The plan was simple—at least on paper. Avoid detection, follow the golden thread, and reach the First Finger.
But with everything here unfamiliar, staying unnoticed would prove a challenge.
Elion studied the drifting patterns of the floating eyeballs, trying to determine when and where to move. His newfound affinity made the task far easier—he could map their surroundings with astonishing speed.
The city of Erika was an architectural wonder. From what he could sense, it was symmetrical: divided into sectors lined with narrow streets, with grand avenues leading to the castle from each cardinal direction.
The main streets were too exposed to use, but the ruins weren't much safer. Still, with Elion's affinity he could trace a path toward the castle. His range didn't cover the entire city, but with well-timed pauses to reevaluate their route, they could manage.
"Let's go," he said, slipping between shattered walls and overgrown tumors of flesh.
He moved as silently as possible. He didn't know whether the things searching for them could hear, but he was rather keen on avoiding finding out.
Miss Shadow was a master of silence. Some of that mastery came from her ability, but her entire combat style revolved around erasing sound. Elion knew that style well—he had studied it in detail, hoping to one day defeat her.
Now, burned into his mind, it served him well. He could imitate it—if not at her level, then close enough to pass unnoticed.
The rest of the group wasn't as fortunate, and there wasn't time to teach them. But since Elion was the scout, it wasn't required. With him leading, slipping through the ruined city wasn't too difficult.
Unfortunately, the nearer they drew to the castle, the heavier the pressure of the Class V's will became. It hadn't noticed them yet, but that wouldn't last forever.
There was no way into the castle unseen. Still, the golden thread pointed directly there. Their only chance was to find a place where its will was weaker—there were bound to be holes in its stretched-thin awareness.
Elion dashed forward to try and reach the next cover offered by the ruined buildings. While he ran as silently as possible, he heard a noise. The sound of flesh slithering on stone, and it was moving straight toward him.
His affinity locked onto it as soon as it entered his range. It had the shape of… well, it was really hard to determine what it was since his affinity wasn't able to get into too much detail. Even with the amount provided, Elion couldn't make sense of what was approaching him. The only thing he knew was to get as far away as possible.
It hadn't spotted him yet, but cover was still far.
He made a desperate dash, sliding behind a pile of stone and pressing himself flat against the ground. Elion held his breath, grimy patches of flesh clinging to his jacket—an unpleasant sensation to say the least.
Don't notice me. Don't notice me.
He didn't detect any signs of it sensing his presence.
Elion risked a glance.
And I thought the Frankenstein's monster wannabe was disgusting…
The creature slithering past looked like a slug made of pale limbs, nerves, and veins binding it together.
The Voice of God identified it as a Class V as well.
That was too close.
When the amalgam was far enough, Elion raised his arm, signaling the others.
They emerged cautiously, clearly aware of the monster that had just passed. Eshrod moved first, followed by Farha and the others, with Lumos closing the march like the guardian he was.
They crossed safely.
"There seem to be more of those things the closer we get to the castle," Elion whispered. "And judging from our fight with the Frankenstein's monster wannabe, I doubt we can handle a Class V's minions."
"What do we do then?" Kellta asked.
"Still not too late to turn back…" Talom muttered. He was quietly horrified at the sight of the thing that just passed them.
Elion dismissed Ironman's suggestion.
"We keep going. The castle's surrounded by a moat. If we're lucky, we can find a way to bypass the Class V's will. The First Finger seems to be underground. That will work in our favor."
The golden thread was beginning to slope downward.
They pressed on, weaving through the city and avoiding more horrors. The streets were eerily devoid of corpses—but the reason was obvious. The bodies were already walking, trying to kill them.
The Class V had fused them into the abominations prowling Erika—like the creations of a mad surgeon with far too much funding.
As they neared the castle, its true scale came into view: gargantuan walls rising over a moat of crimson water, likely tainted with blood.
Kellta's flame lit the scene in a hellish red, heightening the oppressive weight pressing on them.
Here, the Class V's will was suffocating. But in the moat below, its hold seemed weaker—exactly where the golden thread pointed.
Lucky… if that's what we're calling it. After all, we're walking into a Class V's den.
The moat walls were too smooth to climb and too high to jump down, even with the water below, but Elion spotted openings in the stonework—likely part of the city's sewer system. With his affinity, finding an accessible one wasn't difficult.
He led them to a narrow street, where a manhole sat between a leaning ruin and a wall coated in flesh. Eshrod pried up the heavy steel cover, revealing a rusted ladder descending into darkness.
The stench of rotting flesh surged upward immediately, assaulting their nostrils.
Elion grimaced beneath his mask.
"Well, ladies first," he said, gesturing politely for her to descend the cursed hole.
Eshrod shot him a glare.
"Shut up. This was your idea." She shoved him down the hole.
Ah, women… you try to be polite, and they throw you into a sewer.
The smell was almost unbearable.
Elion climbed down, shirt pulled over his nose. Kellta's fire lit a small island of light at the bottom. His boots squelched into something unpleasant.
"How is it?" Eshrod called.
"It's… inviting. A truly scenic location," Elion muttered, gagging.
The others descended one by one. With light, Elion could finally take in the tunnel.
It was worse than expected. Flesh lined the walls, bones and hair jutting out like tumors.
Calling it a gruesome sight would be an understatement.
But something was off.
Not something important—there were no abominations waiting to deliver their flesh to the central tumor down here, not as far as Elion could tell. No, what was wrong was…
Why did this city even have a sewer system? It never rains in the Depths.
This might seem like an irrelevant question, but Elion's historically-attuned mind refused to let it go.
This city wasn't built from the surface—it was clearly native to the Depths. And all the tunnels fed into the moat. Waste management clearly wasn't its purpose.
Who would want a pool of shit surrounding their castles, after all?
No, the real reason for these 'sewers' was quite apparent. The water running down to their ankles as they walked, tainted red by the ambient flesh décor, was all amassing toward the moat.
It was some sort of aqueduct system, providing the city with water.
Truly fascinating.
The Dwellers of the Depths must have developed pumps to draw from the groundwater beneath them.
"What's with that face? Have you noticed something?" Lumos asked.
Elion blinked, snapped out of his reverie, noticing his attention to the outside world had been severely diminished. He hadn't realized how deeply he'd sunk into thought.
That could have been dangerous.
"No, I was just thinking about the inner workings of this city. This was truly a formidable place. The insights we could gather here might help us understand the cities of the Dwellers of the Depths much better."
Eshrod stared at him like he'd lost it.
"We're in enemy territory, and you're thinking about city logistics?"
"Well, yeah. It's interesting."
She kept glaring.
"Whatever. You wouldn't get it," Elion sighed.
"Just don't get us killed, Christopher Columbus."
Farha chuckled at the exchange. Her face looked… relieved.
Huh.
Maybe she's relieved the nerd in him hadn't changed.
N—no matter.
The tunnel widened, revealing an exit into the moat in all its gory details. Crimson water gleamed, flesh clinging to the walls.
At the center, beneath the castle, a submerged doorway emerged, likely completely covered by water back when its level was higher—when mounds of flesh weren't clogging the system.
Elion pointed at it. It was also where the golden thread was heading.
"That is probably the castle's old water tank—and that is where we are heading," he said, feigning confidence.