Chapter 22: The Stench of Sanctuary

The darkness we drop into is absolute. It is a physical weight, a smothering blanket of pure, crushing black that seems to press against my eyeballs. Gravity takes hold, yanking us down from the relative safety of the street above into the bowels of the unknown. We fall for what feels like seconds, though it is likely only a moment, before we hit the bottom.

But the darkness is not the first thing that assaults us.

The smell is.

It hits like a physical blow to the face. It is a tangible thing, a miasma of decay, waste, and ancient rot so thick I gag on it immediately. My throat closes up in a violent spasm of rejection. It is the smell of a million forgotten, filthy things rotting in the dark, and it is so powerful it feels like I am drowning in it before I even touch the ground.

"GAAAAH! I think I swallowed it! It is in my MOUTH", Hachiro's voice bellows, stripped of all its usual cheer. It echoes from the bottom of the ladder where he landed first. His panic is a wet, gurgling sound, followed closely by Yogawa's miserable groan.

"It is unspeakably vile", the magician moans.

"Shut up. Both of you", Erima's voice is a sharp hiss, cutting through the horror. She lands softly on the floor next to me, her hand still gripping mine. Her grip is the only solid thing in this world.

I try to stand, but the floor is not a floor. It is sludge. A thick, ankle-deep, clinging soup of indescribable filth. My boots sink into it with a disgusting sucking sound, and the cold, wet chill seeps in almost instantly. It feels like the ground is trying to eat us.

"My feet. My feet are sinking", Hachiro wails in the dark.

"Of course they are sinking, you idiot! It is a sewer", Erima snaps. "What did you expect? Rose petals?"

"I expected less poop", Hachiro retorts.

"Quiet", Kizawa's voice cuts through the bickering. It is not a shout. It is a blade. It slices through the dark, through Hachiro's panic, and demands silence.

And it works. The only sounds are the distant, steady drip of water from some unseen crack, and the vile, sucking sound of our boots pulling free of the muck as we try to find our footing. My stomach roils. The adrenaline from the injector is still coursing through me, making my heart hammer against my ribs, but this new reality is a cold, sobering slap. We are not heroes here. We are rats in a drain.

"Yogawa. Light. Now", Kizawa commands.

"I told you. My reserves", Yogawa protests weakly.

"I do not care. I am not walking blind in this. I do not care if it is a candle. I need to see. We need to move".

A miserable sigh echoes in the dark. I hear a moment of shuffling fabric. Yogawa mutters a single, strained word.

"Lucen".

A tiny, flickering ball of pale blue light appears, hovering over Yogawa's shoulder. It is a pathetic thing, a dying ember in the oppressive dark. It casts just enough light to illuminate our faces, turning us all into pale, haunted ghouls with hollow eyes. And it illuminates the tunnel.

The reality is worse than the darkness. The walls are weeping. A thick, black ooze coats the bricks, glistening wetly in the magical light. The floor we stand on is a slurry of things I refuse to identify, a gray-brown river of waste that stretches into the gloom. Hachiro, of course, looks down. His face, already pale, transitions to a bright, impressive shade of green.

"Oh no. I am going to..."

"You are not", Erima snaps, slapping a hand over his mouth before he can make good on the threat. "You swallow it. We are not leaving evidence".

Hachiro's eyes water over Erima's glove, but he gives a frantic, jerking nod. She removes her hand, which is now coated in something unspeakable. She looks at her glove with a look of pure, unadulterated hatred before wiping it on a patch of slightly less disgusting wall.

"This is the worst", she mutters, her voice vibrating with loathing.

"We are all in agreement on that", I say, my voice hoarse. The adrenaline is still working, keeping me standing, keeping my body wired and tense. "Can we go? Kizawa? What do you see?"

Kizawa is already ten feet ahead, a shadow moving at the very edge of the pathetic blue light. He is not looking at the filth. He is looking at the path. "The tunnel splits. Three-way fork. Left, right, straight".

"Yogawa? Detector-man. Detect", Erima orders.

Yogawa closes his eyes, his face a mask of pained concentration. The blue light flickers, threatening to die. "Do not distract me".

He is silent for a long, agonizing minute. The dripping water is the only metronome in our suffocating tomb.

"The pressure is everywhere", he finally whispers. "The web is above us. Like a blanket. It is heavy".

"We know that, Grumpy", Hachiro complains, his voice muffled by his sleeve. "We need a direction. Which way is less death?"

"I am getting to it, you punching moron", Yogawa snarls, his anger giving his voice a brief spark. He takes another shaky breath. "The surface is bad. All three tunnels go out. But the middle one. Straight ahead. It feels colder. Deeper. It descends. It feels further from the web".

"Deeper is good", Erima nods, her expression all business. "Deeper means more rock between us and them".

"Deeper also means more sewage", Hachiro whimpers, looking down at his ankles. "It is already so deep".

"Kizawa. Straight. We go", Erima ignores him.

"Understood", Kizawa's voice is a ghost, and he vanishes from the light, stepping into the gloom.

I follow. The sound of our movement is a foul, rhythmic squelch. The thick sludge sucks at my boots with every step, a greedy, wet mouth trying to pull me down. It is hard work. My adrenaline-fueled muscles are burning just from the simple act of walking. The air is so low on oxygen I feel light-headed, and the stench is a constant, nauseating companion that coats my tongue.

"This is disgusting", Hachiro's voice echoes.

"Hachiro. We know", Erima sighs.

"No, but like, really disgusting. My socks. Erima, my socks are ruined. They were new".

"I am bleeding from five different wounds", Kizawa's voice floats back from the darkness ahead, laced with ice. "My ribs are cracked. And I lost my best sword. I do not care about your socks".

"Well, you should, Kizawa! Foot hygiene is important! We could get trench foot! Or sewer foot! Is that a thing? Yogawa, is sewer-foot a thing?"

"If you do not shut up, I am going to invent a spell called sewer-mouth and fuse your lips shut", Yogawa snarls, his exhaustion making his voice raw.

"You guys are so mean", Hachiro mutters.

We walk in a miserable, tense silence for another ten minutes. The tunnel is, as Yogawa predicted, sloping down. The sludge gets deeper. It is up to my knees now, a thick, icy slurry that makes my legs ache with cold and effort. I hate it. I hate this place. I hate everything about this mission.

"Yogawa, your light", Erima's voice is tight with new alarm.

I look back. The tiny blue flame is flickering, a dying pulse.

"I told you I am out of juice", he gasps. "This miasma, it drains me just being here".

"I need a light", Kizawa calls back. His voice is different. Tense. "The tunnel ends. It is a wall".

"A dead end?" My heart, already low, sinks into the filth.

"No. Not exactly. It is a drop. Into water".

"Oh great. Water", Hachiro's sarcasm is thick. "Wonder what kind".

"Lucen Maxima", Yogawa shouts.

In a burst of desperate energy, he slams his hand against his grimoire. The blue light explodes. It flares into a brilliant, blinding beacon, illuminating a vast, circular chamber ahead of us. And then it dies. We are plunged back into absolute, suffocating darkness. But not before we see.

We stand on a wide ledge. The tunnel ends, dropping ten feet into a rushing river. A black, fast-moving, churning river of filth. And on the walls. On the ceiling. Things.

White, pale, pulsing things. Hundreds of them. They are shaped like human-sized leeches, pale and glistening with slime. They were asleep. Until Yogawa's light hit them.

"Ghouls", Yogawa's voice is a tiny, terrified whisper.

A sound begins. Not a drip. It is a wet slapping sound. A chorus of hisses. They are detaching from the walls. Dropping into the river. Crawling up the walls of our ledge.

"Yogawa! You absolute moron", Erima screams.

"I panicked", he cries.

"Kizawa! Status", Erima demands.

"They are fast! They are on the ledge", Kizawa shouts back.

"Back! Back up the tunnel", Erima is shoving me, her professionalism gone, replaced by pure, reactive panic. I stumble backwards in the dark, the sludge sucking at my boots. I can hear them. A slithering, sucking sound that is somehow worse than a roar. And the smell. They stink. Worse than the sewer. They smell like rotting graves.

"Hachiro! Rear guard! Smash something", I yell.

"I can't see anything", Hachiro yells back.

"Just punch backwards", I scream.

"Terra-Luce", Yogawa screams, his voice cracking with desperation. A faint, sickly green glow ignites from the floor. It is dim, stinking of phosphorus, but I can see.

The first ghoul is on Kizawa. It is bone-white, bloated, and eyeless. Just a round, pink sucker-mouth filled with needle-like teeth. Kizawa roars, a sound of pure fury, and stabs sideways with his one good arm. His katana sinks into the creature's chest. It deflates like a rotten balloon, spraying black sludge everywhere. Two more take its place immediately.

"Erima! Shoot", I scream, drawing my daggers. The adrenaline is burning, a fire in my veins.

"I can't! The tunnel is too narrow! I will hit Kizawa", she shouts. She drops her bow and pulls a long, wicked-looking knife, bracing herself. "Hachiro! Kick!"

"On it", Hachiro spins. Even with broken hands, he is a whirlwind of motion. He plants his hands on the slimy wall and delivers a spinning axe kick. His boot connects with a ghoul crawling up behind me. There is a sound like a watermelon bursting. Splat.

"Ew! Ew! Ew! It is on my shoe", Hachiro gags.

"Less whining! More kicking", Erima shouts, stabbing a ghoul that tries to flank her.

I move forward, my daggers glinting in the foul green light, placing myself next to Kizawa. He is fighting three at once, and he is too slow. His injuries are catching up to him.

"Mizuki! Get back", he snarls.

"You need help", I shout back, slashing at a pale limb.

"I do not need you dying".

"I am not dying here", I duck under his wild swing. A ghoul is lunging at his legs. My daggers flash. Stab. Stab. Stab. I carve my name into its pale back. It shrieks and dissolves into sludge.

"I told you to stay back", he snarls, spinning to block another.

"You are welcome", I retort.

"This is not a discussion", he growls.

"Aether-Bolt", Yogawa screams. A tiny purple spark, the last dregs of his magic, shoots from his fingers and hits a ghoul in the face. It sizzles and stops. And then it lunges at Yogawa.

"It tickled it! I tickled it! My magic tickled it", Yogawa shrieks in horror.

"Hachiro! Help him", Erima roars.

Hachiro jumps over me, grabs the ghoul attacking Yogawa with his bare, bandaged hands. He screams in pain as its acidic skin burns him, but he lifts it. He roars and slams it head-first into the ceiling. Splat.

"My hands! Ahhh! My hands are melting", Hachiro yells.

"Kizawa! We have to jump", Erima shouts over the rising, hissing tide of monsters.

"What?" I ask, slashing another leech.

"Into the river! It is the only way! We cannot fight all of them! They are endless", she points down the tunnel.

I look back. She is right. The green light is fading, but I can see them. A river of pale, blind bodies crawling up from the ledge. Dozens. Hundreds.

"We jump? Into that?" I scream, looking at the black sludge river.

"It is that or this! Choose! Now", Erima yells.

Kizawa looks at me. His eyes are wild in the gloom. He grabs my arm. Again.

"We jump! Together", he says.

"What about the others?" I ask.

"Hachiro! Yogawa! Jump", Erima screams.

"I can't swim", Hachiro roars, kicking another ghoul into paste.

"We will catch you! Jump", Erima commands.

"This is the worst plan", Hachiro yells. He grabs the semi-conscious Yogawa under one arm and leaps into the blackness. A huge, disgusting splash echoes up.

"Erima! Go", Kizawa shouts.

Erima stabs her knife into a ghoul's mouth, kicks it off the ledge, and dives in after it. Splash.

It is just us. The ghouls are surrounding us, their sucker-mouths hissing, inching closer.

"Hold your breath, Mizuki", Kizawa says.

"Kizawa wait", I start.

He does not wait. He pulls me with him. We fall.

The air is cold. And then the water hits me.

It is ice. It is filth. It fills my nose, my mouth, my eyes. It steals my breath. It is pitch black. I panic. I flail. I am drowning in filth. I cannot tell which way is up. Then, a hand grabs the back of my kimono. It hauls me up.

I break the surface. Gasping. Coughing. Spitting.

"I got you", Hachiro's voice sputters. He is treading water next to me, still holding a limp Yogawa.

"Kizawa", I choke out.

Splash. He surfaces next to me, katana still in his hand, his blue hair plastered to his face.

"The current! Grab on! Chain", Erima shouts. She is paddling hard, pointing downstream.

There is light. A faint, grey light. A storm grate, further down the river.

"Everyone grab on to me", Hachiro roars.

I grab his jacket. Kizawa grabs mine. Erima grabs Kizawa's. Hachiro kicks. He kicks like a motor. He is pulling all four of us through the rushing filth. The ghouls are behind us, hissing and splashing, but Hachiro is faster.

"Almost there", he grunts.

We reach the grate. It is rusted shut. But next to it, there is a small, stone ledge. A maintenance platform. It is dry.

"Get out", Kizawa shoves me up.

I crawl onto the stone like a drowned rat, shaking violently. Erima climbs up next. Hachiro throws Yogawa up like a sack of flour. Then Hachiro and Kizawa haul themselves out.

We lie there. Five of us. Soaked in indescribable horror. Panting. Gasping. Shaking. The ghouls hiss from the water, but they cannot reach us. Hachiro rolls over. He coughs up something terrible and looks at us, his face streaked with black slime. He breaks into a slow, pained grin.

"So guys", he wheezes. "That was awful. But at least we are out of the sewer sludge, right?"

I look down at the river of filth rushing past my feet. I look at what I am covered in. The smell is overpowering.

"Hachiro", my voice cracks. "This is the sewer sludge".

"Oh", he blinks. His face falls. "I am so unbelievably gross right now".

"We all are", Erima murmurs, wringing out her long, black hair.

I lean back against the cold, wet stone. My adrenaline is gone. I am shaking from cold, covered in things I will have nightmares about forever. But the ghouls cannot reach us. The web feels distant. We are alive.

"This place", I whisper, my teeth chattering. "It is a sanctuary".

"It is a toilet", Yogawa groans, finally waking up. "And I think I am going to be sick".

"At least it is our toilet", Hachiro sighs, patting the stone. "Our smelly safe toilet".

No one laughs. But no one argues. For now, on this tiny, dry ledge in a river of death, he is right. We are safe.