The group continued their cautious descent into the tunnel, the air cool and damp around them. Their fingers brushed along the rough stone walls for handholds, each of them hyper-aware of every sound they made in the pitch blackness. None dared to summon even the most minor light or flame, knowing that light would give away their position in an instant.
The tunnel sloped downward, becoming steeper as they descended. The oppressive darkness seemed to stretch on forever, forcing them to rely on touch and instinct as they moved in a single file. Their breaths were shallow and controlled—each step careful, avoiding the risk of a stumble that might echo through the tunnel.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, they noticed the darkness ahead of them becoming lighter. The faint glow seemed blinding after the hours spent in total blackness, and Quin immediately signaled for the group to halt. They froze, letting their eyes adjust slowly to the growing brightness ahead.
As their vision began to return, Cal whispered to Quin, “Should I use my Strategic Grid to scout ahead?”
Sam, his voice low and measured, shook his head. “No. We don’t know who’s nearby or what powers they have. They could sense the use of spirit energy or detect the activation of your spirit. Let’s keep it quiet.”
Cal nodded, deferring to Sam’s caution. The group remained still for a few more moments, letting the light seep into their adjusted vision before they cautiously crept forward. As they neared the end of the tunnel, the light became less overwhelming, allowing them to see more clearly.
The tunnel opened into a large stone hallway lined with glowing white stones affixed to the walls in ornate fixtures. The glow was soft but steady, illuminating the smooth stone floor. Zach, who had taken point, peeked his head out of the tunnel first, scanning the hallway before motioning for the others to follow.
They moved in defensive stances, their weapons drawn, prepared for anything. Zach led the way down the hallway, his shield raised, his sword ready. Quin’s hand tightened on his broadsword as he scanned the walls and ceiling, searching for any sign of movement. Sam kept his mace at the ready while Westin clutched his wand, prepared to cast if needed. Cal stayed alert, walking with his sword drawn, watching the path ahead.
As they moved further down the corridor, they began to pass large steel doors on either side of the hallway. The doors were heavy and industrial-looking, stark and out of place in the otherwise natural stone environment. Quin glanced at them as they passed, unsure if they should open one of them or continue forward.
“What do we do?” Westin whispered. “Do we check these?”
Quin hesitated. “Let’s keep moving for now. If we run into trouble, we’ll need an escape route.”
They continued down the hallway, but after only a few more minutes, the unmistakable sound of voices echoed from around a bend ahead. Several people were engaged in conversation, and from the sound of it, they were walking directly toward the group.
“Move!” Quin hissed, his voice barely audible.
They reacted immediately, scrambling to the nearest steel door. Zach grabbed the handle and pulled it open just enough for them to slip inside. The door was heavy, groaning as it moved, but the group quickly piled into the room, leaving the door ajar with a small crack to listen through.
Inside, they found themselves in a large, dimly lit room. The air was stale, and the faint hum of machinery could be heard in the background. It wasn’t much, but it gave them temporary cover. Sam pressed his ear against the door, listening intently as the voices grew louder, their conversation becoming clearer. The idle chatter of the approaching people drifted closer. The casual nature of the conversation belied the seriousness of the topics being discussed.
“…so I heard some Acolytes from Cremoor came around asking about Loma and Elisa,” a voice said, clearly bored.
One of the listeners perked up. “Wait, Loma? Is there news of Loma?” their voice trembled with hope.
The original speaker sighed, clearly annoyed. “Don’t get excited. They brought news of her death.”
A sharp curse followed, another voice, this time male, hissed, “Damn it! Loma was our only success. Having her would’ve led to countless breakthroughs. Losing her was the greatest travesty to happen to us.” He spat on the ground, venom clear in his tone. "Elisa should’ve been executed for letting her disappear in the first place."
Another voice, quieter and more anxious, cut in. “If people are coming to the village asking about Loma, doesn’t that mean we’re exposed? Shouldn’t we evacuate?”
The speaker scoffed, mocking the nervous woman. “You’re being paranoid. Eloria dispatched The Guardians to silence those Acolytes forever. Relax. It’s being handled.”
Their voices slowly faded as they moved further down the hallway, their footsteps becoming nothing but echoes. Inside the room, a thick silence settled over The Radiant Vanguard as they processed the conversation they had just overheard.
Westin broke the silence with a dry, albeit dark joke. “Well, at least now we know the assassins came from here.”
But Quin wasn’t listening. His focus was elsewhere, his mind fixated on the words about his mother. “They said Loma was their only success,” he muttered, his voice strained. “What does that mean?”
Cal’s expression was grim. “If they’ve been experimenting on children, and Loma grew up here… then it’s possible they experimented on her too. She might’ve been part of whatever twisted process they’re running.”
Sam’s face darkened further as he added, “Elisa was clearly hiding something when we questioned her. From what those people just said, she knew a lot more about Loma than she let on. She was in on it.”
Quin’s body tensed, his hands clenching into fists. His breath quickened, and a dangerous light flickered in his eyes. The idea that these sick individuals hadn’t just been torturing children but had done it to his own mother was too much. Rage surged through him, a heat rising in his chest that threatened to consume him.
“They… experimented on her,” Quin growled, the words barely escaping through gritted teeth. “On my mother. Who knows what they did to her?!”
The group turned to him, sensing his fury. Westin moved forward first, placing a hand on Quin’s shoulder. “Quin,” he said softly, “I get it. But we need to stay calm. We can’t help anyone if we lose control.”
Sam nodded, stepping closer. “You’re right to be angry, but if we’re going to take these people down and find out what they did to Loma, we need you thinking clearly.”
Zach joined them, his voice steady and firm. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. But we can’t afford to rush in blind. Whatever they’re doing here, it’s bigger than we thought.”
Quin’s chest heaved as he struggled to bring his emotions under control. His friends’ calm voices cut through the haze of anger, grounding him. Slowly, his fists unclenched, and he closed his eyes, taking deep, steadying breaths.
After a long moment, he nodded. “You’re right. I… I’ll keep it together.”
Cal spoke up, his voice measured. “Good. Now, let’s start by searching this room. If there are any clues about what they’re doing, they might be here.”
The group moved with quiet determination, turning their attention to the large, dimly lit room around them. Quin, now calmer but still burning with determination, joined the others as they began their search. They would only leave once they understood what had happened here and, more importantly, what had been done to his mother.
The room itself was carved out of the same natural rock as the rest of the tunnels, but it was clearly outfitted to serve a specific purpose. At first glance, it resembled a hospital or medical facility with advanced equipment containing enchanted and mechanical aspects. However, as they began to take in the details, the sense of unease grew.
The beds weren’t ordinary—they had straps attached, clearly meant to restrain whoever was lying on them. Medical trays were scattered about, but instead of the usual surgical instruments, they held bone saws, clamps, and other tools that seemed far more suited for crude, invasive procedures than life-saving surgeries. The walls and floor, though mostly clean, bore faint traces of old bloodstains—signs of something far darker that had taken place here, even though the room had been scrubbed at again and again. A mild, lingering odor of antiseptic couldn’t entirely mask the underlying scent of fear and suffering that seemed to seep from the very walls.
Quin’s gaze swept across the room, and his jaw clenched. This was no place of healing. His heart pounded with renewed fury as he pieced together the reality of what had likely happened here. The equipment here wasn’t for saving lives—they were for experimentation.
Cal, trying to stay level-headed, began rifling through a desk tucked into the corner of the room. As he opened a drawer, he pulled out a few small leather-bound journals. “These might give us some answers,” he muttered, tossing one to each of the others before opening one himself.
Quin caught his, the worn journal already feeling ominous in his hands. He flipped it open, scanning the first few pages. The handwriting was neat, clinical, and detached. His stomach churned as he realized it was a doctor’s journal documenting surgeries—on children.
He focused on one entry, reading aloud to himself in a low, horrified whisper.
“Patient: Male, age 7. Symptoms: Lack of response to standard spirit cultivation methods. Unable to form a stable Divine Conduit. Objective: Open the child’s Conduit surgically and attempt contact with spirit energy at the cellular level. Procedure: Removal of conduit tissue for study. Result: Failure. Child expired 3 hours post-operation.”
Quin’s hands tightened on the journal as he read on, flipping through pages that chronicled the systematic dismantling of children’s bodies in the name of experimentation.
“Patient: Female, age 9. Objective: Attempt to modify Divine Conduit to allow increased spirit-gathering efficiency. Procedure: Implantation of spirit crystal fragments into the Conduit. Result: Conduit rejected the foreign material. Patient in critical condition. Prognosis: Poor.”
The doctor’s notes were detached and clinical as if these were ordinary experiments on lifeless objects rather than living, breathing children. There was no remorse, no compassion—just cold, factual records of repeated failures. Quin felt sick.
He flipped through more entries, each one a twisted attempt to modify the Divine Conduit, the spiritual core within every person that allowed them to cultivate spirit energy. The doctor had been trying to alter it surgically to create better methods of spirit cultivation for children, but all the results were gruesome failures.
The air in the room turned grim as the others read similar passages in their journals. Every few moments, someone would grimace, grit their teeth, or curse under their breath as they turned another page.
Minutes later, Zach suddenly snapped his journal shut, his face contorted with anger and disgust. “This... this is vile,” he spat, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “What kind of monsters would do this to children? We can’t let this stand. These people—whoever’s running this place—need to be purged from the Light Pantheon once and for all.”
Quin, still reading through the horrors, silently agreed. The level of evil they were witnessing shook him to his core. The Light Pantheon, the Gods they served, would never condone such atrocities. These people were desecrating everything they stood for.
Sam slammed his journal down on the nearby table, his eyes burning with the same fury. “Zach’s right. These heretics need to be wiped out. There’s no place for people like this in the Light Pantheon.”
Cal, still maintaining some level of composure despite the darkness they had uncovered, raised his hand. “Before we charge out of here and start a fight we might not win, we need to think. Why are they trying to mess with the Divine Conduit? What’s their goal?”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Zach, too heated to think clearly, snapped back. “Does it matter? Look at what they’ve done! These people don’t deserve mercy.”
Quin, taking a deep breath and coming back to his senses, shook his head. “It does matter. Even if we kill everyone here, there could be others in different villages doing the same thing. If we don’t find out what their objective is, we’ll never be able to root out this cult completely.”
Zach growled but didn’t argue further, though his frustration was evident. The group stood in tense silence for a moment before Westin spoke, his voice calm but edged with determination. “Quin’s right. We need to figure out why they’re doing this. If we can get the full picture, we can not only stop them here but prevent this from happening elsewhere.”
He glanced at the others, his wand twirling between his fingers. “Once we know, then we can slaughter these heretics.”
Everyone nodded in agreement, the grim resolve settling over them once more. They needed to maintain their stealth, find the truth, and expose this cult for the horrors they had inflicted. Only then could they bring down the total weight of justice on those responsible.
With that, they returned to their search, this time with renewed purpose. The air was thick with tension, but now there was a plan—a path forward. They would uncover the truth, and when the time was right, they would ensure that those who had committed these atrocities would pay for their sins.
The group slipped out of the room, moving with deliberate silence through the tunnel system. Every step felt heavy, burdened by the horrors they had uncovered. They passed through dimly lit corridors, steel doors on either side, each one a potential danger. But without knowing what lay beyond, they chose not to risk opening them. Not all of them may have been empty like the last one. Instead, they continued, relying on their instincts and determination to guide them deeper into the underground labyrinth.
At several points, the tunnel forked, splitting into different directions. Cal would pause, surveying their options, before signaling for them to continue down the most promising path. The air grew colder as they descended; further, the white stones embedded in the walls still illuminated the way but cast long shadows that seemed to stretch unnervingly.
Eventually, the tunnel opened into a massive cavern, its scale breathtaking yet ominous. The tunnel they had been following was high up in the cavern wall, and below them, spiraling paths led down toward the cavern floor. The cavern was bathed in the eerie glow of gigantic crystal formations, the same white stone that had been used to light the hallways. These crystals pulsed faintly with spirit energy, casting an almost otherworldly glow across the vast chamber.
The sight that greeted them on the cavern floor below sent chills through Quin and his companions. Lined up in neat, emotionless rows were the children of the village, standing in perfect silence. They were being inspected by a handful of men and women in lab coats—researchers, no doubt. Occasionally, one of the researchers would gesture for a child to step forward, and that child would be led away into one of the other tunnels branching off the cavern floor.
But what made the scene even more foreboding were the dark-clad figures that lined the cavern's edge, watching over the children with sharp, predatory eyes. They wore the same black clothing as the assassins who had attacked them earlier, their faces masked, their movements precise and disciplined.
The group crouched down to observe, keeping as low and hidden as possible behind the rocky outcropping that shielded them from view. The tension was palpable as they took in the scale of the operation before them.
“Looks like they have more Guardians than the ones we encountered. A whole lot more,” Westin whispered, his voice barely audible.
Zach, his eyes scanning the figures below, leaned in closer. “You think they’re all Acolytes like the ones who came after us?”
Cal narrowed his eyes, peering into the distance. “I can’t say for sure. We’re too far away to tell, but I doubt they’re all just Acolytes. If they are, they’re not like the ones we faced earlier.”
Quin’s mind was racing. “But it doesn’t make sense,” he whispered, furrowing his brow. “How can followers of Serenity ascend if they’re forbidden from killing or using violence? They can’t fulfill Ascension criteria if they’re not allowed to fight, right?”
Sam leaned in, his expression thoughtful. “It’s a bit more complicated than that,” he said softly. “Most of those who follow Serenity are warriors who have lost faith in what their original God or Goddess taught them. They’ve seen too much bloodshed or have become disillusioned with the path of combat. Instead of becoming heretics, they turn to Serenity and follow her teachings of peace. It damages their Divine Conduit when they make that transition, but it doesn’t matter much to them—they’re giving up fighting altogether.”
Quin nodded slowly, starting to piece it together. “So, most of her followers would be people who used to be strong, who used to cultivate spirit but chose a more peaceful life?”
“Exactly,” Sam replied. “They’re veterans. Powerful ones, too. Their Conduits might be damaged, but they were likely high-ranked fighters before they gave up violence. You don’t see a lot of low-rank followers of Serenity because it’s rare for someone to abandon their God or Goddess that early in their journey.”
“So… the idea of Acolytes following Serenity is strange?” Quin asked, still trying to wrap his head around it.
“Very strange,” Sam confirmed. “It happens, but not often. For someone to abandon their God or Goddess before they’ve even really started down the path of cultivation... it’s rare.”
Quin glanced back down at the scene below, his eyes scanning the children, the researchers, and the dark figures. “Then what are these people?” he whispered. “If most of Serenity’s followers are veterans and the Guardians we fought certainly weren’t, then what or who are these people.”
“They might not be Acolytes in the traditional sense,” Cal suggested, his eyes still fixed on the figures below. “They could be something else entirely.”
Cal was implying that perhaps these Guardians were somehow created through the experimentation being done here. Quin did not know what to think about the idea.
Westin looked uneasy. “Either way, we’re not dealing with standard followers of Serenity here. For better or for worse.”
Quin clenched his fist, his anger from earlier returning but tempered by the cold realization that something far darker was at play. “They’re experimenting on the children… to try to bypass the natural order of cultivating spirit. That much we know. But there’s something more. Something we’re not seeing yet.”
Zach grimaced. “Does it even matter? We know enough to stop them. Those kids down there—”
“It matters,” Quin cut in, his voice firm but quiet. “If this is happening here, it could be happening elsewhere. We need to understand their full objective, or we’ll never be able to root them out for good.”
The others exchanged glances, reluctantly agreeing with Quin’s assessment. If they acted too soon, they might miss essential information that would help them uncover the full extent of the cult’s activities.
“So what’s the plan?” Zach whispered, his sword hand twitching with barely restrained frustration.
Cal took a deep breath, his tactical mind already whirring. “We keep watching for now. We find a way to get closer and gather more information. Then, when we have what we need… we strike.”
As the group crouched in the dark, the sight below gnawed at their sense of morality. Quin, his face tight with controlled anger, spoke quietly, but his voice was laced with tension.
"If those Guardians down there managed to ascend to Acolyte or higher," he said, "then they didn’t retire early like true followers of Serenity should. They must’ve abandoned her teachings and killed anyway."
Westin, his eyes on the men and women in lab coats, nodded grimly. "Based on what we’ve seen so far—the experiments on children, the secrecy—it's more likely they've forsaken Serenity’s ways. They’re not pacifists. They're pretending."
The group watched as another child was led away into one of the branching tunnels. Zach, his face twisting in frustration, couldn’t stay silent any longer. “We can’t just sit here and watch. We need to take action—now. Whether through violence or finding more information, it doesn’t matter.”
Quin clenched his jaw, his thoughts aligned with Zach’s. "Agreed," he said, keeping his voice low. "Let’s move."
Carefully, they inched their way back into the tunnel they came from, their movements slow and deliberate to avoid making any noise. They retreated until they reached a fork in the tunnel they had passed earlier. Without a word, they took the alternate path, hoping it would lead them to more answers or at least some way to stop the madness unfolding below.
As they pressed forward, a faint sound reached their ears—sobs echoing through the tunnel. They all froze for a moment, their hearts sinking. Quin glanced at the others, his expression grim, and they quickened their pace, their feet moving faster and quieter as they followed the sound.
They came upon another steel door, this one slightly ajar. From inside, the muffled sounds of a child’s sobbing echoed through the crack. A man’s harsh voice followed, sharp and commanding.
“Quit crying and get on the cot,” the man growled. “The procedure will hurt more if you don’t comply.”
The group exchanged horrified glances, and they could hear the malice in the man’s tone as he continued. “What? You don’t want to please Serenity? Do you want to disappoint her? You know what happens if you don’t go through with the surgery, don’t you? Serenity won’t like you anymore. She’ll cast you aside, and then you’ll go down the path of violence, a path of evil. Only through this surgery can you stay in her good graces and avoid the sin of fighting.”
A child’s voice—a little girl’s—sobbing and broken interrupted his twisted sermon. She didn’t understand the man’s manipulative words; all she knew was the pain and fear that awaited her.
Quin’s fists tightened around the hilt of his broadsword, his rage bubbling just beneath the surface. He exchanged a quick look with the others, and without another word, they sprang into action.
Zach, always the vanguard, was the first through the door. He shoved it open and launched himself into the room with terrifying speed. The man in the lab coat barely had time to react before Zach slammed him against the wall, pinning him there by the throat. The man’s eyes bulged as Zach’s grip cut off his air supply, his feet kicking helplessly beneath him.
The rest of the group fanned out into the room, weapons drawn, surveying their surroundings. The space was much like the one they had hidden in earlier—cold, clinical, and sinister. Medical trays held cruel instruments, and the faint stench of old blood lingered in the air.
But it wasn’t the tools or the room that drew Quin’s attention. His eyes immediately fell on the small figure lying on the cot—a little girl, no older than six or seven, dressed in a plain brown dress, her tear-streaked face pale with terror. Her small hands clutched the sides of the cot as if bracing for the unimaginable pain the man had promised.
Quin’s heart twisted in his chest. He rushed forward, quickly scooping the girl up into his arms. She flinched at first, clearly expecting more pain, but as Quin whispered soothing words to her, she buried her face in his chest, still sobbing, though softer now.
Sam moved quickly to close the door behind them, ensuring they wouldn’t be interrupted.
Quin held the girl close, stroking her hair gently. “It’s okay now,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. “You’re safe. We’re here to help.”
The girl, still trembling, clung to Quin tightly, her small hands fisting into his tunic. She was small and fragile, her body shaking with fear. Her pale blonde hair fell in soft, tangled waves over her shoulders, and her wide, tear-filled eyes darted nervously around the room, still too scared to fully comprehend that she was no longer in danger.
Sam shot Zach a look, but Zach wasn’t finished yet. The man in the lab coat, still pinned against the wall, gasped for air as Zach loosened his grip slightly. “You,” Zach growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re going to explain everything. Right now.”
The man’s breath came in wheezing gasps as he stared, wide-eyed, at Zach, his legs kicking against the wall. He glanced desperately around the room, but there was no escape.
“Talk,” Zach ordered. “Or you’ll wish you’d never laid a hand on her.”
The man’s eyes flicked toward the instruments on the tray, then to the door, but he knew he was cornered. And with the rage in Zach’s eyes, there was no way out for him. He would either talk or he would suffer.
Zach, still holding the now-dazed researcher by the throat, leaned in close, his voice a low growl. “What the hell do you think you were doing?” His grip tightened slightly, making the man gasp for air.
The man, his gray hair matted and thinning, coughed out a question in return, his voice hoarse and filled with defiance. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Quin, still comforting the crying child in his arms, took a closer look at the researcher. He was older, probably in his mid-fifties, with sunken cheeks and weary eyes. His lab coat, once pristine, was now stained with spots of blood and grime. He didn’t appear to be much of a physical threat—likely an Initiate, at most, and someone who had never crossed the threshold of killing anything to ascend beyond that rank. His spirit was faint, barely perceptible compared to theirs. This man wasn’t a fighter, and yet, the sinister gleam in his eyes suggested that he had done far more damage in other ways.
Zach slammed the man against the wall again, his patience already wearing thin. “We’ll be asking the questions, not you.”
The researcher spat in Zach’s face, a defiant sneer twisting his lips. “Your brutish ways will only condemn you to hell,” he hissed. “I do not fear death or violence. I will join Serenity at the end of my life for my devotion. You, however, will burn for your sins.”
Zach wiped the spit from his face, his eyes burning with fury. He turned to Sam. “Can’t you use The Law of Absolute Truth on him like Felix? Let’s get this over with.”
Sam shook his head, his expression frustrated. “I can’t. Not until sunrise. We’re still several hours away.”
Zach cursed under his breath, and the researcher let out a dark cackle. “You’ll get nothing out of me,” the man sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “Soon, someone will come to check on me, and when they do, you’ll all perish without ever leaving this place.”
His words grew more erratic as he ranted, his eyes wild with fanaticism. “You think you’re the righteous ones, but you’ll burn in hell for infringing on the process of creating a world of peace, a world without violence, as Serenity decrees. We’re building a better future, and you’re too blind to see it.”
The child in Quin’s arms, who had just started to calm down, began to cry again at the sound of the researcher’s crazed ranting. Her petite body trembled as she clung tightly to Quin, burying her face in his chest. Quin, feeling the surge of emotion in her, shielded her head and turned her away from the man, speaking softly to Zach. “Would you shut him up, please?”
Zach’s eyes flashed with anger as he turned back to the man. “Oh, I’ll shut him up.”
Before anyone could react, Zach slammed the researcher against the wall with brutal force. There was a sickening crack as the man’s head hit the stone, and his body went limp. His eyes rolled back, and blood trickled down the wall as he slumped to the floor, dead.