The final ascent was treacherous. Loose rubble shifted underfoot, sending cascades of smaller stones rattling down into the darkness they had escaped. Thick, gnarled tree roots, like the grasping fingers of the earth itself, provided precarious handholds, slick with damp moss and ancient grime. Forty feet felt like forty miles, each upward foot gained through straining muscles, gritted teeth, and the ever-present fear of sliding back into the abyss.
For Gregor, Lyra, and Renn, it was a climb fueled by adrenaline and the desperate, intoxicating scent of freedom carried on the cool, pine-scented air pouring down from the opening. Gregor led, his battered sword occasionally used to test footing or clear debris, the dying torch now blessedly extinguished and tucked into his belt. Lyra and Renn scrambled behind him, helping each other, their eyes fixed on the growing patch of grey sky above.
Saitama brought up the rear, climbing with an ease that bordered on insulting. While the others strained and slipped, he seemed to almost flow up the rubble pile, his red boots finding purchase where none seemed to exist, his movements economical and entirely unstrained. He occasionally paused to dislodge a particularly large boulder that threatened to shift, flicking it aside with a casual nudge of his foot, preventing minor avalanches without seeming to notice he was doing so. He hummed a tuneless little song, something vaguely reminiscent of a jingle for discount detergent.
"Almost there!" Gregor gasped, reaching the tangled mass of roots that fringed the opening. He hauled himself up the last few feet, aided by a thick root that served as a natural ladder, and tumbled onto blessedly solid, leaf-littered ground. He lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, the cool, damp air of the forest filling his lungs, washing away the stale miasma of the Labyrinth.
Lyra came next, scrambling over the lip with Renn's help, collapsing beside Gregor with a sob of sheer relief. Renn followed, pulling himself out and immediately scanning their surroundings, his dagger held tightly, the ingrained paranoia of their captivity slow to fade.
Saitama emerged last, stepping gracefully over the edge onto the forest floor as if merely stepping off a curb. He dusted off his hands, looked around at the towering, gloomy trees, the overcast sky barely visible through the dense canopy, and sighed.
"Okay. Outside," he announced, his tone lacking the expected jubilation. "Still looks like the middle of nowhere. And definitely no vending machines."
They had emerged into a small hollow, surrounded by ancient, moss-covered trees that seemed to drink the grey light. The air was heavy with the smell of damp earth, decaying wood, and the faint, metallic tang of recent rain. The hole they'd climbed out of looked like a wound in the forest floor, a dark maw fringed with roots, exhaling the chill of the depths. Around the opening, the signs of the battle were even clearer than they had appeared from below.
The ground was churned, littered with broken branches, fragments of metal, and dark, ominous stains that soaked into the leaf litter. Several trees bore deep gouges and scorch marks. The scent of ozone, faint but sharp, still hung in the air, mingling with the smell of spilled blood.
Gregor pushed himself to his feet, his relief tempered by the grim reality of the scene. He examined the broken gauntlet Renn had spotted, picking it up. It was heavy, masterfully crafted, but crumpled like paper in places. "Knight-issue plate," he confirmed grimly. "They fought hard." He pointed towards a series of deep, parallel gouges in the trunk of a massive oak. "Claw marks. Big ones. Not Shadowfang Direwolf… something larger. More powerful."
Renn discovered more fragments – pieces of a shattered shield, links from a mail coif, and, chillingly, several spent casings from what looked like crossbow bolts, but made of a strange, dark metal he didn't recognize. "Walkers use crossbows sometimes… but not like this," he murmured, turning a casing over in his hand. It felt unnaturally cold.
Lyra knelt, her eyes tracing patterns of disturbed earth and snapped undergrowth leading away from the hollow. "They dragged bodies away," she whispered, her voice trembling. "This way. Northwest."
Saitama ambled over, peering at the claw marks on the tree. "Pretty deep. Must have sharp nails. Should invest in a good nail file." He looked at the drag marks. "Taking souvenirs? Kinda weird."
"They weren't taking souvenirs, Saitama!" Gregor snapped, his nerves frayed. "They were taking the bodies! Maybe prisoners! We don't know!" He ran a hand through his matted hair, trying to think. "Royal Knights attacked here. By what? Shadow Walkers? Forest beasts drawn by the Labyrinth's taint? Something else?" The evidence was confusing, contradictory. Knight armor, Walker bolts, giant claw marks. It didn't paint a clear picture, only one of violence and death.
"Okay, okay, calm down," Saitama said, holding up his hands placatingly. "Deep breaths. Panicking doesn't help. Unless you're panicking towards a buffet. Then it's cardio and you get food."
Lyra managed a watery chuckle despite the grim circumstances. "You're impossible," she said, shaking her head.
"So," Saitama continued, turning in a slow circle, scanning the dense woods surrounding their hollow. "Which way is civilization? Or at least, like, a town? Village? Guy selling roasted nuts from a cart? I'm not picky at this point."
Gregor sighed, trying to get his bearings. The sun wasn't visible through the thick cloud cover, making orientation difficult. "Based on the direction the tunnel seemed to run… Midgar City should be… roughly southeast? Maybe? But that's days of travel through this forest. Assuming we don't run into whatever killed those Knights, or more Labyrinth creatures, or Walker patrols." He looked northwest, the direction the bodies had been dragged. "Going that way seems suicidal."
"Southeast then," Saitama decided with finality. "More likely to have shops. Let's go." He started walking in that general direction, pushing aside low-hanging branches.
Gregor exchanged a look with Renn and Lyra. They were free, but they were lost, vulnerable, in a dangerous forest, with evidence of powerful threats nearby. Their only protection was a bald man in a yellow jumpsuit whose power defied comprehension but whose priorities seemed dangerously misaligned with survival. Still, what choice did they have?
With renewed determination, tempered by lingering fear, they followed Saitama into the gloomy embrace of the Valgothian Deepwood, leaving the dark hole and the site of the failed rescue behind them.
The Chasm Ledge… Below
The horizontal ledge path proved as treacherous as the descent. It wound along the chasm wall, sometimes widening slightly, sometimes narrowing to a perilous foot-width, the roaring abyss always waiting just inches away. The ancient, eroded steps Zenon had found were sporadic, often forcing them to rely on sheer friction and Elara's subtle grip-enhancing enchantments. They moved with focused silence, Kristoph leading now, the recovered journal heavy in his tunic, its contents painting a disturbing picture of the Labyrinth's secrets and the forces vying within it.
They passed more signs of the defectors' passage – discarded climbing gear, hastily scribbled symbols on the rock face likely meant as signals or warnings for their expected extraction team. Then, rounding a sharp bend where the chasm curved inward, Zenon held up a hand, signaling a halt.
"Ahead, Commander," Zenon whispered, pointing. "Look."
Affixed to the rock wall, almost hidden by an overhang, was a device Kristoph recognized with a jolt from descriptions in restricted military archives: an 'Ascender Winch,' a piece of advanced, magically-assisted climbing gear rumored to be relics of the Sky Titans, capable of rapidly scaling sheer surfaces. A thick, impossibly strong filament cable extended upwards from it, disappearing into the darkness towards the upper levels of the chasm. The device itself hummed faintly with the same strange techno-arcane energy Elara had sensed earlier.
"The defectors' extraction equipment," Kristoph breathed. "Left behind."
Elara examined the winch cautiously. "It's active. Power source is low, but functional. The cable is anchored securely somewhere above." She looked up into the gloom. "This could be our way up."
Zenon checked the ledge around the winch. "Tracks here. The two individuals we followed from the alcove. They paused here, examined the winch… then continued along the ledge on foot."
Kristoph frowned. "They didn't use it? Why not? If this was their escape route…"
"Perhaps it was sabotaged?" Elara suggested, running diagnostic spells over the device. "No… functionally, it seems intact. Perhaps… perhaps they couldn't activate it? These devices often require specific command codes or attuned energy signatures."
Or, Kristoph considered grimly, perhaps they knew something about the anchor point above. Perhaps it wasn't secure. Or perhaps it led directly into a trap. The group that silenced the defectors might have been waiting up there.
"Too many unknowns," Kristoph decided. "Using this winch is a risk. But trying to find another way up could take hours, even days, assuming one exists. We've lost too much time already." He looked at the humming device, then up into the darkness where the cable vanished. "The Tempest and the escapees are already on the surface. We need to regain contact."
"Commander," Zenon cautioned, "if the killers are waiting above…"
"We'll be ready," Kristoph stated, his hand resting on his sword hilt. "Elara, can you mask our energy signature as we ascend? Zenon, you go first. Ascend fifty feet, secure a position, check the anchor point if possible. Signal if clear. I'll follow, then Elara."
It was risky, but necessary. With nods of understanding, they prepared. Zenon, equipped with his own climbing gear as a backup, attached himself to the winch's harness. Elara placed her hands on the device, murmuring enchantments to dampen its energy signature and shroud their ascent in localized illusionary fields. Zenon activated the winch, and with a low hum, it began smoothly pulling him upwards, disappearing rapidly into the oppressive darkness of the great chasm.
They waited in tense silence, straining their ears for any sound from above, any sign of ambush. Minutes crawled by. Finally, a faint, coded whistle echoed down – Zenon's signal. All clear, anchor secure.
Kristoph attached himself, gave Elara a nod, and activated the winch. The ascent was unnervingly smooth and fast, the roar of the river diminishing below as he was drawn swiftly upwards through the cold, damp air. He scanned the rock face rushing past, seeing nothing but darkness and sheer stone. After what felt like an eternity, but was likely only a minute or two, he saw Zenon perched precariously on another narrow ledge above, gesturing him in.
The cable was anchored to a massive iron piton hammered deep into a fissure, reinforced with faded, but still potent, runic carvings. This anchor point was old, part of the Labyrinth's deeper structure, likely rediscovered by the defectors or their benefactor. The winch cable led directly up to the lip of the chasm, visible now as a line of faint grey light some forty feet above.
"No sign of trouble, Commander," Zenon reported quietly as Kristoph detached himself. "The anchor is solid. Looks like whoever killed the defectors didn't disable their escape route. Or they didn't know about it."
Elara arrived moments later, detaching herself quickly and immediately casting sensory spells upwards, probing the area around the chasm lip. "I detect… residual energies. Faint traces of combat magic – Knight signatures, recognizable warding spells. Also… cruder dark magic, consistent with Walker techniques. And… something else." She frowned. "Feral energy. Bestial rage. Very potent." She looked towards the surface. "There was a fight up there. Recently."
Kristoph nodded grimly. "It matches the signs the escapees likely found. Royal Knights, ambushed." He looked up at the final stretch. "Let's move. We need to see what happened."
Using the last of the winch cable and their own climbing skills, they quickly scaled the remaining distance, emerging cautiously over the lip of the chasm into the same gloomy forest hollow Saitama's group had exited moments before. The scene of carnage greeted them, stark and brutal in the grey daylight.
Kristoph's eyes immediately took in the details – the positioning of the broken weapons, the nature of the scorch marks, the depth and angle of the claw gouges. Zenon knelt, examining the churned earth, his fingers tracing faint tracks overlaid on the obvious drag marks. Elara moved slowly, her staff humming faintly as she analyzed the lingering magical and emotional residues.
"The Knights made a stand here," Kristoph deduced, his voice low and hard. "At least three, maybe four. Attacked from multiple directions."
"Walkers were involved," Elara confirmed. "Their dark magic taint is present. But the primary assault… the killing blows on the Knights… the energy signature is overwhelmingly feral. Powerful claws, rending force, infused with a chaotic, rage-fueled magic unlike standard Labyrinth beasts."
Zenon pointed to a set of massive, three-toed prints partially obscured near the edge of the hollow, far larger and deeper than any Direwolf. "These prints… match the creature responsible for the claw marks, Commander. Not reptilian like a Wyrm. More like… a demonic Ursine? Something corrupted." He then indicated a fainter set of tracks leading away from the battle, heading northwest – the same direction as the drag marks. "And these… boot prints. Two individuals. They moved carefully after the battle, observing, then following the path where the bodies were taken. Same prints as the ones on the ledge below. Our unknown third party."
Kristoph pieced it together. Knights emerge, likely part of a planned rescue or escape. Ambushed by Shadow Walkers and a powerful, unknown beast. Fierce battle ensues. Knights fall. Bodies are dragged away by the beast or Walkers. Then, the mysterious third party arrives, investigates, and follows.
"Where does the Tempest fit into this?" Kristoph murmured, scanning the area.
"His boot prints are here, Commander," Zenon confirmed, pointing towards the edge of the rubble pile near the Labyrinth entrance. "He emerged after the battle. With the three escapees. Their tracks overlay the combat signs." He indicated the path leading southeast. "They headed that way. Into the Deepwood."
So, Saitama had simply stumbled out after the massacre, assessed the situation with his bizarre detachment, and wandered off in search of civilization, leaving the grim puzzle behind him. Typical.
"We have multiple threads," Kristoph summarized. "One: The Tempest and the escapees, heading southeast. Two: The unknown hostile beast and likely Walker survivors, dragging bodies northwest. Three: The mysterious third party, possibly hunters or agents, also heading northwest, shadowing the first group." He looked at his companions. "Our primary mission remains the Tempest. But the identity and motives of this third party, and the nature of the beast that slaughtered Royal Knights… these are critical unknowns."
He made his decision. "Zenon, Elara, we track the Tempest. Cautiously. We need to understand his intentions and capabilities. But remain vigilant. This forest is clearly contested ground, and unseen players are moving in the shadows."
With renewed urgency, the Knight trio set off, following the surprisingly clear trail left by Saitama and the escapees, plunging deeper into the ancient, dangerous forest, leaving the silent battlefield and the dark hole behind them, stepping further into a conflict far more complex than they had imagined.