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 Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 7:08 pm
Takes place a few days after: Ad Astra, on the evening of January 30th; occurs at the same time as Into the Deep, Two Against the Dark, and The Western Webs
But, like many things in Destiny City, something bigger and better came around, and it was forgotten.
The storm drains in the area still partly functioned, but in the years that followed, new underground canals were opened up–top of the line, better routed to the treatment facilities to be cycled back into the city, or carried further out of the city.
Concrete bulkheads walled up many of the underground tunnels, but without maintenance, they were at the mercy of time, and nature.
Neither had been kind.
Though some chambers opened up into large rooms, most of the tunnels were only five feet wide, which required hunching or stooping just to traverse them. They stretched endlessly, with darkness ahead and darkness behind. Even the widest of the tunnels were claustrophobic.
Mud caked the floor, and sealing off the sewer had only limited what water could pass through. There were too many unsealed drains and failing walls to keep the water out.
Even now, water dripped from the ceilings, and spurted from cracks in the wall. In the distance, the perpetual echo of rushing water, and a constant, low rumble. Accompanying them in irregular intervals was the sound of clanking metal, small splashes, and an ominous electric hum.
The underground waterway smelled like dirt and copper. Some places were foul with mustiness, or rank with an earthy mold. Vegetation rotted, but there was no sewage, no garbage, here.
The waters had flushed them away long ago, and no one had returned to defile it anew.
Stalactites dripped from seams in the tunnels, and old pipes had rusted through the concrete. Rebar stuck out where walls and tunnels had collapsed, and steel rungs meant for climbing had broken from the wall.
This place was not safe.
Which was exactly why Cahir must have chosen it.
The tracking had been a success.
Of eight youma, six made it back still tagged. They didn’t head straight there, and not all together. They wandered Destiny City for a while, but one one by one, they all returned–here.
And, the trackers were still transmitting their location.
Also, here.
That wasn’t their only success. Four hours after the skirmishes, the tracker in the USB activated.
The connection was brief–three minutes. And then, gone.
But the transmission overlapped almost exactly with the youma’s locations.
So, they had their target.
And they had video, too. The Mauvians spent hours poring over the recordings from the hidden video cameras, watching replays of the Knights battling the youma, and then Cahir’s eventual arrival. He was first seen at the mill, guided by a small pack of youma–some tagged, some not. When he found nothing there, he went to the mall next, where the youma sniffed out the box containing the key and USB. He did not visit the tunnel.
By then, they were already pulling records on the area, pulling up any camera feeds they could access and preparing to investigate.
They didn’t have much time.
Whatever youma they’d dusted would reform, and Cahir couldn’t be trusted to lay low. He had the USB. What other projects did he have? There wasn’t any reason for him to stop hunting them. He was dangerous and unpredictable.
So they had to stop him.
For two days, they prepared.
Blueprints. Schematics. Monitoring the location, discrete drones, tracking youma rotations, transponder readings–if there was anything they could make use of, they did.
There were problems, of course.
Inconsistent blueprints were the most troublesome, because once they arrived, they really needed to know where they were going. The sewers were a labyrinth, and there was no way to get anyone in there to explore without the possibility of drawing attention.
Nothing could go wrong.
By way of miniscule drones, they monitored the area. They had limited success in getting into the sewers and using their radar system to map out some of it.
Not all, despite their best efforts.
The plan was put in motion Friday evening, under cover of a fierce storm. Winds raged outside, and though the rain had yet to fall, it was thick in the air. It was marginally too warm for snow. Thunder roared and lightning flashed.
The Vanguardians were not in attendance, but they were present, in their own way.
Cahir had a security system. He must have, the same as in Northpoint. They couldn’t detect exactly what was transmitting, or where, but it was there.
Until the Velencians took it out. Electricity smothered the city. Maybe they’d get lucky, maybe Cahir would assume it was just bad weather.
Aliez, Andreiya, and Vyn could monitor the outside area easier than any of the others; they had no power signature, but they could track others on their ComTech.
Which was how they knew Cahir was there–or, at least, a lone General, and a slew of youma.
And a hell of a lot of Chaos.
By the time they were set to strike, there were a total of five entry points, mapped out thanks to the youma and their trackers.
And so, there were five groups.
There weren’t enough Mauvians to shield all of them, so they’d had to get creative. It was too dangerous to call in anyone that wasn’t absolutely necessary, so they’d had to find a new way to suppress energy signatures. It wasn’t without cost.
Space was full of a great many mysteries, many of which were just out of reach. A meteorite had crashed offworld long ago; the crystals had been preserved, saved for a rainy day and–well, today was a rainy day.
The crystals stored energy naturally, albeit only for a fifteen minute window. When cut correctly, when tempered properly, when charged with a Mauvain laser–it suppressed energy signatures as well as any Mauvian.
Everyone had been equipped with one crystal to mask their signature–and everyone knew how important it was to hurry.
At first the Brigade split up in two and took twin entry points. The parallel paths ran directly next to each other, so they were never truly far apart. The paths were relatively similar, each with wet mud, gradually replaced by large puddles of still water. They were hurrying, so it took only two moments to meet up at the end of the passages.
The paths convened into a single larger tunnel, though it was difficult to make out many details. It would have been pitch black, if not for the lighting they brought.
Slow-moving, murky water drifted past them, along a two foot wide channel. There was a walkway on either side of it, but there was only enough space for one person to pass at a time. Every sound they made echoed for what sounded like a mile in both directions.
The floor was slick with water and grime. Each of the Knights had been given a small digital map, constructed out of what appeared to be the shell of a Gameboy Advance SP. All blueprints and projected obstacles had been logged, and it tracked their locations, and the location of their allies, as they moved. Safety features had been installed; there would be no falling into the wrong hands. Each could be remotely shut off, or destroyed. Lucasta and Soleiyu stayed back to monitor transmissions, prepared to send out warnings and updates through them as needed. They were nearly the only technology unaffected by the Vanguardians jamming Cahir’s signals.
There were four youma clusters. The one assigned to the Brigade was down one stairwell, through an old brick-lined underground waterway, and into a large flow control chamber. It could have allowed for breathing room–if the air wasn’t so putrid.
But it wasn’t just the stale water. It was the smell of rot.
The smell of the basement.
Water roared in the darkness, uncontrolled, overflowing. It rushed past them fast enough to raise a cold breeze.
The smell worsened.
Then, the telltale sign that they were heading in the right direction: a thick, black sludge matted the wall, and sticky vines spread like veins across the wall and floor.
Swaths of them stretched from the mouth of the nearest tunnel, black with rot.
They were close.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 7:12 pm
Reims moved carefully through the narrow passage, shoes slipping slightly where mud gave way to shallow water, making sure every step was deliberate. The storm above them made itself known even there. Distant thunder rolled through the concrete around them, rattling the walls and causing dirt to sprinkle from the ceiling. Once, it was close enough that he froze, instinctively bracing as the sound boomed through the tunnels.
He waited until it passed before moving again.
The tunnels pressed close on all sides, making them feel tight and old and hostile. Forgotten. Crafted from neglect and time. Most of them were barely five feet wide, forcing him to hunch awkwardly as he walked, shoulders brushing against the damp concrete. At nearly six feet tall, the posture he was forced into was not ideal.
Reims let out a breath through his nose, trying to push the irritation away enough to focus. He’d already left his hat behind, and his cape and overcoat, despite the chill in the air. Especially now after being soaked from the storm. But it had given him a chance to roll up the sleeves of his white dress shirt to his elbows, giving him a little more movement in such a tight space.
He shifted his grip and, after a moment’s consideration, let his sword shift seamlessly into a gauntlet that fit comfortably around his hand instead. Sure, there was less reach, but more room for him to move.
It felt like this place had been very carefully chosen. He could see it around them. Feel it. The rusted rebar clawing through concrete, broken rungs meant for climbing now bent and useless, the way water had crafted their own paths, regardless of the tunnels’ original intent. He would have bet money that Cahir picked this place because it swallowed sound and distorted distance. It was enough to make people doubt themselves.
They’d prepared for this. Reims had made sure of that. He’d hovered near the adults whenever schematics were spread out, leaning over shoulders where he was allowed, committing what he could to memory. The maps weren’t complete, but they’d already known that. However, he did his best to memorize the paths they did know. The places where the tunnels narrowed, where water pooled, where the drones had lost signal.
Now, he checked the small device in his hand — the modified Gameboy Advance SP-like shell fit easily into his palm. The digital map flickered faintly, tracking their progress, marking allies in other tunnels. He didn’t rely on it blindly. He cross checked it against his memory, against the feel of the space around him.
The smell worsened. And with it came memory. Sharp. Unwanted.
The basement. The vines. The weight of Yvoire’s body collapsing against him as blood soaked through his hands.
Reims forced his breathing to steady and kept moving.
The adults were covering other access points. He knew that. He trusted the decision and the logic of it… even if his chest tightened at the thought of what they might cross paths with. Michel would be there, of course. Michael had gone with him and Amarynthos before, had helped them return to the basement where they were first attacked. Michel was methodical and clever. And dangerous if on his bad side. Even though Reims had never seen it first hand, he could tell by the way Michel held himself — removed himself from being closely connected to anyone else around him.
Malus being there too was… harder.
Not because he wasn’t capable. Evan was a powerful Senshi in his own right… but he felt everything. He loved fiercely. And he was his “mother” in every way that he’d never had before. Which made the thought of Malus anywhere near the General that much difficult.
Reims swallowed and forced himself to focus.
Splitting up was the right call, he knew that. If the General realized they were all moving together, he’d absolutely exploit that. So they had to spread out, divide attention. Everyone there understood that.
But it didn’t make it any easier not knowing who would cross paths with Cahir first.
He checked behind him again, glancing over familiar silhouettes in the dim light. Grateful that they’d all met back up again without issue after being split up down two separate tunnels.
Dering, steady even now — too steady, if Reims was honest. He’d worked himself raw preparing for this, planning ahead, learning the space, measuring distances so he knew exactly how long he had to cast his shield to make it worth the effort. Reims trusted him with his life. But that didn’t stop the worry from settling in his chest anyway.
Yvoire lingered close, his attention slipping now and then in a way Reims couldn’t fault him for. He’d almost died. Twice. Anyone would be shaken. Reims made a quiet note to keep himself between Yvoire and anything that moved too quickly.
There were others, too. Rose, gentle and familiar, someone he’d leaned on long before becoming a Knight. Lyon, reckless and brave and faster than he had any right to be. Amarynthos, someone who gave him chance after chance, and now Reims would dare call him one of his closest friends. Halle and Lisse, whose set of chaotic energy hid more competence than they let on. Stirling, Cynthus, Ephesus… all of them carrying their own burdens, their own families waiting in other tunnels, other corridors.
Sessrumnir and Alastor would be out there too. Other parents. Other people who had something to lose in all of this.
Reims tightened his grip inside the gauntlet until the metal creaked softly.
They could all handle themselves. He believed that. He had to.
Concern didn’t erase trust. Instead, it made him more alert, more careful. Made him confident in his choice to be the one to volunteer to make the call when things went wrong.
If it came to it…
If someone had to stay behind so the others could get out…
Reims pushed the thought aside before it could fully form. He would worry about the logistics later, if it was needed. For now, his job was simple.
Keep everyone moving. Keep them together. And make sure no one else paid the price for the General’s games.
Thunder rolled again overhead, distant but heavy, and Reims paused just long enough for it to pass before moving on.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2026 7:12 pm
Ephesus stayed close to the others, close enough that he could reach out and touch someone if he needed to. He seemed calm enough at first glance. His shoulders were relaxed, his hands loosely folded. But inside, his heart was racing way too fast.
The air felt heavy down there. Not just damp, but heavy, as if the storm overhead was bearing down on the tunnels even without sound. Every so often, a low vibration shuddered through the concrete beneath his feet, setting his nerves on edge.
The ground itself was miserable.
Mud clung stubbornly to his heeled boots, cold and slick, and they were absolutely not built for this. He was not built for this. Every step needed to be made with care. Once, his foot slid out from under him just enough to send a jolt of panic through his chest — and Amarynthos was there immediately, fingers catching his arm, adjusting their pace without a word.
Ephesus didn’t comment. He just stayed close.
The tunnels were narrow, but ducking wasn’t a problem for him. He was short enough that the low ceiling didn’t bother him much, although he felt bad for his taller friends. What bothered him was the way the walls felt too close anyway. Damp concrete brushing against his arm, water dripping constantly from cracks and seams overhead. The whole space felt oppressive, almost like it wanted them gone.
And then the smell got worse.
At first it had been unpleasant, like earth and rust and something chemical and metallic that lingered on his senses. But as they continued forward, it thickened into something like rot. Mold layered over damp stone. The air turned sour. Something dark and organic that made his stomach churn as it creeped deeper into the darkness.
Ephesus lifted his arm to cover his nose and mouth without thinking.
The smell drew out memories he didn’t want.
The basement.
The vines.
The way the air had burned in his lungs and clung to his skin.
The certainty that none of them had been meant to walk out of that place alive.
He swallowed hard and forced his breathing steady.
He’d hugged them already. Each of them, when it felt right. Nothing dramatic, just quiet moments stolen before things became too dangerous. Arms around shoulders. Fingers squeezed around hands.
Dering, composed and unflinching.
Yvoire, shaken but trying.
Stirling, braced and resilient.
Cynthus, defiant.
Rose, familiar and grounding.
Lyon, bubbling with restless energy.
Halle and Lisse, different in every obvious way and identical where it was most important.
Amarynthos, steady at his side. His anchor in more ways than he could ever put into words.
“We’ll be okay,” he’d murmured. Or sometimes just, “I’m glad you’re here.”
He meant every word.
Earlier, before the tunnels, he’d spent the day with his dads and with Elliot and his parents and Lucien, trying to reclaim what little control they had by preparing. Supplies carefully stockpiled so they could be moved into subspace once they’d powered up. Water. First aid. Flashlights. Flares. Anything that might make a difference if something went wrong.
Sessrumnir had checked everything twice.
Alastor had checked him.
The goodbye had been hard. Tearful. Ephesus hadn’t tried to hide it. They hadn’t asked him to. They’d just held him and reminded him — gently, firmly — that fear didn’t mean failure.
He held that close now, tucked carefully into his heart.
Reims walked ahead with quiet focus, carrying more responsibility than he ever admitted, and more than had ever been asked of him. Ephesus trusted him. Trusted all of them.
Ephesus’s fingers brushed Amarynthos’s sleeve just briefly, letting the familiarity be grounding, before he let go again. He knew Amarynthos would have carried him if there had been space. If there hadn’t been so many reasons to stay alert, to stay just far enough apart to be safe.
He straightened, smoothing his expression so he didn’t seem so afraid.
He could be scared later. Right now, he was determined.
He looked ahead into the widening chamber, into the stench and the shadows of whatever waited for them there.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 5:53 am
Yvoire bumped into Reims’ back every time Reims paused.
Fear kept him close as much as their cramped confines did. Part of Yvoire would have rather stayed behind; maybe he could have made himself useful with Lucasta and Soleiyu, or hidden away somewhere death couldn’t reach. He thought of the warmth and safety of home. He thought of Dad returning later that night to find it empty, taunted by smiles frozen in photographs—a happy family torn apart by a war none of them had been adequately prepared for. He thought of a lonely path through the woods. He thought of a bridge between Wonders. He thought of blood on concrete. He thought of blood on stone, the magical pulse of a world with so many secrets.
In the end, Yvoire’s love for his friends won out over his unease. He couldn’t abandon them, even in the depths of his own despair.
Though his pace was made easier by the lack of his cape and hat, their surroundings made each step a challenge. Muck clung to his boots; he slipped every few steps, grabbing for Reims’ arm or a protrusion from the wall to steady himself. The walls themselves seemed to press inward. Even with their own lighting to lead the way, the shadows were thick. Yvoire struggled to breathe at regular intervals. His heartrate quickened to the point of nausea.
The smell burned his nostrils and clung to the back of his throat. Yvoire swallowed, but it was little use. The black sludge reminded him of the basement, of agonizing pain and blood soaked clothes. The pulsing vines were like—
Yvoire turned before he could be sick on Reims and threw up into the water.
Cynthus almost followed suit but managed to force the reaction down. She swallowed and worked her mouth around like she was trying to remove a foul taste from it. The smell lingered anyway, inundating her senses in a way that seemed all consuming. It was smell, and taste, and touch. Cynthus was convinced she could hear it, too, but maybe that was the vines pulsing. She brushed against them by accident, too close to the wall to avoid them. Sludge clung to her sleeve, smeared along her arm and stained her glove.
She’d torn her dress before they’d come down here. She’d had the boys help her cut it short so it wouldn’t soak through with mud and water, but filth still streaked her legs and shoes.
“I hate these plants,” Cynthus whispered. Dread kept her quieter than usual, her voice nearly lost beneath the muffled sound of their footsteps. “I hate this man and his stupid dogs.”
Rose crept along quietly. She did her best not to touch anything, but she couldn’t avoid all of the filth no matter how much she tried to hunch away. The tunnels were a tight fit even for her. She felt bad for the taller boys, who must be even more cramped and uncomfortable.
Awful as the sludge and the vines were, Rose knew it meant they were getting closer.
She steeled herself, determined that this would not be like the basement. They wouldn’t be caught unawares this time. Maybe she was useless, clearly outmatched by a man both stronger and more experienced than she was, but she wouldn’t let her doubts get in the way of her need to help her friends. They were all here for the same reasons: to protect each other, and to stop this General before he could harm anyone else.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 7:40 am
Crouching and creeping at the back of the group, senses keyed in to the path behind them as much as any calls from ahead, Halle had to admit the difference between the data on a blueprint and being actually down here was…steep. They couldn’t scout out this place ahead of time like they had for the youma tagging. It made the situation less certain, a he’d have been a lot more nervy over it if not for the extremely powerful set of safety nets the others had brought in the form of more Knights, Eternal Senshi, a Princess, Mauvians, and even, apparently, several Velencians.
Things could still go wrong, catastrophically so. All it took was a moment. An accident. In a place like this, even the environment could take someone out. So it wasn’t all exactly a walk in the park and perfectly safe. They still needed to be careful. But still, thinking about what he’d said to Lyon before, how it was probably safer to be with this group facing Cahir than it was for a lone page to be out and patrolling any given night in the city. It was true, but it was really sinking in how it wasn’t necessarily true for everyone. That the experience of being a page: only slightly more able than a regular civilian, no magic, no summons, no weapon, no clue, and with a big shining starseed of a target for chaos in your chest alongside a responsibility passed down through the ages - it didn’t have to exclude being protected.
It all created a certain cocktail of emotions going into this. He was grateful for the rest of the brigade, and for those outside it and lending their support. A sense of privilege to have such easy access to all these resources, where others were risking their lives nightly with so much less. A certain amount of disgust, for himself, for not doing more. And anticipation, because Halle knew he could do more. Cahir was the problem right now, but there was a much bigger picture behind all this just waiting behind his general-shaped speed bump.
Still, it was time to focus on the Right Now of it all, and right now Halle felt even more confident that the man’s work was outside of the Negaverse’s purview. Still no sign of other agents, picking yet another derelict and abandoned area, and overall very little to imply the man has the backing of a magical military. Cahir was, most likely, a rogue element.
And something of drama queen, Halle thought, ducking even lower to avoid the business end of a jutting piece of rebar. The overgrown basement, these abandoned sewers, the pack of dog-like youma at his command, the mask. Everything about the man was practical, but never failed to have a sense of theatrics mixed in.
He was probably having a lot of fun with all this. Having an audience to play with and people to scare and impress. No wonder he’d dragged it out with all the little games and encounters. Glancing down at the digital map readout, at all the little markers of the brigade and their allies, Halle gave a twist of a smile for the general’s Final Act.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 7:51 am
Lyon stayed close to Rose. As pages, they were the most disadvantaged, so they traveled towards the middle of the group, but they were well protected ahead and behind. Lyon wore his typical nonchalant, unflappable expression. He'd been chewing the same piece of gum since just before they descended. The powerful scent of wintergreen was the only thing sparing his nose from the foul odor. Without a useful weapon, magic, or a summon, he carried a flashlight in one hand and a tracker in the other.
Dering walked just behind them, holding his lute tightly to his chest. He pressed his palm into the strings by the bridge, and curled his fingers around them at the neck, too. He hadn't spoken since they arrived, and his lips had been pressed together in a firm line. He was cold--frozen, bone deep--but didn't so much as shiver. All of his energy had been put into staying focused. He had pored over maps endlessly, as if he stared for long enough he might burn the blueprint into his mind. He'd drawn the 'most accurate' blueprints out a dozen times. Magic might be able to extract them if they needed, but it didn't stop him from wanting--needing--to know where the exits were.
Stirling was nearer to the front; she had a powerful summon who could clear a path for them if needed, and her shield could protect against any surprise attacks. Lisse was between her and Cynthus, ready to strike with his magic if they encountered any enemies sneaking around.
Amarynthos and Ephesus were near the back, pressed close together in the narrow tunnel. Amarynthos stooped somewhat, but it wasn't an unpleasant position when it meant he had an excuse to walk with his arm around Ephesus' waist. His jaw was set firmly and he listened, attentive to every sound in the vicinity. They were nearest to Halle, helping protect the rear. With the care they put into this attack, it was unlikely that someone would find them first, but they couldn't risk any vulnerabilities. As they walked, Amarynthos rubbed Ephesus' back reassuringly.
Ahead of them, something wet slapped against the water with enough force that it sent small waves rippling through the ankle-keep water around them.
With enough force that the thick tarp covering a nearby tunnel moved with it.
That light slipped past the seams it was meant to seal.
Suddenly, a loud crack echoed--metal on metal, followed by vicious snarling. Six youma energy signatures pulsed from the room just down the newly unveiled tunnel, and judging by the low growls and yelps, they were already fighting.
Already distracted.
Even when the water settled, the tarp didn't; light peeked from around the hastily attached plastic, and it looked like whoever had been here last had left in a hurry.
The General's energy signature was here--somewhere in these tunnels. Near, but impossible to pinpoint exactly where.
It was safe to assume he'd been here recently.
The lights were on. A generator was humming.
Beyond the plastic, it was an uphill trek; the tunnel sloped slightly, and about halfway up, they were finally free of the icy water.
A little further up, their suspicions were confirmed--just down the tunnel was a large, concrete room. Black tar and sinewy vines stretched along the walls, floor, and ceiling. Sticky, covered in a wet slime and a foul odor, they were even worse under the industrial lights than they were the dim LEDs of the basement.
However, they avoided the bright, heat-generating lamps mounted on one side of the room.
More notably, they avoided the enormous computer station along the leftmost wall, where eighteen geriatric television monitors were mounted. Each of them showed a frozen screen--cameras, all around the compound.
If they'd had any doubt that Cahir had been watching them, this was their evidence.
And, thankfully, the Vanguardian's system seemed to be jamming the feed completely.
The chair at the desk in front of the screens was pulled out, still warm, and the papers scattered over the desk looked half-finished.
An active project. Something someone obviously intended to return to--soon.
Thunder roared outside, quieter here, but the whole room trembled.
In a dim room off to the side, the youma were fighting, hurling their bodies with enough force that the Brigade could hear crunching and thudding.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 8:06 am
When Yvoire bumped into his back again, Reims stopped without thinking, turning just enough to block the narrow space with his shoulder. He didn’t speak right away, just stayed where he was. Until Yvoire lurched toward the channel and retched into the water.
Reims shifted aside so he wasn’t in the way, one hand braced against the wall for balance. He kept his expression neutral, trying his best to ignore the smell of rot and decay before his stomach betrayed him as well. When Yvoire straightened again, pale and shaking, Reims held out his hand.
“No rush,” he said quietly. “We’re okay for a second.”
Only once Yvoire took it did Reims slowly move them forward again, slower now, more careful with his pacing.
The chamber ahead answered questions he’d been afraid to ask.
Light leaked through the seams of the tarp, stark against the dark. The slope carried them out of the water, shoes finally on solid ground, but the relief was short lived. Reims steeled himself as he glanced around the room. The black tar smeared across concrete, the vines crawling over every surface, the way they crept along corners and shadows.
And the way they left the lamps alone.
“...They don’t like that,” he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. “The heat.”
It fit all too well. Basements, tunnels, dark spaces. Always somewhere the light couldn’t linger.
The monitors along the wall made his jaw tighten. Frozen screens with undeniable proof of their suspicions.
So he had been watching.
Reims let out a breath, trying to settle the irritation before it could rise up. At least the Vanguard seemed to have come through for them, freezing the feeds. He was grateful for that, and maybe felt a little guilty for doubting them.
The noise from the side room drew his attention next. The snarling, the heavy impacts, youma already distracted by something else. Six of them, or at least that’s how it seemed to his senses.
He glanced back briefly, checking everyone’s positions. Halle was still behind them, keeping everyone safe from the back. Reims couldn’t help the reassurance he felt, knowing that.
“Think you could wall up the doorway in case they try coming through?” he asked quietly, knowing that Halle’s shield was likely best for this situation. “Might be worth it. If they cause trouble, we’ve got enough summons on our side that we don’t have to mess with them.” Enough to outnumber the youma.
“I don’t want to draw attention if we don’t need to,” he added, knowing that some of the group might be more inclined to rush in and take out the youma, but if the General caught wind of something happening there… if he could feel the way the youma started disappearing from his own radar as they were dusted… they’d have to deal with him sooner than they’d want to.
Dering and Stirling were close enough that Reims knew they could count on them. If Cahir did show himself, they’d react just as fast. If something went wrong with their magic again, possibly from that smoke interference from before, he would have been surprised if they hadn’t thought about what to do more than even he had.
Reims turned back to the desk, the scattered papers. Out of curiosity, he touched the seat of the chair.
“He was just here,” he told the others, still quiet. It was clear Cahir was working on something…
He didn’t like how that thought rested in his chest.
Reims flexed his gauntleted hand, grounding himself. They were there to stop the General, which included stopping whatever he was working on. He nodded to the others, letting them look through the General’s things while he stood guard.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 8:07 am
Ephesus stayed tucked close to Amarynthos’s side, one hand hovering near his arm as they stepped out of the water and onto the sloping concrete. His boots squelched faintly with every step, soaked through and cold, and he resisted the urge to grimace.
Everything down there felt wrong.
The smell hit him the hardest once they were fully inside the chamber. Not just rot, but something else. The tar and mold and stale air made his stomach twist all over again. He brought his hand over his mouth and nose, breathing shallowly, trying not to think about the basement. Trying and failing.
The vines crawled over the walls in thick, sinewy coils, slick with black residue, but they gave the lamps a wide berth.
So the vines avoided light or heat or both.
He moved closer to the workstation, careful where he stepped, boots sliding slightly on the muck. Amarynthos stayed close enough that their shoulders brushed, a quiet anchor in the chaos of everything. Ephesus felt him there even when he didn’t look.
The monitors made his skin prickle.
Eighteen screens. Frozen images. Familiar places.
Ephesus swallowed and lifted his hand and signet ring, his thumb brushing lightly over the surface before activating it. He raised it up, angling carefully to capture photos of the screens, the desk, the scattered papers. A short recording, panning slowly across the setup, capturing the hum of the generator beneath the noise of fighting in the other room.
“Just in case,” he whispered to Amarynthos, voice barely audible. The last time, Amarynthos was able to collect so much useful data with his images that of course Ephesus was going to learn from his example.
He glanced once more at the vines, at the way they recoiled from the lamps, and then toward the room where the youma were tearing into each other.
“If they don’t like heat,” he added quietly, thinking out loud now. “We might be able to use that. Not just for the vines.”
Ephesus lowered his hand, ring dimming again, and stepped back to Amarynthos’s side. He felt cold and unsteady, but kept himself as focused as he could manage.
Whatever the General had been building there, whatever he’d planned to come back to… Ephesus knew they couldn’t waste the chance to understand it. Especially if it gave them the means to stop it.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 9:24 am
Yvoire clung to Reims’ hand.
His stomach seemed to squirm and roll, sending another wave of nausea up his throat. Yvoire swallowed it down this time, but the sour taste lingered.
Through a tarp, up a slope, out of the water, into a room covered in tar and vines, Yvoire stayed so close to Reims he almost stepped on Reims’ shoes multiple times. He flinched instead of mumbling apologies, afraid his voice might carry and the General would know they were there; he would appear from the shadows and cut them down before they had the chance to mount an adequate defense—ruthless and methodical, just like the basement. None of their tricks or plans would save them. Their allies wouldn’t reach them in time.
Yvoire felt him—close, maybe; around the corner or down a different tunnel. Their surroundings seemed to stifle Yvoire’s senses. The sound of thunder was muffled. His friends’ voices seemed distant. Reims’ hand was like a phantom touch, more memory than anything tangible.
“What do you think they’re fighting?” Cynthus whispered.
She didn’t care about the stupid plants. She didn’t care about any of Cahir’s stupid work either. He was a stupid man with a stupid name and stupid projects he should go work on in the stupid Dark Kingdom with the rest of his stupid friends instead of spreading so much stupid s**t around the city. Abandoned office buildings, sewers, and who knew what else. If they didn’t put a stop to things here, he’d probably find another place equally dark and gross (and stupid) to hole up in next time.
The youma caught Cynthus’ attention more than the plants or papers. Sure, maybe they could block them off for a while with a shield, but they only had so much magic. At some point they were probably going to have to deal with them.
“Someone else?” Cynthus wondered. She kept her voice low—uncharacteristically quiet. She sensed the youma, and a flicker of evil somewhere near that was probably Cahir. She summoned her own handheld device to check the map and the current location of their allies. “What would youma fight over? Starseeds?”
Rose crept through the room, sticking close to her friends. She stopped first at the screens, satisfied, at least, that the images appeared to show nothing of their presence anywhere. Had Cahir noticed yet? Was he plotting now, awaiting their arrival? Or had he only left temporarily, unaware his work space had been invaded?
While Ephesus recorded, Rose tried to get a closer look at some of Cahir’s papers. She reached out for a few but stopped herself at the last second. They’d taken some of his things last time and her friends had nearly paid the price for it. After, maybe, if they succeeded, they could collect some of his belongings and figure out exactly what he was doing here, why he felt the need to hide it from his own people.
Not that Rose had given much thought to what success meant. Their safety, of course, and an end to Cahir’s work.
But Cahir wouldn’t stop simply because they asked him to.
They would have to make him.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 10:27 am
“Got it,” Halle responded, voice low. A few steps further and he was in range, the bright and cheerful uniform shield suddenly incongruous in the dank surroundings, but fully blocked the youma’s tunnel for the time being. As the familiar and vaguely disgusting tar and vines started to stretch along their path, his mouth twisted down. “Looks like that crud really is down here too. I’m masking up.”
From his subspace, Halle pulled out a face mask. Nothing like the general’s, just a simple KN95. Which may not do much more against chaos plant crud than his cape had before, but it was better than nothing.
Meanwhile, he was pretty sure he’d just overheard Ephesus imply they should commit some arson.
It really was the quiet ones you had to watch out for.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 10:30 am
Lisse gave his brother a sideways glance as he put the mask on, and after a moment, grudgingly pulled the one that Halle had gifted him out of his own subspace, slipping it on. It wasn’t because he was doing what he was told...it just stank. And the smells were…the kind that lingered. Lingered for days and weeks, honestly and this…might help. A bit, at least.
It was a good idea but he wasn’t going to tell Halle that.
“I can’t see it being starseeds, but maybe it is…I feel like those would just get crushed with that much movement and violence around them…they’re not like…super strong…”
He hoped it wasn’t starseeds. The thought made him glance towards his brother again, gaze lingering on his chest for just a moment before he looked away. “...Wish some of us had fire magic. Or smoked. I don’t suppose any of you smoke…or have like. Lighters? We could have made torches or something cool.” He was nervous. He was blabbering.
But…he supposed that he would be forgiven for that, eventually.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 10:30 am
Stirling kept her focus up as best she could. She was a shield. She would do her duty. It was fine. It would be fine. They had a plan. Set objectives. And it was fine. She was fine. As the others speculated, she just kept her eyes moving, her grip on her rapier was strong, almost painful. She toyed with the idea of activating her aspect, but maybe…it was too soon? Would it last for the actual fight?
Did it matter?
Maybe. But maybe not. For now, she just kept on, following where they went, ready to do what was needful.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 10:33 am
Amarynthos glanced at Ephesus while he memorialized the room, nodding approvingly. As that task was handled, he gave extra attention to the dark corners and blind spots in the room. There wasn't really much to see there.
The room trembled suddenly, as if struck by a distant earthquake. An otherworldly black dust snowed from the ceiling, from cracks and crevices impossible to see beneath the web of sickly vines.
Masks were a good idea.
The overhead lights flickered, dimmed, and then hummed back to life. The screens flickered, but less dramatically. The images didn't change; the signals were still jammed.
As they explored the computer station and the desk, they were unable to confirm more than what they already knew. Cahir might not have been expecting company, but even in his solitude, he seemed fairly put-together.
The pages scattered on the desk were impossible to read; complex math equations and graphs, and indecipherable shorthand covered most of the pages. There were dozens of pages, all individually calculated and logged in the same handwriting.
Despite the number of Knights that filtered into Cahir’s command center, the youma in the adjacent room still didn’t seem to notice their arrival, nor had they noticed the shield barricading them in.
There was a scuffle in the darkness but one sharp, bone-chilling snarl silenced everything else. A guttural bellow followed, reverberating ominously. It came from deep within the side room but didn't echo. Something about the noise was nerve wracking. A monster from the darkness, with a deep-voice and a commanding presence.
Something shifted in the air. The calm before the storm.
Maybe the youma didn't know they were there--yet--but it wouldn't be long before they picked up their smell over the stench of the room.
Preventative measures would only get them so far.
Especially when the air rippled around them, like a stone tossed into a still pond.
Time stretched. Slow, aching.
They knew what was coming even before he arrived.
Cahir materialized in the office, a few feet from his desk. He teleported mid-step, as furious as he was overconfident. The teenagers were lucky he hadn't teleported only inches in any direction or he would have barreled into them.
They had the element of surprise, and Cahir grappled with it in layers.
He had not sensed their energy signatures. He did not expect anyone to be here. He had not expected a gang of teenagers to be here. He had not expected a quartet of undead Knights to be here.
Though half his face was masked, his eyes widened and he took a single, surprised step back as he extended his hand. His sword materialized immediately and he snatched it from the air.
It was hard to tell if he was more startled or furious, but in the end, it didn't matter.
He swung his arm wide, blade arcing neck-high as he struck at the teenagers.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 10:48 am
Reims didn’t think.
The air shifted and Cahir was suddenly there, sword already in an arc swinging too close to his friends.
Reims reacted on instinct alone.
He hadn’t been right beside the desk, so couldn’t stop the sword directly. But he did launch himself sideways, shoulder crashing into Cahir’s flank hard enough to disrupt the motion. The impact knocked the breath out of him, hopefully as much as it did the General, and he followed the momentum instead of trying to catch himself. His gauntleted hand caught the sword — not cleanly or safely — gritting his teeth against the scream of metal against metal as he tapped into his magic to force the blade down anyway. His other hand grabbed for Cahir’s wrist.
Metal embedded into the edge of the desk with a brutal crack, biting deep into warped steel and splintering the casing beneath it. Monitors rattled. Papers scattered. The desk lurched, half toppling as Reims went down with it, intending to use his weight to drag the General down with him.
He hit the floor on one knee and one shoulder, breath tearing out of his lungs, but he didn’t let go. His gauntlet locked around the hilt. The desk groaned under the force. If Cahir pulled back, Reims pulled right back down.
Dust rained from the ceiling. The lights flickered again.
Reims stayed there, low and tangled in debris, teeth clenched, arm burning as he held the sword trapped where it was.
He didn’t speak, just held on, messy and breathless, all of his focus poured into keeping the blade out of reach for one more second.
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Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2026 10:48 am
The lights flickered again. The generator’s hum wavered, the room shuddered, and something snarled in the dark hard enough to make Ephesus’s heart freeze. He lifted his hand without real thought, he just knew that they needed proof.
His thumb brushed his ring again. The recording chimed softly—
—then the air shifted.
Cahir was suddenly there.
The sword swept out, neck high and much too close. For a split second, Ephesus couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. There was no time for him to react, standing as close to the desk as he was—
And then metal splintered the desk. The impact rattled the monitors, sent papers flying, and knocked Ephesus backward with a startled gasp.
For another fraction of a second, Ephesus didn’t know what happened. Later he would realize that if Reims hadn’t moved when he did, someone would have been dead. Maybe Ephesus himself.
He dropped hard to the floor, heart hammering as dust rained down and the lights flickered again. Instinct finally caught up to him.
Soft light flared as his scepter shifted into a honeycomb shield, thrown up fast and unpracticed between himself and the chaos. His arms shook as he held it, breath uneven, fear locking him in place.
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