Worse Than Death

  The darkness of the underworld had a mind of its own. It craved light with a ravenous appetite, slithering and twisting in impossible shapes. The inexperienced might confuse its hunger for hatred. But the truth was it liked to be challenged. And it loved to win.

  Currently, it had achieved perfect dominance.

  Though the entire team wore their photrines, Skye couldn’t see a thing. Everything was black, obscure as a moonless, starless night sky.

  He turned to his other senses. The crash and grind of falling stone rang steady around him, and Joshem whimpered near his feet. Blood, warm and wet, coated Skye’s fingers as he knelt on the cold ground. And the reek of bat guano overwhelmed everything else.

  His head throbbed, as if his skull might split open. Either something had hit him, or he’d fallen and smacked his head. He felt dizzy, barely able to brace himself as the tremors continued. Gideom squeezed his shoulder and made odd noises, while Basalt’s voice roared above the chaos, screaming, “HOLD ON!”

  The world bucked violently, hurling Skye against the rocks. He raised his arms instinctively over his head, knowing they would do nothing but be crushed to mush if the ceiling gave way.

  He closed his eyes and waited for the end.

  Instead, the cave stilled, and everything went silent. Trembling, he opened his eyes, and finally saw light.

  Joshem lay sprawled on the ground, moaning softly, while Gideom knelt nearby, mask off, breathing heavily.

  They’d survived.

  The cave had changed. Its shape was distorted, smaller than before, and the guano pit had vanished, along with the bats and gemcaches. Debris littered the space, jagged shards and splintered stone, and dust drizzled from a hundred holes above. High up, a hole had been blasted through the ceiling, now sealed by a collapsed tangle of rubble.

  Skye pulled off his mask as the stench was no longer prevalent.

  “We fell,” he said aloud, stunned. For a moment, his aches faded from his thoughts.

  That broken hole above seemed glorious and majestic, and he couldn’t take his eyes off it.

  Beside him, Gideom tore Joshem’s shirt and resumed cleaning the wound.

  “K-kid… S-Skye…” Joshem sputtered, mask already discarded, blood dripping from his torn lips. “See to my… brother. H-he… saved us.”

  Of course! This wasn’t luck. Their stonemason leader had brought them down safely. Where was he?

  Basalt lay slumped against a wall, eyes half-open, arms stiff at his sides. His chest didn’t rise, terrifyingly still.

  Skye’s heart lurched. He rushed to the large man, tearing off his mask and checking his pulse. But when he touched Basalt’s skin, he felt only stone. Basalt’s hands were completely petrified, as were his neck, right leg, and half his face. Not even the trapped miners were in this terrible state.

  Then Basalt coughed, and Skye nearly cried from relief. The stonemason spat out a thick, dark ball of blood that shattered against the ground in hardened chunks.

  “Are you alright?” Skye asked, frantic. “W-what should I do?”

  Basalt cracked open an eye, while the other remained crusted over, stiff and gray. A fissure ran from his neck to his left hand, filled with coagulated blood, the color of charcoal. Even his beard and hair had stiffened, brittle at the ends, breaking when he coughed and shook.

  “How’s Joshem?” he rasped.

  “I’m f-fine,” Joshem groaned. “It’s just a scratch.” He squealed as Gideom poured more purple liquid over the gash. “A really d-deep one.”

  Basalt closed his eye again, throwing Skye into another fit of panic. He’d warned that if he used his powers excessively again, he’d not been able to move. Skye wanted to comfort him, to help, but the right words wouldn’t come.

  “Ya have to leave,” Basalt whispered. “The hole isn’t stable. I sealed it, but I weakened the bedrock by exposin’ it to air. Help Gideom carry Joshem… and go.”

  The cave gave a low, ominous shudder, emphasizing the point.

  “Can you walk?” Skye asked, his voice tight with fear.

  “Gideom and Joshem couldn’t tell left from right even if ya tattoo it on their hands,” Basalt muttered. “I’m countin’ on ya to lead them out.”

  Skye’s brow furrowed. “Can you walk?” he repeated, more firmly this time.

  Basalt grimaced in pain. “It’s too late for me, kid.”

  “Don’t give me that nonsense!” Skye shouted. “After everything you said, you expect me to abandon you?”

  “W-what?” Joshem asked.

  “Your coalbrained brother wants us to leave him and go,” Skye snapped.

  “No!” Joshem cried out, his voice strained. Gideom shook his head rapidly, eyes wide with disbelief.

  “That’s what I said!” Skye said, voice rising in frustration.

  Basalt coughed, a harsh and grinding sound. “Ya can’t carry me. Me body’s too heavy.”

  “I won’t have to. You’ll walk,” Skye sprang toward his pack and got to work.

  “Joshem…” Basalt began, but Skye cut him off.

  “Don’t worry about him. Gideom can handle him alone.” He rummaged through his supplies and pulled out his rope.

  With practiced movements, he laid a zigzag pattern slightly larger than Joshem’s frame. Using clove hitch knots, he bound the ends to form a stretcher frame. Then he threaded the remaining rope through the side loops and reinforced it with two vertical metal rods at the bottom to ease dragging and a horizontal one as a handle at the tops.

  Gideom stared at the contraption, dumbfounded.

  “Dr. Stenser showed me how to make one,” Skye explained. “Said if I was heading down anyway, I might as well learn a few tricks that could save a life. Or three.” He grabbed the handle behind him and demonstrated how to drag the stretcher. “It might be tiring, but trust me, it’ll work.”

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  Skye and Gideom hoisted a groaning Joshem onto the makeshift stretcher, tying him down with Gideom’s rope while avoiding the wound. Basalt resisted Skye’s help at first; only when Gideom confirmed he could drag Joshem on his own did he relent.

  When the large stonemason stood, parts of his shirt cracked and fell away, shattering like brittle bark. Underneath, much of the skin on his torso was stone. This was dangerous. If his internal organs had begun to harden, every step risked internal cuts and hemorrhage.

  They had to take it slow.

  They strode through the unknown, tired and bruised, and surrounded by darkness. It was hungrier down here, allowing barely two feet of illumination in any direction. But the rules of survival in the Deeps dictated that one must keep on moving even when lost.

  The petrification had reached an advanced stage for all of them, and it was a hundred times worse for Basalt due to excessive channeling. His knees were fixed at an almost straight angle, forcing him into a stiff, clumsy gait that scraped and thudded against the cavern floor. He leaned heavily on Skye, every step a muffled scream.

  No one discussed it, but it was obvious that his body would never recover. Such terrible fantasia poisoning didn’t totally dissipate. This was his last day in the Deeps.

  And if they didn’t hurry, it would be Joshem’s last day in this world.

  Although the bleeding had stopped thanks to Gideom’s purple medicine, the young man had slipped into unconsciousness, his skin pale as chalk. Basalt kept his eyes locked on the stretcher, pushing himself beyond his limits to stay close to his brother.

  Skye felt like a twig carrying a house. His spine screamed from the strain, and his own creeping petrification only made things worse. Basalt was massive, and half of him was solid rock.

  This expedition was a disaster. Their gemfarm was lost, and his team would surely disband after this journey. They had no idea where these tunnels led, and Skye couldn’t even identify the rodents skittering around their feet. Once they returned to the city, rumors would fly that his poor navigation was what doomed this mission.

  No one would hire him anymore, and he’d be back to working alone. Something Dr. Stenser would absolutely refuse.

  A wave of guilt twisted in his chest. How could he be thinking about his future while everyone else was suffering?

  He shook his head. No, he had to focus on getting everyone out alive.

  The problem was they were lost, and they could no longer rely on Basalt’s channeling. They hadn’t used a regular entrance to get here, they’d carved their way in. This might be a sealed cavern, isolated from the rest of the Deeps. Coals, it might be one giant loop, and in this darkness, they’d never know.

  Something caught Skye’s foot, and he almost stumbled. He glared at the offending rock underneath him, only to find it shaped disturbingly like a hand. Slowing down, he looked around and recognized more strewn body parts: fractured heads, half-torsos, feet, and scattered toes and fingers. Other statues remained whole, albeit twisted, and grotesque.

  Skye had once thought petrification wasn’t a terrible way to die as deaths went, since one could immortalize themselves in a glorious pose. It was an annoying, slightly painful process, but after the joints stiffened and movement became impossible, the aches supposedly faded, and death came like sleep. Or so he’d believed.

  This museum of puke-splattered, grimace-locked human sculptures draped in deepbats’ shit proved otherwise. The agony of blood poisoning and multiple organ failures had contorted these prospectors into horrors. Their spasms and convulsions shattered their bodies into barely recognizable pieces while they lived.

  Skye’s breath quickened. They had to leave the Deeps as soon as possible.

  “Listen…” Basalt gasped.

  From a corner ahead, strange sounds arrived. Shouting mixed with… words?

  The team looked at each other, eyes wide with hope. Someone was down here. Help was near. Gideom picked up speed, dragging Joshem behind, and even Basalt forced himself faster.

  As they approached, the voices grew louder, clearer. Hints of agitation and panic tinted their tones. Men arguing, or fighting, or… warning each other?

  Sharp pain stabbed Skye’s brain. It was that gnawing sensation he’d carried for months. The tension. The apprehension. The building restlessness. It hounded him, demanding his full attention. It’d been ruining his sleep for weeks, pushing him forward. Today, he was at the edge.

  He’d gotten it all wrong. It wasn’t anticipation, nor excitement that had kept him awake last night. It was a sensation of dread. Of forewarning.

  The tunnel stretched on, growing tighter and steeper the farther they went. Skye pushed himself to keep pace with Basalt. He wanted to warn his team, but he couldn’t stop the chattering of his teeth, and his throat was too dry. He surrendered to their momentum, because he feared if he were to stop now, he’d never move again.

  A jagged rock cut his arm, and a patch of moist moss nearly sent them tumbling. He hated the speed by which they went. He didn’t understand how the stonemason, who couldn’t stand a minute ago, could now push forward like this.

  The group ahead was clearly troubled, and his team couldn’t help. Basalt must’ve known this, and yet, he refused to slow down.

  “Joshem. Joshem…” Basalt’s voice cracked.

  The voices were now close, just around this bend. The tunnel opened into a small cavern that ended with a small hole, barred by thin stalagmites like a prison’s window. Horrible sounds leaked from beyond.

  They weren’t cries for help, or groans of pain. These were screams of unrelenting agony. As though the screamer was being tortured. Torn apart.

  Beyond the window, a vast cavern expanded. A maze of shattered columns and scorched rocks filled it like the aftermath of a battle. An array of crystals crowned a set of stalagmites to one side, illuminating it like a stage.

  The figures on the stage wore black cloaks that looked eerily familiar. They were too far to make out their faces, but the ominous weapons they held, their magical astra were unmistakable.

  One man carried a mace topped with an icy blue cryobies that steamed cold vapor, while another held a sword made of red pyrpphire stones, gleaming like embers. Across them, a woman held a staff decorated with jade floralds like a long tree branch, while her companion carried a crossbow and strapped a quiver to her back from which shadows danced like smoke. Behind them all, a woman dressed in rags slept on the ground, unmoving.

  None of that mattered, though. Because before them was one writhing, wailing, walloping monster whose exposed skull burned.

  A massive creature. Built like a human with two arms, two legs, and a head. But that’s where the similarities reached an end. Its body was made of charred, craggy stone, cracked to reveal the raging fire swirling inside, like trapped cyclones. Its head was a blackened skull with two asymmetrical curved horns. Its arms were huge, its claws long, and its back covered with scorched thorns. The eye sockets were empty, ablaze with fire red, twisted in a mad expression of pain. The creature thrashed on the ground, clawing its chest and head, tearing itself apart and screaming, again, and again, and again.

  Horror froze Skye’s team in place. For a long while, they watched, not moving, not breathing, not uttering a single word. The rumors were true. There was a fire elexos in the Deeps, a pyroxos to be exact. Skye shuddered as the word passed his mind, fearing the crazed creature might sense him.

  The channelers around it could only be wardens, dressed in their black uniforms. His first guess was they’d gotten reports informing that a monster had somehow snuck into the Deeps, and were here to drag it out to keep everyone safe. But their stances seemed too relaxed. And the monster’s state made no sense.

  “Are those wardens?” Skye whispered, not daring to raise his voice. “What are they doing to it?”

  “Shh!” Basalt raised a petrified finger to his lips.

  “It’s not working!” The shout was faint, but its echo bounced through the cave. The speaker stood at the edge of the stage, his hands wrapped in interwoven chains adorned with various glowing jewels. He wore a massive seashell like a crown, concealing his face. “You have to keep its fires contained!”

  “What does it look like I’m doing, numbskull?” a man yelled from the other side of the stage. He carried a large staff, ornamented with large pyrpphires. He fought to hold onto his astrum, as though it was a fishing rod pulling in a massive deepshark. “Restrain its emotions. It’s too pissed off!”

  The monster twisted on the ground, its shrieking making Skye’s hair stand on end. It calmed all of a sudden, its fires crackling like a recently-stoked hearth. A cheer rose from the surrounding wardens.

  “Almost there…” the chained man said, straining.

  Slowly, the monster rose to its full height, dwarfing everyone around, its dancing flames casting ghastly shadows across the cave’s walls.

  The chains clanked as the man walked behind a boulder. “Be on guard! Its consciousness is slipping through my grasp. I’ll have to release it for a second so that I could control it properly.”

  The other wardens ran behind cover as well. One stonemason slammed down a giant hammer, erecting a stony barrier before the firedancer with the pyrpphire staff.

  The creature exploded into fury again, screaming as it stared down its captors. It jerked forward, but some invisible barrier kept it in place. This seemed to enrage it further, and it resumed clawing at itself, sending shards of its body clanking against the ground. Its fires blazed, the heat reaching Skye at the far end of the giant cave.

  “Careful!” the man with the seashell helmet said. “It’s about to do something!”

  Gripping its forearm, the monster grunted, pulling with all its might. In an eruption of flame and stone, the entire arm tore at the shoulder as the monster howled in pain. It turned, raising the still burning arm high, aiming at the chained man. He stood his ground, facing it, somehow making it pause. Then the monster spun, hurling the rocky fireball blindly away.

  Straight at the porch where Skye and his team stood.