The device clicked rapidly against the antagonistic environment. The man glimpsed down to the compact apparatus in his grasp. He observed the dial on its subtly illuminated screen as it swung decidedly to the right, traversing from the white backdrop into the ominous red end of the spectrum. The mercurial essence was thick in this area.
He looked up from his device and surveyed the desolate landscape. Crushed buildings and scattered debris surrounded him like some stone jungle. Once a cityscape, its structures had all crumbled to form an artificial cave that oppressed the land it encompassed. The ruined buildings here weren't like those of the modern world; they weren't made of wood or stone but of refined alloys and peculiar compounds. Some of these buildings were composed entirely of impossibly thin windows so tall they pierced the skies. Of course, these windowed sky-hugging edifices didn't reach those lofty heights anymore; they were nothing more than a pile of rubble on the ground now, another wall of the cave.
Cutting paths between these fallen structures were roads. These were no ordinary dirt roads meant for horse carts or pedestrians; instead, these roads were crafted from a strange blend of stone and oil engineered to withstand the mighty weight of artificial monsters whose flesh were metal and veins boiled with incalescent fire. The man could only wish to see what this city looked like before they had fallen, before the waterline rose and devoured it.
The ancient ruins, that's where he lived now. He spent every hour of every day scouring its breadth for any shreds of information on the long-gone civilization. His insatiable curiosity drove him to the endless pursuit of unravelling the mystery of their existence, to understand who they were and fathom the enigma that brought their downfall.
The ancient ruins were incredibly hazardous places, not due to the presence of monsters, dragons, or mokoi, for even these abominations deemed the ruins too inhospitable. No. The true danger emanated from every clump of dirt or heap of metal; it was the mercurial essence that saturated the environment.
The toxic essence was so lethal even the vegetation dared not encroach into these condemned grounds. Even the plant life just beyond the ruins wasn't wholly safe, twisted and mutated into grotesque forms, as if performing a final sacrificial defilement to warn of the caustic dangers that were near. It was this very mercurial essence that had made studying the ancient civilization so challenging.
Mercurial essence wasn't an issue for him though, not anymore. The mercurial essence had fused with him, it mutated him, tore at his foundations, and rebuilt him from scratch. Unlike the others that bore this trial, unlike the plant life just beyond the ruins, unlike the lineage of failed explorers before him, it did not kill him; it gave him control.
Guided by the building intensity of rhythmic clicks from his device, he traced a path to the greatest concentration of mercurial essence. There was only so far he could delve upon the surface of the ruins, where the water merely washed up to his knees. To uncover anything of real merit, he would have to dive into the ruin's depths and make his way toward the source—the very heart of the mercurial essence.
Soon, he found himself stepping off the roads, venturing into one of those fallen buildings to continue his expedition. Indoors, the radiance of the day star was obscured, and the only illumination came from the soft glow of his handheld device.
Within these structures, he gained intriguing insights into the architectural preferences of the forgotten society. Even in their dilapidated state, he could see the formulaic grid that shaped these flawlessly square rooms and precisely rectangular halls. It was as if humans didn't even make these buildings, each segment identical to the last; not a single blemish could be spotted, at least not one that wasn't caused by the defilement of time.
He could envision the original form and orientation of the halls he wandered, picturing those ancient people roaming along them in their daily routines. Yet, it required a leap of imagination, for his journey through these corridors differed vastly from theirs. His path deteriorated and descended. The whole hall caved downwards, and weathered walls closed in like a colossal serpent, swallowing him whole. The deeper he marched, the less light reminded him of his possible escape, leaving only the abyssal maw ahead to invite him further. Further down he went, the water level steadily rising as he delved deeper.
He continued unperturbed as the toxic water pressed against his thighs. He waded on further as it ate his waist. Later still, he floated deeper, pushing himself by the tips of his toes as the water tasted his ears, his head tilted upwards to gulp down precious air. Then, he continued no more, the only path left deeper still.
Mercurial essence had a nasty habit of denaturing magic, so no water-breathing spells would help him here. He had never been to this part of the destroyed city and had no clue where this hall would lead him. No clue if there was another side, an exit, or if it was just water all the way down. The water was perfectly still, totally opaque, denying him any answers; it laughed. Through the clicking of his device, it laughed at him, the water's acidity slowly dissolving his clothes and taunting his ignorance; ignorance of what's next, ignorance of what's beyond. He looked down at the device in his hand and waved it from side to side. It clicked fastest when he pointed it directly down into the depths of the water; it was calling him in.
He could feel it; the answers he was searching for were down there. But how far down? He could turn back and find a different route and a different hall. He closed his eyes and took a few meditative breaths, followed by purposefully hyperventilating, emphasizing the exhales and expunging as much carbon dioxide as possible. Quickly, with a final gulping inhale, before his mind found any time for doubt, he plunged.
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The murky water eroded his vision, and a myriad of dust and deteriorated debris floated around. He had to move swiftly; he had to find a pocket of air. He swam past a few metal chairs, rust shedding their eroded skin, and continued further into the building. He checked the open entrances on either side, each submerged room proving as uninteresting as the last.
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There was nothing new here for him to explore. At the end of the hall, he discovered a set of large metal doors. It appeared that these doors slid in and out of the walls to open and close, and he felt a surge of gratitude that at least one of the doors was in the open position.
Through the opened door, he found himself in a vast vertical shaft. The shaft plummeted downwards, far deeper than his squinting eyes could observe. Not even light dared test the extent of its descent. When he looked up, a large metal box obstructed his path. Wedged at an angle, it completely barred any passage beyond—preventing him from squeezing through with his entire body. However, a small compartment hatch, crumpled and partially blocking the entrance, left a gap just large enough for his head to fit. He didn't waste any time and
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surfaced. He attempted to survey the surroundings of this compartment, but the breathable space beyond the small opening was pitch black. The hole was too restrictive for both his head and his glowing device to fit through, making it impossible to discern what lay within.
As far as he was concerned, this was not a route he could take. The man's options were to return to where he came from or swim deeper into that pitch darkness below. With his one free hand, he struggled to grip the underside of the hatch, using it to pull his head above water. The choice was obvious. He hurriedly expunged as much air into the open compartment and with a push against the hatch he
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swam down headfirst. He kept his arm, which held the clicking device outstretched before him at all times so its glowing display could light the tunnel ahead and its rhythmic clicks to direct his course. The nagging clicks of the device confirmed he was. He slowly propelled himself deeper with the gentle paddle of his legs.
He would encounter more of those sliding metal doors at regular intervals along the length of the vertical shaft walls. Yet, each one he passed was found closed, leaving no alternative but to continue deeper.
In this painfully oppressive darkness, he existed in complete isolation; the only discernable presence was his self, yet he still grew claustrophobic. The darkness was so total that the man almost missed a set of slightly ajar metal sliding doors. They revealed another impeccably rectangular hallway beyond.
He squeezed through the narrow gap, burning energy as he wiggled his slightly too-large body past, reminding him of his desperate need for air. Once his hips cleared the opening, his legs slipped in effortlessly, and he began to swim frantically, searching for a pocket of air. His lungs begged for relief. The air inside him depleted, his chest filling with gaseous poison. This was it now; there was either a clearing to breathe or there was death.
He swam down the hall as fast as he could, sweeping his clicking device from side door to side door, hoping to illuminate salvation. There it was, a missing door, its frame perfectly sealed with no apparent water seeping through. He blindly shoved his head through, poking up and ~
he took a breath. Large mouthfuls of air filled his lungs, devoured like a starved animal. His chest unclamped, and he felt safe, if only for a brief moment. He turned around on the spot, taking in his temporary camp. It was a minuscule air pocket only as tall as his hand's width but at least as wide as the entire room.
His clicking device illuminated the waters below, revealing the same adhesion to that grid-like pattern in the architecture. The odd formulaic room was complete with the same chairs, desks, and metal boxes that all these similar-looking rooms had. He waved his clicking device around in search of the highest concentration of that aggravating noise, and once again, his clicking device was calling for him to go deeper and so
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he did. He pushed against a nearby wall to shoot himself out of the small room and back into the hallway, resuming down the path opposite from where the vertical shaft was. He soon found his route out of this floor as he found an open door leading to a stairway. The stairway ran around the perimeter walls, spiralling endlessly downwards. The great benefit of this room's design was that the man could simply swim down the central gap and use the stair's convenient railings to propel himself swiftly down.
It didn't take long for him to reach the very end of the stairway, which ended with an unprecedently thick door made of a peculiar metal alloy. The door stood firm as an impenetrable juggernaut, but to the man's unimaginable luck, the wall immediately adjacent to said door was floating all around the room in broken chunks, leaving a perfectly sizable hole for him to swim through.
The sight almost made him want to laugh, but his clenching chest was of much greater concern; he quickly went through the hole in the wall and continued into the room behind. This room was again another vertical shaft, a shaft that he found himself at the very top of. There was only one direction he could go: down.
The man had never heard his device click as violently as it did now, the little dial smashing against the far right of the display. His aching lungs were nearly forgotten in his excitement. He quickly calmed himself, he didn't want his heart rate to spike any higher than necessary; every ounce of energy mattered.
There were none of those sliding doors hugging the walls of this shaft like they did the other. It seemed that the sole purpose of this shaft was to connect only two locations: the top and the bottom.
He had gone so deep at this point that he was really beginning to feel the water pressure pressing in on him. An actual physical strain applied itself on top of his shouting chest. He picked up the pace; this shaft was far deeper than he liked, and there were no doorways, not even closed ones to offer the illusion of oxygenating hope.
He swam deeper and deeper, him and the glowing light alone in this watery entombment. He finally reached the bottom of the shaft. An open hall! An escape! But no air yet.
This hall was unlike the ones he had previously seen; everything was much cleaner, even with the wear of history. He ignored that; he could focus on it later, for now, air. His chest pounded, agony enveloping his every fibre. The fear was primal; it wasn't a matter of bravery or cowardice. This panic was biologically built into the human makeup, for no one should suffer as he did now.
Hall, hall, closed door, closed door. Panic, panic. Desperate flailing of limbs, please, around this corner, around that corner. Location no longer registering; just any lip in the ceiling, please. There!
He entered the room, but it was tall. He had to swim upwards higher and higher. He dropped his clicking device to dedicate his full force to swimming as fast and powerfully as possible. So close he could feel the weight of water release as he broke its surface.
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Were you able to hold your breath pt. 1?
