"It's been half an hour. The punk won't return!"

  One of the two thugs roared amidst sizzles of corrosive water splashing on stones. Footsteps dug into the broken ground, drowned by the twangs of bows and the whistle of arrows.

  Shadowy tendrils erupted from the lake, where dozens of red lights shone beneath the purplish-green surface. These lights made the thug shiver. Eyes... They had to be eyes.

  Brannick forbade them from looking!

  Tearing his gaze from the water, he clenched his jaw as tendrils shattered his arrows before swirling into a crushing tentacle that swept at his mangled ankle.

  He tried to dodge, but his foot might as well have belonged to someone else. Blood oozed from the lacerations, and he barely managed to stumble toward the strike. It wouldn't just break his legs; it would tear them from his pelvis.

  "B-Brannick!"

  At his desperate shriek, a figure blurred from the other side of the cave. Brannick appeared at his side. Crouched low, he smashed his right fist upward. The uppercut met the tentacle. The sound was like flesh hitting a wall, a shockwave that muted the splashing water, the thugs' ragged breaths, and the thumps of their racing hearts.

  For a heartbeat, neither Brannick nor the tentacle moved. Then, Brannick stomped with a grunt. He wrenched the tentacle upward, the ground shattering beneath his feet.

  The tentacle dissolved, shooting tendrils at him. He dodged them all, his dark cloak never fluttering even as one dug into his hood to graze his cheek.

  "We distract the spawn for five more minutes!"

  He blurred toward the other thug as he spoke, driving his fist into a blade-shaped shadow that would have beheaded the man.

  An arrow vanished from the first thug's quiver, reappearing in his drawn bow. In one fluid motion, he released it, then another, and another with almost no delay.

  "The suit can't possibly hold that long! The punk's dead!"

  The second thug's blade flashed at a barrage of tendrils. It reaped half, but the other half still drilled toward him. Before they could hit him, an afterimage of the blade knocked them off course before melding into the weapon.

  His own blood smeared what had once been his white shirt and dripped from his suspenders, while his smoothly combed hair was now dishevelled and dripping with sweat. In a shaky voice, he grunted in the light of his glass tube. "In five minutes, you'll be the only one distracting this fucking beast, Brannick. Let us retreat!"

  Brannick flung away another devastating strike from the spawn before freezing for a split second. Then, he sighed in his usual passionless voice. "Garrick can't lose decent men on another failed exploration. Fight as you regroup by the tunnel's entrance. We're returning to the Black Cask."

  As they began an organised retreat, Kael leapt from the rend. He landed right behind them, wincing when his dusty cloak ruffled his corroded skin.

  His wince echoed louder than the shadow strikes and crashing water. The thugs paused, eyes wide. But not Brannick. He locked onto the metallic case. Blurring, he hoisted Kael over his shoulder and rushed toward the exit with a command. "Move out!"

  Kael saw the corrosive lake blur behind before he found himself looking at the walls in front. Brannick's hands clutched the case through him and hauled them both inside the tunnel's entrance.

  "Don't look back. We're behind you!" Brannick commanded, his voice growing distant.

  It didn't matter to Kael. He crawled in the dark, wishing nothing more than to escape these damn mines and receive his pay. A couple of commands echoed behind him. Metal clanked, and stone scratched against cloth and skin. The walls trembled, dust gripping him by the throat. The already confined space felt as if it would bury him under tons of rocks.

  Then, two green lights chased the darkness.

  He turned. Brannick and both thugs scrambled on all four behind him, holding their remaining glass tubes in bloodied hands.

  "Don't stop! The spawn's lashing on the wall!"

  Kael felt that the thug with the wounded ankle roared as much to inform him as to vent his horror. He found himself pushed forward by that thug, who was being pushed by the other. Brannick closed the flight, moving backwards and punching the tendrils trying to catch up with them.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  CRACK

  The rumble of ripped rock froze Kael's blood in his veins. The tunnel...

  "Shit." Brannick clicked his tongue, and Kael's eyes widened.

  The push from behind built into an avalanche his knees couldn't follow. They scraped against the stones, his bleeding skin burning. He clenched his jaw to muffle his scream. Even if he hadn't, the tunnel's collapse would have drowned it.

  Instead, he hoped Brannick would keep pushing, would grind their bodies raw against the stone if it meant getting out.

  The ground rumbled, about to swallow him. He endured the pain, his eyes locked forward, always forward. Soon, much sooner than he could have hoped, the exit appeared. He slammed on the ground outside. The thugs followed with a blast of dust that coated the mining area.

  "Don't stop!"

  Before Kael could sigh in relief, Brannick tucked him beneath his armpit and ran to the ladder. The second thug supported the one with the ankle wound. They didn't climb, they jumped the steps.

  CRASH

  The wall shattered behind them, taking the ceiling with it. The ladder would be next. But Brannick gripped the thugs and leapt the four remaining meters toward the entrance, something Kael instantly thought impossible, much more while carrying three people... two and a half since he was light.

  A shiver ran down his spine while his eyes trailed from the collapsing mine to Brannick's hood. Could a man be this strong?

  The question tore at his mind as they rushed out of the mines. The quartermaster screamed something behind them, but they never paused until they reached the shade of the giant cogs and the clock tower displaying 11 P.M. in the center of the steam-covered slums.

  A couple of inhabitants whispered when they passed by, and Brannick shoved the door of the bar open. By the time the bar's light shone on his dad's cloak, Kael had an unsettling suspicion.

  What if Brannick was like the temple priests, had awoken something in him as his father had before dying?

  Possible, but speculations would have to wait.

  Brannick finally dropped him by the door. His legs stung more than his back, making him hiss through his teeth. Silence thickened in the bar. Both gang members and wealthy citizens leaned toward them, waiting for them to talk. From the corner of his eye, Kael noticed Silma call for a girl from behind the bar. Another girl slipped outside.

  Brannick focused on the thugs first. "Good work. Get yourself checked, then enjoy the evening. Ale and girls are on the house."

  "Shit, Brannick. Don't call me next time you find a random spawn." The ankle-wounded thug waved his hand.

  The second one supported him toward a door behind the dancer's stage, waving his hand. "Free booze and girls? People went to war for less than that."

  "For much less than that." Brannick nodded, and very few people chuckled—mostly gang members. Then he turned toward Kael. "Garrick's waiting. Hand me the case."

  Kael cradled it against his chest, shaking his head. "The two silver crowns first."

  With a sigh, Brannick gestured to follow and walked to the office behind the bar. "Doesn't matter."

  Silma was gone when Kael passed by the bottles of alcohol and barrels of ale. He found her inside the office, standing beside Garrick's desk.

  "Told you not to bleed on his rug."

  "Enough, Silma," Garrick clapped, his lips curved in unmistakable delight. This time, Kael didn't feel Garrick's predatory gaze. "Kael, my boy, you're back! Hahaha. Magnificent. Instead of worrying about triviality, why don't you treat his wounds, Silma?" He rose from his leather chair and approached. "You can answer a few questions while she does, alright, lad?"

  "You sent me to die." Kael bit his lip as Silma made him sit and begrudgingly removed his cloak. First, she straightened his broken arm. That was painful... until she ensured the bone would heal straight with two strips of scrap iron. She opened a balm tin and smeared it on Kael's reddened arms and back. Instantly, a cool sensation replaced the burning one and the pain numbed.

  But Garrick barely gave him time to enjoy it.

  "Of course not. I knew you'd survive. Sister Harrow knew it, too. She trusts you, you know? But back to our deal. What did you find beneath the lake? How did you escape the creature? And that case..."

  "You know what I found: a temple. The case was hidden in a rock. Once I got it..." Kael frowned.

  The mine collapsed. With the treasures retrieved, Garrick would never send another expedition for answers. His dad's remains, the temple's working—he didn't have to reveal them.

  Let this temple be Dad's grave.

  "I don't know what happened. One second, I was inside the temple; the other stood behind Brannick. Maybe he knows more."

  Garrick looked at Brannick, who shook his head. "What he said. A section of the mine collapsed. You might want to talk with the quartermaster tomorrow."

  "I'll handle the officials and mine owners later." Garrick ruffled Kael's dark hair. "All that matters is that you survived. Look at his legs. Ah, Silma, bandage them too. And get the boy some fresh clothes. In the meantime, Kael, I'd like to check the contents of the case. I have someone who'll tell us about their value."

  Kael sneered inwardly as Silma covered his thighs and removed his pants. He instantly tore the junk flower from the pocket. Ignoring Silma's teasing smile, he asked, "What about my—"

  "Your pay?" Garrick sat behind his desk, drumming on his ledger. His voice was the sweetest Kael heard him use. "Let me teach you something, lad, just a genuine lesson from someone older. Don't be pushy in someone else's territory, much less when you have no leverage."

  Kael clenched his fists as Silma finished bandaging his arms, back, and half his legs. In other words, don't sour my mood because I'm treating you politely. The worst? Garrick was right. All Kael could do was wait and hope to be paid. Protect the case? Against the thugs in the bar, or Brannick, who could kill him with a slap?

  Reluctantly, he pushed the case toward Garrick.

  "Good." Garrick's eyes curved as he opened it. This time, Kael felt a target being drawn on his chest with an icy shiver. "Where's Maelin Quor?"

  "Sent a girl to fetch him." Silma retrieved a white linen shirt, dark pants, and a pair of polished leather shoes. As she dressed Kael with a shrug, three knocks echoed from the door. "Guess he's here~~"

  Better dressed than he ever had been, Kael's eyes constricted on the open case. There should be three items, so why... was there a fourth?