The others were rattled. Red saw it as they walked down the long, dark tunnel, their way lit only by the flickering light from Malcolm's flame. The other boy held up a hand and fire wafted up from his palm as if from a matchstick, wavering up and down with each step. Thank god they'd all tossed their heavy coats along the way, warm as it was.
Red leaned over from the back of their line and tried to see the way in front of them, but no matter how hard he glared his eyes couldn't pierce through the pitch-blackness ahead. They'd already encountered several branching paths, a repeated choice they'd been forced to make with only the vaguest reason. Jason kept saying they'd be better off picking whichever looked like it went off at an incline—up was an easy enough direction to follow—but sometimes it was hard to tell, and even when it wasn't those inclines had the habit of being only temporary.
The whole thing was already enough of a reason to feel upset, but Red could see that his friends were much more bothered by the violence they'd seen during their escape, one that now fell further and further behind them. Jason walked at the front of the line, leading them through the maze in thoughtful silence. Behind him, Malcolm's eyes glared out at the world from behind the thick oval lenses of his new goggles, some dark thought simmering with wordless frustration. Next was Stretch, who pulled at his goatee, anxiously pinching its short hairs over and over.
"So," he said, voice filling the hollow space, "this competition is, like, to the death?"
Malcolm let out a single harsh chuckle. "Why not? Dying's already part of the job, right?" He looked down and shook his head, voice lowering. "Should've seen it coming. Magicians are all a bunch of psychos."
"You included?" Red asked.
"I'm the only sane one I know about."
So dramatic. Red knew that when the going got rough both Malcolm and Stretch could be counted on to pull their weight, but it was during times like these that he saw how being a Ranger hadn't yet killed whatever sense of normalcy survived inside them. Fighting Mystic Beasts was one thing, particularly when most of the time it was about containment rather than extermination, and it wasn't like they'd never fought their share of other people. But for them it was a duty, a necessity, a last resort to stay alive. Neither were really fighters.
Malcolm and Stretch could rationalize why the other participants would want to take each other out, but they couldn't really understand the impulse or desire. Probably thought it was barbaric or something. Meanwhile, Red had looked at the mass of battling Magicians and for a second seriously considered joining in, if only to see what a genuine free-for-all was like. He'd been about to go find out until the rest of his team decided to retreat instead.
And now here they were, stumbling around in the dark. Talk about boring. "Who cares if people decide to crack a few skulls?" Red asked, hands locking behind his head. "It's a Tournament, right? Fighting each other's supposed to be the whole point."
"They didn't warn us about what the challenge would be on purpose," Malcolm muttered, completely ignoring him. "If we'd known we would've brought food with us. Water. Anything. Now who knows how long we'll be stuck down here."
"It'll be fine, Four-Eyes."
Finally, Malcolm turned his head to scowl back at him. "I'm sorry, did you happen to bring a map with you to go along with that confidence?"
"Don't need it. You'll see, we're too cool to die down here."
"Oh, of course. Why didn't you just say that from the start?" Malcolm turned away and palmed his face with his free hand, dragging it down with another exasperated chuckle. "Too cool. That makes sense. Obviously."
Once again, no one took Red seriously even though he was totally right. Things would work out one way or the other, even if he had to resort to literally digging their way out of this mess of caverns. They were all plenty strong, Malcolm included, so what was there to worry about?
"How long does this cave go on for anyway?" he asked. "That Director guy said this wasn't supposed to be easy, but so far it's just walking, walking, and more walking. This sucks."
Now it was Jason's turn to look back at him, though unlike Malcolm the older Ranger had a wry smile on his face. "Not living up to your standards?"
Red shrugged. He hadn't been able to see the Captain in action much over the last few months—apparently having them go out on the same assignment would be a bit redundant seeing as they both specialized in destroying stuff—but the impression everyone else had given him of the man was one of practical invincibility. It would've felt a bit overblown if Red hadn't seen the guy cut a tornado in half with his own eyes, not to mention the way he seemed to always walk around like nothing could touch him. Some real main character energy.
"If we're lucky, things'll stay boring," Jason went on. "Don't underestimate this labyrinth, Red. See these?"
He gestured toward the pillars that still flanked them along the cavern walls. No glowing gemstones decorated these, but like the ones by the entrance they all looked relatively uniform save for the weathering of age, and their sculpted grooves seemed somehow deeper under Malcolm's soft firelight.
"No one knows who built 'em," Jason said. "Maybe people lived in this mountain a long time ago, or maybe finding your way out was some kind of trial for them the way it now is for us. The only thing we do know is that you can't find these pillars everywhere. The deeper you go underground, the less you'll see them, but the caves go on for who knows how long anyway."
"So whoever built 'em gave up before getting to the end?" Red asked.
"Or they just decided there might not be an end." Jason brushed a pillar with his hand as he passed, beating the dust off his pant leg. "As long as we see these, we know we're heading in the right direction. Or at least we'll know we're close enough to the surface that we'll find our way out eventually. But one wrong turn and who knows where we'll end up? Some places in the world go deeper than you can imagine, and who's to say the Mystic World doesn't reach down just as deep? For all we know, other Magicians aren't the only thing we could run into."
How ominous. Red was about to say Jason should try his hand at scripting a horror flick, but then a strange sound hummed through the dark. It was a low, rumbling groan that seemed to vibrate in the air, filling their ears and settling low in all their stomachs before slowly fading into silence.
They each turned their heads, eyes glancing warily at walls that suddenly felt too cramped. The sound hadn't come from anywhere in particular, had surrounded them as if the darkness itself had decided to warn them of its dwindling patience.
"This the part where you tell us you planned that, Jay?" Stretch asked, hands tense at either side. "We getting pranked down here?"
Jason shook his head, sharp eyes scanning the space. Rather than say anything, he just unbuckled his sheathed sword and propped it against his shoulder, hand wrapped securely around the handle.
From then on, the group formed a tighter formation around Malcolm's light. They rarely spoke, and when they did it was only in terse whispers. Everyone made sure each forked path they went down featured rows of pillars, and though they walked for what felt like hours, Red never again complained about a lack of action.
- - - — MKII — - - -
Jason noticed it first. Malcolm was next, and then Stretch. Eventually it became so obvious that even Red realized it.
The tunnel they traversed—one which, like every other one they'd journeyed through, had for the longest time been a narrow, circular hole of stone—had widened. It grew and grew until eventually Malcolm's firelight no longer reached the ceiling or the walls at either side. Plus, something now seemed to hang in the air, a strange vapor that dampened their sight. The boy huffed, putting more Spirit into his flame until it grew into a proper fireball twice the size of his head, and when he held it up the group saw something that shouldn't exist.
A giant pool stretched from one wall to the other, and those walls were no longer raw cavern rock but clearly sculpted surfaces filled with strange patterns and hieroglyphs in between the now constant set of pillars. The ceiling too, though it climbed too high for even this strengthened light to fully reach, seemed structured like more of an intentional dome.
The four Rangers just stared at the pool for a moment, taking it in. Nose flaring, Red waved a hand in front of his face, watching the mist that seemed to encompass the flooded room curve around his fingers. Malcolm did the same with his free hand; the vapor smelled damp, though not particularly strong, like the humid air left in the wake of rainfall.
"Now what?" Red asked. "Should we take a dip?"
"I don't like it," Malcolm said. His firelight couldn't reach the end of this strange underground lake, and while darkness had lay before them since the challenge started it seemed somehow less inviting when it hung over a seemingly endless expanse of water. Large as it was, the pool lay strangely still, its surface a dark mirror.
"Maybe this part got flooded at some point," Stretch said. Though wider and taller and better kept, this was still a tunnel that stretched on in the same direction.
"Look down here," Jason said, pointing down with his toe. A set of carved steps dipped underwater, but at either side there was a clear edge. "This place was built to hold water."
"We should turn back," Malcolm said. There were plenty of paths they hadn't gone down, and all of them were at least dry.
"There could be something on the other side." Red put in.
"Or it could be a dead end."
"We haven't run into any dead ends so far."
Malcolm shook his head. "I don't like it," he repeated.
Jason walked to the nearest wall, squinting at its carvings. Some looked like people, others like strange objects he couldn't place. Whatever story they told—if there even was such a story—was impossible to decipher.
"The only clue we've had so far are the pillars," he said. "Now we find a proper room. If this place feels more like an unexplored cave the further down we get, I think it makes sense that going further up will feel like the opposite."
"It's a bad plan," Malcolm stressed. "We'll be defenseless if we try to swim across. I couldn't even hold a light."
Jason frowned in thought, but now Stretch stepped forward. "I have an idea," he said, and when everyone turned to him he opened his mouth, grasped for words, and couldn't find them. Shaking his head, he figured it'd be better just to show them.
Wordlessly, Stretch walked down the steps into the water and, just before it reached his knees, he fell face-first into the depths. The others gasped, stepping forward, but then they paused as Stretch's body morphed, some parts extending and others shrinking, form changing like clay.
In seconds, Stretch sat on the surface of the water, transformed. Jason shook his head, chuckling, while Malcolm stood with his mouth agape. Beside them, Red blinked, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing until his lips at last curved up in recognition. "Dude, far out."
Floating there was a boat. Small and rudderless, its hull was made of flesh, as was its flat deck. At its bow rose a long neck, and atop that neck stood a head whose face looked back at the others with wagging eyebrows.
"Gentlemen, say hello to SS Andrews," Stretch said. "Hop on, ye mateys."
"You're crazy!" Red said, and with a laugh he jumped on. The Stretch-boat dipped a bit when he landed, but apparently the older Ranger had been practicing this because the buoyancy handled his weight just fine. "Since when could you do stuff like this?"
"Technically since always," Stretch said, voice pleased. "But a while ago I figured it'd be good to sit down and come up with more ways to use my Trick. Going all noodle arms works fine in a fight, but there's more to life than fighting, y'know?"
"No kidding. I wish I could turn into a boat."
"Never say never, man."
"This way Mal can keep the lights on," Jason said, walking over. He set an experimental foot on Stretch's deck—his back-turned-deck?—and when his friend didn't sink he stepped fully on board. "Plus Red and I can have our hands free in case something comes for us. Stretch, you're a genius."
"I am but a humble sailing vessel. But, ah..." Stretch smiled sheepishly at the rest. "I don't exactly run on fuel or anything. I'm thinking one of you guys'll have to paddle."
"Hrm," Jason looked at Red. "Think you can handle it? You can probably push us faster than me."
Red straightened, ankles clapping, and gave the man a sharp salute. "Aye, aye, cap'n!" And without further ado, the boy threw himself overboard.
Stretch cackled at that, at least until Red waded through the water behind him and grabbed him by the stern. "Hey!" he yelped. "Careful where you squeeze, man."
"Sorry!"
Soft smile solidly in place, Jason leaned against the portside before looking at Malcolm, who now stood alone at the pool's edge. "You coming, Mal?"
Malcolm looked at them, scowling at how easily they'd all fallen into step with this... this complete disaster in the making. "It's a dead end," he said, not understanding why he had to keep saying this point. "Probably whoever built this place used it as a big swimming pool."
Jason shrugged. "If there's nothing on the other side, we'll just come back across. Don't have anything to lose except time."
"You remember this is supposed to be a race, right? The more time we waste on this, the less we'll have to reach the goal."
"It's a labyrinth, Mal. No one knows for sure what the right way to go is, so we might as well try this." Jason looked around, tapping his sheathed sword against his shoulder. "This room's different. It's the best lead we've had so far. Why not check it out and see where it goes?"
"And if it does go somewhere," Red said, grinning up at him from the water, "then the only one wasting time here would be you."
That smug little... "Fine," Malcolm ground out, stepping hesitantly aboard the Stretch boat. "But don't blame me when this blows up in our faces."
"Alright, everyone," Red said. "Hold onto your britches."
The boy started kicking, and the wake that surged behind him would've fit any propeller. Soon enough the group was skimming fast along the water, enough that Malcolm had to keep his focus on the fire hovering over his hand else the whipping wind would blow it out.
Stretch faced forward, keeping an eye ahead at Jason's instruction. It was surreal how his head retained its normal shape despite the extreme contortions of his body, but Malcolm supposed with his Trick something like this should've been expected. If anything, the strangest part was that Malcolm had never seen Stretch pull anything like it before. Had something changed in the older Ranger? Or had Malcolm just not been paying enough attention?
No, Jason hadn't seen it coming either. Then again, Jason was away from the Outpost often enough that he was bound to miss some things. Malcolm looked at his brother, thankful for how his goggles kept the surrounding mist out of his eyes. The Captain could hide it well, but Malcolm could tell something had been bothering him. Why not just say it, whatever it was?
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
One of those elite Ranger things, probably. Malcolm didn't care to climb any higher up the ranks than he already had, but if there was anything about being a mere Two-Star Ranger that really bothered him, it was how often he could get left out of the loop. Jason hadn't told him about Kitty's ring or her past, hadn't told him about this Tournament until like a week before they were set to go even when Malcolm had been in Soratan while the plans for it were set...
Malcolm had told Jason what he'd learned about their mother while at the World Tree, and the only reaction he'd gotten was a 'good job, but run away next time.' Was it just because he was the younger sibling? Was it because he wasn't as strong or experienced? Malcolm felt like he'd done well enough as a Ranger, but apparently not enough to be an equal partner even in their most private affairs.
The walls and their carvings, the water around them, it all whipped by faster than Malcolm had thought they would. Red just casually demolishing expectations once again, he thought. What an annoying guy. No one had the right to be that... that effortless about everything.
His flame wavered, so Malcolm stared hard at it, focusing. Spirit was what fueled it, and he'd been practicing using his Furnace like this, casting the Trick up through his skin rather than out with his breath. It would never be as powerful this way, but not everything was about power. On that he and Stretch could agree.
Mom did it like this, he remembered. Feel your Spirit grow warm, coat yourself to make sure you don't burn up along with it. A sun inside of you, right there in your belly. Fuel it with each breath.
He sat practicing it under the desk of his room, Baba working somewhere downstairs, Stretch out on some assignment. Jason had left again, helping another Outpost out of state. He left more and more frequently now. Becoming a Captain should've made him stay close to home, but that sword of his was too strong for him to keep to himself.
Why had he brought it back with him then? Malcolm practiced every day, remembering the few times their mother had described it to him. Those memories had almost been lost in the days after she... after both their parents left. Some cloud had begun to settle on his mind, hiding parts of the past, and then Jason had come back with Spirit surging to blow them away. He was special like their parents had been, and he'd said Malcolm could be too.
But that wasn't true. Malcolm could learn all the magic he wanted and it would never be enough. Jason was special even when compared to the special people. He kept leaving because he was too special to stay here, too special to just be Malcolm's older brother.
Mal...
One day Jason would leave for good, just like the rest of the family had. He'd die like their mother, or he'd just decide... He'd just decide that Malcolm wasn't enough for him anymore. He'd realize he had bigger and better things to do than look out for some loser younger brother.
Mal!
One day Malcolm would be alone. Unless he caught up somehow. Unless he proved he was worth something. A sun inside you. Fuel it with your breath.
"Malcolm!"
The boy snapped to his senses, eyes wide and blinking. He saw the ball of fire still hovering over his palm, but now it seemed sharper. More real. Everything seemed more real, somehow. And his head...
Malcolm brought his free hand up to his temple, holding it with a groan. Glancing sideways he saw Jason there, crouching over him with a hand on his shoulder. "What..." He licked his lips, damn his head hurt. "Where are we?"
"The labyrinth, remember?" Jason looked around, and Malcolm followed his gaze to see the lake that surrounded them, walls flanking them in a wide corridor of water. "The First Challenge. You good now?"
They floated on... Stretch, who'd turned into a boat. Right. Malcolm remembered them getting on, remembered them sailing fast, but now they sat still on the water. He turned to Red at the hull, a question on his lips, but instead he saw open space where the other boy had been, water rippling emptily.
"What happened to Red?!" he asked, feeling panic rising up in him. That annoying, smug jerk had been right there, hadn't he? Was he alright? "Jay, what—"
"It's the mist," Jason said, words terse and coming fast. "I'll go get Red while you help Stretch. The illusion's subtle, but it's weak enough that a bit of Spirit Flow should be enough to disrupt it." He slapped Malcolm's back hard, the pain serving to wake the boy up even further. "I'm counting on you, little brother."
Not wasting another second, Jason dived face-first right off the boat. Malcolm watched him splash through the surface of the water, then disappear into its seemingly endless depths, mind still tumbling. Red... The mist...
Deep breaths.
In an instant, Malcolm forced himself into his Ranger's mind. Everything fell away—his frenzied confusion, his shame at falling for the illusion, his worry for their safety. Only the crucial points made it through the wall of steel he now built around his psyche. Stretch needed help, and Jason was counting on him. Why was he here if not to live up to that?
Leaning off the boat's edge, he looked up at Stretch's face. The older Ranger seemed in a painful trance, brows drawn in anguish and teeth clenched into an open grimace. Whatever he was seeing seemed even worse than what Malcolm had been shown.
Inhaling, the boy reached up and put a hand on the neck that rose up the bow of the boat, feeling for Stretch's spirit. Usually calm and understated, the man's soul felt almost too heavy, nameless currents spinning chaotically within. Malcolm took his own Spirit and, with an exhale, pushed it out, a wave of pressure slamming into Stretch, surging through those currents, breaking through their pathways.
Wake up, Malcolm thought. Hurry, before anything worse happens!
- - - — MKII — - - -
Red floated in nothing. Complete and utter nothing as far as the eye could see, like hovering inside a black hole or a blank page. He could sense his body, but that body felt no resistance. No air caressed his skin, no water dampened his hair, no surface grounded his feet. He could see nothing, hear nothing, smell, taste, touch nothing.
All there was, and all there ever would be, was this void and, somehow, his thoughts. Except, with nothing to experience, even his thoughts were a mere impression of themselves, vague and expressionless. They might as well have not existed. He might as well have not existed. Maybe he didn't exist.
It was a familiar feeling. Too familiar.
Not this again. Anything but this.
Remember, Red thought, forcing the syllables out in his head. Or had he spoken them?
Remember!
He remembered the sun first. A blinding light, one too bright for his eyes. It hurt, but it felt good. Warm.
He remembered the wind, the smell of sea breeze. The noise of honking cars. The buzz of a television tuned to a dead channel.
Kitty's deadpan face. Malcolm's scowl. Stretch's easygoing grin. Zelda's roll of the eyes. Baba's exasperated sigh. Jason's wry smile. Clover's warm eyes.
It all seemed so colorful. So real. But with each passing second the image of everything grew soft, transparent. Red grasped for it, trying to reach out with his arms, but he couldn't feel his arms. He tried to yell, to call it back, but he couldn't hear his own voice.
Had it even been real? Yes, he thought. Real. But where was it, then? In his memories? Remember.
But Red could not remember. The more time passed, the less those images had any form or shape. It was like waving at clouds, trying to fit them in boxes. They escaped, and the more he tried to ball them up the faster they slipped through the fingers of his mind.
Then, they were gone. Red could remember no more. His mind filled itself with the nothingness around him, filled itself with nothingness.
A year passed.
A thousand years passed.
A billion years passed.
What mind?
His?
Who... Who was he?
What
is
I
...
...
?
Spirit surged through him.
That and a killer headache.
Red gasped, and immediately regretted it when instead of air he found himself sucking in water. He looked wildly around, seeing only darkness, and for a second he thought himself still in that empty place. But no, his whole body was covered in something, a soft film that squeezed with soft coolness.
Water?
A hand was gripping his arm. Red turned to it, eyes following up the arm until he saw a man barely discernible in the almost all-encompassing black of where he now floated. He could see the silhouette of a fit form, black hair waving, a sheathed sword held in his other hand.
Jason, Red remembered. Jason had come for him.
Then there was light. Not much, but enough that Red could make out Jason's befuddled face. They were both underwater, so communication was next to impossible, but Red could guess Jason's thoughts based just on the man's expression.
Since when was there light down here?
They both looked down.
An open eye met them. Glowing a greenish yellow, the orb was bigger than either Red or Jason, and the large pupil at its center examined them with alien curiosity. The light was enough only to see what looked like deep blue scales and part of what seemed like a gigantic open mouth. Razor-sharp teeth longer than either Ranger was tall filled this maw, and between them oozed a billowing cloud of bubbles and smoke, all of it floating up to the surface.
Then, without warning, the eye closed and darkness reigned once again.
During the following second, Red and Jason both simply floated in shocked inaction. Then they felt the water around them suddenly shift, pulling and pushing at them with violent force. And, carried by the current, they then heard a loud, sharp screech ring through the water.
Red pulled at Jason's arm, bubbles streaming from his mouth and nose, freaking the hell out despite himself. Jason, his Outpost Captain, also proceeded to freak the hell out. But as he did, the man also went to unsheathe his sword.
- - - — MKII — - - -
"You're... Malcolm," Stretch spoke slowly, his senses returning with each word. "We're... The lake. The caves. Right. Man, what the hell was that?"
Malcolm sat hunched on the boat's deck, hand held up to palm his flame and feeling only a little less disoriented. "An illusion. Or a hallucination. I'm not sure." He looked up at Stretch's head, which was turned back like a giraffe's to look at him. "All I know is, we're real lucky that whatever it was didn't make you undo your Trick."
"Ditto to you, man." Stretch let out a laugh, though it seemed rather forced. "Waking up to pitch black would've sucked even more."
"I guess." The illusion really must've been subtle to not disrupt their Spirit even as it embedded itself into them. But then again, if it had disrupted their Spirit chances were they would've noticed. Not for the first time, Malcolm was awed by how well Jason had developed his Spirit Sense. Without that, they might have all been stuck in those visions for who knew how long. "It wasn't like anything I've ever been hit with. What... What did you see?"
Stretch turned away, and Malcolm immediately regretted asking. He wasn't exactly looking to share his own visions, so who was he to prod about someone else's?
But Stretch wasn't Malcolm, and though it took him a moment he did eventually turn back around, even if he didn't meet the boy's eyes when he did so. "I just... saw you guys. Ahead of me, I mean." The man couldn't shrug in his boat form, but Malcolm could feel him trying. "You were treading water, but it looked like something was pulling you in. I was trying to go help, but I couldn't move. I was just... stuck. Watching you drown."
Malcolm frowned. So it had been different from his. More immediate. Looking up, he saw Stretch's faraway face, and he tried thinking of something to say. Making people feel better had never been his strong point.
Before he could figure it out, the water behind them suddenly exploded. Plumes of rain burst up in surging waves, rough enough that Malcolm had to hold tight as Stretch almost capsized. Turning around and around on the water, both of them looked intently at the upsurge, and to their shared surprise they saw Red and Jason pop up out of the surface.
The reappeared Rangers looked around, floating amidst the calming waves, and found the boat in short order. They swam over, neither of them in any hurry, and when they got close Malcolm reached down to help them onto the deck.
"What was all that about?" Malcolm asked, watching them gasp and breathe deeply while on their knees. Red in particular sucked in air like his life depended on it.
"We... Ha..." Jason patted his sheathed sword, then thumbed over at where the huge burst of water had come from. "Pretty sure we found where the mist was coming from."
"O... Okay? And?"
In response, another round of waves burst out from the same place they had before. Less of them now, at least, but when they all turned to see the thing that popped up on the surface was far larger than a couple of Rangers.
It was just a... a mass. Some giant mass of meat and scales,, and was that a fin the size of a ship's sail? It was hard to get a good look at it when half of it was still clearly underwater.
At least Malcolm thought so until the other half popped up following its own set of waves. He and Stretch stared at the pair of giant monster parts that now floated on the water like a set of twin islands, the dots slowly connecting.
Jason sighed, reaching up to pat Malcolm on the shoulder. "I don't think we have to worry about it anymore."
Malcolm swallowed. "R-Right."
"... I think we should get out of here now."
"Yes please."
- - - — MKII — - - -
They kept going, until eventually the group found that, unlike what Malcolm had guessed, there was another side of the pool after all. Rattled as they were, Red didn't even take the opportunity to rub it in his face. The four simply docked at this new shore, Stretch transforming back into himself, and all looked back at the lake in silent contemplation.
The mist still hung over it, even with the monster they all assumed was its source dead as could be. Each one had felt its power nudging at their Spirit during the last leg of their voyage, like but each had been able to push it back now that they were aware of it. In the end it wasn't too difficult. Subtle but weak, just as Jason had said.
"... Well," Jason said, sword on his shoulder. He wouldn't be holstering it to his hip anytime soon. "That's that, then."
The others nodded, and without a word turned to the tunnel which now stood before them as an exit to the dreadful place. Narrower than the lake room, its walls were still covered in carvings, just as structured as the space that came before. At least they were heading in the right direction; the higher they went, the more lived in the place would get. Or so they hoped.
Those hopes were raised when, not five minutes into this new tunnel, the four were met with light that did not come from Malcolm's torch flame. After staring at the pillars flanking the walls for so long in the dark, it was almost novel to see them once again feature the glowing green gemstones they'd been built to carry.
"I think you were right, Jay," Malcolm admitted, and he didn't feel resentful about saying it. "This has to mean we're on the right track."
"It never hurts to have a little faith," Jason said, grinning back at him.
The tunnel opened up again, walls widening and ceiling rising, but unlike last time light covered the whole space. The carvings, which before had been almost featureless, were now filled with faded colors, reds and oranges filling in the otherwise brown and gray stone.
They soon found themselves in a long chamber, one about as wide as the pool room but thankfully not as long. Theirs was not the only path in—all along the walls they saw other entrances, ones framed by carved outlines that seemed to mark them as more official than the standard cave.
But more importantly, at the other end of the chamber sat a circular door made of stone. Its frame was thick and covered in carved swirls, a clear marker of importance. Malcolm squinted out at it, not knowing how it should be opened but feeling uncharacteristically optimistic. If there was to be an exit, this would surely be it.
But...
"Ah, Jason Column. There you are."
Of course it couldn't be that easy.
Malcolm and the others turned to the voice and found, of all people, that same rude stranger from before. Long blonde hair, sleeveless shirt tight against his built torso, deceptively simple sword hanging from his belt.
He came out from one of the other tunnels, striding in like he owned the place. Malcolm didn't know who he was supposed to be, but this level of confidence was restricted only to the foolish or the genuinely dangerous.
And this time, the man wasn't alone. At his side came another man, though it might've been more accurate to call it a beast. Almost twice as tall as the first, this second man stomped forward heavily enough that Malcolm could feel the ground thud with each step. A long braided beard fell down his chest, and an even longer mass of braided hair stretched down his back.
But Malcolm's attention—and everyone else's—was on the giant's hand, because in it he carried something that could only faintly be called. Its long leather handle was by itself about as long as Malcolm was tall, and at its head sat a solid metal cylinder large enough to rival any refrigerator.
There was some grace to it. Some decoration, some frills along its ends. But mostly this was a weapon of pure destruction. It was hard to imagine that it had even been built to kill people—more likely was that it should be wielded against monsters just like the one Jason had dealt with back at the lake. But now there it was, being held up against them.
"I do not see why you wanted my help, Arthur," the big man said. His voice thrummed low, each consonant pounding. "They do not look like much."
"Even lowlifes can surprise you, Falnir. Better to be safe when dealing with scum like these." The blonde man—Arthur—sighed and turned back to the Rangers. "My friend and I have been scouring these filthy corridors for you and your gang, Column. Frankly, we're both tired of it. Hand over the sword immediately. Don't try my patience more than you already have."
Malcolm felt tired himself. He glanced at the others, and could see it was much the same for them. Even Red seemed strangely subdued, despite this being basically the exact thing he'd wanted out of the Tournament from the beginning.
But when he looked at Jason, he found his older brother smiling back at him. It was a smile as tired as he felt, but a smile nonetheless. There was no excitement in it, only a sort of disbelieving humor.
"Sorry guys," Jason said, hand tightening on the handle of his sword. "Looks like this challenge isn't over just yet."