Deep, overwhelming Silence.

Cross made as little noise as possible as he forced his arms against the rocks around him. He had no idea how much was piled atop him, only that he wasn’t alone. The chorus of Blanken voices had come to a screeching halt when the Matriarch’s chamber had fallen in on itself, but that just meant they knew the consequences of discovery as well.

He had to hope he was closer to freedom than they were, and just tear and pull at the rocks and sludge until he could see again. Broken pieces of the hive pressed against his eye, his body was practically slathered in that green goo the bugs had produced, but there wasn’t much he could do besides struggle in the silence.

It gave him time to think, to reflect on every event that brought him to such a state. Just a few days ago he was watching shapers craft ships like always, now he was buried under a ruined nest of mortals. In the past few days, he’d seen more action than he had in the twelve turns he’d spent alive, and had missed enough chances at glory to drive any Pawn mad.

Compared to that, being buried alive was merely an annoyance.

He paused when his hands brushed up against something that felt different, smooth instead of the rough pieces of hive he’d been moving through. He went still for a moment, reaching out for it until he felt a hand grab hold of his.

Cross went still, as did the hand.

Time ticked by as he waited, until a voice spoke quietly.

“Hello?” it asked, prompting Cross to squeeze his eye closed.

He didn’t recognize the voice. It wasn’t Armel, not Cole or even the Newblood.

“How free are you?” the voice asked, “We could dig each other out.”

Cross forced his other hand to keep going, clawing away at the debris around him before it was too late. The fool clearly didn’t understand why nobody else was speaking up. Every Pawn knew to use thought speak sparingly when enemies are nearby. Armel’s assumption that the enemy forces also had a large number of Newbloods came rolling back through Cross’ head as he realized just what kind of peril he had been dragged into.

“No, wait!” the voice spoke louder as Cross tried pulling his hand away “Its no trick, promise! We can… we…”

The voice trailed off, but the grip on Cross’ hand didn’t fade. He couldn’t tell why exactly, until the debris above him shifted. Someone had found them, no doubt lured by the voice’s idiotic lack of awareness. Cross had lost his baton in the fall, had nothing but his bare hands to defend himself with.

For all he knew there was a full squad of Blanken soldiers digging towards him.

There was no other option, so he curled his free hand into a fist and braced himself to spring up at a moment’s notice. That moment came when a great weight above shifted, loosening more than enough for Cross to force himself upwards in a spray of debris. Light filled his gaze as he launched up with a fist raised.

He tried rushing forward to free himself from the rest of the debris, eye darting through the falling debris for enemies until he was suddenly jerked back by something. His head snapped back towards the mound of debris he’d been freed from, seeing a pale hand still locked on his own.

His eye immediately snapped towards its owner, a single Blanken Eye staring up at him from the mound of debris. It widened upon matching his gaze, and quickly the voice roared out.

“They’re here! The King’s slaves are-!”

Soon that eye vanished as a dark foot slammed down on their head. The grip loosened enough for Cross to pull back, catching himself on the side of the mound as he watched Armel bring his armored boot down upon the pinned Blanken again.

The crunch of his helmet and shell fracturing under the repeated blows filled the air before the Blanken’s head burst open in a spray of Vitae. Cross swung an arm up to block his head from the spray, only to peak by and see Armel throwing his gaze around them as the silence returned.

Deep, overwhelming silence.

No pounding of Blanken greaves or the chatter of other enemies, just the tumbling of debris and the sputtering of vitae flowing from the graying Blanken's ruined stump of a neck.

Not even Armel said a word, just raised a finger up to his own mouth the moment that Cross looked to him. The request was clear, so Cross instead turned his gaze around them. He quickly realized that they were amongst the new pile of rubble that now stuffed the Matriarch’s chamber, the immense corpse of the giant bug poking out of the rubble in several places behind Armel.

Turning around, Cross found the bright hole in the chamber behind him, partially buried but still able to spew sunlight into the primarily green hive. Armel quickly darted past Cross, greaves clatter on debris as he descended the rubble and frantically gestured for Cross to follow.

With no Blanken in sight, Cross began climbing down after him.

No Blanken in sight, not a peep of thought speak. There were at least a dozen voices calling out before the Matriarch fell, and Cross could only see two dead Blanken beside the gap in the chamber.

Which meant the others had been buried.

He gave a silent thanks to the King, as he couldn't foresee them taking on that many Blanken with as little damage as they'd suffered. He watched his footing, anticipating a pale hand to reach out and lock at any moment. They were right beneath him, in exactly the same position he had just been in. Worming their way under the debris with hopes they could escape before an enemy got the drop on them.

And what of the other Blanken? The ones keeping watch over the canyon? There was no possible way they didn’t hear that commotion, if not the thought speak of their allies then the rumble of the Matriarch being torn from her place. Reinforcements had to be on the way at any moment.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Yet he bit down his woes as he followed Armel to the hole in the Tower. They climbed atop the column that was wedged into the hole, following it over crushed bits of debris. They passed into the tower, only for Cross to recognize the curved room they had entered immediately

The Cargo hold.

It was massive, fitting for the stores of equipment that were usually kept inside. The walls, ceiling and floor were all smooth Blackstone covered in giant crates of similar material. But most had been scattered around or broken during the fall, with several having spilled out of a massive hole in another massive hole that had been torn into the cargo hold.

That hole was the source of all the light, it stretched beyond the cargo hold through the very mountain the tower had settled in and out the other side to reveal a dense forest of trees far below.

The edge of the Blacklight Ring was wedged between the tower and the Mountain, with one of the larger Obscuris Crystals poking out into the hole leading outside.

Cross had to jump down from the wedged column down onto the comforting familiarity of Blackstone floors, but the state of the hold removed any levity he might have gained. He had been torn from the cargo hold during the battle in heaven, had seen the Tower speed away as he fell to the planet below, but the Cargo hold was in an even worst state than how he remembered.

Above the ocean of trees Cross could see darkening skies, the rain clouds from earlier returning in full force and dimming the sun once again. But that did nothing to hide just how much of a stark contrast the swampy forest below was to the flatlands on the other side of the mountain. It was a basin of dense vegetation, with twisting trees and vines of immense size all circling around a massive tree at its center.

Even from a distance, Cross could tell the immense hive they'd been trudging through paled in comparison to the swamp.

“Figures,” Armel finally spoke as he hopped down beside him, “Cargo took off.”

He nodded towards the massive hole with a shake of his head, leaving Cross to stew on the information.

The objective of resupplying at the Tower had been so paramount to Cross, that he’d let the depth of their true challenge fade. Their cargo was out there in that swamp somewhere, perhaps it had even gotten further in the time since Towerfall. Tracking something of such size would be no problem, but the Newblood had been right in voicing his concerns.

“How are we getting it off planet?” Cross found himself asking, only for an irritated grunt to draw his gaze away from the hole.

He turned to the largest thing in the room, the containment cell for their cargo. It dwarfed every crate around it, easily a dozen times Cross’ height even while on its side. It had been broken open by their cargo after it had been activated, and the fall had sent it tumbling onto its side. Even so, the magnificent cage sculpted of Blackstone was still the sturdiest thing in the room.

“Really?” asked Cole, perched high atop the toppled containment cell “All you Newbloods gotta question everything?!? Or was we just unlucky nabbin' ya?”

Cole was keeping watch with a Caster in hand aimed towards the column and the hole leading back to the hive, his eye never moving from it. The sight of the Blackstone Caster made Cross realize they were still a Pawn short.

“The Newblood!” He quickly turned to the hole they’d entered from “Did you-?”

“No,” Cole’s answer was immediate “and I ain’t diggin' for him like some Pawns here.”

The remark made Armel snicker as he moved from some rubble and brushed a flat piece of Blackstone that was still glowing purple.

“Much easier to look usin’ two eyes than one.” Armel shook the glowing piece in his hand before nodding to Cross “Look for bits like this, Comrade. Kiddies went and broke the door’s pad tryin’ to force it open.”

Cross looked past him to the other side of the Cargo hold, towards a sealed door. The thick slabs of polished Blackstone showed signs of wear, with two gray Blanken corpses laying beside them along with a jagged ram built of solid Pearlglass.

Cursing his lack of forethought, Cross realized the massive hole in the Cargo Hold allowed them a way in that completely side-stepped the Blacklight Ring’s defenses.

“Just had to make it worst for us.” Cole grumbled before shifting positions and shouting down “Now move it before more o’ them kiddies get here!”

Cross moved to follow his orders, only to pause at the sight of Cole’s shoulder. He’d apparently lost the severed Blanken Head in the fall, as the spike on his shoulder lacked the peculiar ornament. But beyond that, Cross thought the light was playing tricks on him the longer he looked upon that spike. It, along with a small portion of Cole’s shoulder, had lost the deep dark shine that all Noirites had.

Instead, it was muted. Almost grey.

“I said move!” Cole had noticed Cross failing to follow orders “No time to waste! Whatcha doin’?”

“Is… is that Grey Haze?” Cross had to ask, taking a step back only for Cole to scowl.

“Its minor, Newblood, get to looking!” he repeated himself, with Cross moving to rifle through the nearby debris. But even as he pushed aside pieces of the mountain and Blackstone alike, his eye kept darting back up to Cole, to that undeniably grey portion on his shoulder.

“Didn’t know the Haze could be minor.” He spoke up, earning another groan from Cole “I thought… when you put that head on your shoulder, I thought you had some method to avoid that.”

“I do, its called not takin’ hits!” Cole shouted, momentarily glancing away from the hole leading to the hive “It’s kinda hard to pull off when keepin’ tabs on some ninny lil’ Newbloods!”

“Don’t get all mad, Comrade.” Armel stood from behind another overturned chest before wiping down another glowing piece before making for the door “Every Pawn knows the risk o’ getting the enemy’s blood in ya wounds, let’s not pretend this was unexpected when you’s luggin’ around kiddie heads all the time.”

“But then why collect them?!?” Cross dug his hands into the debris for a moment before looking up “Up there you were using it to deflect the enemy’s weapons, but that’s also a risk, right?”

“I’m not seeing you looking for them pieces, Newblood.” Cole bit.

“But risking the Haze in combat,” Cross made his way to another pile of debris, eyeing Cole the entire way “What’s wrong with you?”

“Because I’m Cole the Collector, Newblood!” Cole spat back “If I don’t got a bunch’a Blanken heads to decorate my kit, I ain’t respecting the name!”

Cross froze up with his hands still buried in debris, turning to look towards Cole with his eye narrowed in confusion. Armel approached, kneeling beside him with an exasperated chuckle.

“Well, he’s got ya there, Comrade.” Armel smirked before reaching down and pulling another piece of glowing Blackstone from the debris “Almost there!”

“Wait no.” Cross stood as Armel made his way back to the door “He didn’t… There’s no reason for it?”

“I just gave ya my reason.” Cole grunted

“No, you didn’t!” Cross spun on him “Risking the Haze just because of your name’s absolute madness!”

“Oh, so names ain’t important, eh?” Cole glared down at him with a snarl “Thought you Newbloods were better than that!”

“I-!” Cross couldn’t even finish, voice dying in his throat at the deep hum which began far behind him.

By the time he spun around towards it, the beam of pure golden energy was already streaking through the air.

Not a moment later, Cole was falling from the cell, trailing pieces of broken Blackstone armor as he fell.