Tiers upon tiers of plateaus descended into the dark. Distant glaring beads of orange lamplight pierce the deep darkness and the oppressive pall of the fogwall every so often through windows so large and opulent that I could scarcely believe they were made by Rats. How large was this city? I couldn’t tell. Even bigger than the one on the surface? Perhaps.

Gothic-styled buildings line these spiraling, miles long, plates of earth and stone. Hundreds of millions of creatures must have lived here at one point, or perhaps still do. Along the streets below, through the dark and the fog, with the glow of the still active catseye, I could see the oblique shapes of many things moving around down there. Some of the closer ones look up at me, and watch as I begin to walk down the path to my left; the only place to go as to my right was a sheer drop.

Musk, so heavy and thick clings to the air. Like damp fur, and rotting meat. Even the ground seemed to be rotting; dingy and gray as it was: some of it was dug up on the side of the road as if an excavator had been there; beneath the layer of rotting gray was a deep, fertile brown.

A little further down the road, the Fogwall catches up to me, and just before that was a large, gothic chapel. It’s constructed out of stone and an odd type of gray wood that’s spongy to the touch, like the stalk of a mushroom. I step inside. No Ratmen run out to meet me. The roof glows like tiny blue flames clinging to the gray rafters. I release cateyes, and look around.

Bunks line the floor. Twenty to be exact. Was that the number of dead Ratmen? Perhaps some fell from the tops of the cliff when the boulder shot through the golem. Oh well, I’d think about that later. For now, I had a temple to destroy. Would fire be enough? Probably, but it would take ages for the building to crumble, and I wanted out of the door and into my room sooner rather than later. I had aches to handle, and scars to seal.

I walk back up the path, stopping near the top to admire the view again. How far down did this city go? How far across? It seems endless. Where would the doors to here be, if there were any? There is a local legend in my town about tunnels running beneath the streets, and if that’s not true, sewage systems? No. Best not to think of it at the moment.

I recite the incantation to Rock Throw and direct the mana into the large boulder sitting among the pile of bodies, and once again spin it in the air, and let it loose in the direction of the temple. It rips through the ceiling like an arrow through flesh as it tears its way down and slams into the floor. I could feel the shaking from here as the temple collapses in on itself. The stone must have torn through some of the supports.

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“Is that all?” I ask the Shard.

“It is. Ten minutes. Go.”

So terse.

I hurry out the torn gate, and balance myself across the makeshift bridge, and to the door where my bag and shoes wait. I slip on my shoes and pull up my hoodie before adjusting the bag on my back. I push through the door, and am swallowed by the spinning darkness once again. It doesn’t take long for the feeling of solid ground to return to my feet, and the orange glare of the setting day blinds me. Luckily, the car that had been sat over it before hadn’t come back by the time I was in there. A few cars zipped by along the roads, but to them, I probably just looked like another of the town’s reprobates.

The door vanishes, and in its place was a pile of cash — just a bit over 2000 dollars in total, atop a manhole cover. I hobble out of the way just in case the owner of the car came back.

“See? You’re reappearing ag—”

The receptionist’s face blanches as I turn around to face her berating.

“Holy shit, what happened?”

“That bad, huh?”

I begin the walk over to the elevator. The receptionist grabs my arm.

“Hold up! I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“No! Don’t!”

“You’re obviously hurt. I’m going to call.”

“You can’t. I can’t go in a car.”

“What the fuck do you mean? ‘Can’t go in a car,’ what are you claustrophobic? I don’t care, I’m calling. I’m not having someone die in my motel.”

The black-haired woman begins to reach for the front pocket of her torn jeans. I can’t go in an ambulance. If I do I’ll be flung into the first door we come across . I have to do something drastic.

“Dance for me, oh daughters of the wind.”

“What the hell are you saying—what’s going on?”

The wind picks up into a howling gale. Her phone rips from her hand as she holds down her whipping hair. She mouths some words; mute against the howling wind. I tap my staff against the ground; mostly because I thought it'd look cool, and the wind stops. Her phone lies shattered a good ten feet away.

“What the fuck was that. What the fuck was that.”

“Calm down, I’ll explain.”

“Calm down? Calm down? How the hell am I supposed to calm down? That wind...what are you?”

“A human.”

“Oh, bullshit. Humans can’t do that.”

“Couldn’t. They couldn’t do that.” I say.

Is this okay? Well, it’s not like the war’s going to be hidden forever. And I really couldn’t afford to be tossed into another random door at the moment.

“What do you mean? Explain.” Her hand trails to her waist. Did she have a gun on her? If this was truly her motel, I wouldn’t doubt it. The area had a reputation for being seedy, to say the least.

“I will. Just, well let’s sit down. I’m exhausted.”

Her hand trails away from her gun.

“Okay. Five minutes. If I’m not satisfied with your explanation. I’m not just calling an ambulance. I’m calling the cops, okay?”

I can’t believe that worked.

“Deal.”