It took no time at all for Verek and Nadros to arrive at the crawl space. The narrow, dark stairs didn’t seem so intimidating when you had a flame flickering at your fingertips, casting warm shadows across the cold stone walls. Nadros moved confidently, the fire on his hand glowing like a lantern, illuminating his path, banishing fear. It was almost theatrical, the way he carried himself, like a predator coming to its prey from the dark. His toothy grin certainly indicated that he saw himself as such, and it stayed in his face their entire journey, however short.
But as they reached the alcove, Verek noticed that Nadros didn’t even glance at the intricacies of the room, the brass armillary sphere, the pristine and unique books, the elegant chair and table set up in the middle, the intricate rug. Nadros had no interest in any of that. His focus, his hunger, was solely on the hole inside the shelf, that dark, yawning space. What did he see? Certainly not fear, maybe danger, but his eyes were seeing further beyond, a future where whatever he got from this hole gave him an edge, a victory over his uncle.
The moment became heavy and thick with a strange tension as they both kept staring at the opening of the crawl space. Was the crawl space bigger? Or was that just his mind? He spun his head away from the hole and turned back to Nadros. Even from behind, Verek could not help but notice the savage grin of the older man. It was subtle, but unmistakable, the predatory tinge of satisfaction. A cat finally seeing movement, ready to pounce, already savoring its soon to be meal. The kind of grin that made the hairs on the back of Verek’s neck stand up, a low hum of discomfort thrumming through his bones.
He thought back to Nadros’ earlier speech, the way the man had so calmly talked about fear, as if he had mastered it, as if he had it all figured out. But now, standing in the stillness of the dimly lit room, Verek could barely suppress a bitter scoff, he made do with an internal one instead.
What does Nadros really know of fear? Has he ever truly felt it? The kind of fear that grips you, Verek shivers at the thought, the memory of it almost physically crawling over him. It’s hundred legs prickling him through his skin, sending cold tendrils into his flesh, like icy hooks into his guts, cold claws at his insides making him question every step ever taken. They coil around him, settling deep into his core, dripping down into his arms and legs, freezing his spine. Twisting who he is, as if it wants to consume him. Had Nadros ever felt the blanket of darkness, enveloping him, smothering him into his head, making him jump in fear at nothing? Had he felt fear of the dark ever since he became a living torch?
Ever felt the fear of not being given food? Verek had known that fear all too well. He’d lived it for years, felt it every time his uncle looked past him, every time he had to scramble for scraps, every time he had to lie to himself just to survive. Fear wasn’t some abstract thing that you could simply dismiss, it was a constant shadow, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts, of your being, it warped and mutated you.
Verek glanced at the man’s unblinking, eager eyes, feeling a wave of resentment bubbling up at his knife-like smile. Nadros didn’t seem to be afraid of anything, not the way Verek was. He was too certain, too self-assured, his confidence as impenetrable as the dark stone stairs they just left. Did he understand the kind of fear that gripped you in the quiet, when you were alone with your thoughts and the weight of your mistakes, your so called sins. The fear that you would never be enough, that you would never escape. That you would always be trapped in the same cycle, destined to remain an insignificant little thing underneath someone else’s gaze.
Did he understand how weak fear made you feel? Verek’s thoughts swirled, caught between contempt and something darker. There was a bitter, traitorous part of him that wanted to see Nadros falter, just once, to know what it felt like to be truly afraid, truly small. To know what it was like to feel vulnerable. Looking at the flame in the man’s hand clarified his thoughts. Verek felt envy. Envy at the casual magic, Nadros wasn’t like him. He wasn’t weak, he had power and with it, certainty. Verek envied it. it gnawed at him, its little mandibles tearing chunks of him. Nadros had magic, but he didn’t know the depths of fear. Verek had that fear, the fear of prey.
Verek banished the dark thoughts with a sharp blink, forcing them to the back of his mind. They would not help him now, and he needed a clear mind. A small, almost hopeful part of him wondered, fleetingly, if perhaps Nadros and the insect might take each other out, eliminate both threats without him lifting a finger. He focused on Nadros, watching him carefully, feeling the cold emotions swirl beneath the surface. The dread, the anger, the vulnerability they all sank and settled into something more controlled, more manageable. But pushing them so deep into himself, in forcing them into some hidden corner of his being, they became harder to reach, harder to let go of.
For Verek it felt like that was all of his mind, a hidden corner, dark and suffocating, full of rotting green skeletons. Every fear, every regret, every unspoken thought he'd shoved away over the years now lingered there, decaying in silence, festering in the shadows. He couldn’t let them surface, couldn't show what truly was on his mind for anyone. Initially it had been hard, but he got used to it, as he did most things in his life. Their weight is familiar, anchoring. He almost wondered what he would be without these thoughts, without their weight. But now, every second seems to make them more and more unbearable. He could feel their dark gaze, waiting for the moment when he would slip. When the little cemetery in his mind would rattle and all the things he held over the years would surge forth, crashing into everything in his life.
"Alright, here’s what we’ll do." Nadros' voice cut through Verek’s thoughts like a blade. "This is the plan. It’s simple. Very simple. You’ll have no problem following it." The words hung in the air between them, an undercurrent of something more in his tone, like a quiet challenge, or maybe an unspoken command. He wasn't just sharing the plan, he was commanding Verek. The silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of Nadros' expectations.
“Very well.” Verek nodded. “Tell me.”
"I will burn these little silverfish, all of them," Nadros said, his voice darkly satisfied. "I’ll send some flames through the hole. You’ll crawl through it first, then I’ll follow. We’ll take the bigger one together, yes?" Verek’s head moved almost reflexively, a quick, mechanical nod. Then his body stiffened as he fully heard the plan.
That was a terrible plan. His stomach churned with dread as he considered the consequences of going along with it. Could he even refuse? What stopped Nadros from just forcing him? No, there was no escaping it. Nadros had already made up his mind, Verek knew it, could literally see the bastard nodding along to himself, as if he was some sage. Deep down, he also knew the truth: He didn’t really have a choice.
At least there would be no nibbling.
But no, he would not survive this. Nadros probably did not care, Verek’s sacrifice is something Nadros is too willing to make.His role, his life, meant nothing to him, he had to make it so his own survival increased the odds of Nadros’ success, benefited him in some way. It was an irritating truth, but it was his way to navigate this, to increase his own chance of success, his survival.
“The insect already ate one of my hands!” He lifted his stump, the only thing remaining of his hand a crusted red scab. He could feel the rawness of the wound, the throb of pain buried deep deep within him.“If I go first like this it will cut me into pieces, tear me apart. I won’t last even a single second. Not enough for you to get your shot.”
“You survived it once, you can do so again.” Nadros replied, his voice flat and unconcerned.
Verek’s stomach churned and coiled. Again? Nadros truly had a lot of faith in his abilities, or his luck.
He wasn’t sure if he could survive another encounter with that thing at all. But he swallowed the bitter taste of his fear and forced the words out, his voice tightly controlled.
“I was lucky, the creature was curious, it didn’t really go for the kill. It was almost playing with me, really” Verek didn’t know how much of his own crowshit he bought, but he kept spewing it anyway. “The thing was much more interested in the book, I was barely a second thought in its head, if it has those at all.” He did his best to keep most of the fear from his words, to hold the trembling he felt within him. He took hold of his body, he couldn’t afford to let Nadros see how his legs were beginning to shake. He had to be calm, his breath couldn't hitch, sweat should not farm on his brow. No he didn’t need to be calm, he needed to sound calm, confident, and only a bit concerned. He should look a bit afraid, but not terrified, putting up a front but completely useless. If Nadros thought he was speaking out of pure fear, he would force Verek to go through, no matter what.
“I need something to defend myself, or rather protect my body from its attacks.” His gaze flicked involuntarily to Nadros’ red leather armor, the gleaming golden symbol on his chest. He felt that pang of envy, he wasn’t sure how much of it Nadros saw, or if he saw it at all. But then the man’s voice broke the silence, sharp and threatening.
“You want my armor?” He growled, taking a heavy step closer, shoulder lowering threateningly, like a cat about to pounce. Verek flinched, instinctively taking a step backwards, hitting the shelf behind him.
“No! No! I just need some armor, any armor.” His mind whirled in desperation, the edge of panic in his voice real and uncontrolled. “We can use these books, instead?” Nadros backs off without saying anything, clearly still thinking. He looks around, the shelves, the furniture, all two pieces of it, and his gaze stops at the armillary sphere. It gleamed faintly in the dim light, its intricate design seeming almost too delicate for any type of weapon or armor. Nadros didn’t seem to think so. He roughly grabbed Verek by the arm and yanked him along towards the sphere, all the while pulling gramaryes from his body.
“You are right, come here.” They both approached the sphere, Verek stumbled slightly but caught his balance. Nadros then coats his hands in fire, flames leaping from his fingertips. Verek winced at the noise the brass made as Nadros gripped it. The delicate machine groaned for a second in protest at its treatment, its elegant metal twisting and warping beneath the heat of Nadros' magic. The intricate curves deformed, the hoops broke, the symbols melted. Verek feels something whine within his heart as he sees the intricate machine warp like it is made of wax, before finally being broken apart by uncaring hands, its original purpose destroyed along with its frame. The warped metal, however, began to move as if it had a life of its own, shifting, reshaping into something else, the rough shape of armor, somewhat rudimentary, but undeniably functional armor.
Nadros turned to him, his eyes had a cold, calculating look. But the flames gleam reflected on them, giving him a somewhat deranged emotionless gaze.
“Don’t move.” The glowing metal pressed against Verek’s skin, and for a moment, he almost jumped. But he was able to hold himself rigidly, as the metal suddenly cooled, right as Nadros pressed it against his body. As Nadros molded the metal, it started to heat up again, just a little, enough to be mildly uncomfortable for Verek, but not enough to hurt him. His heart pounded in his chest, almost like it thought it was a blacksmith’s hammer. Verek’s breath felt strained, both because of the metal being molded onto him, and also because he was distinctly aware that Nadros could just heat up to metal to white hot again and give him an incredible agonizing death. Thankfully, armor is quickly molded onto him, though he flinched a bit with every rough motion of Nadros' hands. The armor was bumpy, the metal uneven under Nadros’ uncaring touches, it felt like a second skin that didn’t fit quite right.Or maybe scales, he can see Nadros left fingerprints on it, and they almost created patterns that looked like scales. Soon the metal cooled and settled against his body, Verek’s chest tightened, the weight of it settling into him. He has a helmet, layered vambraces and chest piece. It is not as difficult to move in it as he thought it would be, but still uncomfortable. He could see the metal moved in a…somewhat unmetal way, bending too much, and it still felt a bit warm to the touch.
Then, without warning, a question bubbled up, and Verek couldn’t hold it back.
“Why don’t you have metal armor?” He asked, and immediately shut his mouth. The words slipped out before he could think better of it, and the instant they left his lips, he regretted it. Nadros didn’t react immediately, just stared at him, clearly debating with himself how much he should say or if he should answer at all. Verek was nervously mentally beating himself over the head while the man pondered. Finally, Nadros spoke, his tone almost casual, yet carrying a bit of an edge to it.
“More than one reason, really. Firstly, I don’t need it, the one I have now is better than most metal anyway. Better than anything we could find in this layer for sure.“ He didn’t wait for Verek’s reaction, continuing on, “Second, I don’t want your uncle to know I can, not yet, you will leave this armor to me when we are done and I will hide it.” Verek’s mind spun, Nadros could make armor and weapons, and probably had a cache hidden away for a future coup. Damn, that sent a shiver down his spine, he might be a lot more prepared than Verek thought.” Thirdly and lastly, metal armor behaves weirdly when I use my spells. Not sure why.” Verek nodded along, surprised the man not only answered his question but revealed so much about it.
“Weirdly how?” Verek asks, letting his mouth run from him again, at least it seems Nadros is willing to talk. He didn’t seem to be afraid of revealing a little more of his power and plans. Maybe he was trying to bring Verek closer to his side?
Maybe because he thinks I will soon die.
“It heats up and deforms in strange ways, always. Except your uncle's weapons, those just break after becoming brittle” Nadros chuckled, almost dismissive. “Other metals warp and heat up like my flaming hands touched them.” He answers, probably not realizing or not caring about Verek’s own thoughts. His gaze grows distant for a second. “Sometimes, I think it’s jealousy or something, the metal sometimes heats up enough to melt.”
“Your…flames are jealous? Or your spells?” Verek asks, tone neutral, that would not be all that weird. But he can feel that Nadros is hiding something, his tone feels a bit too casual.
Maybe the flames hurt him?
“Either or, both are the same at the end.” Nadros shrugged, forcing some casualness into the conversation, Verek didn’t say anything. ”Alright, you are good to go now, yes?” Verek nodded, he could not drag this along anymore. He could feel the edge beneath Nadros casual tone, the last of his patience was closing to snapping.
Well, time to crawl.
Verek turned toward the square hole in the wall, but something felt off. He recoiled, his heart skipping a beat. Was the crawl space bigger?
“Is it bigger than when we got here?” He asked, a chill creeping up his spine, for a second he felt like he was back inside already. Nadros furrows his brows at Verek’s question. Clearly thinking he was trying to stall. “I’m serious!” Verek snapped, his voice carrying more than a hint of panic, he felt the small insect bites on his body, gnawing at him. He slapped his body, feeling the metal of the armor, there were no silverfish on him, but the unease gnawing at him wouldn’t go away.
“Even if it is, so what?” Nadros’ shot back, his tone dripping with venom. Crowshit, he thinks I’m backing out.
Verek swallowed hard, his mind spinning. He needed to stay calm. He couldn’t give Nadros another excuse to push him.
“It’s”—Click—”Just”—Click—”Did”—Click—”You”—Click—”Hear that?!”
Verek stood frozen, he could hear the unsettling chittering of legs coming from the entrance.
“Yes.” He responds curtly, the sharpness in his voice making it clear he was done with talking. His fingers pointing at the hole, preparing for a fight. The first small silverfish spilled out, like a glittering flood of pearls, swarming out in a wave. The square entrance was visibly growing wider at each of its four corners, increasing in size in large jumps. Gramaryes lit up along Nadros’ fingers, before he snapped them, a single warm orange wave expanded from him, meeting the living flood of silver insects. All of the silverfish bursting out sparked into tiny flames, silver and orange, but there were a lot of them, and soon the wooden shelf was completely swallowed into a dual-colored inferno. Verek’s breath hitched, both at the power but also at the sight of the destroyed shelf. The black soot and the glittering carapaces joined to make something resembling a starry night sky. The crawl space kept widening, the insects kept flowing out, and the orange wave kept going. And then it stopped, having wiped out the silverfish for a second it seemed. The crawl space has not stopped growing, now it has grown big enough that the light from the room crept into the darkened tunnel. The light of both sides meet, that’s when Verek sees it, the giant silverfish on the other side. His blood ran cold as his body froze up. He could feel his throat tighten as he fought to swallow down the wave of raw terror threatening to choke him.
Nadros saw it too. His face remained impassive, far too calm Verek thought in anger. He calmly lifted his finger, extending it toward the creature, the gesture almost looked childish. With his other hand he grabbed Verek’s shoulder, gramaryes are pulled from his body. As soon as they glide onto Nadros’ skin, they gain a bright white hot color, and a corona of gold soons shines from each letter. They congregate in his index finger, then a single, thin filament of pure heat shoots out of him, a crackling line of fire, so sharp and straight it was impossible to think of it as anything but magic. For a split second, Verek could swear he saw the creature widen its insectile eyes, even though it does not have eyelids.
It took even less of a split second for the filament to race through the crawl space and hit the creature. The impact was immediate, igniting the creature in a burst of searing flame and litting up the entire room with a brilliant orange glow. The color overwhelmed his sight for a second, he blinked as he heard the creature hit what could only possibly be the wall. The plinking sound of the keys being flung soon followed, as the creature began to writhe in pain, and probably anger. He feels a hand grasp his shoulder, before he is roughly thrown into the hole, now big enough he can crawl on his hands and knees.
“I have given you an opening,” Nadros says. "Now, crawl," he continues, his voice eerily calm.
So he does, though ‘crawling’ is not really an apt term for what Verek is doing now. Perhaps ‘scurrying’ might be closer. The crawl space has widened into something more like a somewhat narrow tunnel, allowing him to easily move on his hands and knees. Well, knees and hand, singular, everytime he forgets about his missing hand he is rewarded with a spike of pain shooting up his arm, the ghost of his lost appendage punishing his stupidity. Each time the pain surges into his brain and crashes into all the thoughts in the back of his head, mixing together into a confusing jumble. It reminds him of the last time he was here, so much has changed in so little time, but something are still the same.
There are no little key insects biting him this time, now instead they are only silvery remains fused onto the walls. Glittering carapaces struck together with pitch black soot and charred wood, forming a bizarre stellar tunnel for him to pass through. He almost feels a kind of wistfulness at how quickly he must scurry through it, unable to properly take it in, even with the acrid stink of ash, insect corpse and burnt stale air—Is that even a specific smell? There is something unique and pleasing to it, a strange part of him almost wishes the insects were alive to see what they became. Even in death, even in the dim light of the middle of the tunnel, they still flare and flash and flicker, they still cast ghostly lights. In a way they are still with him in spirit, the constant flashes of pain he inadvertently inflicts on himself are just like the little starbursts they used to give him when they tried to consume his gramaryes, his own little private light show, the pain now, though, is far worse.
It feels weird to be nostalgic about something that hurt him, and happened not even half a spin ago. Still, after meeting their terrifying and terrible older brother, Verek can’t help but have complicated feelings for the little ones. After all, he could die just as easily to Nadros, armor or not, human or not, he would be doomed to burn just as much as them. Would his corpse become something so pleasing to the eye, a little gleaming star on black soot, or would he become a charred ugly skeleton? He wants to look back, he fights the urge to turn and see what Nadros is doing quite literally behind his back. He is afraid of what he will see, afraid as he was when the damn silverfish was in the same position. Afraid of seeing death in the eyes of the predators.
He can hear it now, the sounds of clattering keys being flung wildly as the giant insect trashes wildly across the floor, he can see flashes of its silvery body through the square hole, it must be badly wounded to writhe so much. The sound grows louder the closer he approaches, the tunnel around him becoming tinged in blue light. A few keys have skittered toward the tunnel entrance, forming a littered silver line across the floor. Is Nadros following him? Can he see that Verek is about to enter?...Will he follow? What if he doesn’t, what if he stays behind, safe on the other side, and just bombards the room through the square hole. What if he just decides he should just burn it all? Burn the room down, melt both Verek and the Insect together and be done with it.
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He knows the book inside is encased in metal, it is obviously magical, so it should survive even his jealous flames. He should say something, anything, to make sure the bombardment plan never takes shape in Nadros’ mind, that Nadros never goes through with it. But how? He should probably try to lie, say something which will make Nadros hesitant, something that will make him want—no, need— need to see the room for himself.
Verek arrives at the tunnel’s mouth and quickly grabs its edge with his single hand. In one quick motion, he jumps out of it , hurling himself into a leap, scattering the silver keys into the floor—in the back of his mind he notices they make a strange sound as they hit the ground—but he quickly ignores it, pushing the thought aside. He must see what Nadros is doing now. He turns his head back and sees the red-haired man on the other end, simply staring at him, motionless. He feels mild relief at that, it means Nadros is not planning to incinerate him yet. Worry quickly worms its way into him though, Nadros is not making any moves to enter the tunnel, what plans might he be making in his head?
Verek’s mind races, he must get him into the crawl tunnel and into the room, Nadros won’t burn it down if he is in risk of burning himself down with it, probably. His flames have already shown they can hurt him, he won’t risk them burning him. Verek shifts, remembering he needs to move from the opening, move away from Nadros line of sight. He scoffs quietly, he needs to worry about being attacked by the man behind his back and the insect in front of him.
But before that.
“I’m in! Theres—there’s something wrong here—!” He shouts down the tunnel, voice tinged with panic, almost a scream. As he does, his head quickly spins around the room searching frantically for something, anything for him to latch a lie onto, to sell his lie. He doesn’t need to do so for long, in fact as his face swivels across the room he realizes the problem isn't finding something convincing. It's deciding which of the many unsettling things in front of him to use.
He skips away from the entrance, biting down the frantic tittering that his jaw threatens to release. The book is still there, but now it seems it has fused with the wall, becoming something like an actual door. Up above the chandelier seems to be hanging lower than before, and heavier too. On the wooden floor there are…keys, except they are not simply laying there. Instead all the keys are inserted into the floor, all standing upright, tip and blade sunk inside the wood and heads pointing to the chandelier. There are strange gaps and cracks around them, he sees that whenever the insect knocks them around they dance in the air and always fall tip first, creating another aperture in the ground.
Speaking of the giant insect in the room. There is also something wrong with the giant insect, something more than before. It’s in the white marks on its carapace, on its body, in its mangled melting eye.
Its silver and white marked body has strange burnished bronze tints to it now, the color almost making it look more like a normal insect. The white shimmering patterns on its body have also changed, it is easy to see. On one half they are as he had seen before, strange meaningless streaks of white twisted into shapes resembling words, but not quite, still incomplete and lacking something more. The other half of the bug however, the one with the bronze spots, the one that was probably hit by the fire filament, that one has a strange across the body, distorting the streaks and tinting them into a strange orange color.
Heat?
That’s it, there’s heat coming from it, coming from the bronze spots. For a moment, Verek feels nausea like the room is tilting in liquid along with the creature writhing. He doesn't have any sympathy for the hand tearing creature, but for a brief second it is difficult for him to not see himself trashing across the floor. His armor melted and fused to his flesh, still white hot, burning itself deeper into him, touching his bones, burning his breath, warping his vision in its heated haze. Gramaryes burst through his skin, and he flinches as he feels them moving across his armor. They dance and leap along his skin and the brass layers like fish, Verek’s eyes widening each time they do so. He looks up to the insect again, but he only sees the warping haze, no gramaryes, the heat itself twisting and sharpening the markings on its body.
“Either or, both are the same at the end.” Nadros’ voice echoes in his mind, he could almost believe he actually said it on his side of the tunnel. Did he know this would happen?
“There’s something wrong with the thing! Your fire is changing it, feeding it!”
Nadros’ response to Verek is a single screaming bolt of fire hurled down the tunnel. It bloomed into a wild rumbling eruption of color, sound and heat, all crashing together, blinding Verek in a white flash. The entirety of the blue room lights up in orange glow as pieces of burning wood splinter and shatter against the other shelves. The room shakes as the walls tremble, as if the room itself is almost as afraid of the flame as Verek himself. The chandelier above, the source of the cold blue light, rattles violently, swinging like a pendulum. Its delicate crystals chime against one another, some breaking loose and falling like tears, bursting into sparkles on the ground.
The haze around the insect intensifies. It thickens, pulses outward, and burgeons like a roaring great cat. It grows and growls and encompasses the flames completely, then swallows it whole.
Using it as fuel.
The bronze spots on the insect spread like a metallic infection, the creature shaking its body completely almost like its crying. Its white and orange markings flash and dance erratically before bursting into small gouts of flame, each eruption causing the markings to accelerate further.
“That didn’t work! You are just feeding it further! It’s still changing!” Verek screams. Also, you missed. He swallowed, while blinking away the blind spots in his sight.
Once again an oval bolt of fire, fatter this time, wailed into the room. Yet, this time the explosion was lesser, but closer to him. Verek screamed as the fire jumped into him, yet before he could feel its heat, his body and armor flashed. A haze expanded from his armor pieces, it blunted the wave of flame, scattered it, almost transforming it into ragger petals. Each little flame was pulled into his armor, the strange lumpy, uneven metal and fingerprints overlaying together with gramaryes and plumes of flame. Verek looked up to the insect, and saw how similar whatever was happening to both of them was. Except the change is not being done directly to his skin, he can feel the heat, but it is somehow only at the surface of his metal skin. The pretty little lines being formed would be a lot uglier if he could feel them moving across his body.
“That didn’t work! You need to come here!” And you need to aim better, you blind maggot.
“No! I am better here!” He hears from the tunnel. Verek bites down a lot of curses before they can spew out.
“You—” A damned third fire bolt hits the room, this time even smaller, more like a ball. Too far away for him or the insect to absorb it. Higher than the last ones too—Wait, higher? Is this bastard kneeling down the entrance? How did it even—
The chandelier suddenly crashes down mid swing. As Verek watches it fall, his first thought is that the crystalline structure is significantly bigger than it seemed all the way up there.
His second thought is—
“DAMN!” He desperately kneels down and covers his face with arms. He hears the crunching and shattering sound of the chandelier meeting the floor and breaking it. Feels the crystals and wood splinters hitting his bowed position. Feels a flash of pain as some of them pierce the skin of his legs, as gramaryes flash across his body.
Then it's over, suddenly quiet. Like a veil has shrouded the room, the quietness almost feels false, like it would be impossible for it to be this quiet after such a cacophony. He stays like that for a second, simply trying to breathe, trembling like a baby.
He slowly opens his eyes and takes the room. The biggest difference is, of course, the giant piece of shattered crystal rammed into the floor. It has sunk into it, through the broken floorboards he can see it has hit a stone subfloor, thankfully it didn’t break through to the Layer under. Although…he can see some keys have fallen into the subfloor, inserting themselves into the wood.
Thousands of little crystals tinkle along the room now, embedded in the wooden shelves, and some on his body. They don’t hurt, somehow. He feels gramaryes flooding and moving around his legs, changing color when touching the fragments in his flesh.
He pays the wounds in his body and the room no mind. Instead he stares at the other occupant.
The insect has changed its metamorphosis, half like it looked in the past, half burnished bronze. One half silver with white markings, the other metallic brown with orange bronze patterns. The bronze patterns were a mixture of key-like geometric motifs and flowing vine, or scroll-like patterns. The creature’s eyes have changed, rather only one of its eyes. Its left eye is the same compound eye as before, a strangely bulbous cluster. Its right eye, however, is now a marble of rich loamy earth and polished bronze.
They stare at each other.
Briefly, Verek wonders if the creature is taking in his changes too, though his seem far lesser.
“Is it dead?” Comes Nadros’ voice, Verek winces, and waits a moment. The bug seems unbothered by the extra voice.
Nadros doesn’t sound fearful, but Verek knows he is, who else could his damn behaviour be explained.
“No, it didn’t work, whatever it is you were planning!” He tries to not sound irritated, or petulant.”You need to get in here, I can’t kill it on my own!” Verek is tense, waiting for the moment the insect decides it will pounce. It’s just staring at him, Verek almost feels flattered.
“No! I’ve softened it up, you finish it!” Verek’s mouth hangs open, his reply lost on him as he realizes something.
“How will I finish it off?” He stares again at the creature, wondering if it can understand what they are talking about.”You didn’t make me a weapon!” Verek says, eyes quickly sweeping the room again, noticing broken slivers of crystal, large pieces of wood, anything he could use as a weapon. He finds a few that might work, but he does not want to bet on them to break through the carapace. Especially seeing that the bug is unhurt by the crystal fragments, unlike him.
They stand in silence for a second. Him, the idiot and the bug. If only he could team up with it and kill the idiot.
The silence is broken by a single sword being thrown through the opening, falling right in the middle of the room. It clacks across the ground. Verek and the bug stare at it. Verek in disbelief the idiot actually threw his weapon here, how afraid is he of the bug? The bug for its part…well Verek had no idea what it was thinking.
He discovers it promptly, as the insect lunges forwards, barreling through towards him. He leaps towards the largest and closest piece of crystal he can use as a weapon, dodging the creature’s attack. He grabs it firmly while turning around, already moving closer towards the blade.
The creature approaches opening its mandibles and undulating its antennae. And then backs off from a swipe directed at its eyes. Verek swipes a few more times, each time taking a small measured step towards the center of the room. He gets distracted, pays too much attention to the sword, his slash too wide.
The insect bites on his left arm, he feels it through his armor, feels the pressure on his skin and bone. He can barely move his arms, the creature’s antennae hit him in the body a few times, each time sounding like a chime. He reaches down with his other hand, grasping a piece of wood and—and, and nothing. He doesn’t have another hand, just the memory of one.
He turns and stares at the stump, his mind ignoring everything else. He felt it, he felt it. His fingers curling around something, just a trick of his mind. His loss hits him then, delayed but much heavier for it. Then, while still feeling the sudden loss, he sees it in the corner of his vision, he sees it. His hand, mangled and bitten, wet red and bone white. Seeing it just left there fills him with two completely opposite feelings. He feels sudden relief that his hand, a part of him, is still here. Mostly whole and not inside the things’s stomach. Yet at the same time an equally strong emotion threatens to overwhelm him. A mixture of shame and offence that the creature just left a part of him to rot, like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t worth anything.
It was just left there, like trash, abandoned in a corner. Underneath the thing’s gaze, like a grub.
Rage swells within him, burning away the fear, the loss, the sadness. It engulfs him, becomes him.
He turns and stares at the creature, and for a second it freezes. He angles the shard in his left hand, towards the thing’s eye.
Then he punches it. His bloody scab meets the end of the crystal and hammers it into the creature's eye. His left hand is cut, his right arm punches through. The thing flails as the crystal pierces its new smooth eye, its jaws let go of his member, teeth unclamping from his arm. In the back of his head his mind pulses along with the pain in his arm, it calls him an idiot, and says his idea was moronic. He shoves it back further, it worked, and now the thing is instinctually retreating in pay.
And him? He is advancing towards the blade in a run. His back prickles, he hates showing it to the thing, but he needs all his speed to reach the weapon. The last steps are the worst, his mind telling him he took too long, that he should look back, that the creature is pouncing on— He drops into a roll as he hears the sound of the thing’s legs leaving the floor.
He grabs the blade while spinning, the creature soaring above him. He slashes out with his newly acquired blade, creating sparks and cutting off one of its tails. He jumps upwards, getting on his feet. The creature continues its path, before it can crash against the wall it touches and wiggles along the ground. In a single slightly hypnotist movement, it rides up. Using its legs to run up the shelves and bleed some of its momentum, turning back towards him. They stare at each other again, the thing with the bleeding eye and the other one with a bleeding arm.
Verek is in the middle of the room, his blood is singing in his eyes. He turns slightly, keeping the thing fully in his field of view. At the corner of his eye he sees Nadros.
“GET IN HERE, YOU DAMN VULTURE.” He screamed, no longer caring about what the damn coward thinks. The man actually startles, shoulders visibly jumping, before he points a finger down the tunnel.
“I dare you.” Verek says, quietly. Something utterly poisonous and vindictive in his tone, as if his very words would avenge him should he die. Nadros lowers his hand, and surprisingly, enters the tunnel. Who knew he only needed a wretch to threaten him into action?
Nadros leaves Verek’s mind as he rushes forwards, attacking the creature. It takes him about a second to form certain thoughts through his red haze of anger.
I never held a sword before.
And then.
I’m not left-handed.
Antennas whip forth, one hitting him in the shoulder, the other slapping his sword. Verek is able to hold it, but not stop it from veering off completely off target. The thing advances, Verek tries to stab it with his other hand. The crystals skitters off the thing’s carapace, only succeeding in causing pain in Verek and embedding itself deeper. Still, it is enough, the creature veers off to the left slightly. Enough for Verek to step in and move away from its charge, just barely. Verek doesn’t stop, he immediately moves so that he is once again in the thing’s blindspot, the blindspot he created.
They engaged in this unyielding dance for several seconds, each second stretching to last longer than the last. The creature lunging, Verek countering it with a feint, another eye poke, swipes towards its antennae. He circles to its left, dancing and taunting the creature, while it spins and whirls to strike and bite. Teeth and tail, sword and shard, each barely missing the other with furious swipes.
Gramaryes sway along his body, singing a hymn with his surging blood. His heart beats along with his drumming feet. His blades howling along with the creature’s fangs. Everything feels so simple, he thinks himself a fool for not seeing it before. Every step leads to the next, every effect a cause. He doesn’t think deeply, he doesn’t think at all. He ignores his bleeding arm, his bruised body, his flagging breath, his burning heart, his aching feet.
Then something breaks the rhythm, Nadros—When did he arrive?— grasps the creature’s tail, his hands burning in bright flame. The creature turns, but not fast enough, not before Nadros sears its tail off and pulls it apart in a flash of fire and motion. Verek suddenly collapses, his body moving to a beat that shifted without warning. His mind racing, his limbs dragging, both moving at two vastly different speeds. Everything crashes down on him at once, freezing him in place. He does nothing but breathe for a moment, even as he sees the creature biting Nadros in his arm and then hurling him away, flinging him across the room like he is one of the many silver keys in its path.
It doesn’t wait. The creature does not wait for Nadros to hit the walls, while he is still in the air it launches itself at Verek once again. He lifts his arm, intending for a swipe, but his flagging body fails him. Before they danced as one, now he feels as if he is folding metal with his bare hands. The creature’s jaws clamp down on his arm once again, and this time he feels the armor buckle and begin to give.
Verek howls and lashes out. The creature spins with him, his arm still trapped in its crushing mandibles. The whole room gyrates, becoming a blurring swirl of colors. The colors explode as the creature slams Verek into one of the shelves with its full weight. Wood cracks as the air is pounded out of his lungs, the room is still spinning in his vision. For a fleeting moment he sees darkness creeping up the edges of his vision, threatening to consume him whole. Then his vision focuses on the antennae in front of him, his pupils lock solely on them ignoring the still spinning room behind. They draw closer, almost methodically, slow and deliberate. Their silver key tips meet his brass armor. Metal on metal kissing, letting out a soft chiming ring.
CLICK
The sound reverberates through his armor, like a death knell. What felt before like an uncomfortable second skin now feels like a terrible weight. The layered plates falling on his body like nails in a coffin, joining his dimming vision and exhausted body to drag him to the deep under. Then they fall completely, clattering to the ground, the sound is deafening to him, every moment feeling eerily real.
He stared at two heterochromic eyes, the darkness banished from his vision. He saw the moment in perfect clarity. Strangely he didn’t feel despair, even though he knew his fate was either death or something worse. It didn’t feel that bad, he did his best after all, right? One antenna approaches his now bare chest, his shirt having been another casualty with his armor. It gingerly touches his skin, he can feel its cold surface, can feel the unyielding metal with each heartbeat.
Ah, maybe this is why he is not despairing. He’s too tired to do so. He grins, a soft giggle escaping his mouth.
The giggle turns into a cough, as the key is plunged through his chest. It weaves in between his ribs and spears his hearts. He coughs again, this time it comes out as hackling. His faltering heart stops, as if startled by the intrusion.
Oh, no.
CLICK
He sees the thing’s spell flash and—
His heart erupts into motion, pumping blood bursting through his arteries like exploding waves. He opens his mouth to scream, but all that leaves are gramaryes. They pour from his mouth, from his eyes, from every single pore in his body. They overrun his entire being. Like ants they swarm across the wall behind him. Like fireflies they settle in the air around him. Like water they flow to the silverfish’s body. The world becomes a riot of color and letters, all moving so fast and chaotically Verek cannot hope to understand. They form a bridge, together with the antenna impaled in his chest. A connection between his body, his heart, and the creature. It stares at him, gaze filled with unknowable intent, as its markings keep changing.
He blinks, his eyelids feeling too heavy all of a sudden. His heart beat, his blood, his thoughts all of it suddenly feels muffled, distant. He feels warm, like he is being gently huddled by a heavy blanket. It feels pleasant.
Oh, I’m dying.
He can feel it with every pulse. His heart beating, impaling itself deeper onto the key lodged within, each beat pushing him closer to...
Feels oddly peaceful, all things considered. And there are a lot of them to consider.
He giggles again. His head lulled down. He deserves it, right? He deserves to die peacefully at least, he earned that.
Then he sees it, the point where the antenna and his wound meet.
The wound, it isn’t bleeding as much as he thought it would. The gramaryes were always impossible for him to understand, too chaotic, too random, evershifting. The ones he sees on his chest, formed by his blood, are not.
One half is in his wound, the other on the antenna. They keep shifting, but there’s a pattern. It’s still a jumble of words, but they now make sense somehow. Rather they are intelligible, but still incomprehensible to him. Sometimes he sees a pattern, and his wound widens, other times it closes. It is very macabre to see his own flesh move like that. He focuses on them, his vision sharpens. He can feel the patterns go further than he can see, he can feel them moving and changing deep inside of him, inside of his heart. There is something there deeper within the wound, he can almost see it, but it is fleeting.
The insect is a parasite, he can feel the key inside of him constantly changing now. Absorbing his gramaryes to mutate further, so it can drink even more of him. Truly, this creature is not that different from all others in his life. He can feel it now, which ones are taken, how they connect. He feels what Spell the creature is using.
He closes his eyes and focuses on it, on the spell and what it uses. He centers himself, feels the gramaryes that go beyond his flesh, beyond his self. They have been with him since before he was even born after all.
They read…okeockupkcllupoklnrcscntoaaoetnc. No, easckuckpucllnonpktoartolkecnooc, or…no, no. Okecuplnrsta? Easckuplnotr? No, no, those were wrong. They didn’t fit. It’s like trying to mime a word, no matter how hard you gesture, it won’t be the same as the sound of the word. Then it hits him, his dance with the bug. He doesn’t need to think, just do.
He hesitates for a second, but then what does he have to lose?
Slowly, weakly, his hand reaches forwards. His left grips the intruding antenna, his right…blade moves slightly above it. He focuses and brings the spell to his mind, then Cuts with it. The creature stops dead still, as the flow of gramaryes seizes. Verek takes this opportunity to kick it with both feet. He calls his spell as he does so, his feet meeting the creature’s eyes. There is a flash of letters followed by a snap of cracking chitin. An ugly Wound opens up right in the middle of the creature, where silver and bronze meet, pulling them Apart.
The insect reels and retreats, a strange thick ichor dripping from its Tear. Verek takes the opportunity and touches his chest, where the key is still inside. He doesn’t think hard, thinking will only complicate things and kill him. So he does the first thing that comes to mind. He touches the little nub left by the antenna and tries to pull it, using his spell at the same time. He feels a sharp and deadly pain as he tries, his body locks up completely. Wincing he stops and does the second thing that came to his mind.
He turns the key. His entire body flashes and the incomprehensible words eat the gramaryes in his mind and body. He Locks the Wound. He feels the appendage inside him begin to melt, as if his body heat alone could liquefy it. It fuses with the gramaryes and himself, he looks down at his chest. There is now a silver key-like shifting pattern atop his heart. It’s similar to the patterns present in the carapace of the insect. First organic patterns like flowing vines and horns. Then geometric patterns, similar to spiralling keys and scrolls.
He feels something settle within it, within himself. Something beyond his flesh, beyond the silver embedded in him. It feels…Right. Like it was always meant to be there, always belonged. He stares at the insect in front of him. The thing stares back. He can feel the weight of its gaze, and knows exactly where it lands. And for a moment, he almost believes it envies him. Slowly, leisurely, he reaches down and picks up the blade once again.
He is tired, sore, unarmored, bloodied…There’s probably far more wrong with him than his dazed mind can grasp, but none of it matters. Because he feels ready. Just a moment ago he saw death, felt its dark embrace, its promised peace. He feels the same now, except this time, it is with the clarity that he will not die. Certainty that he cannot die, not to this creature.
“You…what!? Was that a spell? How?!” Nadros demands. The man is crouched near the wall, blood trailing his jaw from an open wound on his head. Verek sees the mark he left on the wall, only slightly above where he is. He doesn’t answer, both because he does not want to, but also because he is not sure. He calls whatever he is doing a ‘spell’ but it behaves somewhat differently from what he has seen.
Everything Nadros has cast so far has been a distinct, bound spell. Verek, on the other hand, is wielding and casting a single incomprehensible thing he calls a spell. Because really, what else could he call it. It pulls and uses gramaryes, so it should be a spell, right?
He doesn’t know, he doesn’t care. He has more important things to think about right now. Like the giant insect still staring at him. The creature is purely focusing on him, it seems to completely ignore its Gaping Wound. Verek blinks, he understands where his confidence comes from, he sees his winning move. Winning moves, rather, there are many ways he can now deal with the insect.
“Hit it with your flames! Time it right to when I strike it. It can be after, but not before.” Verek barks out the order at Nadros without even looking at him. Nadros, blinking, looks at him with a strange expression, stupefied for a moment. Either from Verek’s command or tone. Or maybe from his head wound, hard to tell, harder to care.
“I…what? No, I can’t. I won’t.” The man stammers, words babbling out in a daze. Okay, it was probably the head wound.
Verek recalls back to the weakening firebolts, each less refined than the last. Maybe…Nadros is legitimately drained out of gramaryes, it’s possible. Maybe he is keeping some in reveserve, in case he needs it. In case he needs to fight either Verek or finish off the insect.
“No need for anything big, just enough to get its attention.” Or rather, its body's attention, those ever greedy patterns on its shell.
Verek pounces, feeling light as paper. The insect surges forwards to meet him, one last time. Nadros opens fire, right before Verek has hit the creature—He had one job!—what truly drives him mad is that the older man clearly didn’t just mistime his attack, he is also targeting Verek in his assault.
Still, it does not matter. Nadros has underestimated how greedy this thing’s body truly is.
A dazing plume of heat blooms from its shell, Verek feels the blistering heat as it approaches him, as it washes over the flames. He feels the heat and fire being pulled towards the creature, just as expected. He feels it now, the hunger of the creature, the want to consume and adapt. One side bronze and the other silver. One side pulling, and being pulled, by fire. The other side facing the Book, that damn locked book. The book the creature wants so badly to open, the book that mutated half of it to its current form.
No feints, no dodges, flourish or anything fancy. Verek just strikes, his body lighting up like a firefly.
He simply Cuts the Gaping Wound. The creature is Severed, Split clean into two halves, each falling to the ground at his sides. Nadros fire sputters out, and Verek feels something wink out within himself. Once again he feels exhausted, dead on his feet. Yet, deep inside, he feels something new shining.
A part of the incomprehensible jumble within him, half-formed, takes shape in his mind.
Wound, that is his Spell.
