The trail of monster corpses left by the combat team forced them deeper into the damp caverns, lingering with moisture and death. William's mining equipment allowed for better work efficiency, pleasing Ian.

  Not long after, a young teenager squeezed through a narrow gap along the wall and peeked his head over. His large eyes darted left and right before landing on Ian. Like a little, clingy puppy, he silently darted over and squatted next to him.

  The bald middle-aged man had been less lucky and tumbled out with a strangled gasp and gnawed legs that were bitten raw by an unknown creature. Chunks of cloth and flesh mixed.

  Paul entered smoothly, glancing over the group before he checked an old stopwatch and proceeded with his tasks.

  Ian glanced at the little stalker beside him. The teenager, with a small frame, stared back and tilted his head. Ian nodded at his bloodied hands. "Want to help?"

  Following Ian's actions, he shoved his hand and groped inside, squishing through the innards. With a gleam in his gaze, he retracted his skinny arm and raised a round, tender object in the air like a trophy.

  A dripping, squishy trophy.

  "...!" He presented it to Ian with sparkling eyes.

  Ian explained calmly, "That's a heart. What we're looking for is a solid core, like a rock. In creatures of that size, it should be half the size of that heart. You can keep it on the side as a comparison."

  Some Rift monsters possessed similar anatomy to Earth's old creatures, before the mutations. The elimination of certain parts could temporarily cease the lesser monsters, but it took overwhelming or destroying the energy core to kill the monster.

  Ian blinked, and a new, still pulsing set of lungs lay on the boy's open palms. "That's a set of lungs. Remember, the core is hard."

  The teenager tilted his head and spun around, digging through the corpses as if looking for treasure. He emerged with a rib bone, long and curved, and Ian fell silent. Did the teenager rip that out himself, or was it disconnected?

  Some things were better left unknown. "It'll be rounder shaped."

  The pair continued their treasure-hunting, crossbred with an anatomy lesson without a mind to the others. Paul only spared them a strange glance before he walked away.

  At some point, the teenager gave up looking for cores and continued to pull random, fleshy items while Ian continued his solo harvest of cores, occasionally glancing sideways to name a random part.

  An obscure row of parts was neatly arranged beside the teenager.

  The middle-aged man had been cursing, and glancing at the crazy people beside him, he swore louder with disgust. His entire face scrunched up. "Fuckin' crazy little bastards," he muttered grumpily. "They'll be out first, I swear."

  Sylvan, who bore an innocent charm, stood with a drape of intestines over his arms. The disparity was a little striking. He glanced over with a disapproving frown. "Huh? Old man, aren't you the crazy one? This is nasty, sure, but when are foraging tasks nice?"

  The intestine dangled by the man's face, and he scampered back, shrieking. His face went green. "Get away, get away!"

  Sylvan blinked. Then he groped the fleshy appendage while watching the discomfort crawl over the bald man's face.

  The man stared back wearily.

  A wonderful smile bloomed across Sylvan's pink lips. With the embodiment of a mischievous child who enjoyed ruining lives, he started spinning the long tube like a windmill, splattering blood in the air.

  His eyes curved with childlike joy. "Hehehehehehe...."

  "Ahhhhhhh—!" The man's shrieks pitched higher as he ran with flailing limbs, bending in a corner to throw up. "Get away, you crazy bastard!"

  William cleared his throat and walked over, gently lowering his arm. "Syl."

  Sylvan smiled innocently, pouting when he was stopped. "What? He's been whining all this time, and gave those two a dirty look.

  William carried a scholarly air, shaking his head. "That doesn't mean we go swinging intestines around. You don't know where that's been."

  "It's pretty gross," agreed Sylvan. "But did you see his face?"

  A clap sounded at the side, and both turned to the young teenager who continued clapping with a blank expression. Sylvan gave him two thumbs up, followed by a cheeky grin.

  Ian decided that Sylvan was either a terrible influence or a great mood-maker. But the teenager seemed enthusiastic about the strange actions. He nodded at Sylvan, offering a faint, nearly indiscernible smile.

  Sylvan, with his only friends being a group of impossibly strange and unique children, noticed and scratched his nose. "Let the adults fight with other adults."

  William laughed. "You're always full of wisdom, Syl."

  "It's what you love best about me, obviously."

  A rumble echoed throughout the cavern, sending a tremble against the rocky grounds. They jerked, dropping low to stabilize their bodies as a low growl reverberated against the concave walls.

  Paul frowned, checking his watch again. "We need to hurry. Whatever is left will have to be sacrificed. The corpses ahead hold more value."

  Ian didn't move. "Stay here. We can't help them if they're in trouble."

  The other man's sharp gaze swept over, observing him quietly as his lips pursed. A stone mask fell over his features, unable to be read. "You're new," he recognized. "It's expected to follow the leader to prevent casualties. My word here is law. We move."

  "Why?"

  "You don't need to know why."

  The black-haired man crouched steadily, without any intention to move without his desired answers. Reprimandation lightly twirled behind his judging gaze, a scrutiny that made those reflected within it ashamed or desperate.

  In the facility, it was this aloofness that Espers sought, sparked by the desire to dominate and to consume the strange, elusive energy.

  In the sea of corpses, his voice rang clear. "I need to know."

  Paul gripped the stopwatch in discomfort as the energy within him coiled, twisting. He'd been guided before entering, but an imbalance hung in the air. "Why?"

  A violent roar shook the caverns again, but neither relented. Sylvan glanced at them worriedly, reassured by the light squeeze of William's hand on his shoulder. The flashlight flickered at the edge of death, hanging between Paul's fingers.

  Ian sensed a disturbance from the beginning, a natural air of discomfort, of strangeness in Paul's attitude. An indifference, almost forced.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  What happened within the Rifts? If merely the carnage could reveal such terrors, then what of the sinners who entered, eager to survive on their own?

  If the combat team required assistance, they weren't much help. So why?

  "I won't play an ignorant fool walking to my death."

  Heavy shadows hung under the older man's tired face, and he shook his head. "If you run away, you will die regardless."

  "I won't run," said Ian, and he meant it.

  But he would not die an oblivious, ignorant death ostracized by another. When death came, he would rage and fight knowing of its arrival.

  Do not go gentle into that good night.

  He remembered his sister's favourite poem, kindling he blaze that kept him persevering.

  Rage, rage, into the dying of the light.

  In a world beyond his limited imagination, he spent his life within a cage, where his lacking knowledge twirled in taunting. He would not stay that sheltered, ignorant Guide with only willful words to facade his fears.

  Paul turned away, starting towards the endless cavern tunnels. "Then you shouldn't worry so long as you adhere to that mindset. Death only comes early to the ignorant or the greedy."

  The group of six drew closer to the chaotic sounds, filled with the crunch of bones and low groans. A sheen of water shimmered against the jagged wall, pressed against their bodies.

  Then, the cold ripple of liquid lapped at Ian's covered ankles. Paul stopped a short distance ahead, and dark liquid came to his calves.

  "A fight here?" muttered Sylvan in confusion. "There's only water ahead."

  "There may be a shore on the other end," suggested William.

  Paul continued to frown but proceeded to trudge through the narrow passage. "Continue. If the combat team lies ahead, then we can only move forward."

  The middle-aged man hurried forward, barging through the teenager as he secured a position near the forefront. "We're... we're approaching the combat team, right? Then, it's got to be safer with them!"

  Paul said nothing, and the man trailed closely behind. The teenager tugged at Ian's sleeve, opening his hand patiently. Ian glanced at the small, eager palm and sighed, grabbing his hand to navigate further.

  Sylvan snickered. The tenacity of his spirit couldn't be dulled by the horrors of the Rift. "You're really giving old man now, you know that, Ian?"

  Ian looked back, barely making out the shadows of the younger's face. "I'd rather that than giving the youngest child."

  "I do not give youngest child."

  "What else?"

  Sylvan hummed thoughtfully, standing on his toes. William loosely tugged his waist closer and allowed him to climb onto his back. "I'd like to think a respectable older brother crossed with a five-year-old boy that would beat kids with a plushie."

  Ian admired the self-awareness of the other. William laughed, amused. "You've spent way too many hours thinking about that description."

  "I happen to like to have an accurate description handy."

  "It's accurate," praised Ian, expressionless.

  Sylvan grinned. "Isn't it?"

  The current had grown stronger, dragging their bodies towards a slitted gap that drooped into a cascading waterfall.

  The sound of fighting neared, and the middle-aged man squeezed through with eagerness burned in his face. It was like finding salvation after being lost in the dark. He rushed forward, trudging through the water. His body pushed alongside the down currents, into the pool of dark water.

  Ahead, the space had opened into a cavern, and five figures spun through the air at the shore. An oversized, slimy creature loomed over them. Chunks of limbs and broken corpses clung to its skin.

  A man lay on the ground, chewed and gnawed on, but he groaned with a trace of life. His body twitched, snapped and broken.

  He would not live long.

  The middle-aged man swam faster, and one of the Espers—a young woman with beautiful brown hair and freckles—turned. Her eyes widened, and her gaze changed.

  Ian frowned as he followed slowly and opened his mouth to yell out when the man approached her.

  "Hey—"

  She grabbed his collar, and his delight warped into stricken confusion. She bared her teeth and grinned. A knife impaled his stomach, and he gasped.

  "Lord, you took too fucking long. We had to sacrifice one of ours instead," she said with a sigh.

  "What the hell are you—"

  With those words and a powerful strength, the muscles in her exposed arms bulged before the man was sent flying.

  The creature in the midst of fighting sniffed, attracted to the spray of blood. The free meal flung across it, and it greedily turned, sucking in the body through liquid skin. Blood clogged the man's throat, and deprived of the luxury of a single scream.

  He flailed inside the body with his outline appearing through the translucent skin, before he thrashed once more and fell still.

  They watched as his body shrank, eaten away by acid inside until only a skeletal shadow remained. The combat team took the opportunity to strike, their movements gaining speed and ferocity.

  The creature grumbled, but its body began to wither and shrink with a screeching wail that shook the walls. The foraging team reached shore, tethering by the edges with a forlorn look. Only Ian and the teenager were newcomers, oblivious to the Rift rituals.

  The strong were chosen to live; the weak could only die.

  From the beginning, what killed low-level Guides or Espers wasn't monsters, but humans.

  Sylvan, standing nearby, paled. "It's okay," he mumbled to himself like a mantra. "We'll survive. Just us. As long as we survive."

  Ian felt a tight grasp clinging to his sleeve, glancing at the boy who shrank by his side. Strangely, his gaze stared squarely ahead with only some unease. But the sacrifice wasn't enough—three more seconds and perhaps the creature's life would've been forfeit.

  It thrashed, screeching loudly as vibrations tore through the walls, and sharp, hanging stalactites came crashing down into the dense water.

  "Ian! Move, move, get closer to the center!"

  "Syl!"

  The water surged, soaring towards them with an explosive grasp. Sylvan shouted, attempting to grab Ian, but the waves tore him away. He spiraled against a wall. William hurriedly fought the current, yelling Sylvan's name in desperation.

  When the water receded, an emptiness held the spot his arm had been grasped.

  Ian swung his head around, drenched as his clothes hung heavily over his shoulders. He roughly drew back his hair, slicking it to reveal a damp forehead and vicious, solemn eyes.

  Further away, a few of the combat members continued to battle, but with the creature's attention on them, they couldn't gain leverage.

  The female Esper swore, clicking her tongue as a long gash drew across her calf, exposing the whites of bone. She knelt by the wall, heaving as her gaze darted around wildly.

  Then, her eyes landed on a spot a few meters away. There, the young teenager coughed violently, sniffling as he rubbed water out of his reddened eyes. Perverse, fervent delight lit up the woman's face.

  A shadow fidgeted behind her, his tall back pressed flat against the walls and melting with the shadows. Paul's eyebrows knitted tightly as his hand reached for his belt.

  Ian's gaze took in the three positions: the prey, predator, and observer.

  The rarely provided books within the facility always enamored his little sister. They ranged from ancient texts or old magazines that depicted the prime of Earth's days, before the Rifts.

  There was a story about an explorer who investigated the deserts, but everybody knew the crucial role of exploration. They were observers of nature, part of their cycle. They couldn't disrupt others.

  He wondered if the next events would be considered nature.

  The cruel and devastating cycle of humanity.

  Or had they interfered so much in their own cycle that their man-made destiny had taken a twisted shape?

  His feet propelled off the ground before he could process his thoughts. At the same time, the Esper cackled maniacally and stretched out her hand. The teenager blinked in confusion, squinting through one watery eye.

  Paul's eyes widened, and the flash of metal flitted in his hands, curled tightly around the hilt of a knife.

  But if his intentions were to save the child, they came too slow.

  Ian's body slammed against the woman, and she grunted, swerving violently. Her entire body rippled with muscles, and she swore.

  "Who the hell are you?" she seethed, regaining her footing as her hand grabbed his face, slamming his head against the ground. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

  Ian coughed, a spark of pain erupting from the uneven ground. He kicked his knee up and she caught it, shoving it down at an agonizing angle.

  "Now, now, you fucking idiot. If you're so eager to die, be my guest!"

  She lifted his head, fingers grinding against his cheeks, and slammed it back down until stars danced across his vision. Too weak. Too inferior. These were the fighters trained and honed for battle.

  But he wasn't nothing, either.

  The heat from her fingers scorched against his skin like hot coal, energy diffusing through his skin. He could hear the rhythm they spun inside her, see the tangled lines of chaos left for his taking.

  His head pounded, and his throat rolled in a dry swallow. Wilder, fiercer, rampage more intensely than before. His thoughts echoed in free fall, rebounding against each other.

  A spark of electricity sizzled where her hand met his face, and confusion appeared in her gaze at the same time madness devoured his. The energy shot toward him, drawn from within her body, clashing in torrents as it jerked and writhed.

  "Fuck!"

  The woman swore and jerked her hand away, but Ian grasped it tightly within his blood-stained grip. The eyes revealed behind her slender fingers were harrowing, sculpted by wide madness.

  Their positions switched in an instant. Pain surged relentlessly, until she couldn't bear it, bending her stomach and groaning. Her fists pummeled Ian's body, but he didn't let go.

  "You damn...! Let go of me—!

  Her entire body convulsed, pupils trembling widely as he flipped them over, red running down his forehead, and ugly, dark marks blooming over the exposed parts of skin.

  "This is self-defense," he explained as sobs wracked her chest.

  The tantalizing power, the taste of energy coiled in his grasp, and the writhing body of an Esper—decreed supreme by the heavens and earth—laid to waste beneath him. His black eyes, scorched with the flames of resentment, revealed no sympathy.

  If humanity was a killing cycle, he understood slowly as blood beaded down his forehead, pooling at the edge of his eyelashes, then he'd stop being prey.