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 Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:50 pm
Takes place a few days after: Ad Astra, on the evening of January 30th; occurs at the same time as First Strike, Two Against the Dark, and The Western Webs
Old blueprints were only partly useful, and every record yielded significantly different plans. Getting in was easy enough–there was a half-collapsed tunnel with broken metal grating that had yielded immediately. The water there had frozen over, creating an icy path inwards.
Ice turned to slush, and then slush to water.
Cold water.
The tunnel they followed dropped steeply, funneling them downward into colder air and heavier water.
By the time they reached the underground waterway, the sound of rushing overflow was a constant roar–loud enough that they could hear it through walls of concrete.
They knew this wasn’t going to be a pleasant excursion. They just didn’t know how bad it was going to get.
The tunnel led to a large, underground chamber. It should have had several feet of concrete walkways on either side, but the room itself had been swallowed by water.
The underground chamber was flooded.
Murky black water pooled across the floor, obscuring the actual channel. It took a bright flashlight, shining directly down at the floor, to penetrate the darkness. They still had to guess where they’d find footing.
An ugly, oily sheen coated the surface of the slow-moving water, and patches of thick tar floated along the surface.
Tar that twitched. That bubbled.
That clung to the water, to the walls, to them.
The air was worse.
Spores drifted thickly through the chamber, lazy and slow moving, They moved like they were drifting through time. There was no air current to give them momentum, so they simply bobbed unnaturally. They reflected like mirrors; every sweep of their lights cast glittering sparkles throughout the room.
The chamber was so horrid that it couldn’t even be considered pretty.
Every breath tasted damp and metallic, carrying the stink of rot and standing water. Fungal growths and crawling plants clung to the vats and supports, swollen with moisture and dusted black.
Even the sound warped here. Water echoed endlessly. The ground below them rumbled. An unsettling hum reverberated through the walls.
There were no footsteps, only the steady slosh of water as they trudged through ankle deep water. Knee deep, or higher, if you were unlucky enough to catch your foot in a crack in the cement, or an uncovered hole.
The group had to hug the wall just to avoid any risk of falling into the deep channel. It was impossible to tell what lurked beneath the dark water. They didn’t have to see it to know it was bad.
The deeper they went, the stronger the youma energy signatures became. There was something off about them–where one signature bled into the next. It became impossible to tell how many there were.
Only that they were here.
The trackers confirmed what their instincts already knew: the youma had come this way.
And they hadn’t gone far.
In the distance, a dim, purple light flashed occasionally. Echoing from the same direction–growls, barks. The occasional thud. Something wet, squelching. Tearing. Snarling.
They were close to a pack of youma.
Someone was going to have to strike first.
It might as well be them.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:52 pm
There was something undeniably wrong about the water they waded through.
Sessrumnir knew storms. He knew the indiscriminate violence of lighting and the unbiased danger of the open sea. This wasn’t that. This was trapped water. Stagnant, heavy, oppressive, like it wanted to be inside his lungs. It dragged at his boots and lapped sluggishly against the walls, black and lightless beneath the surface. Patches of thick tar clung to whatever it touched, leaving an oily sheen that refused the break apart.
Every step sent a shiver down his spine from memories he didn’t ask to have surfaced.
He kept his breathing slow anyway.
The respirator muffled the worst of the air, but it couldn’t erase it entirely. Every inhale still tasted damp and metallic, decay bleeding through the filter. Mauvian designs of course. Customized after the data they’d collected from the start of everything. They kept the spores from settling in their lungs, but they were still there. Drifting. Floating lazily through the chamber. Each sweep of light made them glitter and reflect back like sharp, unnatural orbs that made distance and depth difficult to judge.
Ephesus would be somewhere else right now. Amarynthos too. That thought alone was enough to pull him into focus.
Sessrumnir shifted closer to the wall, instinctively placing himself where he could brace if he misstepped or the water rushed too quickly without warning. The low, constant roar of rushing overflow echoed through the concrete.
He glanced briefly over at Alastor and Dagon. No words were needed. They could feel it too. The way the youma signatures bled into one another, overlapping until they started feeling like a restless mass. Lucien stayed close, making sure their aura was dampened and kept from being noticed too soon.
He nodded to the others, knowing they could sense what was ahead of them as well. Ranged attack would be best.
“We don’t know how deep the channel actually is, and I don’t like the way those signatures overlap,” he said quietly, voice softened by the respirator and drowned out almost immediately by the rest of the echoes through the chamber. “If we draw them toward us, we might have an advantage. I’ll wait for your signal.”
Although his storm was contained within the confines of his magic, lightning wanted space. Here, underground, surrounded by water and concrete, Sessrumnir knew it was best if kept controlled.
For a brief, strange moment, he noted how he was the only one among their small group born on Earth. He stood side by side with those who had lived for centuries and with literal worlds of experience, rather than mere decades. Still, it didn’t make him feel like he was lesser, but helped him feel grounded to be at their side.
Sessrumnir lifted his chin, eyes following the flicker of purple light ahead. The spores glimmered as if they were waiting for the attack.
He waited for the signal.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:52 pm
Lucien loathed the water.
Not with dramatics — there was no hiss of protest, no indignity of complaint — but the way it crept higher along his legs, dragging at his fur, was an offense he would remember long after this was over. The black water swallowed sound and light alike, its surface broken by sluggish blobs of tar that clung to everything. Mud had already worked its way into his coat, darkening pale fur and weighing it down until he resented each step he took.
When the water crept too high for comfort, Lucien did not hesitate.
He shifted his weight, gauged the low ceiling with a brief glance, then climbed smoothly onto Alastor’s back. He was careful with his claws, making sure his body was tucked close to avoid scrapping against the concrete above. Alastor’s instincts had never failed him. Lucien saw no reason to begin doubting him now.
A respirator sat across his feline muzzle. Spores drifted thickly through the chamber, slow and glittering like broken glass. But the worst of the air was blocked, and with that, Lucien felt a quiet, professional satisfaction that their design did its job.
His attention was moving constantly. The walls, the ceiling, the waterline, the way sound seemed warped and echoed. The blueprints he’d helped labor over flickered through his mind, and he overlaid his memory over what the chamber had become instead — filled with Chaos-swollen growths and warped in a way that no schematic could fully capture.
Still, the data had been important to collect and proved incredibly useful so far.
For the teenagers. For the other teams facing their own dangers. For whatever would come after that night.
His ears twitched at the distant growls and wet, tearing sounds bleeding through concrete. Something old stirred at the noise — not quite memory, but more like instinct of how to survive situations like this.
Lucien stayed close, keeping their aura suppressed, his eyes fixed on the faint flicker of purple light ahead. He spared a glance over at Sessrumnir and Dagon then after a moment, he leaned just enough toward Alastor to speak quietly in his ear.
“They’re restless,” he noted, more observational than anything else. Mud-soaked and waterlogged, Lucien settled his weight and braced himself for Alastor’s inevitable attack or movement. “Don’t let me slow you down. I can handle myself.”
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:53 pm
The water in this place was sick. Dagon had expected to find a place terribly poisoned, and the murky, dark, tarry water was certainly that. She was glad for the few extra inches of height the thick platform soles of her shoes gave, keeping her just that bit more out of water that was visibly tainted.
She did not relish the thought of being any deeper in it, though she knew it might be necessary—and in any case, the discomfort of it would be more than survivable. They were here to root out the cause of this vile miasma, and to aid Stirling and the others, who had stumbled on a Chaos plot so much greater than them and yet stood up to it so bravely. And her companions here were accomplished fighters, who she could trust to have her back.
At least the Mauvian respirators meant that her lungs were somewhat shielded from the vile air. Masterfully crafted, and made with care, and utterly indispensable given the situation.
“I do not think the water on my world was so vile even with Chaos in it,” she said, voice low. “This is not normal for Earth, is it?” She didn’t think so, but every once in a while, as many beautiful surprises as this world had, it decided to deliver her a much uglier one.
Perhaps the Chaos she could feel, and the strange purple light, were answer enough for that question. Something unnatural lurking here, bringing its unnatural taint.
“We will move with care, to avoid the water. But dread and despair will weaken our foes, and storm and claw will finish them.” She spoke with confidence because she was confident—they were all experienced fighters in their own rights. And if they drew in and destroyed this threat, that was one less that might find the young ones on their own path.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:53 pm
A message from Valhalla popped up–just as Sessrumnir was waiting for a signal.
So, there it was.
There was a moment of brief communication between Sessrumnir and his brother, who was coordinating between himself, Sessrumnir, and Michel. There were no delays.
A short exchange, and then a prompt: ‘Go.’
They did.
Dagon was not ignored; Alastor shook his head to answer her but kept his eyes on Sessrumnir’s communication.
Then, used to Lucien’s weight on his shoulder, he moved without jostling him. Stooping slightly, and testing each step before putting too much weight into it, he moved forward.
They didn’t know how deep the channel was, nor did they know where the ground was failing. He had no desire to plummet into the frigid waters, nor did he think Lucien would enjoy an impromptu swim.
Lucien did not slow him down.
Pulling a floodlight from subspace, he swept it across the room.
Five sets of eyes found the light immediately, howling in alarm and discomfort. The youma were a tangle of limbs, clustered together as if for warmth, and gathered around a shoddily dug hole. They’d been burrowing here–enough that the water had drained somewhat from the room.
It was still wet, and disgusting.
And dangerous.
The youma’s noises echoed immediately, loud and shrill. They carried well beyond what the group could imagine, joining similar wails from far away.
Water splashed as the youma lunged, charging at full speed with open mouths and sharp claws, snarling, drooling, roaring.
But dread and despair would weaken their foes, and storm and claw would finish them.
Alastor’s magic was cast with no fanfare; he had eyes on his targets, and that was enough. He held the light and moved to the side for them.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:53 pm
The exchange with Valhalla was brief, but that was all they needed. The floodlight cut through the chamber like a blade, and Sessrumnir’s breath hitched as he quickly took note of the youma’s now sharp focus on them. He waited for dread and despair to wash over them before moving. The hole they’d been digging seemed to bleed out the water from the room.
His stormglass shifted in his grip, responding to intent before the thought was fully formed. The shape lengthened, shifting into a broadsword. Sessrumnir planted his feet, bracing against the slick stone and unsafe footing, trusting Alastor to keep the light steady, and for his and Dagon’s magic to do what it did best.
Break them first.
The storm collapsed around the youma as they rushed forward. Lightning snapped across the concrete and skipped across the damp floor. A bolt struck a youma mid-lunge, making it collapse into the filthy water with hissing screams.
One tried getting around him.
Sessrumnir moved without hesitation. He stepped forward and brought the sword down in a decisive arc, cutting the youma’s charge short before it could reach Alastor or Dagon. The impact sent a spray of blackened water outward, and the youma crumpled into dust.
More were coming. Too many for him to stop alone.
And that was fine.
Sessrumnir held the line anyway, but trusted the others to take care of what slipped past him. His trust in their abilities was how they’d all survive.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:54 pm
The moment the floodlight flared, Lucien dug his claws in reflexively. He braced himself for the strike, easily staying in place as Alastor moved to attack.
One of the youma managed to get around Sessrumnir.
He launched, pushing himself off Alastor’s shoulder with practiced precision. His claws struck true to aim, tearing across the youma’s face, aiming to blind or at least disorient. The creature screamed, stumbling back into its own kind as black water churned around them.
Lucien hit the ground a moment later, landing hard but blessedly on higher stone where the water thinned. He shook off the worst of it, fur already matted and ruined beyond salvaging, and spun back toward the fight without pause.
Another lunged, and Lucien met it head on, slamming into its side. Not to kill, because he didn’t have the strength to do that on his own, but to disorient. Delay. Enough to give the others’ magic time to finish the job. He darted back towards Alastor’s side as soon as he could, resuming his place with a purposeful leap and a huff of breath through the respirator.
He could not stop them all. But he didn’t need to.
Lucien would do what he could, but he trusted the others to do the same, just as they always had. This was not the first time any of them had placed themselves between danger and allies.
Waterlogged, mud-smeared, and feral in movement, Lucien bared his teeth and braced again, ready to launch the moment another slipped through.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:55 pm
Dagon was tense and wound, but grinning. This was the part she knew best; the wait for the right moment, the coordination with allies to know the instant to strike the enemy. It wasn’t that she didn’t take this seriously, but she had launched her share of ambushes, and the moments just prior always had her a little eager for the fight to come.
Of course, she had more often worked with civilians than with fellow magical warriors, but the principles were nevertheless the same. And when the signal came and the floodlight filled the dark sewer with light, she did not hesitate, tapping her fist against her chest. Her magic was no longer wild and rebellious, not since she had purged her world of its Chaos, and so it came to hand instantly, fog flowing out around her. She held her strongest magic in case something else lurked in the darkness, something more dangerous, but the oppressive dread ought to have the beasts wilting.
She had found, over and over again, that whatever else was true of youma, like all creatures, they knew fear.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:55 pm
There were seven youma. And then Sessrumnir cleaved one into dust.
Six.
Dagon’s fog strangled the air from their lungs, and sent their hearts–or what passed as them–into a frenzy. Alastor’s magic, half despair, and half rot, sent their bodies into overdrive.
The youma were panicking. Struggling to breathe, struggling to think, struggling to move.
One youma, still twitching from Sessrumnir’s lightning, thrashed. Exploded.
Five.
The youma Lucien blinded started to breathe so fast that it overheated–then, dust. The one he’d slammed into collided with another youma, which was panicking so greatly that they started snapping at each other. Violently, viciously. It wasn’t clear if the magic destroyed them, or if they destroyed each other. Either way, they were gone.
Three.
Alastor held the light still. The room beyond the youma seemed to be moving, churning from the grotesque overgrowth of bulbous purple spores.
One youma lunged at Sessrumnir, but it phased right through him, in a cloud of black mist that splattered the Knight’s face and stung. It manifested just behind Sessrumnir and snapped at his heel, but the momentum of its leap sent it scrabbling backwards.
Alastor kicked it so hard that it smacked into the wall, twitching briefly, and then dissolving into a fine dust. He held the light almost perfectly still, and Lucien had plenty of purchase where he stood on Alastor’s shoulders.
Two.
Two smart youma, who did not charge at the group. Who had retreated further into the room.
One was a large, wolf-like youma, with two tails and nubby horns on its head. Its lip was curling. The smaller youma guarded it, pacing in a half circle anxiously, dripping acid that sizzled as it hit the water. Once, it darted to the hole, dug briefly, and then gave him.
The larger youma was building up for something, obviously.
The energy in the air hummed, low and uncomfortable. The purple puffballs trembled, shaking loose a fine, powdery dust that began to coat the room.
And then, the larger youma opened its mouth. Like a foghorn, a horrible noise reverberated from deep in its throat. The guttural roar was deafening. Painful. On the ears, on the eyes, on the brain. Skin tingled and bones ached.
The tunnels groaned as pressure built. A large crack fissured up one wall. The channel of water behind them bubbled, gurgled. Metal snapped somewhere around them–then, all around them.
The vibrations worsened–and the youma’s horrible sound grew louder.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:55 pm
The youma vanished.
Sessrumnir barely had time to register the absence before it was nothing but black mist splattering across his face, stinging like acid against exposed skin and seeping through the edges of the respirator. He recoiled sharply, heart hammering as the thing reformed behind him with a snap of displaced air.
That was new.
Sessrumnir staggered half a step, boots skidding on slick stone as he twisted, sword already coming up too late. The creature’s momentum carried it past him, scrabbling, and Alastor’s kick ended it before Sessrumnir could finish turning — but the damage was already done.
The larger youma opened its mouth.
The sound hit him like a physical blow.
Sessrumnir cried out despite himself, the roar slamming into his skull and rattling his teeth, pain blooming behind his eyes in a blinding spike. He dropped to one knee instinctively, one hand flying to clamp over his ear as the other brushed blindly at the fang hanging at his side.
The air vibrated. The walls groaned. The spores shook loose in glittering clouds that he didn’t want to know what would happen if he let them rest too long on his skin.
“--Alastor—!” he managed, a warning, voice torn and raw through the noise. Dagon’s magic pressed heavy and suffocating around them, dread anchoring everything just enough to keep the roar from swallowing everything whole. But it was still too much.
Sessrumnir clenched his teeth and dragged the fang free.
“Princess — now.”
White light tore through the dark.
Princess manifested mid-leap, a massive white wolf-dog, paws hitting the stone like thunder itself. She lunged towards the roaring youma without hesitation, teeth bared, aiming to disrupt, to collide, to stop whatever was building in its chest before the tunnel broke apart around them.
Sessrumnir forced himself upright, vision swimming.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:56 pm
The sound was unbearable.
Lucien flattened himself against Alastor, ears pinned hard against his skull as pain lanced straight through him, sharper and more immediate than anything he’d felt so far. It wasn’t just loud — it was like his bones were vibrating apart.
He snarled, breath stuttering through the respirator as he clamped his eyes shut against the pressure. For a moment, all he could do was cling to Alastor, claws digging in as the tunnel groaned and metal twisted around them.
He forced one eye open, vision blurring as he tried to isolate the source. The larger youma — still roaring. Still building.
Princess’s arrival was a blessing, but also a risk. She could help end things. Or it could escalate.
Lucien sucked in a breath and moved.
He launched off Alastor’s shoulder again, not concerned with grace when everything was so urgent, hitting the ground hard and skidding on stone slick with water and filth. The sound made his head ring, but he stayed upright, shaking it off just enough to orient himself.
He sprinted around the side, keeping low, using Dagon’s fog as cover while he launched at the smaller youma guarding the larger one. If it was buying the larger one time—
Then he would have to stop it.
Claws flashed, aiming to draw attention. Anything to interrupt the sound before it brought the tunnel down on all of them.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:56 pm
Youma always found a way to surprise Dagon, and never in a pleasant way. Most of them had fallen, easily enough, but the two that were left—trhey were coordinated. And thus far more dangerous than either alone. She started forward, picking her steps carefully, focused on the enemy—
And then the larger beast let out its bellow, and she staggered. She was not unfamiliar with the bellows of great beasts, but this was—this was something else entirely. And she was used to fighting such things on the open ocean, not in tunnels that rattled and cracked around them with the force of the sound.
It was hard to think, through the pain and through the way her knees wanted to buckle under the force of it. Certainly it was difficult to pull herself to weigh the pros and cons of her strongest magic—if plunging them briefly into deeper darkness was a dangerous idea.
They had Alastor’s floodlight, and the bright glow of Princess, and she had to trust that her allies would navigate the black. There was no sense in saving magic for something that might happen, when if the bellowing youma wasn’t stopped, it might bring down the whole tunnel and who knew what else above them.
If there was worse, later—she would simply have to make do.
Under other circumstances, she might have called out a warning, but it seemed unlikely to be heard over the din.
Dagon clapped her hands. Darkness and cold settled around them all, and a dread so heavy it was painful settled on their foes.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:58 pm
The room was already dark, but Dagon’s magic swallowed up everything left for them to see. The chill worsened, uncomfortable for the group, but unbearable for the youma.
Lucien had weakened the smaller youma, which trembled under the weight of her magic, and collapsed to the ground when Princess’ shoulder brushed it. She was a force of nature by herself. It was too dark to see the youma when it dusted, but its energy signature flickered–faded.
Followed almost immediately by the explosion of dust as the larger youma was destroyed.
And then, finally–silence.
The youma’s roar echoed for a moment longer, wailing through the tunnels with hateful force. The ringing in their ears was not so quick to fade.
But Cahir was not here, nor did the noise or disappearance of his youma draw his attention. Water was cascading loudly–differently now than before.
It was fast–too fast. A current had picked up somewhere, and even in only a few inches of water, the pull of it was enough to put anyone off balance. It didn’t help that the ground was trembling beneath them, as if it too were trying to slip away.
The youma were gone, but their troubles were far from over. The walls were straining, crackling and groaning even in the silence. The room was full of rot and–worse than that–a dense layer of fine mist was rapidly filling the room.
At first, it seemed like it was dust, or concrete powder as the structure grinded into itself.
But then, Lucien’s scanner hummed, and emitted a low warning ‘ping’.
It was never a good sign when your biohazard detection devices lit up.
The chemical compound was different from any of their earlier scans, but even a preliminary examination yielded a concerning level of toxic spores. It could be assumed that brief exposure might yield sickness–headaches, nausea, aches and pains, vomiting, dizziness, vertigo, cold sweats, fever…
Long-term exposure–worse.
There was a never ending shroud of spores, dropping steadily from the ceiling, and blowing from hidden vents and cracks in the concrete.
They drizzled atop the water. Slipped beneath it.
Were carried by it.
As Dagon’s magic began to fade, the light returned–dim, at first, but brightening quickly. They could see the room more clearly now, and Alastor swept the room once more just to make sure there were no youma hiding in any corners.
An emergency ladder, collapsed, led up to a narrow chute. Next to it, a control panel with an array of switches and mold-covered buttons. A red light flashed faintly, flickering as it fought death. Energy hummed behind the wall–the last bit of an emergency reserve, brought to life from the energy in the room, the lightning outside, or maybe just a hidden generator. Schematics, etched into a plaque and screwed into the wall, seemed to display instructions for managing water overflow. Several valves, levers, and wheels lined the walls.
The tunnel the youma had been digging bubbled, and a foul odor filled the room.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:58 pm
Sessrumnir stayed where he was for a moment, letting the ringing in his ears ease enough to think. Princess paced at his side for a few strides before settling, hackles still raised, eyes fixed on the dark tunnel the youma had been digging. It was now bubbling faintly, the air around it thick with a foul, chemical stench that made Sessrumnir’s nose wrinkle even through the respirator.
He placed a hand on her head, waited to make sure Alastor had a chance to smooth a hand over her fur as well, before having her return back to the fang at his side. The light had returned.
The water was… wrong. Not just in how it was tainted, but it seemed like it was moving in a specific direction. Even now the water tugged at their boots. He turned slowly, watching the current, then followed the hum in the walls, until his gaze landed on the wall mounted control panel.
The control panel’s red light flickered weakly. The schematics bolted beside it were half obscured by grime and mold, but they were also something familiar enough for him to recognize.
“There,” he said, voice still rough and slightly muted to his still ringing ears. He gestured toward the etched plaque and the lines branching beneath it. “Overflow basin. Sealed reservoir under us. If we reroute the flow, the polluted water stays contained instead of contaminating downstream.”
He glanced briefly to Alastor, then Dagon. “Power’s barely holding, but it should be enough to get the valves open. I don’t know the condition of the grates, especially if anything is growing down there. But I can handle the controls.”
He moved close to the panel, wiping grime away with his cape as he traced the connections, fingers already finding the first lever.
“We’ll need that basin open before the current gets any stronger.”
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:59 pm
Lucien shook his head as the scanner’s warning tone cut through the lingering silence. He checked it again anyway, then bared his teeth faintly.
“These spores aren’t just irritants. Acute exposure will be bad. Long term…”
He didn’t need to finish. He looked from the drifting haze to the water curling around their ankles, then back to the tunnel where the current was building.
“Containment is the best option. Letting this reach the rest of the system would spread it through the city.”
Lucien moved closer to Alastor again as the ground trembled, claws flexing against stone for balance. His ears twitched at another distant groan in the walls.
“I’ll keep scanning,” he added, quieter. “If anything else changes — pressure, toxicity — you’ll know.” He looked from Dagon, then to Sessrumnir at the controls. “Just don’t take too long.”
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