The shouting echoed loudly through the stone tunnel. The hurried splashing of footsteps through the mysterious underground waterway seemed to come from every which way. He came to a halt; the scruffy young man, his clothes drenched in sweat and god knows whatever he was actually stepping in. The pale moonlight broke through crumbled gaps in the ceiling. He searched the front pocket of his soaked slacks, pulling out a wad of soggy paper. He gently but hastily rubbed his thumb across it, hoping to squeeze out the moisture. He carefully unraveled the folded page and held it up to the silver sliver of light, but it was no use. Whatever ink had been there previously had soaked into cosmic blotches of black. He cursed aloud, carelessly giving his location away. But that no longer mattered at this point; he was tired. He could hardly breathe, his muscles ached, and the murky water had soaked through his pants and into his leather boots. He crumpled the page in one hand and ran the other through his blonde hair, darkened by the dirt and grime of the underground.
Maybe death would finally catch him here, covered in shit.
No. Not here. Not like this. He had worked too damn hard. Too many sleepless nights. Too much blood on his hands for all of it to fall apart now.
Splashes neared. Daen kicked up some sludge as he backed against the curved wall of the tunnel. The slime of the old stone felt alive, biting into his back like icy pins. He squeezed out the last drops of moisture from the wadded page in a tight fist while searching the length of his thigh with his other hand to clutch the knife which ran alongside the seam of his pants.
His breath was heavy. The familiar grip of his knife, the only heirloom of an abandoned ancestry, brought him peace of mind. Whomever came down that corridor would be another tally. But no one emerged. The current pulled at his feet just a little harder.
He loosened his hold of the knife and stepped off the wall. He sloshed back into the blade of moonlight and fidgeted with the wad of paper once more before pressing it back into his pocket. The tunnel forked into two dark corridors, either one could get him lost in the labyrinth, more lost than he already was at least. But his decision was cut short by a close splash behind him. Before he could turn around, an arm swung around his throat and pulled him in hard. He fought the attacker’s other knife-wielding hand with his own, struggling to break free from his assailant. Using all of his weight, he threw himself back, taking the stranger down with him. The two men wrestled in the frigid stream, spitting out the tainted water as it moved over them. Daen elbowed the man’s side enough to get him to loosen his hold. He quickly rolled over to face the man and pinned him by holding down the arm that held a knife and dropping his knee over the man’s other arm. Daen watched the man squirm, his face concealed by a black face mask. Daen forced the man’s knife to his own throat, but the stranger used his last remaining will to keep it off of him. A swift headbutt from Daen caught the man off guard, causing his grip to falter and the knife to plunge through the front of his neck. A violent gurgle escaped from the man as Daen twisted the blade hard to the left and yanked it out. The assailant went limp, as blood mixed with liquid filth. Daen stood over the body and dropped the man’s knife on his cold body before kicking it to float away with the current.
His victory was short lived. Shouts echoed through the tunnels again, bodies growing closer. Daen raced through the left corridor, kicking up water as he navigated the dark waterway. The shouting grew increasingly louder, men on the hunt, hunting for him. A single blood curdling shriek cut through the noise, “DAENOLF!” He knew that voice. It was her voice.
That loathsome cunt.
Daen received a new jolt of adrenaline. He continued down the corridor, seeing a crossroad up ahead. Another man clad in black met him at the crossroad, pulling a knife from his side. Daen rushed him and ducked low, slamming the man against the slimy brick wall. Daen quickly slipped his knife out and slashed the man’s stomach repeatedly. Before the man could retaliate, Daen slammed him to the ground and made for the right path of the labyrinth. The woman’s shrieks haunted him through the tunnels like a fierce winter chill.
He turned down another corridor. Each one looked the same to him, yet his gut was guiding him through the underground maze. As Daen made his way to the end of another corridor, it came to a split; left or right. A loud voice forced him to choose right. He splashed through the darkened waterway before coming upon an opening on his right side. Dean’s breath was heavy as he gripped the frame of the opening. Inside the room sat still water, barren except for a stone elevation. An altar, perhaps. Daen brushed his damp hair back with wrinkled fingers as he stepped forward, his eyes mesmerized by a large mound of clay which sat upon the crumbling stone. His knees dropped into the pool of water as he reached the altar. With wide eyes, he felt the wad of clay, hardened yet still malleable. Daen began to rub away chunks of it, digging until his fingers found something. His chest tightened. He pulled out a heavy stone covered in ancient residue. Daen quickly submerged it into the water, using his thumbs to smear off the leftover clay, then promptly wiped it off on the front of his shirt.
The stone was a deep, dark emerald with a large crack that ran to its core. It appeared dull, yet Daenolf’s eyes were lost in its mystery. A loud battle cry entered the room; another man dressed in black. The assailant kicked Daen down before he could turn to face him, causing the stone to slip from his slicked fingers. Daen heard the stone plop into the dark, murky waters. He quickly recovered and grasped the man by the head with clawed hands and threw him hard against the stone wall. Without letting go, he followed the man as he collapsed into the water and began rapidly throwing blows to his face. The assailant’s hands found Daen’s throat, but he pulled them off and pushed his thumbs into the man’s eyes. Daenolf gritted his teeth as the man let loose a primal cry. He reached for his knife with one hand while pulling his enemy’s head to the left by the socket and jammed the blade into the side of his skull. The man’s body jerked violently before settling into a cold, stiff sleep. Daen ripped the knife from his attacker’s cranium and left the body to float in that forgotten room.
He quickly dove down to his knees again to search for the stone. Daen lifted the hefty rock out of the water, holding it to his chest as if it were his child. He was once again mesmerized by its muted green tones. Daen wasn’t sure what would happen once he had his hands on it, but he was hoping it would at least get him out of there. There was no more time to ponder what-if’s; voices were echoing into the room, he had to move. He lifted his right leg out of the water and placed his foot on the altar. With a quick yank, the lace slipped free through the loops of his boot. With great haste, Daen secured the stone with the old leather lace and hung it around himself as a necklace. It was then he felt his breath return, his muscles no longer ached, his mind clear. There was no question, he had found it.
Daen slipped out of the room only to be attacked from another assailant, but Daen’s fist found his chest and knocked him high against the corridor wall. Somehow, he knew it was coming, but that was nothing compared to the strength he felt throwing a grown man like a rag doll. Before the man could get up, Daen stomped his foot forward through his assailant’s face, breaking through easily like old wood. The stone around his neck began to glow a brilliant jade, illuminating the malicious smirk that had formed across his face. He shook his foot free from the man’s shattered skull and laughed at the lifeless corpse fall on its side. The body floated down the waterway, towards another figure standing at the other end.
Yara.
Her white suit was bright in the darkness of the labyrinth, seemingly unsullied by the filth of the odious underground lair. Her short silver hair perfectly slicked back save for one strand which fell between her scowl. Suddenly, his excitement faded. She let out a piercing shriek as he gripped the glimmering stone, praying that it would take him away. A force like one thousand sentient winds pulled at him from every direction. The last thing he saw were Yara’s deadly eyes and golden lightning shooting from her two fingers. Then everything went dark.
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