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Nick lagged behind; it was uncertain whether the young man would follow the rest all the way into the depths, especially as the stench of decay grew stronger, as the darkness grew thicker. Not all were made for such escapades, and Isidore could only hope that Nick didn't make any rash decisions.

The darkness shone with blue light as the quartet passed the point of no return.

There was a chasm underneath the prison, home to a garden of tar-stained flowers and trees. That sweetness, once overbearing, was now undercut by the smell of brine, like the world’s shittiest salty caramel. The walls of this cavern were made inaccessible to them all by the ocean water that seeped into the place, while the garden was the territory of shadowy humans, lumbering disconcertingly around the place. The former researchers of the prison above? Or more of those wretched experiments, made puppets by the tar-plants.

Then, there was the clattering of feet against stone off in the distance, muffled by vines. Isidore turned briefly, noting that of the three that had followed, two now remained. Nick was gone, having taken the sealing of the entranceway as reason enough to escape. Isidore's expression remained unchanged. Loyalty or conviction hadn't yet had any chance to grow amongst these strangers. Such action couldn't be faulted, but it would be remembered.

Isidore let out a breath, let out all the tension that had built up in his body.

Time to continue.

Not certain whether the others could see so clearly as he could, he kept a firm grip on Octavia’s leash, as he began to walk upon the raised platform, keeping an eye on the largest plant at the back of the garden. Black stones impaled it, but it was through those same black stones that it could grow its progeny upon the surface, to birth creatures such as Octavia. It was a detour, and he had to drag Octavia with him as he did so, but Isidore wasn’t fool enough to walk boldly into the territory of the tar-plants. All the toughness in the world meant nothing once restrained by a dozen ancient roots.

“Donovan, shield up. Protect the others. Octavia, there are things moving within the garden to our left. We are approaching the largest of the tar-plants, the one whose roots stretch all around this place.” He paused. Levity may be appropriate in these dark times, so deep underground. “If any of you were a fire-breather in your past life, this would be a good chance to show off.”



Isidore coughed, then allowed his muscles to relax further.

The door, he hadn’t mentioned. It was left open for a reason, and that reason was still unknown to him.

Ying Yue frowned, not even sparing a glance towards the islander. She had heard of punishing training before. Meditation under a waterfall while you slice down logs dragged down by the flow of water. Climbing steep mountains with only the strength of your fingers. Wrestling with bears, tigers, monkeys, dragons, Buddhas. But to gain strength, through the consumption of the dead? It…hm, putting it that way, it wasn’t that strange. After all, the old maid always told her brothers: “Eat meat to grow meat. Don’t eat meat and grow weak.”

There was still a world of difference between eating cooked chicken and eating raw chicken though, and there was even more of a difference between eating a chicken killed quickly, and eating a giant dogman that was violently battered by the entirety of an army. To prefer the latter over the former, to do so without hesitation too, that could only be considered the sign of demonic influences, or some barbarous tradition.

Or maybe she was being a bit hasty, when this Eri Ka could be as harmless and helpful as Zhu Bajie.

“Then eat so much as you desire,” Ying Yue spoke, sweeping one hand grandly over the battlefield, the corpses of the dead dragged away by the metal-clad warriors. “I’ll not interfere with the cultivation of your own abilities, so long as you don’t begin devouring your brethren in the pursuit of power, Eri Ka of the Iron Gut. As for me, I am named Ying Yue, eldest daughter of the Geng family. These are strange circumstances, but unlike two others amongst us, you’re not a danger.”

Her nose twitched slightly. The rancid smell of blood and battered flesh wafted out of Eri Ka’s mouth with every word.

“Though your breath smells of the dead. Washing your mouth before an audience with their king would do much in improving your image.”
I'm waiting for Polaris to post before I do, and I think he's busy with school or work or something like that, but otherwise I'm chill.
𝕃𝕆𝕎 ℝ𝔸ℕ𝕂 𝕁𝕆𝔹𝕊 = ℂℝ𝔸𝔽𝕋






𝕃𝕆𝕎 ℝ𝔸ℕ𝕂 𝕁𝕆𝔹𝕊 = ℍ𝕐𝔹ℝ𝕀𝔻












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𝕃𝕆𝕎 ℝ𝔸ℕ𝕂 𝕁𝕆𝔹𝕊 = 𝕄𝔸ℝ𝕋𝕀𝔸𝕃






































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