Mayhem ensues as each thud of meaty tongue finds its target, the crash of jars follows.

The motes of Mother’s bioluminescent lights are scattered through the forest of roots, revealing the insidious predators lingering in the darkness.

The Captain struggles to maintain order as the true number of creatures is revealed, Thorns abandon their defensive position and rush for the exit. Panic rules the underground forest, and the garrison's poor discipline is revealed As the lights disperse, the tunnel dims and screams of pain rattle my soul.

I shield the youngling behind me, pushing him into a small defensive circle of remaining Satyrs. He continues to cry out as the hyena-like laughter persists, gaining savage looks from the Thorns. One turns with his spear aimed at the boy.

“The taint has taken him!” He screams in fear.

Before he can strike the boy, a slithering pink latches onto his shoulder and reels him away into the darkness.

Cane roars with fury and frustration, the roots hindering his massive size from tearing into the creatures, any opportunities are missed as the salamanders simply climb away.

“Retreat!” The Captain orders, dismantling the defensive circle with one word.

I pull the child from the stampede of hooves, it's every Satyr for themselves.

Before I could follow in their wake, several salamanders cut off our path, snapping their tongues forward. Cane leaps forward like a bulwark of flesh, his powerful frame barely reacting as the tongues attempt to reel in their catch.

The adhesive ends struggle to attach to his smooth leathery skin, only managing to tear thin layers off.

“This way.” I yell, holding onto the boy with one hand and leading them away from the pack of creatures.

We escape into the gloom, the jar vanquishing the pitch black as we dodge through roots. Cane carves his own path through the forest like a bull elephant, our party gains distance as the cackling slowly diminishes and with it the child's screams.

A beautiful yellow bathes the root system as we enter a new world. A field of glowing slugs offers a realm of safety to catch our breath, the predator's guile is lost in the sea of slithering beacons.

Cattle Senses

I reach into Cane’s mind to double check our perimeter, and an overwhelming wave of sweetness floods his nostrils. The squelching sources of the smells and our rasping breaths are the only noises in the area.

The Satyr child lays down on the floor, hands hovering over his sensitive throat now ruined from his manic screams. I watch one of the bloated slugs squirm nearby, he prods the mollusc to produce an amber syrup droplet that he slurps down. His contorted expression of pain softens with the nectar liquid. Amazing.

Standing now, he pokes more and more of the slugs, drinking every droplet.

Curiously I mimic his actions. The fat body of the slug feels awful to my touch, I press down hard and like a pipette, the liquid squirts out the end.

I gulp down the thick substance before I can overthink my actions.

A nostalgic memory of drinking my first Red Bull comes to mind, the surgery liquid tastes of honey and golden syrup. And unlike energy drinks, it fills my stomach with nutritious goodness.

Forgetting my fears, I join the boy's harvest. Poking every yellow bug I see, feasting on the amazing substance until I feel sick.

Cane follows suit in his own manner, eating entire slugs at once. The slimy chomps of his maws splatter their pus innards across the rocks. I gag in revolution while continuing to suckle down the sweet liquid.

What a treat to find in such a hideous place, If only these slugs existed above ground. Then I wouldn’t have to eat roots and old meat every other day.

Oh my Mother, I have an idea. I lay my hand on a fairly large slug.

Tame lesser Cattle

Runes form in my peripheral vision, I focus and subconsciously translate them into English.

Honeydew Slug Tamed

Status: Healthy, Stressed

Poor guy’s stressed. I stroke the grotesque sack of honey goop, is this how you comfort a mollusc? Pressing slightly too hard the honeydew syrup bubbles out and onto my hand.

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Status: Healthy

“Okay, so you actually enjoy being milked, don’t you Honey.” I pick up the latest member of my flock and attach it to my left Verox vambrace. I unsheath my Xiphos, the leather grip and weight a comforting feeling.

Now I can give the boy my jar of light and keep my sword out.

I realise the youngling is missing.

“Boy! Where are you?” I called out.

The short break of gluttonous indulgence was a huge distraction, the sweet nectar swept away my worries with ridiculously effective efficiency.

I step around the rock boulders and roots, aware of the creature's deadly stealth and rapid ability to attack from a distance like a massive chameleon.

I find the child, he’s kneeling over a pile of mess and shredded clothing.

His tears fall freely into the remnants of his friends, they must have assumed this brilliantly bright space was a sanctum to rest and recuperate.

I place my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but we should leave before they come back.” Lifting him to his feet, the child is lost in grief as I shove the jar in his arms and pull him away. I clench his hand to reassure him, making our way back through the grove, I find Cane still munching a whole generation in his slugecide.

I try to shift the hippo back towards the entrance when a mammoth of a slug coaxes him around a bush of roots.

I follow him with my exhaustion of heightened alertness, merely smothered by the recent sugar high, but still embedded deep within.

“Cane I want to leave now, before-

A warm moist sensation hits the exposed skin on my arm, I shudder thinking a slug has fallen off a root. Then I’m yanked with breakneck speed across the ground. The boy flies from my grasp, along with my sword.

My shoulder dislocates from the immense kinetic power, white hot pain lashes the joint and the torn skin on my hand as I'm pulled over the rough terrain.

I see the wide jaws and rows of jagged at the end of the pink line, its head and body were hiding between two stalagmites, waiting to ambush any distracted passing meat.

I swing my legs around, digging my heels into the ground with little effect.

“Cane!” I scream for help.

Only metres away from doom, I jam my legs against the conical formations that hid the beast. Leaving me positioned like a woman in labour while playing tug of war for my life.

Groaning under the strain, I grasp the tongue with my free hand to relieve the pressure.

My hippo’s missing, the child is useless and my only weapon is lost.

But it’s not my only weapon. I open my internal inventory and produce my saving grace.

Shrieking in agony, I release the tongue with my right hand to wield it. My tendons, ligaments and nerves stretch as my caught arm is pulled closer.

The obsidian salamander steps forward to close the distance, streams of saliva drool between teeth and over lips, and tiny clawed hands reach out from under its mandible to claim its price.

The stealthy hunter finally breaks its vow of silence as a guttural howl escapes its maws, the sound of its sizzling tongue is barely audible as I press the Tear’s whip against the sensitive flesh.

Only a fraction of the substance is absorbed through the spines of the weapon before the adhesive end detaches with a layer of my skin, the salamander swiftly retreats into the shadows.

I stare into the gloom with the shock of barely escaping death slowly processing with me. I focus on my breathing as Tomas taught me, shaking off the event and storing it away to cry about when I’m alone in my bedroll later. My left arm is ruined with torn flesh and soft tissue damage.

Cane snorts beside me, nudging me with his wet nostrils.

“Where the muking hell were you!” I push him away with irritation.

He answers with a low growl, facing not me but the edges of the light where hungry pupils watch. The jar of Mother’s light lays between me and the boy, the motes escaping through a crack. I launch it in the darkness, the glass explodes against the wall like a grenade, causing the creatures to dispel in alarm.

Time to go.

I shift my ruined shoulder, the joint isn’t dislocated though screams with protest from a severe sprain.

Rushing back, I gather the boy with my good arm, then proceed to hailmary sprint, with Cane in tow, along the route we just came. Abandoning the colony, I use Honey to illuminate the way as we sprint through the roots. Our previous path is clearly defined with destroyed plant matter, courtesy of Cane.

My slugs' sulphurous light reflects off puddles of blood as we pass the vestiges of consumed Thorns. Not looking back for fear of seeing our stalkers, we make it to the narrow tunnel and through, praise Uke.

The clash of battle welcomes us to the main tunnel system. The gruesome scene is difficult to witness in the low light of Mothers' scattered motes. Thorns desperately attempt their retreat through an army of the devilish reptiles.

They cover the walls and roof, keeping their distance from the stabbing spears and lashing back with quick fire tongues. Flesh and fur are flayed from the gaps in the soldier's armour, the predator's accuracy is undeniable. A skinny Satyr is yanked across the stone until the Captain’s sword severs the soft pink to initiate wails of pain.

I want to assist, but how? My skills with the whip are dismal at best, I simply placed the corrosive end on the tongue before, I’ve never even cracked it and in such a tight location I will hit friend as much as foe.

Cane reaches high but only catches air as they climb out of reach. The salamanders know the way out and clog our exit with numbers. A Thorn breaks from the battle in sheer desperation and legs it, only to be caught by multiple tongues and shredded in lead falls.

We are losing, we are lost. The Depths will claim us as our death rattle goes unheard in the darkness.

I store my whip, wishing I still had my Xiphos to fight to the end.

My wounded hand drips onto the stone floor and presents an option.

“Cane to me, stay here and protect the boy” I command.

I push through the war zone, dodging weapons from both sides as I approach the wall of scales that hinder our way.

Enraging Mist

The droplets of blood wreath with red smoke from my hand as the Chaotic Will takes effect. I stumble forward as the Will saps my energy, my arm complains as I lift it to spread the spell.

An orchestra of satanic laughter erupts, my arm swings with a corrupted mind of its own as the muscles spasm. Spinning like a crazy ballerina, my body corkscrews and spins.

I crash onto the floor as mayhem consumes all, carnage envelopes our stoney tomb as the rage spreads like wildfire from splatters of my blood.