The corridor smelled like damp stone and secrets.

  Freyda walked ahead. THOOM. THOOM. Like a metronome made of anxiety.

  Wilhelm walked behind, trying not to look at the massive sword strapped to her back. It was bigger than him. Literally. If she tripped and fell backward, he would be paste.

  "So," Wilhelm started, his voice echoing in the gloom. "Do you come here often? Or do you just haunt hallways professionally?"

  Freyda didn't turn. "I am walking. Walking requires focus."

  "Does it?" Wilhelm muttered. "I find walking requires legs. And occasionally rum."

  They turned a corner into the Grand Gallery.

  And there he was.

  Vasco Vane.

  He was leaning against a statue of a weeping angel, inspecting a small, golden pocket watch. He looked frustratingly comfortable. While everyone else was bleeding, burning, or having existential crises, Vasco looked like he had just finished a pleasant lunch.

  "Ah," Vasco smiled, snapping the watch shut. Click. "Right on time. Or rather, slightly late. But I assume Cousin Freyda walks with the speed of a glacier."

  Freyda stopped. She looked at Vasco. Her snarl deepened.

  "Leech," she rumbled.

  "Wall," Vasco countered, bowing slightly.

  He turned his coin-counting eyes to Wilhelm. "Master Storm. I hear you have a food problem. Or rather, a lack-of-food problem."

  Wilhelm stopped swaying. He leaned against the wall, trying to look casual and failing. "News travels fast in the gutter, doesn't it?"

  "It travels on gold," Vasco corrected. He stepped closer. He didn't smell like rain. He smelled like ink and lavender. "You need the Fungal Spore Farms. An elegant solution. Disgusting, but elegant. Feeding the masses with mold. Very... efficient."

  "It saves lives," Wilhelm snapped.

  "It saves labor," Vasco smiled. "Dead peasants don't pay taxes. But... you can't afford it. The blueprint requires 500 Annunaki Gold. You have... what? Lint? A stolen spoon?"

  Wilhelm touched his pocket. The spoon was gone. Right. He gave it to the dead kid.

  "I have... potential," Wilhelm lied. "I have the King's ear."

  "The King has ears of stone," Vasco waved a hand. "You need liquidity, Wilhelm. And you need it now. Before the riots start. Before they eat the dogs. Before they eat you."

  He pulled a scroll from his sleeve. It unrolled with a crisp, expensive sound.

  "The Office of Liabilities," Vasco whispered. "I want the seat. The Grand Broker."

  Wilhelm laughed. A short, sharp bark. "You want a Council seat? You? The guy who sells poison to widows?"

  "I want legitimacy," Vasco said softly. "I want to be able to walk into the sunlight without guards. And in exchange... I offer you the Iron Bank."

  He tapped the scroll.

  Wilhelm stared at the parchment. 50,000 Gold. It was enough. Enough to build the farms. Enough to feed the city for weeks.

  "And the cost?" Wilhelm asked.

  "Favors," Vasco smiled. It was the smile of a shark that just found a seal. "Tokens. Little... I.O.U.s. Whenever you want gold, you give me a token. And one day... I might ask for a favor in return."

  "Like what?"

  "Like... vetoing a law I don't like. Or ensuring a certain trade route stays open. Small things."

  Wilhelm looked at the System Warning flashing in his mind.

  "You're trying to own me," Wilhelm whispered.

  "I'm trying to fund you," Vasco corrected. "You're the idealist, Wilhelm. You want to save everyone. That's expensive. I'm the realist. I know the price of a soul. It's usually cheaper than you think."

  Wilhelm looked at Freyda. She was just standing there, a mountain of silence. She wouldn't help him here. This wasn't a sword fight. It was a knife fight in a phone booth.

  "If I say no?" Wilhelm asked.

  "Then the city starves," Vasco shrugged. "And Helga Bladeblood wins. And Brandan's head ends up on a pike. Your choice. Heroism... or groceries?"

  Wilhelm looked at the scroll. He grabbed the quill Vasco offered. It felt heavy. Like lead.

  "I'll take the gold," Wilhelm hissed. "But if you try to pull my strings too hard, Vasco... I'll cut them."

  "I look forward to the attempt," Vasco grinned.

  Wilhelm signed.

  Scritch. Scratch.

  The ink was red. Of course it was red.

  Vasco rolled up the scroll. He looked happier than a man should ever look.

  "Pleasure doing business, Master of Coin," Vasco bowed. "Now, go build your mold farms. The people are hungry."

  He turned and melted back into the shadows, whistling a tune that sounded disturbingly like a funeral dirge.

  Wilhelm slumped against the wall.

  "I just sold my soul for mushrooms," he muttered.

  Freyda grunted. "Mushrooms are nutritious."

  "Shut up," Wilhelm groaned. "Just... shut up."

  He pushed off the wall. "Come on, Tower. Let's go find some monsters. Apparently, I need biomass. And I'm in a killing mood."

  They walked toward the heavy oak doors, leaving the smell of lavender and bad deals behind them. Outside, the rain was waiting. And so were the nightmares.

  They didn't head for a simple staircase. In the Moonclaw, to go deep was to surrender yourself to the Descending Sarcophagus. They crossed a bridge of shivering glass that spanned the Great Void, a vertical abyss cutting through the heart of the citadel.

  Ahead of them lay the transport a gargantuan, moving vessel of ancient, stone-bound Enmagic. It wasn't a machine of pistons and oil; it was a titanic slab of obsidian, a mobile piece of architecture held aloft by chains of flickering, blue white spirit fire. It hummed with a low, bone-shaking frequency, the sound of ancient mana veins being strained to their limit as they held the massive vehicle against the pull of the earth.

  Wilhelm stepped onto the shifting stone of the platform, feeling the weight of the city above him pressing down. On the center of this titanic, floating monolith sat the iron cage, looking like a lonely bird-trap on a leviathan’s back.

  The elevator wasn't really an elevator. It was a cage.

  A rusted, rattling iron cage dangling on a chain that disappeared into the gloom above, descending into the throat of the world. The gears shrieked. SCREEE-UNCH. Like a dying metal dragon.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Wilhelm leaned against the bars, swaying with the motion. He adjusted his collar. He ran a hand through his hair. He looked at Ser Freyda.

  She stood in the center of the cage. Immovable. A monolith of scratched plate armor. She didn't sway. The cage swayed around her.

  "So," Wilhelm started, flashing his best rogue grin the one that usually got him free drinks or slapped. "Atmospheric, isn't it? The damp. The impending doom. The smell of... is that sulfur or just regret?"

  Freyda stared straight ahead at the passing rock wall. "It is sewage."

  "Right. Sewage. Nature's perfume." Wilhelm did a little hand flourish. "You know, they say danger is an aphrodisiac. Or maybe that was fear? I always get them mixed up. Point is, having a seven-foot tall Valkyrie watching my back? Very comforting. Makes a man feel... safe."

  He winked.

  Freyda turned her head. Slowly. The metal of her gorget scraped.

  She looked at him. Then she looked at his boots. Then back at the wall.

  "You talk to fill the silence," she rumbled. "The silence is better."

  Wilhelm’s grin froze. It twitched. He let out a breathless, awkward chuckle. "Ha. Yes. Silence. Golden. Just... testing the acoustics."

  He turned away, gripping the cold iron bars, his face burning. Smooth, Wilhelm. Real smooth. She hates you. She definitely hates you.

  He glanced back at her. The way her shoulders filled the space. The scar pulling her lip.

  Gods, she’s magnificent.

  The cage hit the bottom. CLANG.

  The gates didn't open automatically. Freyda just kicked them. The lock shattered.

  They stepped out into the Undercroft.

  It wasn't dark. It was worse. It was lit by bioluminescent moss sickly greens and bruised purples. The air was thick, wet, and tasted like copper.

  And eyes. Everywhere.

  The Grotesque.

  Mutated humans. Things with too many limbs, or too few. They skulked in the shadows, behind piping, atop piles of rubble. They hissed when they saw Freyda (fear). They went silent when they saw Wilhelm (hunger? hatred?).

  He was an Archangel here. A pretty boy. A reminder of the sky they couldn't see.

  "Friendly locals," Wilhelm muttered, hand on his rapier.

  "Ignore them," Freyda commanded, walking THOOM, THOOM through the muck. "We are hunting biomass."

  They found it in a sunken cistern about half a kilometer deep.

  The smell hit them first. Yeast. Rotting fruit. Old meat.

  "There," Freyda pointed.

  In the center of the cistern, wallowing in a pool of black sludge, was... a thing.

  It was a hill of pale, wet flesh. No defined shape. Just a lump the size of a carriage. Eyes floated in its jelly-like surface, drifting aimlessly. Jaws opened and closed randomly on its back.

  But it wasn't attacking.

  Around it, smaller lumps little Vorexes the size of dogs were nuzzling against its bulk. The massive creature extended a pseudopod, gently stroking the smaller lumps. It was... grooming them?

  "It's... a mother?" Wilhelm whispered, confused. "Do monsters have mothers?"

  "It is a target," Freyda said. She drew her sword. A slab of iron as long as Wilhelm was tall.

  "Wait," Wilhelm held up a hand. "Look at it. It's peaceful. It's feeding them."

  He watched. The care. The gentleness. It didn't fit the narrative. Monsters were supposed to be mindless engines of destruction. This looked like... family.

  Then he looked at his System Interface.

  Wilhelm’s stomach growled. A sharp, painful reminder.

  He pulled a City Ration Bar from his pocket stolen from the warehouse earlier. It looked like a brick of sawdust.

  "Sorry, Momma," he whispered to the monster. "But my city is eating itself."

  He took a bite. Dry. Chalky.

  Wilhelm swallowed the dry lump. He wiped his mouth.

  "Right," he said, swaying slightly, the sugar hitting his system. "Physics time."

  He stepped forward. "Hey! Ugly! You're evicted!"

  The Vorex stopped grooming. Dozens of eyes slid across its surface to focus on him. The "children" hissed.

  Wilhelm raised a hand.

  "First rule of cooking," he grinned, though his hands were shaking. "Grease the pan."

  He flicked his wrist. A shimmering, oily sheen coated the floor around the monster and its offspring.

  "Lightning," Wilhelm whispered. "Conductivity is a..."

  He didn't finish.

  The monster didn't roar. It erupted.

  A jet of pressurized gas and acid shot from a orifice on its back. Not at him. At the ceiling. It created a cloud.

  [ WARNING: TOXIC SPORES DETECTED ]

  Wilhelm reacted. Or tried to.

  FAIL.

  He was too slow. A heavy, wet tentacle whipped out of the mist.

  He tried to dodge. He tried to look cool.

  He looked like a ragdoll.

  WHACK.

  It hit him in the chest.

  He flew backward. He felt ribs crack. Not a snap a wet, grinding crunch. He hit the stone wall. The air left his lungs.

  "Gah!"

  He slid down, gasping, tasting copper.

  [ PAIN. ]

  The monster was charging now. Moving surprisingly fast for a blob, sliding over his own grease slick like a bobsled of doom. The jaws were snapping.

  "Too... fast..." Wilhelm wheezed. His chest felt like it was on fire.

  He raised a shaking hand.

  "Fire..." he choked out. "Ignition..."

  The flame burst from his hand. It hit the grease. It hit the gas cloud.

  WHOOM.

  A massive explosion of orange and black smoke. The Vorex screamed a high, bubbling shriek.

  But Wilhelm...

  OVERHEAT.

  System Warning: Brain Temp Critical. Capillaries bursting.

  His vision swam. Red warning lights blinked in his eyes. His nose started bleeding. His brain felt like it was being microwaved. He slumped forward, the heat from his own spell cooking him alive.

  The monster came out of the fire. Burned. Angry.

  It loomed over him. A massive maw opened, dripping boiling sludge.

  "Well," Wilhelm slurred, his head lolling. "That didn't go... as planned."

  He closed his eyes.

  SPLAT.

  Not him.

  The monster.

  Something dark and heavy slammed into the side of the Vorex.

  Ser Freyda.

  She didn't use magic. She used momentum. She had charged a freight train in plate armor.

  She slammed her shield into the creature's bulk.

  The impact sound was nauseating. THOCK.

  The Vorex rippled. It was thrown physically thrown sideways.

  Freyda stood over Wilhelm. The fire reflected on her armor, making her look like a demon. She raised her sword.

  She brought the blade down. It didn't cut. It separated reality.

  SQUELCH.

  The Vorex was bisected. + 200 Biomass.

  Freyda turned to Wilhelm. He was lying in the mud, bleeding from the nose, clutching his broken ribs, looking absolutely pathetic.

  She looked at the burning monster. Then at him.

  "You are squishy," she stated.

  Wilhelm looked up. Through the pain, through the heatstroke... he saw her. The firelight dancing on her scar. The sheer, unbothered power.

  His heart did a little flip that had nothing to do with the arrhythmia.

  "And you..." Wilhelm whispered, blood bubbling on his lips, a delirious smile forming. "...are wonderful."

  Freyda paused. She frowned.

  She reached down, grabbed him by the back of his coat, and hoisted him onto her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  "Do not bleed on the armor," she said.

  "No promises," Wilhelm mumbled into the cold steel of her pauldron, before passing out.