Chapter 18 – SubFundus (1)

CRAASH!
The grotesque sound of something massive tearing through the foliage exploded behind him. Tree trunks snapped like matchsticks. Branches twisted in a spasm of living rage.

Huf... huf... huf...
Ezra panted, his chest burning. Vines closed in like serpents all around him, and he could barely make out the ground beneath his feet. He vaulted over a thick root, slipped in the mud, and threw himself sideways to avoid a curtain of thorns cascading from above.

"Mazzareth, I swear, if you weren't fused to my soul, I'd strangle you right now!"

"Kid! Duck—"

Ezra dove, sliding across a floor of leaves and dried blood, just as a mass of living wood, thick as a pillar — whooshed over his head, throwing sparks as it scraped the stone.

He rolled, sprang to his feet, and kept running deeper into the forest, his heart pounding like a tribal drum. The shadows closed in. Every branch felt like a hand trying to grab him, every vine a tongue trying to taste him.

Behind him, the sound of it, the monster, the abomination, the mistake, raged on. It didn't run: it slithered, shoved, cracked, spat sap and fury with every lurch. It was closer. It was starving.

"Ezra! Twenty meters ahead, tree that looks like an ass, turn left!" Mazzareth's voice erupted into his mind like a rude whisper in the middle of chaos.

Ezra grunted. "That's seriously the best description you could come up with?!"

He ignored the snark and stayed focused. Every step sent pain shooting through his knees. He jumped a root, slipped on a rock, grabbed a trunk to steady himself, something snapped behind him. Wood? Or the bones of something not fast enough to flee?

The air stank of wet earth and rot — like meat left under the sun with blood still fresh.

'Nineteen... twenty.'
There it was.
The tree.

Ezra could hardly believe it, but damn it, it did look like an ass. The bifurcated trunk formed two mossy bulges, with a single purple flower dangling from between them, looking almost ashamed to exist.

"You've got a gift, Mazzareth..." Without hesitating, he veered left.

BOOM!
The impact came a second later — sharp, violent. A branch the size of a spear ripped through the air where he'd just been, impaling the "butt-tree" dead center, splitting the trunk with a crack that echoed through the forest.

Ezra lost balance at the sound, tripped on a rock, and hit the ground knees-first, sliding across the damp soil. Behind him, the creature let out a shriek — a mix of vegetal hiss, furnace breath, and beast's howl — that tore through the woods.

He gasped, throat burning.
Too close.
Too fast.

"More directions would be nice!" he shouted mentally at Mazzareth, who sounded like he was having the time of his life.

"Don't be ungrateful. I described the tree perfectly. Now run toward the rock that looks like a shattered skull and then—"

Mazzareth cut off mid-sentence. An abrupt silence, broken only by the crunch of leaves under Ezra's feet.

"Mazzareth?"
Nothing.
"Mazzareth!"

"Shit!" the voice exploded back, more tense than sarcastic. "Sorry!"

Ezra nearly tripped again. "Sorry?! What the hell's happening?!"

And then he felt it.
Not just heard..., felt.
A tremor beneath the ground, subtle but growing, like something massive was moving below the surface. Ahead, the trees began to groan. Not the creaking of wind in branches, but a twisted moan, like living wood being forced to move against its will.

They closed in. The trunks bent, the canopies knotted together. A dark arch of leaves and limbs sealed off the path ahead.

Ezra stopped short, panting, sweat pouring down his face. He looked side to side, same story. The trail narrowed. Vines rose like braided serpents, weaving through the branches.

He was being boxed in.

"No, no, no…"
The beast behind him roared, closer now. He could feel its sickening heat, smell the stench of rotting wood and wet flesh.

The ground throbbed beneath his boots.

Ezra spun on his heel, eyes wide.

"Mazzareth…"

But the demon didn't answer.

And then, the silence was shattered by a sharp, guttural crack not from the ground or the trees surrounding him.

But from the ones above.

Ezra looked up.
Something was watching him.

✦ ✦ ✦
Two Days Earlier.

Ezra had just left the hospital. The morning sun was gentle, filtering through gray clouds and casting a milky light over the city. The world felt… far too normal.
And he wasn't sure how to feel about that.

There was still an exhaustion buried deep in his bones, as if time itself, the four years he'd been gone, had left an invisible mark on his flesh. Everything around him pulsed with life, but inside, the gears were still grinding back into motion.

He was supposed to be dead.
That was the only certainty.

But he'd been saved, by someone unknown, for reasons he still couldn't understand. And stranger still: maybe he hadn't even needed to make the pact with Mazzareth. Maybe…

'No. That doesn't matter now.'

What really haunted him was time. Four years had passed. Four years in which the world moved on without him, and someone had paid for all his medical care. A stranger, apparently.

Of course, if he were still an Ashenguard, that might make sense.
But he was exiled.
Executed, more precisely.

'Could it have been Grandpa?' The thought flashed across his mind, but he dismissed it immediately.
'No… if it was him... But he probably thinks I'm dead. Doesn't matter. Whether it was him… or not…'

He stopped on the sidewalk, letting the wind brush his face. Took a deep breath. 'Forget it. Sooner or later, I'll find out who it was.'

He looked down at the watch Dr. Elmar had given him. The screen still pulsed softly in blue, subtle, functional. The band was tougher than it looked.

'There's a tracker in here, isn't there?' he thought, a subtle smile forming on his lips, while he was turning his wrist slowly. Elmar had said it was just a safety protocol. Nothing invasive.

Even so, the idea of being tracked didn't sit well with him. But the tracker had given him one good idea: how to deal with his mysterious benefactor.

Lost in thought, Ezra didn't notice the person coming the other way.

THUMP!
The collision was sharp and direct. Ezra stumbled back a step.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!"
The voice was deep, slightly hoarse. A man in his thirties, wearing a dark overcoat and translucent glasses. His tone was harsh, but not hostile — more reflex than genuine anger.

'This could be trouble…' Ezra thought, opening his mouth to apologize, but before he could say a word, the man really looked at him.

And then… he froze.

His eyes scanned Ezra's features: the deep wine-colored marks under his eyes, the unnaturally pale skin, the unnecessarily long and tri-colored hair, black, dark green, and white at the tips, tied back in a messy ponytail swaying lightly in the breeze.

The man's expression faltered, draining of color like he'd seen a ghost. The irritation gave way to discomfort. Then to that awkward hesitation of someone on the verge of asking a question… but too afraid to voice it.

"…Sorry," he mumbled, barely audible. "Forget it."

He broke eye contact and turned away, disappearing into the crowd like he'd never been there.

Ezra frowned, watching the man's back as he vanished among the passersby.
"Am I really that scary?" he muttered, more to himself than as a joke.

And he kept walking.
His destination: the deepest layers of the city.

The capital of Ylliria, Illíade, was built like a living organism, layers stacked over centuries, like the skin of some ancient serpent. Its vertical structure was made of three distinct levels, separated not just by altitude, but by dignity, by hope… and by light.

Luminar, the upper district, crowned the city like a cold jewel. A place of smart glass, hanging gardens, and towers that scraped the sky. The upper class of Iliad lived there, basking in unfiltered sunlight, the only level where natural light still touched the ground directly. It was also where Dr. Elmar's hospital stood, and where Ezra had once lived before his exile.

Just below was Midgard, the middle district. It lacked Luminar's luxury, but still had a functional beauty. Clean, organized, safe enough, the home of the average citizen. Sunlight still reached its streets, though dulled by the colossal structures above. Midgard was Iliad's urban heart. A place to live, work, and forget.

And finally, buried in the city's dark guts, lay the Grayfloors, the lower district.

As the name implied, it was a world of gray: damp concrete, smoke-thick air, crooked structures built atop forgotten ruins. Down there, sunlight was nothing but myth — replaced by old lamps, flickering floodlights, and constant electric dusk.

It was the womb of the city. Where poverty mingled with lust, neglect with violence, and crime was as common as the thin, stale air they breathed.

It was there that the black market thrived.And it was there that nearly every clandestine activity in Illíade began… and often ended.

That was exactly where Ezra was headed now.

Although he could already feel Vis in his body and around him, Ezra had yet to comprehend any Law, which meant he didn't possess a Codex. An abnormal case, but not unheard of: some individuals awakened their perception of Vis, and his body turned stronger, even before obtaining a Codex.

In his case, it was due to the pact he'd made… and the constant exposure of his body to extreme levels of Vis during the four years he had been unconscious.

His most urgent goal now was to awaken a Codex.

But unlike before, when he would have accepted even the weakest one just to finally possess one, now, his sights were set on the highest level possible.

After all, he hadn't made a pact with a demon just for show.

More importantly, he knew that with his condition, the enemies he'd attract wouldn't be ordinary.The pursuit of power and freedom comes at a cost.

And that cost is, inevitably, conflict.

That… was one of the unwritten tenets of the true Law of Attraction.