The tunnel swallowed her whole.

Stepping over the threshold was like pushing through an unseen membrane—the air changed in both taste and temperature. Gone was the scent of soil and decaying leaves; in its place lingered the odor of things long dead. Sweat trickled along her temples, stinging her eyes as humidity increased. Every breath felt warm and moist, cloying at her throat and lungs.

Liselotte had been right. These passages were too tight for the Harpy Queen's impressive wingspan to do any good, even if she managed to wriggle below ground.

Ryelle was forced to duck her head every few steps to avoid slamming against the rough stone overhead. Gaps and side-tunnels opened up around her at irregular intervals, leaving her to squeeze past jagged outcrops and clamber over mounds of broken rock that littered the way ahead.

In the darkness, her draconic senses magnified scents and textures alike. Footing shifted with each step—smooth soil gave way to slick mud or treacherous gravel without warning. Cracks in the walls yawned wide enough to catch an unwary foot but too narrow for wings or arms to pass through.

After several minutes of descent, the tunnel leveled out. Ryelle paused to listen but heard only the distant trickle of water seeping through the walls and her own breath, magnified by the cramped space.

Nothing stirred down here. Not wind, not rodents, not even fungi's musty aroma. If it weren't for occasional wisps of air that tasted less foul than others, she might have suspected this network of tunnels remained sealed off from the surface.

She pressed her palm against the tunnel wall and reached out with the same nature-sense that had revealed the root network above. The response came immediately—not from living wood this time, but from the wounded earth itself.

Pain. Ancient bedrock that had been carved and shaped against its will, tunnels that defied erosion's natural processes, poisons injected at intervals along the walls where ore veins once ran. Ryelle bit back a hiss of discomfort as that pain echoed through her bones.

A hundred paces down, the passage branched. Ryelle paused at the intersection, letting her enhanced senses map the options. The left branch descended steeply, carrying a stronger concentration of that sulfurous stench. The right curved away into darkness that seemed somehow deeper, more absolute.

From the left passage came the distant sound of scraping—stone against stone, rhythmic and purposeful.

She chose left.

Her fingers trailed lightly against the wall as she walked, keeping her steady where footing threatened to give way or sudden drops demanded careful steps. Behind her eyelids she began to map each twist and turn of this underground labyrinth. If she lost her bearings down here... well, even a draconic sense of direction couldn't rescue her from a tomb of stone.

Voices drifted up from the darkness ahead—guttural sounds that belonged to no human throat.

Ryelle slowed her pace, creeping forward with exaggerated care to avoid kicking loose rocks. The packed earth muffled her footsteps, but she'd learned enough about predation from Liselotte to know that even the smallest sound could betray a hunter's presence.

Light flickered around the next bend—not the clean radiance of flame, but something that cast everything in bloody red.

She crept forward until she could peer around the curve, then had to suppress a sharp intake of breath at what lay before her.

The tunnel opened into a vast chamber carved from living rock. Several passages radiated outward from the circular space like spokes from a wheel's hub. But it wasn't the architecture that made her teeth clench—it was the creatures that filled the cavern.

Bhutava. At least twenty of them, their stout forms moving with the methodical efficiency of experienced laborers. Their skin looked like granite given life, rough and grey with veins of darker stone threading beneath the surface. Each one stood barely taller than Ryelle herself, but their barrel-chests and thick limbs spoke of strength that could crush bone without effort.

They worked in pairs, their clawed hands shaping earth and stone with casual mastery that turned solid rock into malleable clay. One would place its palms against a wall and concentrate, causing the stone to soften and flow like water. Its partner would guide the liquefied rock into new configurations—support pillars, archways, or simply clearing obstructions.

Heat radiated from a pit carved into the chamber's center, fed by veins of some glowing mineral Ryelle didn't recognize. This was the source of the light that tinted everything in crimson hue and added to the chamber's oven-like atmosphere.

Was this some sort of forge? She saw no tools, anvils, or crucibles, but an intensity hovered around the pit that made her suspect something far more potent than fire burned there.

One of the Bhutava looked up from its work, sniffing the air with nostrils that flared like a bloodhound's. Its glowing eyes swept the tunnel mouths that ringed the chamber, searching for the source of whatever scent had caught its attention.

Ryelle pressed herself against the tunnel wall, grateful for the shadows that concealed her position. The creature's gaze passed over her hiding spot without pausing, and it grunted something to one of its companions. Both Bhutava shook their heads before returning to their tasks.

She needed to see more.

Ryelle eased away from her vantage point, following the tunnel as it curved around the chamber's perimeter. The Bhutava remained engrossed in their work, but she had to stop every few moments to watch for curious stares.

Three tunnels later, she found the nursery.

The chamber stretched twice the size of the first, though only half a dozen Bhutava worked inside. They carved out alcoves along one wall—small nooks filled with lumpy piles of what looked like hardened magma. Each nook held strange, elongated eggs in different stages of development. Some glowed softly in the dark, their molten cores visible through translucent shells; others showed tiny, curled forms nestled within.

But those weren't the eggs that made bile rise in Ryelle's throat.

Within larger alcoves along the far wall were captives.

Harpy wings—brown and grey and tawny gold—spread limp against the carved stone. Four harpies lay motionless in specially carved depressions, their bodies held fast by bands of that same flowing rock the Bhutava manipulated. Their chests moved in shallow breaths, skin filmed with grime and sweat.

And their bellies, once lean with corded muscle, had swelled like pregnant women nearing their time.

Ryelle's knees nearly buckled at the sight.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The harpies' eyes moved—barely, sluggishly, but enough to show awareness trapped behind whatever paralysis held them. One managed to twitch a wing-tip, the feathers scraping against stone with a sound like breaking glass.

Around them, the eggs throbbed. Inside those translucent shells, shapes writhed that bore no resemblance to harpy young. Six eyes in each malformed skull. Wing membranes of stretched hide instead of feathers.

Shadaksha.

Heat bloomed behind Ryelle's ribs—not the controlled fire she'd learned to shape, but something rawer, more primal. Something that knew nothing of restraint or caution.

Something that demanded vengeance.

Her vision narrowed to a red-tinged tunnel. The careful mission parameters Liselotte had given her—scout, observe, report back—crumbled like ash in a furnace.

One of the Bhutava looked up from its egg-tending, nostrils flaring as it caught her scent properly this time. Its mouth opened to voice some guttural warning.

Ryelle stepped into the chamber.

Dragon's breath erupted from her throat in a torrent of silver fire that turned the cavern air luminous. The scream she'd been holding back rode the flames, a sound that belonged to no divine throat—pure fury given voice, echoing off stone walls with harmonics that made the eggs crack in their alcoves.

The first Bhutava disappeared in the inferno, its granite skin proving no match for draconic flame. The second managed half a step backward before fire claimed it too, stone-flesh melting like candle wax.

But the nursery held six demons, and Ryelle's breath weapon couldn't reach them all.

The survivors scattered, their earth-shaping abilities turning floor and walls into treacherous terrain. Stone spikes erupted where her feet had been. Ceiling chunks dropped with crushing force. The chamber floor buckled and heaved like a ship's deck in a storm.

Ryelle leaped from foothold to foothold, her enhanced strength carrying her across gaps that opened beneath her feet. Fire wreathed her hands now, turning her fingernails incandescent and setting her hair billowing on currents of hot air.

One Bhutava thrust both palms against the chamber wall, liquefying stone into a wave that rushed toward her with grinding momentum. Ryelle caught the molten rock with both hands, her divine nature protecting her from heat that should have stripped flesh from bone. The wave stopped, held suspended by raw strength, before she hurled it back at its creator with interest compounded.

The demon vanished beneath its own attack, crushed under stone it had foolishly weaponized.

Behind her, the captive harpies tried to thrash free of their restraints. Their movements remained sluggish, hobbled by whatever power kept them helpless. Another managed to flap one wing-arm weakly, stirring the stagnant air.

Ryelle reached for nature-gifts Ebonheim had woven into her essence during creation. Power flowed through her palms into living stone, and the cavern itself responded. Root systems from the poisoned forest above sent tendrils questing downward through cracks, following her will. They burst through the chamber ceiling in an explosion of splinters and soil, thick as a giant's fingers and hard as iron.

The remaining Bhutava had time for one startled grunt before root-spears punched through their granite hides. They thrashed briefly, claws scraping against wood that refused to yield, then went still.

Silence returned to the nursery, broken only by the crackle of cooling stone and her own ragged breathing.

Ryelle knelt beside the nearest harpy and reached for that same natural power, sending it running through her veins to tap into the trees' vitality again. Roots wrapped carefully around the captive, constricting just enough to lever her free of the stone cocoon. Then she moved to the next one, then the next, working methodically until all four were lying on the floor, wings twitching as they struggled to shake off whatever held them immobile.

The roots withdrew through the ceiling gaps as Ryelle approached the eggs.

Her foot crunched down on one of the larger shapes—half-formed Shadaksha eggs quivered as they cracked apart beneath her heel. She crushed them all, her mind filled with echoes of the horror she had seen. Those unborn shapes would never see the light now, and for that, she felt no pity at all.

There was only room for one emotion in her heart now, and it burned hotter than any flame could scorch.

Movement in the chamber's entrance made her spin around, fire already kindling in her throat.

Three more Bhutava crowded the tunnel mouth, their granite faces carved into expressions of rage and surprise. Behind them, shadows moved—reinforcements arriving to investigate the commotion she'd caused.

Ryelle rose to her feet, leaving the freed harpies behind her. Their wings might be useless for now, but they could crawl toward the chamber's back wall while she held the entrance.

The lead Bhutava rumbled something in its harsh tongue—probably a demand for surrender. Its companions spread out to flank her, stony skin flexing as they readied their own earth-shaping abilities.

Dragonfire painted the cavern walls in shifting patterns of silver and gold. This time she shaped it, controlled it, turned raw fury into a weapon that cut through the demons' ranks like a blade. Two of the Bhutava fell instantly, their essence consumed by flame that left nothing behind but ash and melted rock.

The third managed to survive long enough to get off one desperate swipe with its claws.

Ryelle met that attack head-on, dodging one lashing arm only to bring her fist crashing into the Bhutava's face with a sound like a hammer striking steel. The force of the blow cracked the demon's skull, the red light of its eyes flickering once before extinguishing.

She whirled to face any remaining threats.

More Bhutava arrived, pouring into the chamber with stone-shaping hands at the ready.

The flame in Ryelle's heart flared hotter, drawing strength from the divinity that made up her essence. "You want to play with cages? Let me show you what happens when you cage the wrong predator."

The vines that erupted from the ceiling this time were not gentle roots meant to pry the harpies free. These were brambles thick as her wrist, studded with thorns that dripped poison.

A Bhutava tried to tear through the attacking vegetation, but the vines reacted to damage by multiplying, each severed length spawning three more tendrils that writhed with autonomous hunger. Within moments, the chamber had become a writhing mass of thorns and ivy, impaling attackers from every direction, grasping limbs and slicing into stony flesh.

Ryelle didn't wait to see the outcome. She was already moving toward the next cluster of enemies, her hands trailing ribbons of silver fire that left scorched handprints on everything she touched.

The battle became something primitive and vicious, divorced from technique or strategy. She fought like an elemental force made flesh, her divine nature channeling every drop of rage into pure destruction.

When the last demon fell, she stood among the scattered remains, breathing hard and surveying the wreckage of the nursery chamber. Smoldering vines hung from gaps in the ceiling. Harpies huddled along the far wall, some weakly flapping wings in an attempt to clear their heads.

"Can you move?" she asked the nearest harpy, her voice hoarser than she'd expected.

Wings fluttered weakly. "Some. Poison... wearing off."

"Good enough." Ryelle slipped an arm under the harpy's shoulders, helping her stand. She glanced at the other three. "Can you walk?"

Slowly, shakily, they rose to their feet. Their limbs still trembled from whatever toxin had kept them captive, but sheer determination would see them through now.

It had to.

"Follow me," she said, guiding them toward the tunnel exit and the long climb toward fresh air and safety.

By the time they reached the surface, her rescuees were staggering—too weak to walk unaided but strong enough to refuse the comfort of being carried. Ryelle kept a steadying hand on whoever needed it, pausing frequently to let them rest.

The tunnels fell far behind, eventually giving way to the poisoned forest above.

Liselotte waited where Ryelle had left her, but she was no longer alone. A dozen harpy warriors perched in the surrounding trees, and even Gwynelle hovered nearby on tireless wings.

All of them stared at the rescued captives, at the pale faces and distended bellies, at the eyes that had lost none of their sharpness despite everything these four had endured.

"How many?" Liselotte's voice carried the sharp tone that preceded declarations of war.

Ryelle settled down the harpy she had carried. "I killed sixteen Bhutava, but the tunnels go deeper than I reached, and there were passages I didn't explore. I don't know how many enemies are still down there."

"Enough." Liselotte gestured, and two of the other harpies alighted beside the four former captives, each offering a supportive wing-arm. "There are plenty of Asura to hunt." Her expression hardened, fury bleeding through whatever fury Ryelle herself had felt. "Let us share the prey."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.