Damon didn't have ti to contemplate the dread of what he'd seen beneath the water. All he knew was—they were out of that part.
Now ca the next, just as perilous. If they were unlucky, they'd end up as food in the belly of so horror—or worse—cursed, or better yet, corrupted by rot.
The sounds in the distance were unnerving, horrifying even—but after what he had witnessed beneath the surface, Damon would take his chances with whatever road above.
A loud crack shattered the mont—the box beside him caved in, exploding into splinters of damp wood.
Leona rolled out, sword already drawn, wearing the awakened shell form of her armor—a light tunic threaded with tal and glowing lines of power.
The others scrambled out one by one, weapons clutched tightly in hand, breathing heavy and erratic.
Xander tore what remained of the box apart with a grunt, erging with a shortened version of his spear gripped in his hand, his eyes sweeping their surroundings like a hawk hunting prey.
Sylvia's eyes flicked toward Damon, her gaze softening. He was soaked from head to toe, clothes clinging to his body, hair matted and wet. After nearly three months without cutting it, it now fell past his shoulders—giving him an almost ethereal, otherworldly appearance under the dim light.
Concern etched into her face as she stepped toward him. She squatted beside where he lay, breathing hard.
"Are you okay..."
Damon glanced up at her with a tired smile.
"Just need to catch my breath..."
She nodded, but the worry didn't leave her eyes.
Leona and Matia moved with trained precision, taking point and scanning the terrain for danger. The air was thick—smothering—and aside from the distant snarls of monsters echoing through the ruined structure, all else was swallowed in darkness.
There were light sources—but faint. Crystals, shaped like bulbs, embedded into walls and ceilings. Their glow was dim, barely enough to light their faces.
Evangeline narrowed her eyes.
"There's light in this place... does that an the light doesn't attract the creatures in the rift?"
Xander turned his head slowly, gaze serious and suspicious.
"I'm surprised they still work after so many thousands of years... this is rune technology, right? It should've faded..."
Damon pushed himself upright, dirt and decay clinging to his wet clothes as his palms slapped the stone floor.
"Runes don't last that long—not the ones drawn on simple parchnt. But advanced ones... they can last centuries, maybe more."
Xander's expression shifted. He couldn't hold it in anymore. The doubt had festered too long.
"What kind of freak are you..."
Damon raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse ?"
"You're excused... but I've got questions. And I'm sorry if this isn't the ti, but too many things about your powers don't make sense."
The girls turned, eyes narrowing at Xander. He wasn't wrong. Damon had never explained.
Damon waved a hand, brushing his hair back.
"So what? I don't owe you an explanation. Why are you getting up in my business?"
Evangeline's gaze shifted to the familiar locket hanging from Damon's neck. There were questions behind her stare too, ones she hadn't voiced.
She didn't think much about it then, but the more she saw it…
"That's enough, you two," she said, trying to cool the tension.
Xander scoffed and clicked his tongue, turning away with a harsh glare.
Damon didn't let up. He waved his hand again, summoning shadows that slithered to him from every corner. With precise control, he activated Shadow Storage, pulling his sword from the murky veil.
Evangeline narrowed her eyes and whispered.
"I have questions too... but fine. Keep your secrets. Just know—your story doesn't add up. So of your spells... they're not even shadow-based. Like the ability to breathe underwater?"
Evangeline gripped his arm as he tried to walk past.
"Well, not that I care—keep your secrets. But... at least don't treat us like we're all idiots."
Damon ignored her, sword in hand, already moving.
"Let's get moving. There's bound to be sothing here. The faster we reach the surface... the faster we get the hell out of this cursed place."
They nodded in agreent, falling into silent formation behind him.
Sylvia's gaze lingered. Her expression was unreadable—anxious, yet quietly resolved.
Her fingers hovered over her chest, heart pounding as she stared at Damon's back.
Her eyes flickered with a newfound resolve.
Damon didn't stop for anything else. He didn't care. He just wanted to get out of this place. Whatever entity had been inside the water hadn't followed—and that was the only thing he was grateful for.
"I... I have to live... I have to end it..." he muttered to himself with a thin, broken smile.
A quiet witness to the madness trailing behind him. Waiting. Watching. Whispering. He wasn't far from the edge.
He stepped forward, climbing a long flight of stone stairs, their cracks soaked in decay and dampness. The sll was unbearable—rot, fear, and despair lingering like smoke in the air. The silence was pierced only by the distant moans of unseen misery.
The walls were cold to the touch, sweating moisture that ran in rhythmic drops like a cruel ticking clock.
The others followed close behind, silent. Leona and Xander should have been leading—the team's heavy hitters—but this ti, Damon had taken point. Their leader... and their scout.
His Shadow Perception remained active, scanning every direction. Danger Sense scread at him constantly in this dead place, surrounded by echoes of death. Every step forward sent a new warning, another on.
Still, he pushed forward, teeth clenched, blade drawn.
They reached the top. Damon halted.
Before them stood a towering door—an ancient relic, a mory of when the city still lived and breathed with people. He stepped up to the side, where a runic dial waited in silence.
Without hesitation, he placed his fingers on it and entered a password—sothing Valarie had once told them in passing.
Casual, like everything else she did.
She had given them override access to most systems—she was, after all, one of the rulers of this city.
The massive door creaked open, stone grinding against stone. Damon braced himself, half-expecting another body of water behind the threshold. But it was a false alarm.
A gust of heavy air hit his face. Water sloshed beneath his feet.
He stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
A long corridor stretched out before them, lined with broken pillars and half-subrged ruins.
It was a way forward... maybe even the way to the surface.
But there was a problem.
The corridor was completely flooded—water up to his ankles, then deeper. He couldn't tell how far it went down. Worse still—within the black water, shadows moved. Large, hideous things with too many teeth and eyes that glimred like wet glass.
Hungry.
Watching.
Waiting.
This was the only way forward.
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