The Laments of a Heretic

Os Lamentos de um Herege

Isso vai dar tudo errado!

Esse pensamento recorrente não saía da cabeça de Anderson desde que ele pusera os pés naquele lugar. A cada passo que dava, sentia olhares o observando das sombras do templo abandonado. Essas ruínas estão vivas. Eu consigo sentir, dizia para si mesmo sempre que uma nova estátua surgia diante dele.

Infelizmente, não havia como voltar atrás. A fenda em que entraram era de nível Vazio , e sua saída só poderia ser aberta por exterminadores de nível Cruzado — em outras palavras, seus superiores. Não entendo por que nos enviaram à frente. Somos mais fracos que a Comandante Jennie. Ela deveria estar aqui, não nós.

Apesar da raiva, Anderson sabia exatamente por que ele e os outros haviam sido escolhidos para a missão de reconhecimento. O continente de Eborias era governado por um Triunvirato — três grandes famílias que comandavam seus respectivos territórios no norte, sul e centro. Os triunviros, como eram chamados os chefes dessas famílias, elegiam anualmente membros de suas famílias vassalas para realizar expedições dentro das fendas e decidir se uma cruzada deveria ser travada ou não.

— Tem tanto musgo aqui que, se formos perseguidos por um monstro, você sabe o que acontece, né? O Anderson vai ser a nossa isca! — disse Shin, o xamã.

— Concordo. O mais inútil morre primeiro. Infelizmente, Anderson, minha morte será bela. A sua... nem tanto. — disse Lyroc, o piromante.

Esse tipo de comentário sempre despertava em Anderson uma sensação de urgência que o guiava por toda a aventura. Ele sempre se perguntava se era sério ou apenas uma brincadeira para assustá-lo. Como nunca haviam estado em uma situação de vida ou morte, Anderson nunca teve como provar se aquelas palavras eram reais — e isso piorava tudo. A dúvida persistia em sua mente como um câncer, corroendo sua sanidade a cada novo comentário.

Felizmente, o clima melhorou um pouco quando um pedaço de musgo caiu na cabeça de Marco. O líder do grupo estremeceu e gritou vários insultos. Pronto. Esses nobres jamais se arriscariam a entrar num lugar fechado e fétido como este. É por isso que estamos aqui. Um inquisidor do nível de um cruzado como o Comandante jamais se rebaixaria a isso, pensou o inquisidor.

A escolha do local também não foi fácil. Era o antigo templo dos heróis de Razkan, e todos ali conheciam a história. Diziam que, no auge do surgimento das fendas, seis dos guerreiros mais poderosos da época uniram forças para combater o Flagelo — o governante do Abismo, aquele que comandava todos os hereges. A batalha fora tão mortal que, quando ele finalmente foi derrotado, seus gritos abriram fendas que consumiram grande parte do mundo, arrastando-o para a dimensão sombria.

Nonsense. This has to be nonsense! In the name of the Three Gods, it's nonsense! Anderson thought as he walked with his companions through the long corridors that led to a small waiting area.

— Damn it — said Marco, a male of the curupira race. His feet were inverted, but they knew how to navigate rifts like no one else. — My hair is so wet the flame is dying down. Good thing we have torches.

Curupiras were, for the most part, an interesting race. They were known for their volatile temperament, easily interpreted through the way their flaming hair reacted: if the flame was low, they were deeply sad; if intense, they were happy or angry; if furious, it became a blazing inferno. All of this was great for Anderson, because he wasn't exactly the best person in the world when it came to understanding feelings.

Besides Marco, the group also counted on Shin, a forest shaman who, when she wasn't drunk, could transform into various animals, and Lyroc, a mad pyromancer who wore a magical red cloak he claimed to have stolen from a dragon.

Of all of them, only Anderson was a normal human. His combat skills were average, his equipment was a full set of black leather armor, a sword, a shield, and a lot of faith that today would not be his day to die.

— Wait — said Marco. His instincts kicked in, his nose twitched, and he began sniffing the old walls now covered in Abyss moss that glowed with neon purple light. — We're close... But... I sense the presence of something. Someone...

— Finally! — said Lyroc, his voice making it clear he needed to burn something and that urge needed to be satisfied. — AAH! I'm going to hear the screams of agony of these aberrations while my fire slowly consumes the black in their eyes.

— Good grief, you freak! — said Shin, stoic as always. She hated Lyroc's bizarre obsession with watching others burn. — Marco, is it a powerful Abyssal?

The expression on Marco's face was all the answer Shin needed. Curupiras were brown by nature, but he was so pale in that moment he looked like a corpse. Nervous, he searched in vain for a place to lean in that thin, damp corridor. The entire place was covered in moss, and the floor was flooded with dark, foul water that covered their ankles. He eventually gave up and said:

— Whatever it is, there's something up ahead and... it's waiting for us. I feel it... I feel we'll have to fight. So pull out your magic scrolls, light grenades, and elixirs. We'll attack by surprise — fast and deadly. — Marco's voice came out a little nervous as his hands searched through the magic bag for everything that could be used.

Marco is scared? The man who claims to have killed a thousand adult gorgons is afraid? The curupira's words ended up influencing the other team members to do the same. Lyroc, known more for his stupidity than his intelligence, made sure to summon every protection he could. When they felt ready, Shin said:

— I feel ripples in the water. The fight has already begun.

— We only came to observe. What's the group's rule? — Marco commented.

— We only do what the money tells us, and if it's dangerous, we run. — they said.

The curupira smiled, and the group members began their journey down the long corridor.

With every step they took, the water beneath their feet grew more agitated. A strong smell of blood became more intense, and the sound of agonizing screams grew more frequent. It was as if an opera were being conducted at the end of that dark corridor — one that made the heart race with every step.

Where is this smell coming from? What Abyssal will we face on the other side? Will we be able to win? Of course we will. We're not alone — there are over a thousand inquisitors. Even though we're cannon fodder, Commander Jennie will come save us if things get worse... right? The more he thought, the more frightened Anderson became. His hands were already trembling, and his sword and shield barely held steady.

The rest of the group was no different. Everyone was nervous. No one there wanted to die in that place.

— How many groups were sent besides us? — Shin asked. She kept the magic cord around her neck — it was her catalyst for using shaman magic.

— As far as I know, ten in total, with at least five or four members each. — Marco replied, his flaming hair waving with every step. — All cannon-fodder inquisitors. Ha! It's almost pathetic. I'm starting to think we're nothing more than a sacrifice for whatever is in here and... That pisses me off!

At a certain point, the group began to notice that the water was becoming denser, harder to walk through. Their pace slowed, and it seemed they would get stuck at any moment. What's happening? I can barely move my legs! Anderson thought, but before he could say anything, he heard a beat. Not an attack, not something falling — it had rhythm, and it was calm. Suddenly, a deafening silence took over the place. Only that rhythmic beat continued.

They could barely move, and Shin had to pull Marco up, as he almost sank while trying to take new steps.

— W-WHAT... WHAT'S HAPPENING? It feels... It feels like there's no more ground? — Anderson said, growing nervous. — I-I think it's better... better to go back!

— Never thought I'd say this, but you're right, Anderson. — Shin commented as she extended her hands. — The corridor is shrinking. If we keep going forward, we'll be crushed. Besides, I believe everyone is hearing that noise, aren't they?

As soon as Shin finished speaking, she vanished. Pulled beneath the mud right in front of the group. Marco shouted immediately:

— PROTECT YOURSELVES!!!

From what? Anderson thought as his friends were pulled into the depths one by one.

There, in total darkness and deprived of their senses, the inquisitor and his group suffered. They sank deeper and deeper into that clay-like liquid that slowly stole their air. No matter how much they struggled, they couldn't escape. They also felt a constant pressure slowly crushing their bodies. The final touch was acid that began to melt their clothes and cause intense pain.

I'm... losing... consciousness... AAh… Anderson stopped feeling his body. His arms barely moved, and his mind was slowly clouded. But before he blacked out completely, he saw the light.

Suddenly, an intense explosion of fire occurred, and the group, until then defeated, fell a few meters into what must have been an abandoned tomb. The fire created by the explosion served as a temporary lantern in the dark while Marco, even coughing, lit a new torch.

— Are... Argh! I-Is everyone... okay? — asked the Curupira, leaning against one of the tombs.

— As much as possible! — Shin replied, looking at her shaman cloak, which had been destroyed. — Damn, we were caught by an obarai so easily. How far have we fallen, ha! ha... HA!

Obarai? Here, and that size? Anderson wondered. Obarai were a type of Abyssal that closely resembled slimes. Their main difference was that they were more solid and known for being small. In all those years working as an inquisitor, Anderson and his friends had never encountered an obarai capable of consuming a corridor and becoming part of a structure. That was new, and without a doubt, that information would be worth a certain reward — if they could prove it.

— Lyroc, you're the one who blew the thing up. Collect something from it as proof. — Anderson said, while the others agreed. — We can make good money if we prove the existence of the giant obarai.

— Give me a minute. I've got mud stuck in places it shouldn't be... Gods, if it weren't for my beloved fire, aaa... we'd be visiting the Three Divines right now. — Lyroc replied, adjusting his precious cloak — or what was left of it.

Once everyone had organized themselves a bit better, torches in hand and weapons at the ready, Lyroc went to collect a piece of the dead obarai. Marco and Shin began lighting the old lamps left in that place, and Anderson went to check what was left of their equipment. To the group's surprise, they were in an underground crypt right below the temple. The air that rose from there was as cold as the breath of the dead. There were stalactites on the ceiling as sharp as spears, and the stone floor was almost intact, with only a few openings.

However, the most frightening part was the row of tombs lined up side by side with stone crosses and tombstones that read:

Here lie those whose dreams of peace ended in battle.

What other secrets await us in the depths of this place? Anderson wondered as he gathered what little remained of his equipment. Walking with great difficulty, the warrior dragged the half-destroyed bags to the flame Lyroc had lit, where he was now healing his wounds with fire. Anderson sat beside him, drawing the icy air into his lungs with such force that they almost froze.

— Gods... What a cold place! — he said to Lyroc, but the latter seemed more engrossed in checking his reddish-orange cloak.

Lyroc, in Anderson's words, was "someone whose beauty would stand out, if his personality didn't kill it." Unlike the warrior inquisitor, the pyromancer had smooth, silky hair tied in a bun, a diamond-shaped face with piercing amber eyes, and a beautiful smile. Whenever he wanted to distract himself, Anderson imagined what a less eccentric Lyroc would look like. He would end up laughing silently just imagining his groupmate wearing something other than his red robe, wide black trousers, and pointed crimson boots with dark details.

Before he could continue imagining that situation, Anderson heard footsteps and quickly stood up to see his friends, Marco and Shin, who had finished with the torches but were in very bad physical shape. The curupira arrived snorting loudly and showing clear signs of weakness — the same signs that were in Shin. She looked like a woman with a forty-degree fever, dizzy and staggering. The two collapsed in front of their friends and remained there until Anderson picked up what little was left of their sleeping bags and used them.

— WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU TWO? — Anderson's desperate voice made them both look at him, but it was Shin who answered. — The clock... look at the clock... Look at the calendar...

In desperation, Anderson opened what was left of the bag and, upon pulling out Shin's magic watch, was startled. Three days? Has it already been three days since we got here? Almost immediately, Lyroc fell in front of Anderson, who, in shock, tried to support him but was also knocked down by the weak body. Damn... that's why... we're weak. We haven't eaten anything... for three days! Anderson thought as he watched his eyelids slowly close.

His sudden awakening only happened two hours later.

Anderson stood up desperately. His body, still weak, allowed him only to turn onto his back. What beautiful pointed stones, he thought before hearing a female voice.

— Don't strain yourself so much. I'll help you. — It was Shin, who at that moment was helping Marco drink a poorly made soup with the leftovers of their supplies. — That's right, Marco. You'll need this more than anything, so eat it all... my sweet little curupira!

— Go fuck yourself, Shin... argh! — Marco replied.

The flames on his head are getting better, but... what on earth happened? The question finally got an answer when Lyroc finished exploring the temple.

— No... I don't believe it. An obarai with the ability to distort time? T-That is...

— That's impossible. — Shin interrupted, her serious gaze indicating how unexpected and important this was. — Whatever it is, it's unlike any other obarai we've ever encountered. It was large enough to fill an entire corridor, it had the ability to anesthetize its prey, and on top of that, it could confuse their sense of time. It's unique.

— I agree!

This time it was Marco who spoke. His body looked much better, and his tan was returning.

— We have a real treasure in our hands. A sample of this obarai could change everything we understand about this creature. Imagine how much the Biochemists' Guild would pay us? It would be a LOT of money! — Marco said.

Everyone fell silent for a moment, reflecting carefully on the matter and weighing their words. After all, money was money and couldn't be treated so lightly. Only then did Anderson break the silence and say:

— We were hired only to check the situation of the temple, to map it if possible, but there was nothing saying we couldn't loot it and... Technically, we were the ones who killed the Obarai, so... it's ours and nobody else's. This sample... it just needs to get out of here, and then... then no more being cannon fodder!

The entire group agreed. They would no longer explore. All they needed was to find a way out, and that was easy. With Marco's heightened senses, they only needed to return to the top of the temple, and the curupira would take care of finding the exit himself. With that agreed upon, it was decided they would eat what they had and avoid fighting more than necessary — which was hardly surprising, since the group's policy was always to avoid long and exhausting battles.

This place... it's truly macabre... Oh, how good that we're finally... going to leave it.

As soon as they felt ready, the group began their departure. As usual, Marco went first, leading with his impeccable senses, followed by Shin and Lyroc, who were on the lookout for any sign of abyssal energy to avoid another surprise attack. That Obarai might not be the only one of its kind.

Anderson, as always, was the vanguard of the group. Despite his lack of confidence, Marco said that a warrior's greatest strength was his determination. If he was determined enough, no matter who the opponent was, no one could stop him.

That phrase had inspired him a lot at the beginning of the group, mainly because Shin and Lyroc said he was useless and would only serve as bait for the escape plan, in case everything went wrong. Come to think of it, Lyroc and Shin have been talking to Marco privately for a while now. No, I didn't see that. I... I don't remember...? But what if they're discussing an escape plan and... and I'm not included? What will I do? These thoughts intensified in a way that Anderson barely noticed when the group reached a new staircase. He walked straight ahead until he bumped into Lyroc's back, who, irritated, said:

— Distracted again, Anderson? Pay attention, damn it. You're the fucking vanguard! You can't get distracted!

Before he could apologize, Marco gestured for him to come closer.

— My instincts tell me the staircase might lead us where we want to go — to the floor we were on. But... my sixth sense also tells me something awaits us at the end of that staircase, so stay alert. — Marco said, and before continuing, he touched his chapped lips and looked at the group. — Is there any water left? I... I'm thirsty.

Anderson was the only one in the group whose water bottle had remained intact. He prepared to offer it, but then thought better of it. As the vanguard of the group, his role went beyond that of Marco, who was merely a guide. If Anderson became thirsty and they were attacked, he wouldn't be able to defend the group using all his strength, and they would end up subdued. Thus, convinced that this was the best decision, he kept it for himself, and Marco was content with what little Shin's bottle still held.

The staircase revealed itself to be an old, decaying structure consumed by the Abyss. The worn steps were covered in the same abysmal moss they had encountered in the corridor earlier. With each step, a damp, muffled sound echoed between the curved walls. The musty smell gave way to an older, more ancient, age-old scent. Something that caught Anderson's attention was that the higher they climbed, the warmer the place seemed to become. The cold that had dominated much of their journey was gradually dissipating, and a slight wave of warmth began to permeate the enclosed space.

When they finally reached the top, the group was already nearly fainting from the intense heat. Marco could barely stand and leaned on Shin for support. Lyroc had removed his beloved cloak and was only wearing the tank top underneath. Everyone was sweating so much that it took them a while to notice when Anderson pulled his water bottle from his bag. There, his mind numb from the heat, he drank the water in front of everyone and used what was left to wet his head.

Upon seeing this, a feeling of rage welled up in the hearts of Anderson's colleagues in such a brutal way that he only realized it when an enraged Lyroc charged at him and struck him with such a powerful punch that he broke his own hand in the process.

— YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU HAD WATER THIS WHOLE TIME AND DIDN'T SHARE IT WITH US? YOU'RE A REAL BASTARD, ANDERSON. A USELESS, SELFISH IDIOT... ARGH! SHIT, MY HAND!

On the ground, more aware after the attack, the warrior tried to understand exactly what he had done to deserve such an attack. After all, he had merely done what was best for the group.

— Instead of... hitting me, you should look... ahead. — Anderson pointed toward the corridor and saw that on the other side there was an exit. — I did what was best for us. You yourself said I'm the vanguard. Tell me, Lyroc, do you want your vanguard to be dying of thirst when it's time to protect your back?

Lyroc became even more irritated. He prepared to land another blow on Anderson but was stopped by Marco, who, even though weak, said:

— Do you really want to waste your energy fighting now? Think about the reward, the mission, Anderson... I hope you understand the consequences of your actions. We are... tired and thirsty, and you... are the only one in a condition to fight now.

— I know that. I'll do my best.

Marco nodded and then turned to the passage they were now in. It was rectangular and narrow, to the point that a grown man on foot had to duck to pass through it. Moreover, squares of black and white marble were scattered on the floor and continued into the darkness, until a dimly lit opening. Using all the mental strength he had left, the curupira carefully analyzed the structure of the corridor and searched for possible traps. After sensing that there was nothing, he detached himself from Shin and took his first steps, stepping only on the black squares that were diagonal.

— Do as I do. — he ordered.

The group followed the instructions and moved in the same way as Marco, avoiding the white squares and moving lightly.

They held on like that until near the end, when Anderson, now confident that all was well, stepped forcefully on one of the squares and triggered a trap that launched three arrows in his direction. He jumped back and defended against the projectiles with his shield, but ended up stepping on a white square, and iron spikes emerged and pierced his feet. A shockwave coursed through the warrior's body, leading to a roar of pain so intense it would have startled anyone who didn't know what was happening. Anderson dropped his sword and shield and immediately fell to the ground. Normally, the group would have rushed to help him, but this time, when he raised his head, he saw the hesitation in their eyes.

Ah... They're going to abandon me... I'll be left alone here, agonizing in pain...

Seus pensamentos ficaram em branco, e ele tentou suprimir a expressão de agonia, dor e sofrimento para fazer um apelo desesperado.

— SOCORRO! DÓI MUITO! POR FAVOR, POR FAVOR, POR FAVOR! POR FAVOR! ME AJUDE!!! ME AJUDE!!!

A resposta acabou vindo de Shin:

— CALA A BOCA! Não vê que estamos tentando encontrar a melhor maneira de te resgatar, ou quer que todos se machuquem? Aguenta a dor. Você não é o guerreiro do grupo?

O guerreiro então recuou e, após alguns minutos de análise, Marco conseguiu decifrar os padrões da armadilha e guiou Lyroc até Anderson, onde ele foi resgatado e levado para o outro lado. A bota de couro teve que ser removida, e com ela, o líquido vermelho e espesso.

Oh não... tanto sangue. Acho que vou vomitar...

Isso teria acontecido facilmente se ele tivesse comido algo, mas o pouco que ingeriu não foi suficiente e, no fim, Anderson conseguiu se controlar. Shin então iniciou o processo de cura, rasgando um pedaço da roupa do guerreiro e enfaixando cuidadosamente seu pé. Logo depois, ela usou a pouca energia que lhe restava para curar o ferimento o máximo possível.

— Ahh... Se eu não estivesse com tanta... sede, teria me saído melhor. Parabéns, meu guerreiro heróico. Agora você é oficialmente um peso morto, assim como o resto da equipe.

Anderson não respondeu. Simplesmente calçou a bota e se levantou de repente, mas, ao dar o primeiro passo, forçou demais a perna e quase caiu novamente.

Não posso olhar para trás. Não posso...

Sem muitas palavras, o grupo voltou-se para o novo obstáculo à sua frente: uma única ponte de pedra que se estendia sobre um profundo abismo que se perdia na penumbra de seu imenso vazio. A atmosfera antes quente mudou novamente com a névoa que subia do desfiladeiro. Na entrada da ponte, de cada lado, havia pilares de chamas verdes que iluminavam o local. Sons de criaturas abissais podiam ser ouvidos em cada recanto oco dali.

No entanto, o que mais surpreendeu o grupo foi que, no meio da ponte, erguido como uma estátua solitária, estava um esqueleto reanimado. Em sua mão esquerda, ele segurava uma espada de dois gumes com uma ponta afiada. De acordo com seu conhecimento, Anderson sabia que a lâmina era projetada para estocadas e cortes precisos; o nome mais comum para esse tipo de espada era *Jian*. A grande manopla reforçada com ouro em sua mão direita era uma adição recente. O esqueleto usava apenas a placa dorsal de sua armadura, e suas botas estavam gastas, mas a manopla permanecia intacta e parecia valer uma fortuna.

Por que não está se movendo?, perguntou-se Anderson.

O grupo aproximou-se lentamente, olhando em volta para ver se havia alguma armadilha por perto. Quando tiveram certeza de que não havia nenhuma, seus pés finalmente tocaram a ponte, e o esqueleto, que até então estivera curvado, de repente ergueu a cabeça e, com uma voz fantasmagórica, disse:

— Não... NINGUÉM PASSARÁ!!!

O grito foi acompanhado por uma forte rajada de vento. Fosse o que fosse, definitivamente não era um simples esqueleto reanimado. A estratégia de Marco nesse tipo de situação era sempre evitar confrontos, mas como não sabiam nada sobre aquilo, Shin, já sobrecarregada por tudo o que haviam passado, caminhou lentamente até se aproximar do esqueleto, onde começou sua transformação.

Seu corpo ganhou uma quantidade absurda de massa muscular, a ponto de rasgar suas roupas. Ao mesmo tempo, ela triplicou de tamanho e pelos começaram a crescer em seu corpo. Em poucos instantes, sua forma humana desapareceu, e um urso gigante e místico surgiu em seu lugar.

Ela rugiu furiosamente, os símbolos mágicos em sua pelagem branca brilhando com tanta intensidade que fizeram Marco, Lyroc e Anderson fecharem os olhos. Finalmente, ela investiu em alta velocidade  contra o esqueleto que permanecia imóvel . "Ele será massacrado antes de qualquer outra coisa", pensou Anderson. Ele já vira muitos seres abissais sucumbirem àquela forma de Shin. Não importava o quão poderosos fossem, ela era dez vezes mais forte do que qualquer um deles ali.

O resultado já estava decidido na mente dos membros. Por isso, foi tão chocante quando, num movimento cirurgicamente perfeito, a criatura decapitou Shin e mutilou parte do seu corpo.

O movimento foi tão rápido que Marco só percebeu que o confronto havia terminado quando a cabeça de Shin rolou no chão. Um pânico absurdo misturado com fúria fez a chama da curupira arder intensamente, e ele investiu contra o esqueleto em um ataque furioso. Marco invocou sua lança mágica e desferiu vários golpes contra o monstro, que se defendeu de todos com seu escudo e decepou seu braço com um único golpe, chutando-o em seguida para o chão.

Lyroc atacou imediatamente em seguida. Ele jogou sua mochila com o tesouro dentro no chão e investiu contra o esqueleto, usando suas chamas, dando assim a Marco a chance de se reposicionar — o que ele fez depois de pegar seu braço decepado e fundi-lo com seu fogo. O esqueleto atacou novamente e abriu um corte preciso no peito de Lyroc, incendiando sua manopla, criando uma distração para que Marco pudesse atacá-lo com sua lança e forçá-lo a se ajoelhar.

A luta parecia estar indo bem, até que o esqueleto disse:

— Preparem-se... Rugido Sombrio!

A lâmina ardeu em uma escuridão profunda e, então, com um rugido, fez o ar tremer, e um leão feito de pura escuridão saltou da espada. A criatura varreu o campo como uma sombra faminta e atingiu os dois em cheio, abrindo cortes em seus corpos antes que pudessem se defender. Lyroc e Marco caíram diante de Anderson, que apenas observou o combate em choque, ainda dominado pelo medo de ter visto Shin morrer.

O que eu faço? Como eu o derroto? Vou morrer? Shin está morto... Estou... com medo?

Lost in his thoughts, Anderson was saved by Lyroc, who took the blow in his place. The two fell to the ground, and the pyromancer, still in agony, cried out:

— FIGHT!!!

In a swift movement, Anderson rolled to the side and defended the skeleton's blow with his shield. The two began exchanging blows, and Anderson gradually imposed his rhythm on the skeleton, which had been slower since unleashing its dark energy. The inquisitor gained confidence with each new blow, and in a cunning move, he struck it hard.

The creature staggered backward, and the confident warrior would have lunged for the final blow if Lyroc hadn't stopped him and said:

— Forget it! You can't beat him. Grab Marco and get out of here. — He spoke with difficulty, gasping for air and covered in blood. — Go. I'll handle this one. I have enough Tao energy for one last spell, and that will finish off this bastard!

— But...

— No buts. I'm done for. Go! GO!

He wants to steal the glory? Is that it? That thought would have held true if the dark energy hadn't been gathering. The skeleton was already ready to fire at Anderson but was unsuccessful, as Lyroc summoned his flames and an energy clash began between the two.

Startled again, Anderson ran to the unconscious Marco and put him on his back. Then, he reached for Lyroc's bag and retrieved the vial containing the Obarai sample. He continued on his way, returning to the corridor from before the fall, where he wandered almost endlessly until the light appeared at the end. At a disadvantage, Anderson tried to be as stealthy as possible, walking calmly and praying to find a group of inquisitors as lost as himself. But he ended up finding something he didn't want, for as soon as he left the corridor, he found himself facing a terrible scene.

A colossal structure, already consumed by the Abyss centuries ago. The black stone walls were covered in moss, but its torches still burned in shades of purple and blue — the only source of light in that place. Drops of black liquid fell from the ceiling into an immense, circular space, so vast that the ceiling disappeared into absolute darkness.

The air was metallic, heavy, and every breath hurt.

— In... the name of the Three Great Ones... w-what is that? — Marco asked, newly awakened.

Anderson replied:

— Our death.

He stepped back, trembling as he had never trembled in his entire life as an inquisitor.

Before them, a pile of corpses of dead inquisitors stood erect. Blood oozed and covered the bodies one after another. Limbs could be seen scattered everywhere — hands, eyes, and legs, all with bones protruding, as if they had been dismembered one by one.

The heads on the ground bore on their faces the expressions of pain and suffering their owners must have made when they died. Only Marco was able to see that macabre spectacle of mutilated bodies, due to his special abilities.

— Lindo, não é? — disse uma voz feminina vinda das sombras. — Eles chegaram aqui tão despreocupados que quase me senti mal por matá-los tão rapidamente.

Anderson tentou fugir, mas um projétil certeiro atingiu seu dedão do pé. Foi tão inesperado que o choque veio antes do grito. Ele jogou Marco no chão e gritou como nunca havia gritado em toda a sua vida.

— Ha! Ha! Ha! Desculpe. Eu levo essa regra de "atirar primeiro, perguntar depois" muito a sério. — A voz continuou a zombar deles, mas não revelou seu rosto. — Vocês ousaram invadir meu domínio, assassinaram meus animais de estimação e... O maldito piromante explodiu minha ponte antes de ser empalado... Isso me irritou, mas como estou de bom humor, vou deixar um de vocês sair vivo dessa. Vocês têm 60 segundos... 60, 59...

A contagem regressiva começou e Marco se levantou. Ele viu Anderson se contorcendo de dor e percebeu que morreriam ali. Por isso, considerou fugir sozinho, mas sabia que, em sua posição, seu amigo não faria isso com ele. Eles estavam juntos há mais de dez anos. Ele não podia abandoná-lo assim.

— Anderson, vamos lutar e superar isso juntos. Você sabe que...

— Me desculpe... — Anderson interrompeu e, num movimento rápido, cravou sua espada numa das pernas de Marco. — Eu... eu não quero morrer. Eu não quero morrer. EU NÃO QUERO MORRER!

Com grande esforço, Anderson se levantou, pegou o frasco contendo o fragmento de Obarai e rastejou em direção ao túnel. Ele continuou ouvindo os gritos de Marco enquanto avançava, até que a voz cessou repentinamente. Ele havia feito a escolha: permanecer vivo. Com o tesouro em suas mãos, ele poderia recomeçar. O inquisidor apertou o frasco e prosseguiu.