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 Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:57 pm
Takes place a few days after: Ad Astra, on the evening of January 30th; occurs at the same time as First Strike, Into the Deep, and The Western Webs
The outermost mouth of their tunnel had been sealed with a wall of bricks, but it had already been dismantled by the time they arrived. Maybe it was youma, or age, or lazy workers and a half-assed installation; the wall had half-collapsed, allowing them to squeeze past it and shuffle through the four-foot wide tunnel.
Frost coated the walls, but there was more mud than water, so they didn’t have to worry too much about ice.
It took nearly two minutes to follow the sloping tunnel before it ended at an access shaft.
Steel rungs were bolted into the concrete wall, forming a maintenance ladder that dropped into darkness below. The rungs were icy, cold and unpleasant. They groaned during the descent and echoed in eerie whines, but they held fast to the wall.
As they climbed down, the air changed–heavier, warmer, carrying a faint organic sweetness beneath the rot. The ice was gone, and moisture beaded along the walls in slow, lazy trails.
The ladder opened into a wide service corridor.
This part of the sewer had been sealed off from active flow long ago. There was no channel here, no current to wash anything away. What little water there was gathered in shallow, uneven puddles along the floor, thick with grime and sediment. Old pipes ran along the walls and ceiling, some split open, others wrapped in–
Vines.
Black. Twitching. Spread like veins.
They crept along the concrete in tangled masses, slick and secreting a dark ooze. Some were thin as wire; others thick and swollen, pulsing faintly. Strange growths clustered where the vines took hold–fungal blooms that grew like wavy shelves.
The closer they moved, the worse it became.
A pressure settled over the space, subtle but unmistakable. Chaotic energy hung heavy in the air. The air hummed faintly, vibrating through metal and bone alike.
And then–the vines reacted.
Just a few inches. A slow, deliberate stretch. Tendrils unfurled where there had been none moments before, dragging themselves across concrete and pipe, testing the space around them. The movement was quiet. Intentional.
This wasn’t overgrowth.
It was infestation.
And it wasn’t the only living thing down here–if you could count youma as living.
A cluster of energy signatures were pressed together. Close.
Many of the tunnels here were sealed with sloppily poured concrete, but one path was open.
It was black–pitch black, like the rest of the tunnels.
Youma didn’t really sleep, and if they did, it wouldn’t have been here in Destiny City.
And yet, it was still. Quiet, except for the sound of heavy, labored breathing, and the occasional squelch of vines stretching onward.
The youma hadn’t realized they were being hunted.
Yet.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 6:58 pm
Valhalla slowed instinctively, one step behind Ganymede, his free hand hovering just close enough to her back to steady her if the slick concrete betrayed them. The other remained laced firmly with hers, his thumb brushing against her knuckles as quiet, protective reassurance.
The ground beneath them was uneven, although it was more mud than standing water, but the cold lingered anyway. Frost still glazed the upper walls and every breath fogged faintly in the air, only to thin and vanish as the temperature crept up the farther they went.
The air felt too heavy here. It wasn’t just the rot, thick and sour in his nostrils, it was the chill that ran up his spine like the place knew they were there. Aware of them.
Thunder rolled distantly above, muted through layers of earth and stone, but he felt it all the same. It was not completely unlike Valhalla’s fortress on Jupiter. The low resonance in his chest, in his bones.
But this place made it more difficult to focus when the pressure of the storm loomed overhead.
The vines shifted again.
Not much. Just inches. Tendrils unfurled where moments ago there had been none, dragging wetly across pipe and stone like fingers. They almost seemed curious.
“Too many,” he mumbled mostly to himself, still trying to process everything he’d been told about what was going on with the teenagers and the General trying to hunt them down. “Too many dangerous people already walking around up there.” Destiny City had never been gentle, but this was different. This wasn’t just letting chaos happen, this was someone creating it on purpose. Experimenting with it so it grew.
Experimentation with youma meant victims. Families who didn’t get any warning. Kids who never got a choice.
His jaw tightened.
And he had his own kids to think about.
Valhalla adjusted his stance slightly, angling himself so Ganymede was shielded from the nearest cluster of vines, even if it meant ducking lower beneath the corroded pipes overhead. He didn’t complain. He rarely did, if ever. He just moved on however necessary.
“What do you think?” he asked her quietly, trusting her take on things as much as his own. He glanced toward the darkness ahead of them, and the steady, rasping breath echoing back at them.
He hesitated, then carefully freed one hand, reluctantly releasing her fingers only long enough to reach into his subspace. The Mauvian device fit easily in his palm and he pressed a button to wake it up, watching the screen flicker to life.
“There,” he said quietly, turning it for Ganymede to see. “The others aren’t far.”
Valhalla glanced down the pitch black corridor ahead of them, then back to the device, already gauging distances and timing like he might have on the mound. How many pitches were needed, what runners to look out for…
“If we move too early, we risk pushing them deeper. Or risk that General being drawn to one place before another.” He glanced down at the signet ring on his finger. “I can check with Sessrumnir and Michel. Just to let them know where we are. If we hit at the same time, we might keep everything contained easier.”
He powered down the device and placed it back in subspace, reclaiming Ganymede’s hand immediately. “I’ll follow your lead,” he added quietly. “I just don’t want anyone down here fighting alone if they don’t have to.”
He took in a breath then let it out slowly. He didn’t reach for his sword yet. But he knew if stopping this meant being able to save others, he would do whatever it took.
For his family. For Ephesus. For Cynthus. For every person who would be threatened by this General continuing to experiment unchallenged.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 5:54 am
Ganymede observed the twitching vines with a pensive frown. She’d seen what evidence Reims, Amarynthos, and their friends managed to collect from the basement, but by the time they’d returned together the General had already cleaned up after himself. Ganymede hadn’t been able to make as careful a study as she would have liked. Even now, they couldn’t stop for long. They only had so much time before their energy dampening wore off—less if the Vanguard’s signal jamming failed.
Then, of course, there was the possibility Cahir had methods of detection and observation they hadn’t accounted for.
“I think we need to end this quickly,” Ganymede said.
Maybe the sentiment was obvious and therefore unnecessary, but the shifting vines sent sparks of apprehension down her spine. She’d never seen anything like them before, not even in the Dark Kingdom.
Cahir was working on his own. Ganymede was certain of that now. The only question she had no answer for was why. Why keep this from his superiors? Or had he been ordered by them to work on his own, to operate in secret? Often she wondered if exposing Cahir would have resolved things faster, but alerting the Negaverse might have resulted in the answers being lost to them forever, confiscated and hidden away by their enemies.
Later, when this was done, maybe she would send a message. Found something of yours. Don’t worry, I took care of it.
Ganymede wished she’d been able to take care of it sooner.
She clicked her tongue in frustration. The youma were the least of their worries, in her opinion, but they would have to be dealt with, too.
“Let’s draw him here,” she countered. “We can drop our energy dampening. I power up and draw him out. We take care of it before he gets another hand on the kids. He already knows some of them have been in contact with me.”
Ganymede caught Valhalla’s gaze, unafraid. It was a risk. Two against one weren’t bad odds. Against a General of Cahir’s skill they weren’t especially good odds either. Then there was the possibility he might choose to ignore her, avoid the brilliant aura of a Princess and go hunting for easier prey.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 5:56 am
Thunder roared overhead. The first crack was sharp, sudden. The vines trembled, and then twitched, and then flattened. The thunder rumbled for a moment, echoing with less fury, but it wasn’t until silence fell that the vines seemed to relax.
Seemed to breathe.
The air was thick and somewhat hazy, like powdery mildew was coagulating around them.
Water splashed in the distance, like something had fallen from a far above. From the darkness, one of the youma growled, and two others chittered at each other.
The vines pulsed unpleasantly and more stretched, wormlike, as they crawled along every reachable surface with renewed vigor.
Over Ganymede’s shoe.
Up Valhalla’s cape.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 7:22 am
Valhalla froze when the vine slid over his cape.
The texture made his stomach twist. Slick and faintly warm, plusing. He peeled the fabric free from his shoulders slowly, deliberately, forcing himself not to react on instinct.
“Okay,” he muttered. “That’s enough.”
The air had thickened, sweet and sour at the same time. He pulled the Mauvian respirator from subspace and fitted it quickly, then turned to Ganymede without hesitation, adjusting hers with careful hands. “I don’t like what we’re breathing. Make sure the seal is tight.”
The vines continued to crawl, bolder now, slithering over concrete and pipe.
“I agree,” he said, meeting her eyes. “We draw him here, but not yet.” His fingers brushed his signet ring. “Let’s keep him distracted and engage the youma first. It’ll give the others a fighting chance if he decides to ignore you.”
He sent a quick message to Sessrumnir and Michel, letting them know they came across youma and should coordinate an attack. Anything to delay the General and confuse his options.
“Once they’ve confirmed, we take care of these guys first, then deal with…” he paused to eye the vines with disgust. “...Whatever this is.”
Another vine tested his boot, and he shook it off. He shifted his stance and finally reached for his sword. A ping came back on his ring and he nodded to Ganymede to lead the charge.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 9:24 am
Ganymede scoffed and kicked the creeping vine away from her boot. She held still while Valhalla helped her with the respirator; her eyes tracked more of the pulsing vines as he did so. They wriggled and slithered like living things, slinking closer. Ganymede grimaced as she grabbed another in the process of slinking over her shoulder, shoving it away as her boot caught the next beneath her heel.
“I don’t think they liked the thunder,” she said while Valhalla sent his message.
The distant rumbling hardly bothered her, even when it seemed to reverberate through the tunnels. She’d heard and felt worse on Jupiter—sharp, deafening cracks, or rolling peals that seemed to go on for ages. The storms there had become a comforting backdrop. Nothing on Earth could compare.
But the vines had trembled. They’d almost gone still, coming alive again only in the silence.
“Use your aspect,” Ganymede advised. “Maybe these things’ll leave us alone while we get rid of the youma. Either the General’ll notice the noise or he’ll think it’s the storm getting worse. I don’t really care which.”
The tunnels were rife with rubble and refuse. Ganymede grabbed a broken pipe from the wall and yanked it free, gripping it like a sword. (She eyed Valhalla’s wistfully but let him have it; some would say he needed it more.) She dragged the end of the pipe along the ground, let the loud, grating scrape of it split the hazy air.
“Come on, you mangy mutts. Show your ugly faces,” she said, then swung into the shadows to hit the first growling beast she could find with a sickening crack.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 9:32 am
It didn’t take long for the first youma to appear. They were already on edge from the storm--or, more likely, the plants reactions to it--so when Ganymede dragged the pipe along the ground, they hurried to investigate.
The grating noise was unpleasant on human ears, and Cahir had already proven to have an affinity for canine-shaped youma. It was doubly so for them.
At first, it was only two energy signatures that separated from the cluster. The largest of the two was in front, but it was skinnier and stranger than its companion. The first to arrive could have passed for a greyhound, if not for the bony protrusions from all of its joints, and along its back. The second was stocky, like a bloated pit bull, with the tail and mane of a lion. It yapped as soon as it saw Ganymede.
The two youma lunged together.
Behind them, the cluster of youma shifted. Four more untangled themselves, peeling off in layers. They lay at the foot of the wall, guarding some strange protrusion. The vines across it were an ungodly blemish, and even as the youma moved--something strange, something chaotic lingered, just out of sight.
Launching into motion, the youma seemed hell-bent on guarding it.
They didn't wait to be attacked first--now that they realized they had company, they wanted to tear them apart.
The four dog-shaped monstrosities in the distance bolted towards Ganymede and Valhalla, desperate to confront with as much distance between them and whatever they were protecting.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 9:34 am
Valhalla didn’t hesitate. He drew in a slow breath and let it settle deep in his chest, deeper than fear, deeper than revulsion. He brushed his thumb over the signet ring he wore, and the air seemed to compress around him.
Thunder didn’t crack this time. Instead, it rolled in a low, suffocating pressure that vibrated through the corridor and rattled loose dirt from the ceiling. His boots struck the concrete with weight now, each step heavy enough to send a dull tremor through the ground. The vines recoiled instinctively, flattening against the walls as if deciding they no longer wanted to touch the space near the Knight.
Valhalla moved forward. His sword crackled with magic along the blade, sharpening its edge. He held it easily, comfortably. There was no flourish or mastery, but he knew how to control it. He shifted his stance just the way he did before a pitch, shoulders squared, balance centered.
“Left,” he called, voice booming in the narrow tunnel as the first youma lunged.
He stepped into the swing the way he would into a fastball, rotation clean and powerful. The blade cut through the air with a thunderous crack on impact, the shockwave alone enough to stagger the creature before it dissipated into dust. The sound echoed, drowning out the snarls.
Another youma leapt. Valhalla pivoted, boots grinding into the dirt, and brought the flat edge of the blade around for a brutal follow through. The hit landed with a boom that rattled pipes and sent the creature skidding back into the muck.
He was already moving to Ganymede’s side, nodding to her. “Don’t let them regroup.”
Valhalla advanced another step as thunder rolled again beneath his shoes, ready to cut down what was left.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 5:27 pm
They’d fought side-by-side enough over the years to know one another’s capabilities and accurately predict each others’ movements without requiring much communication. Though Ganymede was undeniably stronger at her magical peak, she still envied Valhalla’s array of abilities. From his thunderous steps to the sharpened edge of his sword, Valhalla excelled in ways he hadn’t been able to accomplish as a much younger knight.
A single swing of Valhalla’s sword dusted one of the youma. Ganymede had to swing several times with her broken pipe to reach the same results, aiming her blows where she thought the youma might be most vulnerable. She took on the stocky pitbull-looking one, bringing the pipe down on its head hard enough to crack the skull of a normal dog.
What she lacked in abilities in her Eternal form she made up for in experience. Even in an unfamiliar setting, Ganymede was attuned to her surroundings—both the physical space and whatever magic lay in wait. The youma had been guarding something. A heavy malevolence pricked at Ganymede’s senses. Not youma. Not the General, either. But undeniably Chaotic in nature.
“Something’s there,” she told Valhalla, jerking her chin toward the strange protrusion.
Ganymede flung her most basic magic at one of the four approaching youma with little more than a twitch of her smallest finger, aiming to keep at least one of them distracted while she and Valhalla dealt with the pack. She struck the pitbull youma twice more in quick succession with her pipe, but was only slightly satisfied when it burst into dust.Quote: The enemy is subjected to a scent they find most appealing (apple pie, lavender, vanilla, whatever; their favorite smell ever), causing them to feel a sudden sense of disorientation. The scent can last for up to twenty seconds, fading over time. This attack can be used twice.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 5:48 pm
Two youma dusted. One injured and pushed back by Valhalla. Another, distracted with Ganymede’s magic.
Valhalla wielded sword and storm, and it wasn’t just the youma that shied away from him–but the strange, stretching, squirming vines. It was as if a ripple surged through them. A shudder that spread–out, in every direction, until it converged in the same location–
The protrusion Ganymede spotted.
The youma didn’t seem to know where to look, where to focus. To them, Ganymede was the easier target, but to get to her was to get past Valhalla, too.
One youma roared; next to it, a snarl.
Four youma, still out for blood, just with various degrees of focus and health.
And Ganymede had spotted what they'd gathered around. What they wanted to protect.
What they would die to defend.
Three youma, aside from the one transfixed by Ganymede’s magic, lunged at once.
They went for Valhalla's wrist and ankle, and the other for Ganymede’s leg.
The floor was saturated with a putrid black slime. Puddles of it dribbled from the vines, doubly so now that they'd all come to life. It was slippery, and foul. And slowly, gradually, leaking into the waterways.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 5:49 pm
Valhalla saw it the moment she did. The way the vines drew inward. The way the pressure pulled instead of pushed.
“I see it,” he said, already shifting his footing as the floor grew slicker beneath them. His wrist twisted free just enough to avoid the snapping jaws, blade flashing down in a sharp, precise cut to drive the youma back rather than finish it.
“That’s not a youma… is it?”
He didn’t call for lightning, not when the space was too close, but he gripped the pocketwatch at his side regardless. “Kyrie,” he called.
The air tore open as wings burst into being, crackling faintly with static as the thunderbird forced herself into the narrow corridor. Kyrie screamed — a sound like tearing metal — and folded her wings just enough to fit, talons slamming down in a spray of black filth as she raked at the nearest youma.
The impact knocked two of the creatures off their feet and sent slime splashing across walls. Kyrie’s wings beat just once, hard, forcing the vines back and giving them space to breathe.
Valhalla moved with her, keeping himself between Ganymede and the lunging shapes, sword ringing as it caught teeth and bone. “I’ll keep them off you,” he said, voice steady despite the chaos. “You handle whatever that is.”
Another youma skidded toward him. He met it head on with another slash of his sword. He glanced once more at the protrusion, then back at Ganymede with a nod. He and Kyrie would handle the pack. Ganymede would destroy whatever they were trying to protect.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 5:54 pm
“Not a youma,” Ganymede agreed.
At least it didn’t feel like one.
She kicked the dog-like youma aiming for her ankle, sending it sliding back through a puddle of slime. Ganymede made to follow, eyeing the vines, which excreted more of the rancid slime as they writhed. The youma snapped its jaws again, scrambling to intercept. Ganymede’s pipe came down along the youma’s ribs. It crashed into the wall with an angry yelp. Ganymede struck again, grateful for the respirator as slime splattered the walls, the floor, the youma, and both her and Valhalla.
Soon that youma was dust, too. Valhalla and Kyrie could handle the remaining three. Ganymede slipped and slid over the slick floor toward the protrusion. The vines were thick here. Ganymede was no expert on Chaos vines or toxic slime, but it seemed to her as if the vines in this section of the sewers originated here.
Which begged the question: what were they growing from?
They wriggled and pulsed, reacting to Valhalla’s magic as if repelled by it—like living things; conscious, almost. Was it all magic, Ganymede wondered, or specific types? Valhalla’s storm brought booming thunder. Kyrie brought electric cracks of lightning—a sizzling heat which burned.
Ganymede sighed. She preferred to be conservative with her magic; too much too soon and she’d run out too quickly, but maybe now wasn’t the time for being reserved.
So she drew upon her power, sending her Eternal magic directly at the protrusion.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 7:00 pm
As Valhalla and Kyrie continued their onslaught, the youma rapidly deteriorated. It was difficult for most youma to defend against the repeated blows of a Knight, even without his Summon.
These youma were no different, really.
Valhalla pushed them back, but they always returned.
Weaker.
Weaker.
–Dusted.
Between Kyrie’s talons and Valhalla’s sword, they were rendered into pieces quickly–even before Kyrie’s scream had finished echoing throughout the tunnels around them.
It was an unpleasant sound when whispered back at you from far away, but there was little here to celebrate–except, that Ganymede’s magic had seared the vines so intensely that they rotted into black ooze before her. The vines bubbled like boiling water, doubling in size while thrashing wildly, only to explode in sick pockets of acrid slime.
The vines writhed in pain, and while they tried to escape Valhalla’s magic and flee away from him, Ganymede’s magic beckoned them.
Not because they were attracted to it–because they were trying to protect the protrusion.
They couldn’t.
The damage was so immense that they couldn’t convene quickly enough to conceal it–but they tried. Her magic held them at bay, revealing a grotesque black crystal that pulsed slow, simmering waves of Chaos.
Locked behind a grating that had rusted outward. The vines had grown over it but could not reform quickly enough to conceal the basketball-sized crystal a few feet out of reach. The thick lattice made it possible to look through, but there was no way to reach through–and given the sharp, corroded edges, would have been ill-advised anyway.
High above them, an emergency lever was locked in place–stiff, but not immovable, if the right pressure could be applied.
But to hit it hard enough to release the grating would require a great deal of strength and precision–and then, the matter of destroying such a repugnant vessel of chaos would have required an equally masterful effort.
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Posted: Thu Feb 12, 2026 5:49 pm
The last of the youma disintegrated beneath Kyrie’s talons, but Valhalla didn’t relax. His gaze had already shifted.
The crystal pulsed behind the rusted grating, like a heartbeat that was born from darkness. The air around it felt thicker. Unnatural.
“That must be the source,” he said quietly to his wife.
The vines recoiled from him, but they gathered toward it. Protective. Desperate. Whatever the thing was, the youma had died for it.
“Kyrie, back,” he called, lowering his sword just enough for the thunderbird to shift her weight away from the protrusion. Lightning would be reckless here. He stepped closer to the grating, boots sliding slightly in the muck, and followed the line of corroded metal upward until he spotted the lever.
“I’ve got it.”
Valhalla adjusted his grip on the sword, then shifted his stance the same way he would before delivering a pitch — shoulders square, weight grounded, breath steady. He had to jump to reach it, but struck the lever with the pommel of his blade.
The impact rang through the corridor with a metallic crack and Jupiter’s weight behind it. Rust snapped. The mechanism groaned in protest. He hit it again, until something inside the wall gave way.
The grating shuddered.
Valhalla caught it before it could crash down fully into the sludge, hauling it aside just enough to get access to the strange crystal, straining a bit under the weight. The crystal was exposed now.
He stepped back immediately, sword still raised.
“All yours,” he said, eyes never leaving the black thing pulsing in the dark.
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