Despite my restlessness, I didn’t dare move for a long time after the mist settled.

  The chitter and scratching did not return immediately, which became far more worrying than if it had.

  I slid my next half-unwrapped vial back against the leather strap and forced myself to breathe slowly. The blinding mist potion had worked exactly as designed. Too well, maybe. It was what I had intended it to be: a flashbang.

  Despite my joy at its success, it carried an undertone of worry with the rats’ response. They had not fled blindly. They had scattered with purpose, like they knew the map better than I did.

  I was no zoologist, but it made sense that predators adapted when they learned. Had they learned my flashbang was ultimately harmless? Were they regrouping?

  I started moving again, slower now, hugging the shadowed side of the tunnel where the snitch crystals thinned. My steps were careful, heel to toe, testing the stone before committing my weight. Chemical Intuition ticked quietly in the background, with subtle pattern recognition.

  Airflow shifted ahead. Stale pockets. Recently disturbed debris. Salt seams that held moisture longer, as if the stone itself was sweating where something invisible seeped through.

  And then I sensed the rats.

  They were circling.

  The first sign was smell. Wet fur, like an old dog caught in the rain, layered with rot and mineral damp, stronger than before. Beneath it all, a faint sweet-metal tang that did not belong in ordinary decay.

  The second was sound. Not scratching, nor chittering, but silence where there should have been noise.

  The third was the glint. Eyes. Low to the ground. Reflective. Patient.

  I stopped.

  Surprisingly I wasn’t rushed by the horde this time.

  Four of them emerged into the faint glow, keeping their distance, bodies tense but controlled. Bigger up close than I had thought. Scar tissue crisscrossed their flanks, not random wounds but healed ones. They were the marks of survivors, reinforcing the idea that this kind of predator learned.

  One rat stepped forward, head low, teeth bared. It tilted its head, studying me.

  I raised my hands slowly, palms open, absurdly aware of how human the gesture was.

  “Yeah,” I muttered under my breath. “I know.”

  Chemical Intuition whispered options. None of them were any good. I had one blinding mist vial left. A couple of stamina draughts. No real weapons. And no time or space to improvise something lethal without glowing like a beacon.

  The rats shifted.

  Something scraped behind me.

  I turned just enough to see movement in a side tunnel, another pair blocking my retreat.

  That was when I understood. This was no mere random encounter. This was territory enforcement.

  I took a slow step back.

  They advanced in response, perfectly matched.

  All right. New rules.

  I unclipped one stamina draught and pressed it firmly against the leather strap, making sure the glass stayed in contact. No glow. Good.

  Then I drank.

  Fatigue peeled away again, sharper this time, my pulse smoothing into something fast but controlled. My thoughts aligned. Not panicking, but certainly far from calm, just ready.

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  I shifted my stance, lowering my center of gravity, widening my feet slightly.

  The lead rat lunged.

  Remembering the previous potions area of effect I knew I didn’t even need to throw the last vial of blinding mist potion.

  I just dropped it.

  Glass shattered at my feet as I kicked backward, sending shards skittering down the tunnel. The mist erupted low, clinging to the ground, blooming outward in a crawling, light-screaming wave.

  The rats closest to me shrieked instantly, reeling as the amplified glow slammed into their vision, and the piercing whistle broke their hearing.

  I turned and ran.

  I wasn’t running blindly, but sprinting. I followed airflow downhill, letting momentum carry me while keeping just enough awareness to dodge protrusions and sudden drops.

  Downhill again. Always downhill. Like the city was built to funnel mistakes into the same buried throat.

  Behind me, chaos erupted. Bodies collided. Teeth snapped at nothing.

  But not all of them were blinded.

  A heavy impact slammed into my side, knocking the air from my lungs as claws scraped leather, and a bit into my skin. I hit the ground hard, rolling, barely keeping my head from cracking against stone.

  Pain flared as warmth spread under my jacket.

  I came up on one knee, heart hammering, and swung without thinking.

  Glass met bone, as I met one of them with a faceful of empty bottle.

  The rat yelped, stumbling back as the improvised weapon shattered in my hand. Uninspired to wait to see if it would recover. I bolted again, lungs burning, adrenaline screaming louder than fear.

  The tunnels narrowed abruptly, forcing me into a maintenance shaft barely wide enough to squeeze through. I turned sideways and shoved myself in, scraping shoulders and ribs against rough stone. Claws raked the air behind me, snapping inches from my heels.

  I burst out into a wider chamber and skidded to a stop.

  It was a dead end. A collapsed section blocked the far wall, rubble piled high and unstable. No airflow beyond it. No exit.

  The rats poured in behind me.

  Seven this time. Maybe more in the shadows.

  I backed up until the stone pressed against my spine, every muscle screaming like a death metal band.

  Chemical Intuition flared.

  This wasn’t a recipe or a solution. It was a warning of pressure.

  I looked down.

  The chamber floor was wrong. Hairline fractures spiderwebbed across the stone, salt crusted thickly in the seams. Stress fractures. Old ones. The pressure chamber alcove from before suddenly made a lot more sense.

  These weren’t just random cracks from old age or neglect. They looked like the city had been pressurized down here on purpose once, the way you build containment around what you cannot afford to let rise.

  I smiled, sharp and humorless.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s try something dumb.”

  As if they sensed it, the rats hesitated, instincts screaming to wait, to reassess.

  I slammed my heel into the floor.

  The stone gave way with a thunderous crack.

  Pressure released all at once.

  The chamber collapsed inward, far from explosively but violently nonetheless, stone grinding and shifting as trapped air roared upward. Dust and debris filled the space, choking and blinding, the ground dropping just enough to throw everyone off balance.

  I ran back toward the slope, dodging rubble and sudden openings, tumbling through grit and darkness, battered but moving. Something heavy slammed past me, shrieking, then vanished below.

  When I finally stopped, I lay there gasping, lungs burning, ears ringing.

  Silence returned slowly.

  I pushed myself up, every movement protesting. My side throbbed where the rat had caught me. Sticky warmth confirmed blood, but nothing felt broken.

  I laughed then. Soft, breathless, a little hysterical.

  ENEMY DEFEATED X 5: Undercity Scavenger Rat (Rattus ferrum)

  Threat Classification: Low, Pack Predator

  Experience Gained.

  Crude potions and crude tactics. But effective nonetheless.

  I limped after a new draft of air, chasing it like it could pull me out by the collar. The stone under my boot changed pitch with every step, and each wrong sound made my spine tighten.

  Somewhere above, the city went about its day. Down here, I measured distance by how long it took for my pulse to slow, and by how quickly it would spike again if something moved in the dark.

  Behind me, the rats would remember.

  And so would the system.

  As I climbed, battered and bleeding and very much alive, a muted pulse flickered at the edge of my vision. The warning of “Alchemical Activity” was weaker than before. Frustrated, almost.

  I needed to treat attention like a reagent, limit exposure, control the reaction, and survive the yield.

  Attention had been spent.

  And I was starting to understand exactly how expensive it really was.