a serious enough injury whilst working in the mines, you will be unable to prevent your Nirva from kicking in and you will die, so be mindful of that.”

Gwil was past sick of Buzzard’s yammering, but dammit, he was curious. Leira had said that Kaia was poisonous, but the doctor looked like he would drink it like juice.

“Why are you blue?” Gwil said, but it came out like “Aira oo bluh?” His tongue felt so fuzzy and heavy.

Buzzard seemed to be experienced with deciphering medicinally slurred words. He grinned a nasty grin beneath his telescopic goggles. “That’s my favorite subject. Prepare for a biographical dissertation.”

Oh no…

“I was always a curious boy. My mother claimed that she knew I’d be a scientist from the moment I emerged from the womb. She was a scientist, too, of course. A true genius. My hero. And you see, that’s where my fascination with Kaia began.”

A glowing tear leaked from his goggles. Buzzard dramatically flicked it away. “My mother was an engineer in a Kaia plant out in Veirga. She was heading an initiative to set up a Kaia-fueled plumbing system across the entire region.

“She poured her soul into that project. Always working all through the night. I often slept beneath her desk. That’s the kind of person she was. Relentless. Innovative.

“One bright summer day, there was an incident, and the Kaia plant exploded. My compassionate, brilliant mother and four hundred others were vaporized.

“She was a wonderful woman. She gave her life in an effort to make this harsh World a more comfortable place for everyone. Her name was Rosalind. Now, I must go on knowing that she rots in hell.

“I was left alone, with nothing but my own genius to keep me company. My polymathic interests morphed into singular obsession. I was well-suited, of course, to Kaia research, being Blueborn because of my mother’s exposure during pregnancy.”

Gwil tried to wrangle his tongue to speak, but it wasn’t quite there yet.

“I entered college and was expelled in my second semester following a, heehee, controversial experiment. It turned out that the supposed place of learning was actually a haven for myopic imbeciles.

“Left to wander, I eventually crossed paths with Burgermeister Jaqlov. He had recently discovered the subterranean Kaia deposits in this land and had need of a learned engineer to both extract and properly utilize the miracle substance. That was… hell, has it really been thirty years?”

Gwil’s mouth still hung open, so his jaw couldn’t drop any further.

“Anyway, it’s not perfect, but I’m able to pursue my research with an almost-sufficient budget, and free of… small-minded quandaries, shall we say?”

“’Aia ‘ine?” Gwil said.

“Pardon?” Buzzard said, adjusting his goggles. “Yes, Kaia mine. Didn’t you know? Heehee. That’s your livelihood now. Kaia is Podexia’s primary export. How else do you think Jaqlov affords all his gaudy décor? That vainglorious fool.

“The veins here are not particularly rich, but perfectly suitable for my purposes. And small enough that the Leviathan isn’t breathing down our necks. In this remote corner of the World, with the Stormlands on our northern border, we hardly have to worry about insurgents and bandits. Now, please don’t interrupt me again.”

Shit. That did not sound good. He managed to sit up, propping himself on his elbow. “Poison,” he said. “’Ow’re you alive?”

“Idiot boy, pay attention,” Buzzard snapped, flailing his long arms. “I told you I was born with mutations and a hardy tolerance. I was on death’s door some years back, but a month straight living in a vat of Kaia set me straight. My body runs on the stuff, and I need regular doses in order to survive. Of course, the Kaia will win in the end. It always does. Heehee.”

“What is it?” Gwil asked.

“What is Kaia?” Buzzard squeaked. “You ask like it’s the simplest thing in the World. The ignorance of the youth these days. We’re doomed! Answering that question has been my life’s work.” Buzzard lifted his goggles for the first time. His eyes were so big and buggy that he didn’t look much different. They glowed even brighter than his skin. “Kaia, much like Nirva, is a fruit of the Apocalypse.”

Buzzard’s voice had hit a crescendo. He rocked up and down on his heels. The doctor bent down so that he and Gwil were face to face.

Gwil didn’t know if Buzzard had any strange powers, but the man didn’t look too sturdy. One good punch could knock out all those crooked teeth, and then…

“It’s such a wondrous World, isn’t it?” Buzzard said. “Now, let’s get you cuffed before you try to kill me. Heehee. Put on the jumpsuit—you should be capable now.”

Gwil clenched his teeth. Buzzard lowered his goggles, and they regarded each other.

Gwil let the moment pass. Not yet. Deeper. He would let them drag him deeper into this pit.

Legs wobbling, he stood. Using the edge of the table to stay upright, he stripped down to his briefs and stepped into the jumpsuit. The faded gray garb was tattered and stinking, covered with iridescent stains.

Buzzard cleared his throat, the sound a wheezing whistle. “Normally, slaves keep their own shoes. But the state of yours are just so appalling that it’ll actually be more economically wise to provide you with new ones.”

He went into a closet, rummaged around a bit, and then returned with a pair of brand-new black work boots.

“Thanks!” Gwil said. “These are nice.”

Buzzard’s eyebrows raised above the rim of his goggles. He shook his head. “Now the chains.” He pointed to a pile of iron balls beneath the table. At the same time, the doctor picked up a strange metallic device—obviously a weapon of some sort. “I’ll have you put it on yourself, now that you’re almost fully mobile.”

Gwil rolled one of the hefty things out. A chain was attached to an eyelet on the ball. On its other end, a shackle. The doctor gestured with his weapon.

Gwil looked at Buzzard’s mechanism-laden face. “You don’t seem so bad. Why are you doing this?”

The doctor wrinkled his nose. “Obsession.” He raised the shiny silver weapon. The thing screamed and unleashed a beam of purple fire. Gwil heard his hair sizzling as the weapon blasted a hole through the laboratory wall behind him.

“Get on with it, slave,” Buzzard said.

Gwil bent down and closed the shackle around his ankle. Then Buzzard tossed him a pair of handcuffs. Gwil locked both wrists on his own—the chain afforded enough mobility that it would not impede labor.

Buzzard threw open the laboratory door. “Off with you,” he said. “Get out. I have a date with my sweetheart tonight.”

One of the guards was waiting outside. Dragging the iron ball, Gwil walked toward the door. He stopped in front of Buzzard.

“You suck. Your mom would hate you.”

Gwil strode out of the laboratory. Buzzard slammed the door.

The guard shoved Gwil forward, and they proceeded deeper into the tunnel.

They took a turn down an offshoot. Stunted howls echoed down the rocky hall. A musty, organic smell mixed with the burnt scent of the Kaia.

Ahead was a large cavern. He could see a horde of shadowy figures writhing in the gloom. A hundred at least. Many of the silhouettes possessed a faint glow. He heard a discordant buzzing sound, like a bunch of flies going mad over a carcass.

The guard keyed open a gate. Gwil walked through.

He saw their faces, gaunt and pallid. Mouths agape, eyes unseeing. Most were slumped over or lying flat on the ground. But some seemed afflicted with some wild madness, dancing around like rabid animals, cackling with ecstatic lunacy.

The guard grabbed Gwil by the collar and yanked him back. “The Sty is your home until you croak. This lot’s shift starts in three hours.”

The guard threw Gwil forward and then went back through the gate, closing it behind him.

Vacant eyes traced Gwil as he entered the cavern proper and sat down against the wall at the edge of the space.

The buzzing sound—it was their lungs.

Gwil knew he was a fool. All that time on Alnam, he thought he’d felt like a prisoner. Idiot. That was nothing. His had been a life of sweet, blessed ignorance. These people, their wheezing breaths screamed of their suffering.

This horror, beneath the ground. And they’re dancing and feasting up above?

Disgusting. For a moment, Gwil mistook his fury for Nirva, and thought the Stake was about to pierce his neck.

This can’t be the World.