For Luther, the time had arrived. He gathered his soldiers outside the door, with one on either side of the heavy beam that barred the reinforced entrance. At his signal, the two heaved the bar upward, lowering it cautiously—and most importantly, silently—to the ground. With the obstacle removed, Luther grasped the weathered handle. The door creaked and groaned in protest as he tugged, every inch a struggle. A rush of cold, foul-smelling air surged up from the darkness below the steps.

“Be strong,” Luther said, and gestured for them to advance.

Each one looked to another, assuming they’d take the initiative. Eventually they all looked away, pretending to check their pockets, adjust their armor, or to tie shoelaces on their boots -- which had none. While they hesitated, a thought occurred to Luther. Why was the heavy beam placed on the outside of the door?

Luther sighed and stepped ahead, taking the plunge down the spooky stairwell. His one hand was on the lantern, and the other holding the railing. Even as he descended the steps, it took a moment for the others to follow, starting with Lermin, who only did so because he knew he’d be stationed at the rear. The only one absent was Tim as he was sent as a lookout near Amelia’s quarters. He was tasked with giving an early warning in case the worst occurred and a swift retreat was required.

As Luther's foot touched the bottom step, the oppressive darkness enveloped him like a thick blanket. He lifted his lantern, raised it high, and its warm glow pushed back the encroaching gloom. Behind him, he could hear the soft shuffle of his companions as they reluctantly followed. He strained his eyes, searching for any sign of movement.

Before them, the chamber stretched out like a vast, foreboding tunnel, its walls lined with remnants of the dead. Bones and skulls littered the floor, scattered among the stone slabs and carved tombs. Ancient coffins of cold, weathered stone rested in recessed alcoves along the walls, some cracked open, exposing skeletal remains, while others remained sealed in eerie silence.

Luther lit a couple of candles and set them down at base of the stairwell to serve as guiding beacons for back to safety. Afterward, he gestured for everyone to keep close and follow.

The group huddled tightly, moving together. Their eyes darted from side to side as they clutched their makeshift weapons firmly in their hands. Each of the boys wore a mix of scavenged armor and tattered clothing. Tom, the tallest of the group, gripped a long, sharpened stick that served as a spear and a quarterstaff. His leather vest was stitched together from old boots and animal hides. Beside him, Jimmy, the youngest boy, held a slingshot made from leather and twine. His pockets were bulging with smooth river stones, and he had tied a pot lid to his forearm like a shield.

Another hefted a sturdy club, its end wrapped in cloth and smeared with resin in case they needed a firebrand. His knees were padded with straw bound in cloth, and a cracked metal pot sat on his head.

Others were similarly equipped— a wooden board as a shield, a patchwork of thick rags, and sections of a barrel. Their weapons were crude but dangerous: spears, stool-leg cudgels, and a stolen metal ladle that Amelia was still looking for.

Suddenly, a faint scuttling noise echoed through the catacombs, causing everyone to freeze in place, eyes wide with apprehension. Luther raised a hand, signaling for silence. The noise faded, leaving a dead silence hanging in the air. Everyone held their breaths. Eventually, Luther exhaled and so did everyone else, loosening up.

They took a step and a bone crunched under their feet. It was just the trigger needed for all hell to break loose. Walls and the ground rose up, moving, skittering on a multitude of legs. A clamor of hissing, startled squawks and terrified screeches filled the air. Roaches swarmed in from every direction.

Luther was certain the ranks would break, but when pressed, the boys found their courage, and the battle was on. Tom thrust his sharpened stick into the oncoming tide of insects, skewering a massive roach with a wet crunch. Rolf let loose a stone from his slingshot, striking another insect square in the head. It shrieked and collapsed into a mass of twitching legs.

Some fought desperately, swinging their crude weapons with as much force as they could muster. One flailed wildly with a stool leg, while the clang of the ladle rang out with every strike in the hands of another. Lermin’s wand attacks found their mark at every charge up, and Luther himself cleaved bugs in half with his machete.

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Yet, more roaches arrived, and seemingly out of nowhere. They surged right over their fallen comrades, biting and hissing. Some boys slipped and fell on the slimy ground. Others pulled and tugged as the roaches clamped onto their arms and legs, ripping apart their armor, drawing blood. The boys were getting overwhelmed. One broke loose, screaming and running for the stairwell. The situation rapidly cascaded into a rout as others followed. Luther was the last to go.

Back inside the stairwell, Luther was breathing hard as he counted his troops, but there were only six. Where was Jimmy? To answer his question, Jimmy’s screams echoed down the stone walls, and then abruptly ceased, far ahead in the darkness. The initial battle may have been won, but at what cost?

“We must go back, he needs us,” Luther said in a determined voice. “We must save private Jimmy.”

Yet only worried looks passed between the troops, and fear too. They averted his gaze once more, suddenly preoccupied with scratches and cuts on their arms and legs.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” another added, edging up the stairwell.

“I don’t think he made it,” Tom replied.

“Maybe we can get what’s left of him … later?” Lermin asked.

Luther groaned, shaking his head. Somehow the war had devolved into a rescue mission. He had no other recourse than to deploy his most potent weapon to boost morale and to push them back out again. Hard, sweet candy was handed out by the fistfuls.

Moments later, and with their cheeks stuffed with heavenly sweets, their eyes gleamed with a newfound determination.

With roaring battlecries, they charged out as a group again, and the stomping resumed. But now the boys were relentless. For every bug that swarmed them, two were taken down. Yet their enemies weren’t backing down, and neither were they.

Their pot-lid shields rattled, and their improvised weapons, however crude, found their marks. Tom swung his weapon about, slamming down on the foul creatures with a sickening squelch. Luther hacked and slashed like a fiend. Others ripped roaches’ legs and antennae off with a vicious zeal.

Through sheer will and sugar-fueled frenzy, the tide had turned. The boys pressed forward, their energy bolstered by the sugary rush that coursed through their veins. The sound of splintering carapaces filled the air as they battered the creatures with every ounce of their strength.

Emboldened by the sight of their foes retreating, they tore into the roaches with reckless abandon, kicking and smashing, their crude weapons dripping with insect gore.

The swarm finally thinned out. The foul stench of crushed bugs filled the air. Piles of roaches lay scattered around them, while a few bugs, using the last of their un-severed limbs, tried to feebly crawl away.

The boys cheered and hollered.

“Finish every last one of them, don’t let any escape!” Luther commanded. “Also … find Jimmy.”

With the foes slaughtered at their hands, Luther walked back up the stairwell and found the others awaiting eagerly. He let them know that it was safe to come down.

“All cleared?” Yuliana asked nervously.

“Yes, m’lady,” Luther replied with a slight bow. “My soldiers are finishing up the last of the stragglers.”

She nodded, walking past. “You have my gratitude.”

Cautiously, the group of girls followed him back down the steps into the catacombs. Each one holding their noses pinched, and carrying bouquets and wreaths of woven wild flowers.

Luther escorted Yuliana down a ways before she found the tomb she was looking for. Before going, one of the girls handed him a wreath and he made his way further in to seek out his parents’ tomb. To his surprise, another boy was already standing before the same one.

“They abandoned us,” Steven muttered, his back still turned, his voice tight with simmering rage.

“They did what they could,” Luther said softly, stepping closer, his tone calm but firm.

“It should have been more,” he spat, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. “They should have been ready.”

“You have to forgive and move on.”

“No!” Steven whirled around, eyes blazing. “Because of them, I’m alone now!” His breath was ragged, fists trembling as he struggled to contain his emotions.

“You have me,” Luther said, taking a step forward. “...Brother.”

Steven recoiled as if struck, his expression twisting into something ugly. “I don’t care about you!” he shouted, voice raw with pain. He pointed a shaking finger at Luther. “And your—your stupid troupe of fools!”

Luther walked past him, seemingly untouched by the exchange. He placed a wreath by the tomb of his parents and said a silent prayer to the Great Mother. He tried to say something more, but Steven wouldn’t even look at him.

It took another hour before the kids paid their respects, sweeped up the place, and removed the dead bugs. In the process, they found Jimmy trembling, hiding under a pile of roach corpses. He was perfectly fine, aside from a few scratches and a new found childhood trauma.

As everyone left, the tombs were silent once more. Yet there in the distance in the dim light of the lantern, Steven stood before his parents’ crypt. His face was cold and dead like the catacombs themselves. Tears welled up in his rage filled eyes.

And then, the ground shook.