Click. Snap. Bang.

Shots were being fired, shouts and calls hurling along with those whistling trails of lead. Firing, loading another into breech, firing again and reloading again, amidst a fog smoke and decaying mist.

Out from nowhere had those thirty specters arrived from the sphere beneath, their corrosive rust-dusty silhouettes having had phased through the micro-gaps of the hidden door to that narrow tunnel; so utterly had they ripped through the Huckleberrien soldiers who had been establishing themselves throughout the greater sewers above, those ancient aqueducts, leaving behind a trail of corpses and blackened carbon.

Yet as fast as those pseudo-shades had appeared and torn through, they had ultimately paused, retracted away into a mist-dusty stream as if returning strings. Whatever rejoice the remaining soldiers had presumed themselves to have been afforded was short lived, however. For before they could reclaim their bearings, let alone investigate what had befallen the sphere below, the mother of all shrieks had rumbled the lowest sections of the sewers…

The sounds of not only a thick and massive stone vaultish door, formerly lodged in place, being ripped and torn aside as if junk, but the sounds of that hidden door—that very wall—being pulverized in a quaking burst. Unleashed through which being, of course, a rabid luminescent tide ushered forth by that corruptive cloud of blueish choppy dust, outflowing without relent, suffocating not breaths but souls.

Roots—some dim in hue, others glowing a vibrant blue—rapidly threaded themselves into the walls and pavement, veins spreading out as if networked rivers splitting and extending. Worst, however, were those horrid vines—some thin and slender, others fat and thick as if tubes—with bands or strips of luminescence… They slithered and curled as if tentacles or tendrils, stretching and growing as if with lengths perceptually infinite, snatching and pulling away dead or alive—corpse or person.

The screams and shots of the soldiers caught, having echoed throughout the sewers, had alerted those further back who immediately rushed to aid and sent for help; reinforcements of both Huckleberrien grand soldiers and Grandberrien guards had thus been pouring in.

For time uncounted—perhaps an hour; perhaps one and half or maybe even two—the soldiers and guards fought the wretched vines and threading roots that had all but overwhelmed the lower sections of the sewers, coiling their way ever upwards; ever forwards; ever closer.

However, now, no longer were such the only threats; for things…far worse…were beginning to emerge from the originating epicenter—that breached abyss.

Soldiers, assembled in an uneven line; some standing on the side pavement, others standing in the sewage itself. The ways behind were clear and pure besides that cloudy corrosive rust…unable to be stopped for it was merely dust. The ways ahead, however…

Utterly infested.

"DO NOT LET THEM PASS!" an officer shrieked, struggling to jam a lead ball down his pistol's barrel. "HOLD YOUR LINE AND KEEP—" Yet muffled the officer became, as his entire head found itself completely submerged in the slimy mouth-hole of a purplish tendril, so thick and wide as if a snakish artery that had stitched itself onto the ceiling…

Indeed, less a tendril and more a worm.

His men so galped in horror as they witnessed their officer be abruptly swallowed up and whole; they saw the outline of his body be pushed and squeezed through the ceiling-latched tendril's long esophagus-like body, which extended through the entire way down ahead.

This disgusting tendril was immediately fired upon; bleeding out a glowing acidic slurry, it recoiled and retracted away.

"UGH! AGAIN!" a Huckleberrien sergeant so shouted as if that was not even the first occurrence of an officer being slurped up; "THOSE THINGS BE STILL AFTER OUR—" However, he and the others having been distracted, were swiftly pounced and torn a shred…by those other things they had been suppressing, and which continued to charge through as if the line had barely been an obstacle.

Another line of soldiers, bruised and legs drenched in sewage guck, had already assembled some ways behind the now shredded line; they immediately fired on the charging swarm, only some of which discharged… More soldiers, responding to the shouts, rushed their way to fill in their gaps.

"W-what…in each of the thousand realms are those things?!" one of such arriving soldiers so shouted, taking his position.

"We don't know! They just appeared, and they've been cutting through us!" shouted another soldier in reply, cartridges soiled and ruined. "Shite! My shots be wet!"

The assembled line desperately attempted to suppress these creatures unknown, whose horrid guttural screeches and biting barks rang their ears and spines…

Humanoid and bipedal yet seeming more plant-like in the purplish-grey fleshiness, covered with glowing luminescent vine-like veins; each had heads though seemed covered with masses of wood-like outgrowths, with some extending tall enough that the head appeared akin to a tree's stump; each had faces yet were featureless—devoid of eyes, though there seemed to be the impression of sockets underneath; devoid of noses, though some had the residuals thereof; and their mouths, while human-esque within, were devoid of tongues and teeth…in place of lips being a hardened wood-like vertical 'beak' with four sharpened fang-like points.

Some were slender and exposed, fast and agile; others were thick and bulky, figures utterly overwhelmed in those pseudo-wooden masses and bark-like lesions, hardened as if 'armoring'. The agile ones had sharpened clawed hands ripe for tearing, whilst the bulky ones had one arm that was completely subsumed by the pseudo-wooden growths—hardly an arm as much as a grotesque weapon, capable of piercing cuts or blunt bludgeoning.

Indeed… More 'treant' than human, such were these creatures; yet none of the men could see that their featureless heads were, in fact, familiar faces.

These treant-like monstrosities were vicious in their attacks, rabid in their speed; they pounced, bit, ripped, and tore. Bullets could pierce their flesh, provided that the bullets pierced their bark; bullets could stun and slow; bullets could make them bleed their purple-blue pus; but bullets could not permanently incapacitate or kill, unless it was a shot to the head—the brain.

But none of these panicked soldiers were aiming for the head; none of them were aiming at all, in fact. The treants were on the verge of overwhelming them as they had the countless last.

"Fall back! Fall back! There isn't a reason! This section has fallen! Retreat to the next!"

Breaking, the soldiers began to retreat and withdraw. The pseudo-wooden lesion infested treants made their barking grunts as they pounced onto the backs of the slowest, biting and clawing relentlessly. The unluckiest, however, were those who tripped and fell, their legs having been snatched by the slithering vines; their bodies skidded against the pavement, screams and pleas drowned by smothering sewage, as they were dragged back and into the abyss below.

Thus, in a cyclic rhythm, such would continue on. Soldiers and guards would stand their ground and then retreat back… As slowly but surely, more and more of the sewers' deeper bowels were lost, the speed of which was exponentially accelerating. More vines so wormed and tunneled, stretching as glowing veins spreaded out whilst roots threaded themselves about, growing with the flowering mist, treants rushing out in ever greater droves… Even the streaming water began to glow with rot.

All the while, more and more men poured in to contain something…none of them even understood, closing tunnels, sealing chambers… For despite their ignorance, each soldier and each guard understood one thing was certain: whatever this was, it was growing, and it was rapidly spreading. And each fall back, each section lost, only brought it closer to the slumbering city above; closer to breaking out… They could not let that happen.

None of them knew, however, that their sacrifices were the very thing feeding the cancer.

Thump-thump. Bump-Bump. Ba-dum. Lub-dub. Pum-pum.

Groggy moans as eyes opened and closed, vision hazed and blurred; energy sapped and drained, nerves numbed and strained… Slow and heavy, as if having been sedated. Laying weirdly, as if having been plopped or dropped. Blacking in and out, her body remaining almost paralyzed…

Yet her consciousness was slowly coming to.

Indeed, for although her sight remained blackened, the noises around bled into her ears…

Sounds of pulsing flesh being erected; sounds of slithering worms and twitching snakes; sounds of splashing pops and dropping plops, things born and marching; sounds of screams echoing distant then closer, as if being dragged and pulled, latched and coiled, gargled, smothered, and drowned into pupal silence.

Time flowed and streamed, these sounds reverberating as if caught in a dream—a nightmare. Until, eventually, her breaths began to breathe, her nerves tingling with sensation once again; she could feel her body, her arms, her legs… Her eyes opened and then closed yet again, before…finally opening for good. Her vision, still hazed, nevertheless cleared; all she saw was the shadow of luminance and curving blueish rock.

She awkwardly sat herself up as if her limbs needed to remember how to move, turning herself and dizzily peering, still dazed and delirious…

It was hardly as dark anymore; a lively luminescence all around shined an almost vibrant indigo twilight… The air felt almost wet and moist, as did the ground which felt more soil-like. It was awfully silent, besides that strange thumping thump that bled with the ambience… The mist, while present, had largely cleared or become more…transparent—a drizzly haze no longer so dense or consuming; no longer a blackened purplish as much as blueish…

And no longer was there that gnawing sense of being chewed on deep within…

In a way so strange, it almost felt so…calm and serene, this space; as if in harmony; as if in union and tranquility with a commanding hum.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Surrounding was an almost whole new sphere, indeed.

Luminescent-banded vines and glowing roots sprawled about, from the ground to the ruins to the sphere's very walls, dangling or etched; some were thick and large, pulsing with glowing fluids; some were opaque and hardened, others thin and fleshy. Dangling about the walls—some high, some low—as if hung fruits were strange pea-like pods which glowed that vibrant blue. The surface itself was overrun with soft and cushiony, almost grassy, fibers and shrubs—teal or turquoise in color. There was an even greater assortment of luminescent floraforms sprouting and sprouting more, gelatin and plantish.

Consumed by an almost rainy overgrowth, everything was becoming.

However, the extent to which she could see these features was limited. For her eyes only saw…

Crater.

Indeed, that same hollow of a crater wherein they had discovered those receptionists' bodies. She was within it… Her breaths instantly tensed; however, there was…no beast.

Her face, she noticed, was tingling from the misty air's touch. Her vision, likewise, was untinted… Her mask, she quickly realized, was off—a fact she confirmed by feeling her exposed cheeks… Her face-covering too.

Her hands felt around as if helping her eyes looking about… Her Raven mask was nowhere to be found; neither was her revolving rifle… Both were gone.

"Huh…" She was, frankly, still processing everything—what had just happened; the situation she was in…

"[It appears that…someone's wake has finally been revived.]"

Novea gasped, her head flinging a turn as she heard that familiar voice; a sensation filled her being as she saw…

That Protector of Smiles…

The elf was sitting slightly behind and further off to the side of Novea's position, back against the crater's wall; helmet off, her arms were hugging her legs, eyes remaining downfaced. She looked hopeless and defeated, but she was still…

"Alive…" Almost instantly, everything returned to Novea; she promptly scrabbled herself closer. "Y-you're alive!"

"…unfortunately." Yet the elf did not seem as thrilled.

"The last I remember, you were, you were…" Novea's own breaths then abruptly clogged, recent memories flashing in her eyes… "Oh… Oh Gods' sacred…" The dread elevated in her shaking breaths, a curling twist in her stomach as if an opening pit… "W-w-what happened??"

"…[I was defeated, and you fainted.]" the Protector simply replied, matter-of-factly.

"Rightly…" Novea realized… She had fainted—completely blacked out. Such was the first time in a long while since she had last done that.

She would feel ashamed, frankly, however…

"Yeah… I… I did—b-but you! W-w-what about you?" Indeed, such was hardly the crux of her question, considering the last memory etched into her very mind was that elf being strangled whilst that beast's…horrifying 'tail'…erected in glee. "[What happened to you?? The last of my memory was that you were…] He was… He was… D-d-d-did he—that freak… D-did, did he… [Had he…]"

Even under ordinary circumstances, this was a terribly difficult question to ask.

The Protector's grip on her legs tightened, her posture tucking down more; her eyes, the outline of which now seemed more…lavender than light blue, remained facing down…

These behaviors only made the pit in Novea's stomach sink even more…

Yet… "[N…no.]" The elf ultimately shook her head… "[…it seemed as if…he was to enact such, however…he did not. He only…stuck his horrendous tongue into my throat before tossing me aside, into here…]"

"…oh." Novea relaxed… While that was still horribly disgusting and wicked, such was nevertheless a relief compared to what she had been assuming. She leaned back, her breaths mellowing; she again felt her exposed dirtied face… "My mask…" She returned her hazel-amber eyes to the elf… "W-why… [Why is it off?]"

There was a delay in the Protector's reply… "[Because he did the same to you.]"

"…" Novea blanked, her eyes staring stunned… It took a moment for these words, their implications, to be fully processed…

She promptly…emptied what little stomach contents she even had.

"Oh Raven Mother, Gods' sacred…" Hand grasping her gagging mouth, she shuddered as tears began to drip and drop from her horrified eyes… "Is that… Is that all he did?" She absolutely needed to know. "[That is the only violation he enacted upon me, correct??]"

The Protector gave a single slow…nod. "[Yes.]" she thus said; "[You would know, believe me, had he done more… No, there is a venom in his tongue. It numbed me, as it numbed you… But I remained awake… I witnessed…everything.]" Which was to say everything.

Novea, calming slightly, bobbed her head… "Thank…all of the Gods above, Trinity in Heaven, and Mother of Ravens…" Her eyes withdrew away, scouting about the crater in proper detail…

Only to then abruptly freeze, eyes widening…

That sinking pit once again reopened in her stomach, having finally spotted…

"…oh, oh no…" Immediately, Novea so scrambled herself towards that spotted spot in a lunging rush, breaths elevating as she fetched into her hands…

A particular amulet of a certain class and designation, still pristine despite the surrounding guck; pieces of torn uniform were scattered about, amidst which she also found…a pair of spectacles… There was a potent…horrible stench around this spot.

"…the undersecretary…" A bleak horror spilled out into her gut from her cut stomach. "…what…" She slowly turned her eyes back to that elf… "What…h-happened…to…her?" Her voice spoke with trembles.

The Protector's clench tightened, her own stoic breaths becoming perturbed; there was a quiver to her, her own eyes widening as if scenes washed across her vision.

Novea knew this was a bad sign…

"[I shall not…describe…what happened.]" the elf thus began to say, herself with a terrible shake… "[I cannot… I refuse to…]" Indeed, her eyes were traumatized. "[What I shall say is that…she remained fearless and stalwart until the end, your league's…lower ministress.]"

"I see…" Novea's teeth chattered, breaths sinking as her head nodded slight… "[We…most truly are the stupid ones.]" she muttered with a lowly sigh, unable to really grieve in this moment… "If I escape this, it's going to…be…one horrible yelling—failure to protect…a Citadel secretary." With a breath in and out, she placed the amulet into one of her satchels, the pair of spectacles as well; she then crawled back to her previous spot.

The Protector, despite her long pause, still had more words to say. "[She…was still alive, I should say, when the beast concluded…]"

"W-wait, what?" And Novea's visible eyes so swung to her. "Does that mean… [She may still be…with life?]"

"[I am not sure…]" the elf, however, stated; "[The worm-roots… They…took her.]"

"…took…her?" Novea tensed… "W-what…do you…mean? Where… [Whither was she taken?]"

"…" Yet the Protector did not say a word; she merely pointed her finger…up.

Novea's eyes followed the elf's upward point, and as soon as they had… Her head nearly went limp, mouth hanging agape; her eyes slowly widened, freezing straight and rigid… "Huh…?"

Hanging directly above, rooted and attached, at the center—the very heart—of the towering ceiling up high was…a large…radiant mass of an oval shape. So many roots and vines were latched to and sprung from it; the two largest and most pronounced of which connected to its top portions…as if two major arteries. Gently flowing from and surrounding around was that streamy mist of dust, freshly weaved flesh having a vibrant blueish luminescence amidst older blackened rot.

This grotesque mass throbbed and twitched in rhythm as if lungs breathing or a heart beating, creating a mellow sound that thumped and shrilled; its luminescence pulsed with each contracting squeeze, the glow of its veins and vines heightening as if being pumped and pushed.

"What…" Novea was, indeed, at an absolute loss… "What…is that?"

"…Ephwäulmoÿl." the Protector lowly mumbled, looking up… "[I have heard the stories, but I never believed they existed…]"

"Ep-hwa… Huh?" That…was not a word Novea was familiar with, being not of the classical legendary tongue as much as…a kind of elvish. "[What…does that mean?]"

"…'demiurge', [that…would be a closest word… Or maybe…] 'demigod'." the elf tried to equivocate. "[In truth, there is no equal word in your tongue; they are a type of 'other'. The stories spoke of them as corrupt seeds of bearing rot and unheard songs, worshipped by blighted ones long ago…]"

"Uhuh…" Novea just nodded.

"[But I am uncertain…if that is what that thing is, to be truthful… The stories never mentioned anything akin to…this.]" the Protector continued; "[But nonetheless that thing…is the something else I was noticing. This whole time, it was…here, singing…]" Her eyes fell to the Raven. "[And that is where she is, your ministress… Absorbed.]"

"…[absorbed…?]" Novea was still…trying to comprehend; "I'm sorry, I'm just… How did none of us notice a…whole blob on the ceiling this entire time??"

"[…shriveled and darkened; the fog completely entombed it.]" the elf explained; "[I am not certain of anything… But it was only after the beast…concluded, when the vines—those worm-roots—took her into it, that it brightened and began to grow… The mist, the scent… Everything changed…so instantaneous.]"

"…yeah, I've noticed…the changes…" Novea's eyes finally fell away from that…tumorous blob. "So, she's…dead, essentially—eaten, alrightly…" Breaths coming to terms, she looked down at her chest and torso, feeling her own existence… "Why…" she returned her eyes to the elf, "What about…us? Why are we…still…alive?" She then quivered… "Is he…keeping us…for later?"

Yet the Protector just shrugged… "[I do not know what he is planning for us…]" She was honest. "[But the worm-roots… They have been gathering bodies.]"

"[…gathering…bodies?]" Novea's soul once again so sunk… "…what do you mean?"

The Protector glanced up and pointed about… "[Those things, hanging… Bodies… Brought alive, dead, in pieces or not… Coiled by the roots, placed into those…cocoons.]"

Novea followed the points, seeing those glowing pea-like pods hanging from the sphere's walls, latched to thick stems and fluid-carrying vines, twitching and jerking.

"[I say cocoons, because those absorbed…hatch, transformed.]" the Protector added.

"…[cocoons, absorbed, hatched, transformed…]" Novea's whimpering breaths repeated… "I think I'm…sensing a pattern here…"

"[In half of an hour or less; I did not count, but it does not take long…]" the elf continued; "[I did not witness the hatchlings themselves… I only heard their sounds… They were horrible—painful. Their absence is a relief…]"

"…uhuh…" Novea nodded her head… "[…absent?]" Her head tilted, as if trying to process… Only to then freeze. "Wait." In a sudden gasp, she sprung herself upright and desperately climbed herself up from the crater, peeking her eyes out from its edges…

Indeed, not a single supposed hatchling in sight… However, such was exactly the problem.

"Oh…no…"

Being on the other far end side from the ruins, she was unable to see the entry itself… She was, however, able to see a hole in the sphere's wall in that direction afar, through which so many tendril-like vines had utterly stuffed themselves, infesting as if squirming worms… It was disgusting; or maybe it was just the implication's horror that made her want to puke again.

"[The worm-roots… They destroyed the broken vault; I heard the immense sound… They are invading the aqueducts.]" the Protector only now disclosed. "[Considering the bodies that continue to be gathered, your army is certainly losing…while theirs is growing.]"

Novea slipped herself back into the crater. "…I… I need to contact the Guild, now." she promptly stated.

"[Be my guest…]" the Protector, voice defeated and broken, so replied… "[The way is open, but a horror would have to be crossed… You may outrun him, but can you outrun the vines?]" She spoke as if she had tried.

Novea too began to sink in defeat… Before, abruptly, it hit. "Wait!" Indeed, she jerked upright in realization. Quickly, her hands rummaged through her person, attempting to find and seek, until she finally took out a certain silver-white…talky-thing. "Ha! Ha! I have it! I still have it!" Relief washed her soul. "I can… I have to warn her! I have to warn her! Or she can… She can" Something—she could do something, like tell the Guild or…maybe at least know.

Novea hastily placed the device into her ear and pressed its main button, eagerly anticipating… Yet… Only for the cyanic blinking light to flicker, a strange and sharp statical noise emanating from it.

Unfortunately, despite the mist's apparent calming and serene sense, it was still an active and extreme interference field.

Novea shrunk as if deflating… "It's not… What is… Why isn't it… Please!" She desperately pressed the button again and again, over and over, becoming frantic. "It's never done this before… Why isn't it working? Please work! Please work! I need to talk to her!" She began to tear up. "It isn't working…" She sniffled, sinking down…

Truly, why did it only occur to her now that she had this thing on her… She could have used it so much earlier to…

To…what? Indeed, what could Nilia have even done? She was a hostage… She probably would not have even…responded.

"[That telepather of yours…]" The Protector, apathetic to most things this moment, was glancing; having witnessed Novea wield that thing a few times before, she was not too confused. "[It refuses to come to life?]"

"I don't know…" Novea's voice was slumped and lowly, eyes downfaced…

"[Hm… Your contraption has a sterile scent; little magic is in it… But even it refuses to…cast here.]" The elf's lavender-shifting eyes so gazed up… "[The shroud has abated, but this corruption…touches everything…]"

Novea returned the device to its usual place… "[So, what do we do now?]" She had no idea whatsoever; neither did the elf.

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