Wonderful Insane World

The silence that followed the scream was worse than all the noises of battle. A thick silence, laden with ill intent. The darkness itself seemed to contract, pressing on their shoulders, seeping into their pores. No creature attacked them anymore. The horde of small, ravenous things had fled—not from fear of men, but out of reverential terror. They had yielded the place to the master of these depths.

The seconds stretched into hours. Only the muffled panting of soldiers and the distant drip of water disturbed the oppressive calm. Maggie felt the others' fear rising like a tide, carrying with it the acrid stench of cold sweat and adrenaline. She closed her eyes, not to rest, but to sharpen her sixth sense—the perception of the Awakened that reached beyond sight.

The presence was there, everywhere and nowhere. A low vibration, almost inaudible, that made the air shiver and teeth grind. It moved around them, not crawling, but gliding, noiseless—no footsteps, no friction. Maggie slowly turned on herself, her mind tracking the source of the mental pressure.

"Is it you?" she thought, addressing the thing the Count feared. "Are you the silent reaper that emptied these galleries?"

The presence did not answer in thought. It was not intelligent in that way. Or not only in that way. It was a primal force, an ancient hunger, tinged with a sickly curiosity. It was studying them.

Suddenly, a murmur bled into the air.

It came from behind the soldier whose breathing wheezed. A rasping whisper, distorted, like a human voice filtered through flesh and stone. Impossible to understand, but the syllables were there—familiar, and horribly wrong.

The soldier jolted, raising his shield toward the sound. "Who's there?"

Nothing. Only a stifled laugh, a wet gurgling sound that this time seemed to come… from the ceiling.

A chill ran down Maggie's spine. This was no ordinary beast. A beast does not mimic voices. A beast does not toy with its prey this way. This was something else. Something far worse.

"Don't move," ordered Zirel, his voice drawn taut as a cable. "It's probing us. It wants to find the weak point."

His fingers clenched around the handle of his mace. The tension was a knife's edge, ready to snap. Maggie felt Élisa's fear harden into diamond focus, her two lead orbs spinning so fast above her head they filled the stagnant air with a faint hum.

Then, something exploded.

It came not from ahead or behind, but from the middle of their formation. The ground heaved in a geyser of shattered stone and black soil. An indistinct shape, a mass of shadow denser than the rest, burst out of the void. A tentacle as thick as a tree trunk smashed a shield to pieces, hurling the soldier against the wall with the dry crack of breaking bones. His scream strangled in his throat.

"Close ranks!" Zirel roared, but the command was already useless. The formation was broken.

Chaos reigned. In the dark, the enemy could not be seen—only guessed at through shifts in the air and sudden impacts. Maggie heard the hiss of Élisa's orbs striking the creature, each blow sounding like a hammer against fatty meat. A cry of pain—nonhuman this time—tore through the shadows, a piercing ululation that belonged to no known animal.

"You're just making it angrier!" Maggie snarled, smashing a tentacle that tried to coil around her leg. Her mace sank into spongy, unnervingly cold flesh. The thing recoiled with a hiss of rage.

Zirel, meanwhile, had shed all restraint. With a roar, he hurled himself forward, his twin daggers flashing briefly in the spark they struck against stone. He was everywhere at once, a whirlwind of fury, striking without regard for defense, forcing the creature to focus on him.

"I see you!" he lied between blows. "I see you, filth!"

The creature, unsettled by the reckless assault, revealed itself a little more. Maggie glimpsed a misshapen form—a convergence of pale, glistening limbs coiling around a central core that pulsed with a faint amber glow. Not an eye, but serving as one. And it fixed on Zirel with intelligent hatred.

A tentacle came crashing down on him. Zirel parried as best he could, but the impact drove him to his knees. The creature loomed above, ready to crush him.

That was when Maggie understood. The blows they struck… the beast's battered flesh did not bleed. It reformed. Worse, with each hit it endured, Maggie felt a wave of cold wash over them, a sudden weakness flooding their limbs. The creature was not just regenerating. It was feeding—on their life force, their energy, their very will to fight.

"It's eating us!" she screamed, horror freezing her blood. "Every strike makes it stronger!"

Despair nearly broke them. Fighting was useless. Escape impossible.

Then the thing spoke again. Not a whisper this time, but a clear voice, twisted by ancient pain and infinite anger, emerging from the very walls, right at Zirel's ear.

"…over…" the voice breathed. "…at last…"

Zirel, dazed, lifted his eyes to the pulsing mass. The amber glow throbbed, hypnotic.

Maggie saw his hesitation—the mental snare. "Zirel, don't!"

But it was already too late. The creature surged toward him.

Élisa was faster. With a cry of pure focus, she hurled her two orbs not at the creature, but at the stone vault above its central mass. The projectiles struck with terrible force, shaking down an avalanche of rock and dust.

The creature, startled, faltered for a fraction of a second.

It was enough. Zirel rolled aside, narrowly dodging the killing blow. The stones crashed down on the thing, burying it partially under a mound of debris. A roar of pure fury filled the tunnel—but it was muffled, weakened.

It was not dead. Far from it. But it was hurt, confused, and temporarily trapped.

"Fall back!" Maggie bellowed, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Now! To the entrance!"

They did not need to be told twice. Stumbling, dragging their wounded, they retreated blindly through darkness and terror, pursued by the sound of rocks already being shoved aside with titanic force.

They had survived. But they had tasted its essence. And it had tasted theirs. Hatred now burned on both sides.