“Sure looks welcoming, doesn’t it?” Det said two minutes later as he crouched at the edge of the pit. Beside him, the alpha of the ink-pack growled—somehow sarcastically—in agreement. The walls of the pit held the same black, virus-like material, and Det had risked touching it after seeing his ink-pack walk across it with no trouble.

  Whatever it was made from, it didn’t seem hostile, and actually felt somehow familiar under his fingertips, though he couldn’t place it, beyond feeling the same as the ants’ carapaces. Is that all it is? No, there’s something else.

  As for the ants—the machine-ants—themselves, he’d taken only a minute to give them a quick examination. Machines, definitely. Robots, definitely not. There weren’t any of the circuit-boards or processors—or anything even remotely computer-like—in what he’d checked. Nor were these things like something out of a clockwork or steampunk novel. No excessive gears twisting around inside, or goggles just for the sake of goggles.

  Really, they weren’t anything like Det had seen, and he’d seen quite of a bit through his education and work. Frankly, if somebody were to ask him how these ants worked—what made them, figuratively, tick—he would have no answer. No idea. They worked. They were mechanical in nature. That was as much as he knew.

  Well, that and one other thing—some of them carried money. Why ants would need that, well, it got added to the mystery generally surrounding the ants. As he’d been poking and prodding the ant-bodies to make sure none of them would be leaping at the back of his knee, he’d found four tenpieces amidst the debris. That was more money than he’d seen in his ReSouled life.

  Then again, holding the small, flat, black squares in the palm of his hand, he was starting to see a connection that made him a bit nervous. Unlike coins back on Earth, these weren’t made of precious metal—or made to represent it. Instead, by the red sheen along the edge, he could tell these weren’t half-tenpieces. What did that mean exactly? According to Huck and Jezz, it meant they were full of mist.

  Pieces, tenpieces, coins, and bars—along with their half-versions—were basically batteries, with their value coming from how much mist they could hold. Since getting mist into the currency was risky for anybody other than a ReSouled, the half-versions were… well, worth half as much as a full one. Luckily, they were reusable, though, so they still held some value.

  The fact Det had just found four, full tenpieces from these ants… was that the valuable thing General Vans had meant was found with this threat? People would definitely plunge these depths—and take all the risks that went with them—if they could literally pick money off the dead bodies. That didn’t explain why Captain Simmons had said the Mistguard made most of their money from selling mistships, but the man had been pretty good about answering questions. He might answer this one too.

  Not that figuring it out was Det’s biggest concern at the moment, so he pocketed the four tenpieces and turned to his more pressing matter. That would be the bottom of the pit twenty feet below him, along with the damn tunnel leading away. With no sign of the woman who’d called for his help, that really only left one place she could be.

  “We’re going down,” Det told the alpha.

  It gave one him a look, kind of like it was waiting for the punch line of the joke. When he didn’t offer that, it instead let out a rumbling growl. Of the other, four remaining members of the ink-pack, two of them leapt down, covering the distance with no more trouble than having taken a single stair.

  “Give me a hand… er… a tentacle,” Det said to his ink-creation still hanging from the ceiling. Two tentacles reached down to wrap around his extended arm, then carefully lowered him to the floor far below. The distance stretched what the ink-limb was capable of, almost pulling it apart, but the magic held it together. “Thanks. If any more ants come this way, you know what to do.”

  The tentacles wiggled their understanding, while the other three ink-wolves leapt down to join Det. With the alpha sticking close to his side, one took up a read guard, while the other moved to his left. The two that’d come down before him were already fifty feet into the tunnel.

  “Huh, that’s… oddly convenient,” he said, eyeing the illuminated sections of the technological virus along the walls of the tunnel. It wasn’t all of them, but a lot of the disc-like sections glowed with enough red light he could see pretty easily. Good thing, too, since it wasn’t like he had a flashlight. Or a lantern. Or even a damn match.

  There better be a class in the academy on preparing for whatever the hell it is I’m doing…

  “Let’s go,” Det said instead of dwelling on his lack of foresight. Even his ink-flame sword didn’t give off any light, the fire of it flickering like a series of black, still images along the blade.

  At his side, the alpha growled again, and the two wolves in the front moved ahead, Det and the other ink-pack members following at a distance. Just from what Det could see, the tunnel extended quite the distance, and unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, angled down slightly. Every step he took was taking him deeper into the pillar.

  Makes it more likely it’s connected to whatever is going on in the mine. What did Simmons call this? An emergence? No wonder he didn’t notice it. There was a fair amount of blood, but he must’ve figured anybody who got attacked by those ants got dragged back to the mine. Or, he just didn’t see it in front of this building. Not like he had a pack of wolves searching for him.

  Why is this such a big threat though? These ants aren’t that tough if I can kill that many of them. Means they have to be E-Rank—or whatever the lowest Rank is—right? And, General Vans is S-Rank! From how Simmons described that, he could probably sneeze and kill as many as I just did.

  More questions and inconsistencies Det didn’t have the answer to, and he didn’t have the time to dwell on them anyway. Ahead of him, the tunnel curved off to the side, with the technological virus on the walls getting thicker the deeper he went. Almost to the point they looked more like something man made. Er, ant-made.

  Behind him, the tunnels were rounded, as if the ants had burrowed under the ground until they reached the town. Ahead of him—as he peeked around the corner with all the wolves at his side—the tunnel was distinctly more a hallway than anything else. Square, with a flat floor, walls, and ceiling, it looked like Det was about to walk into a black building. Everything was the same material as whatever the virus was.

  It must spread like that, tendrils at a time, before it grows into this… wow. This can’t be natural, so, is it the ants directing it, or are they just taking advantage of it? Since they’re all machines, they have to be connected.

  “Keep going, but be careful. This is getting strange,” Det told the lead wolves, and they jogged ahead.

  The group moved another hundred feet before they came to the next turn, this one a full ninety-degrees from where they were coming, heading to the left. A soft growl, so low Det could barely hear it, warned him something around that corner was different. Back against the wall, he leaned out and back as quick as he could.

  As soon as he did—and his brain processed what he saw—he was around the corner and sprinting. Right behind him, the wolves came charging, and they closed the distance to his target within seconds.

  Two slightly larger and bulkier ants had their stocky mandibles locked around a woman’s ankles while they dragged her quickly across the hallway floor. By the time they realized Det was coming, it was too late for them. The one on the right unlocked its mandibles and got itself out from under her leg just in time for Det’s sword to stab down through its head.

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  On the other side, the second ant was a few seconds slower, and all it got for its trouble was a pair of wolf jaws grabbing its head and another its back end. A sharp tug—in opposite directions—ripped the thing apart in a violent motion that hurled its parts up and down the hallway.

  “Well done,” Det said, tearing his blade from the dead ant, and reaching for the woman with his free hand. From the looks of things, she’d been dragged on her back the whole way by the two ants, her dress up around her stomach, and what he could see of her legs scratched and torn from the treatment. Her ankles bled pretty badly from where the mandibles had gripped—the flesh rubbed and raw—but Det couldn’t find any other obvious injuries.

  A pair of fingers to her neck found a pulse, and a bit more inspection located where she’d likely bashed her head. The lump forming was a clue even he couldn’t miss.

  Well, he’d done it. He’d saved her. Yay. Time to go home, right? Throw her over a shoulder and run like hell back the way he’d come. Mission success!

  “My… my…” a voice interrupted his glorious plans of retreat, and Det looked to the fluttering eyes of the woman. “My daughter…” With the words, the woman passed out again, her head lolling to the side.

  “Bloody hell,” Det cursed at possibly the only two words in existence that could convince him to continue down the tunnel. If Nat had been dragged down by these mechants—as he’d poorly dubbed them in his head—nothing would stop him from giving chase. If he was in the woman’s shoes, and knew somebody was around who could’ve saved the younger girl, but didn’t, surviving would’ve been more painful than dying.

  Hell, the only reason Det kept going since he’d been reborn was the chance he could get back to Yumi and Nat. Without them, without knowing they were waiting for him to come home, he might’ve given up. If he knew they were dead, he would’ve stopped ages ago. Dying would’ve been better.

  For the woman on the ground beside him, would it be any different?

  “Bloody hell,” he said again. Logic was telling him to get out of there with the woman. Save her. Get help from General Vans, Captain Simmons, and Jeckles—hell, even Calisco—when they came back. Then, they could all come down together and really wreak some havoc. Det was lucky he hadn’t gotten himself killed already.

  Except… his head turned to look further down the hall. The ants were clearly dragging her somewhere. So, what if there were other survivors like her now? Without knowing the purpose of dragging the people down there, he couldn’t even guess how long they had.

  Since Det could imagine being in her position—and waking up alone—he couldn’t bring himself not to continue.

  Keep telling myself I’m not going to play hero, and what do I do? Stupid stuff, that’s what.

  Despite the internal reprimand, he went to put his sword down, but stopped before he released the hilt. As soon as he let go of the weapon, his magic would cut off. The flames would wink out like they’d never been there, and it would be back to being just a normal sword. Looking up and down the tunnel—still clear in both directions—and then at the blood pooling around the woman’s ankles from the wounds, he sighed. And he dropped the sword.

  As expected, the flames vanished in an instant, the ink on the blade he’d arduously painted gone with them. The spell was expended. If he wanted a flaming sword again, he’d need to work for it. Then again, with only five wolves at his side, maybe he needed to take a few minutes to bolster their ranks.

  First things first.

  The woman’s injuries needed attention, and Det whipped out an ink bottle and a brush. It only took him a minute to paint and activate the bandages on her ankles to stem the bleeding. The cuts and scratches on her legs, well, she’d just have to live with those, though he did his best to cover her back up with her dress again.

  “Any chance one of you can take her back the way we came?” Det asked his wolves. The look the alpha gave him answered the question for him. He’d created them to protect him, not to ferry anybody else around. He’d either have to take her with him, or leave her there, lying in the hallway.

  Since he hadn’t seen a single ant anywhere in the town, and the tunnel didn’t have any splits or other entrances, leaving her behind seemed a lot safer than taking her with him. He couldn’t carry her and fight at the same time.

  He… also couldn’t leave her defenseless and unconscious. Ink and brush still in hand, he got to work. In front and behind where the woman lay, Det reached up with his longest brush to splash quick images. The tentacles had worked surprisingly well before, so why not use them again?

  “Keep her safe and destroy any ants that come close,” Det said to the ink-tentacles as he activated them. Those would watch over her while she slept—at least until he returned—but if she woke up before that and decided to flee, they wouldn’t be able to go with her. To address that, Det drew out… a teddy bear.

  Probably not the first natural predator of ants that came to mind, but he also needed to pick something that wouldn’t outright terrify her when she opened her eyes. Okay, admittedly, maybe a three-dimensional drawing coming to life in black ink with ten-inch claws—it needed to be able to kill the ants—might still be nightmare fuel. It was the best he could do on short notice!

  Whatever!

  The same instructions given to the bear as he activated it, and Det was ready to rearm himself. Those three images had used half a bottle of his ink, leaving him with just one-and-a-half bottles for himself. While it was more ink than he’d had for most of his life, it somehow seemed woefully inadequate for the tunnels he found himself in now.

  Grrrrr, the alpha rumbled beside him, snapping his attention from the ink bottles he stared at in his hands. Turning to look at what’d gotten the wolf’s attention, it was very clearly the half-dozen ants charging down the tunnel in his direction.

  These ones, like the pair that’d been dragging the woman, were of a larger variety than what Det had fought up in the tavern. Each around three feet in length, they were almost a foot tall, and their mandibles looked more of the crushing than slashing variety. Needless to say, neither would be pleasant if they latched on to Det.

  Stowing his ink in his belt with a practiced motion, Det snagged his sword off the ground—no time to re-enchant it—and charged the enemies with the wolves at his side. Though his pack had taken on much larger odds up in the tavern, this six-on-six battle was going to be far more difficult.

  The bigger ants not only had stronger armor, but more strength, making one-on-one battles riskier. Earlier, Det and his wolves had managed to sneak up on the pair dragging the woman, dealing with them quickly thanks to the surprise attacks and the situation. Head on, with the ants ready for what was coming, it didn’t go as smoothly.

  Vicious wolf-claws scratched long gouges into the carapaces, but didn’t tear through to shear the ants apart. Powerful jaws, likewise, couldn’t quite crush what they wrapped around, and there wasn’t a chance for the wolves to team up for a tug-of-war to rip the ants in two. Det’s sword, likewise, lacked the same oomph it’d had while the ink-flames engulfed it.

  The only real benefit of fighting the different variant of ants was that they were bigger targets.

  Okay, yes, that was also slightly more terrifying, with a large-dog-sized insect trying to mandible his face off.

  Det’s charge quickly turned into frantic back-peddling, his initial sword-strike bouncing off the mechant’s head. He’d scored the carapace pretty well, and rung the ant’s head like a bell, but that only slowed it for a second before it came charging in even more furiously, mandibles clunking together with bone-crushing force.

  Left then right, he jerked his legs back one after the other to barely save each of the limbs from getting splintered by the mandibles lunging for him. After the second dodge, the ant extended for a third attempt at dismembering him at the same time Det brought his sword across in a sweeping, two-handed cut with the blade basically vertical. As strong as the ant’s armor was, the connecting sections between the segments apparently didn’t have quite the same durability.

  Even without the flaming enchantment, Det’s sword cleaved through the ‘neck’ of the ant, the jaws immediately going slack as Det sidestepped the separated head. A shove with his foot kicked the body to the side, and he dashed at the ant standing off against the alpha

  Fast as the pair were circling each other, Det wouldn’t be able to line up another—if he was being honest, lucky—segment-cutting blow. And, since his sword would just bounce off the armor, there was one thing that would give his ink-wolf the advantage. Watching, waiting as each of the two probed and attacked, Det saw his opportunity. The ants all attacked the same way when their target was just out of mandible range, with a kind of launching lunge.

  Seeing that coming, Det swung in the opposite direction the mechant would go, his blade shearing through all three legs on that side of the insect. Some of its momentum stolen by the blow—not to mention half its limbs—the ant twisted and then slid along the floor. Three legs on one side of its body tried to push it up, until the alpha’s jaws closed on the ant’s head.

  With Det making sure nothing interrupted, the wolf flexed. It wasn’t a quick death for the ant, its carapace first cracking, then crunching. It took a solid eight seconds for the wolf’s jaws to finally slam shut, the ant head exploding like a crushed, mechanical watermelon.

  Now, with a distinct numbers advantage, Det and his alpha rejoined the melee, tag-teaming the remaining ants until none remained.

  “Okay, just need a short break,” Det started, sucking in deep breaths, only to get cut off by a blood-curdling scream from further down the hall. “Orrrrrrr not.”