From the sinkhole in the sky, a round, bright form descended.

  The closer it drew to the edges of the hole, the darker the World's Mortuary became. The effects were subtle at first, until he realized seeing in between shadows slowly became a struggle.

  A squelch, and Menan had six round, polished pebbles on her hand. She gave one to each Party member, and kept one to herself. "These are lightflies. Breath on them until they starts to glow, then give them a moment."

  It took a solid minute of huffing and blowing before Francies saw the faint orange light spill out. One more, and now the light flickered like a small amber inside a ball shaped egg, though he could swear from the weight it was solid. The firefly lifted off a couple seconds later, hovering at eye level with a gentle bob.

  "They're set so you can give small commands, like 'go there,' 'fly up,' 'leave me alone!' but if you don't want them to go out faster better to just keep yours around your person," she said, wordlessly sending hers on pirouettes over her palm.

  During the day, they mostly stuck to outside, the high artificial banks and balconies of the Morgues that overlooked the countless red rivers and dried channels, crossing from one to the next by means of bridges of inconsistent breadth and thickness. All of them held the Party surprisingly well, even those that looked as thin as sheets of paper stretched to the length of a farm.

  Sometimes, there were no bridges forward, and they crossed through the channels. The first time they climbed down a set of stairs, in so much as the steep cliff of uneven steps petrified in the middle of a terrible fit of wobbles could be called stairs, Fendrano hurled a single line of advice that stuck to him all day long. "Die before you touch the water."

  Light as he was, every other step sunk Francies to the ankle in sandy muck. Masks and helmets went up, none for him and Lagalla of course, who were left to their burning faces and leaking tears. The rivers exhaled invisible fire, he swore, a fire with great skill in find orifices to lick, and if he wasn't bleeding from the ears by the time he reached the other side that would be a small miracle

  At least they stuck to the thinner channels. A run, a skip over the blood resembling water—the color was perfect, but from up close it was too thin, too transparent—and they were done, climbing back to sensorial safety.

  Once night approached, they finally entered the Morgues. The looming, faceless titans of the World's Mortuary projected a sense of chill its actual cold could not match, itself a mild a day in comparison to the one that crept down his spine the first time entered one.

  Francies had no words to describe this complete, utter purge of life signs. White corridors of white tiles and white walls with white furnishing, spotless to the point a speck of dust would feel alien. Broken lines of pots without a shard left behind, chipped corners of large blocks polished smooth as if worn by decades in the rain, alcoves left half empty, half strange altars for nothing in sight.

  It didn't help that he couldn't make sense of the place. Corridors that winded into themselves were almost expected, rooms filled with literal nothing too, but when he ran into what could only be a table of sorts, a slanted slab on a featureless pillar with holes poked through the lower side, left blocking a hallway as if built on the spot, pieces that were about to press together scattered. Those broken pots weren't lined in a room, but occupying a two thirds of a hallway from end to end, then continued left while they took a right.

  Since the earlier argument, they walked in three lines of two. The instructors had gotten their way, so Scarlet stood side by side with Fendrano, while on the rear the stoic Bulwark loosely orbited around a silently frolicking Menan. Lagalla and Francies had been left in the middle, supposedly cozy between two lines of guards, but something about this place didn't let him feel safe.

  "...You think the Dwellers live here?" Lagalla's whisper echoed down the empty corridor.

  "I don't think anybody does. Did." He tried to control his volume, but the echo escaped him all the same.

  A beat of wings sounded like a thunderclap breaking at his side. The whole Party stopped for a moment as he flew his entire height into the air. "S-sorry! I-it just comes out sometimes when I'm nervous."

  "Cilifus Etiquette #5, don't make a ruckus in the middle of the night!" Menan said.

  "In fact, I would argue it remains sound advice out and away from the Tower." Fendrano said.

  "I-I didn't mean to."

  Soon, they left that Morgue and reached a bridge to the next. This was one of the larger ones, the length of a village and wide enough for three Bulwarks to walk abreast, but the veteran's attentions were on that copper device again.

  "We're stopping on the next one for the night. It has a wing that's easy to defend and block off, so it's become a bit of a safehouse for visiting Guests."

  Good. Back in South Lateno, Francies would have hunkered down way before he couldn't see properly below his nose, and they had gone past that half an hour ago. There was still some walk ahead, but at least it had been an uneventful day. For him, anyway.

  "I'm gonna hazard a guess, you ain't liking the Tower, are ya?" Francies said, leaning towards Lagalla.

  "And you're loving it?" She sniffed.

  "Until one of those Dweller suckers pops its head in front of my eyes, I'm at least tolerant. Have my fair share of experience in dark, stinking places."

  Her lightfly finished a lap around the far orbit of her shoulder, revealing a pout. "Well, I don't! I-I never even killed anything before, like, why do I have to stick out my neck for those things to chomp here?!"

  "Well, everybody has to pull their own weight, right?"

  Her lips pressed together. She looked away. "S-sorry about that, I was... I am..."

  "Heh. Just tugging your tail. Honestly, just seeing the way you're looking right now is enough vengeance for me."

  "A-asshole!"

  He didn't feel any real animosity there. "Say, you're quite a young'un, aren't you?"

  Still turned, she scoffed. "Talking like you're an old man yourself!"

  "You know what they say, country folk grow fast."

  "I-I don't, actually. I don't... I don't know much," Lagalla said, turning back to him. "I became nineteen, last Woe of Winter, and back then I didn't even know I would be here,"

  A pressing question came to him, but they were being overheard for sure, so he decided to just leave with the assumption for now. "Two months ago, then? Didn't manage to hide for long, I'm imagining."

  "Couldn't!" She smiled, as her firefly reached her left, casting her face in shadow. "I started crying when I saw my Invitation and mom caught me."

  "Sorry to hear?"

  "No need," she murmured. "It's just, why me? I didn't ask for it, and I never wronged the Tower either as far as I recall..."

  "I mean, I didn't even think about the Tower that much before I got mine. It was a whole 'nother world I didn't care to be part of, but I'm guessing I'm hardly unique on that."

  "Me too. I still can't believe I'm here. Woke up this morning thinking I was on my bed."

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  "Been dreaming weird too?"

  "Worse. Dreaming too normal."

  He didn't push. Her voice was getting drier by the world, and they were all tired from the journey by now.

  The next Morgue was windowless, its cuboid shape a silhouette against the crimson sky, facet a sheer, straight angle and nothing more. They took the first left of the labyrinth, and instead of another straight passage of dull walls and miscellaneous nonsense, he found himself at the entrance of a temple.

  What, exactly, was worshiped here was anyone's guess. Altars, shelves, tables, cylindrical pillars,in what had to be the first non geometric shape he had seen come naturally out of the Mortuary, were arranged asymmetrically with such disregard for logic they blocked some of the flanking rooms, most empty but some carrying different mad idols.

  Most were closer to piles of organs than complete living creatures. Processions of stomachs devouring themselves; intestinal nooses strangling kidneys in vertical cat cradles; blobs of skin bursting with plump arteries; a carcass of finger thick spines forming the rough shape of some pyramidal watchtower; stranger designs that teased his anatomic knowledge but defied everything he knew.

  The corridor turned, it rose in a ramp, it collapsed into itself in a spiral, but there were no crossroads, only the way forward and the occasional room.

  No escape. The Mortuary knew it well.

  It started in the distance, a pitter-patter, a repeated click of nails on a hard surface, like a pack of mutts on a hunt, but there were no yips, no yowls, only these hollow thrills, voiced again and again like rallying cries.

  He retreated, glancing over his shoulder to meet narrowed eyes. Menan sounded the alarm. "Everyone, get ready, something wicked this way comes!"

  Fendrano and Scarlet were the first to react, fanning out to the best of the narrow hall's capacity. Menan and Bulwark were shortly behind, the former squinting with focus. As for Francies and Lagalla, he squeezed the handle of his spear, but didn't know where to go, while Lagalla only hugged her bow tighter.

  "Menan! How many, what type, where from?" Fendrano called.

  "Hmmmmmmm, I think... No, I'm sure of it, they are Crawling Desecrations, a full pack, and they are coming... from the hideout!"

  "What?!" Fendrano bellowed, forcing Francies to cringe. "What idiot left the gates open this time?! It's the simplest rule!"

  "Aaaaaw, who knows! What matters is they're coming in fast, so get those shoulders rolling! And you, baby bug, fly!" There was a second that, in the maws of frenzy, Francies convinced himself she meant Lagalla, until her lightfly flew between them, past the front line, illuminating the area ahead.

  "Very well! Scarlet, we hold the line, let them come to us!" Fendrano said. "Initiates, both of you will cover us! If you see any trying to get through or attacking from a blind spot, strike at once! And Bulwark!"

  "Big guy smashes whatever you all fail to stop!" Menan laughed. "No ambushes from behind either, so take your time and enjoy yourselves, everyone!"

  hissing, sharp scratching on the smooth tiles, copious liquids hitting the floor, countless unpleasant sounds announced their arrival at the end of the corridor.

  An arrow flew through the dark. The distinct sound of flesh being torn brought an end to all noise.

  They waited, breath bated, for the coming assault. He licked his lips. The edges of the light remained untouched.

  "Menan," Fendrano said, not daring his back towards the enemy.

  "U-uhhh, I dunno," Menan said, and he heard another arrow being nocked

  His eyes shifted. "What do you mean you don't know?"

  "M-means I don't know! For sure they are Crawlers, but I've never seen them—"

  A pallid worm stretched from the darkness, nothing but skin and bones and brass dagger claws.

  It pounced so fast Francies only had the time to whimper. For Fendrano's credit, before the sound could reach his ears, his club was already swinging.

  The first Dweller died like a fruit bursting from a high fall. Somebody screamed, six more howled through strangled throats, blurs sneaking through the corners of the hall, but Fendrano was fast, shield meeting the next attack square with a deafening thud.

  Scarlet moved like the wind in front of him, sickle flashing downwards and disappearing into a spray of black. She jumped back, but a bulge followed her movements, battering her head on, spilling over her shield like ooze and clamping down on the top. He hesitated, and before he found the courage to help, and arrow whistled by his ear, piercing deep enough to force it back.

  Routine decision making in the face of danger had tumbled when threatened by a fear that hadn't controlled him in years. He spurned himself on, instincts screaming or not, jabbing for the first shape he knew for sure did not belong to his Party. Crystal blade met with a wet tear as relieving as it was repulsing, nicking an edge of bone and sliding into the organs.

  Scarlet's sickle fell, severing limb from body in a cut so clean it was unnatural. The monstrosity didn't so much as cry, soundlessly falling aside as he slid back out—only for another to skip right over it's pack mate's body, splitting itself open in his direction.

  A hairdbreath. That was the distance death passed him by, boarspear flying towards the maw, coming so close to missing he glanced a lip. The blade tore through the back of its tongueless mouth like through drenched cloth, with just enough resistance to send a shiver down his arms, yet this he had done a hundred times, so he braced himself and waited—

  For it to easily overpower him, dragging his feet off the ground.

  The impact with the floor drove the air out of his lungs. Still, he held firm, and the spear's lugs saved him for the thousandth time, butt lodging itself behind him while they kept that thing's desperate bites and grasping claws away from his vulnerable guts.

  His lightfly followed in a tizzy, revealing a nightmare beyond his wildest imagination. Inside its mouth were molars, canines, prickling needles, stout thorns, jagged shards imbued in with violence, all of wildly inconsistent sizes and following no rhyme or order, all of same slicked brass.

  Mutation could not explain the horror of Dwellers. Disease, the depraved depths of folk ingenuity, the worst of campfire stories by the most harrowed veterans of the woods, nothing had ever matched those brief glimpses during his hunts, the glint of vicious nature under stolen pock marked skin, the tearing scales that slithered under clear sky in arrogant invincibility, pin shaped weapons of slaughter leaving steps in stone as well as in humid soil.

  The part of his mind that screamed for him to twist and fight with all his strength blanked, reason died buried at the bottom of an abyss. Gritted teeth were all preventing him from crying like a child at this corpse walking, this impossibility to whose gullet he had walked of his own volition. Damn him, damn his escape, damn his negligence, his arrogant fearlessness, Garces had been right! If only he had thought his plans through, or—

  In some detached sense, it was almost funny how scared he was. So scared he even forgot he wasn't alone. The others, though, had not.

  One moment, he felt a claw nudge the leather over his leg, about to dig down and tear into his shin. The next, it flew in pieces at the strike of a battering ram, showering all the way back to the darkness it crept from!

  Feverish with dread, glued to the ground, left bonkers by this odd but pleasant boiling hum from deep within his bones, Francies looked up to Bulwark like a castaway upon great Nogon, who once ruled the seas from its deepest trenches. The giant, likewise, glanced down upon the awestruck ant and scoffed, walking back to position with clear disinterest.

  He only registered the battle was over when Menan strutted all the way through the front line, lifting her leg back and delivering a kick so brutal it decapitated a Dweller's corpse. "Ha! Try to outsmart your betters again down in the Churn, you mutty little fuckers! Ain't nothing you can do I can't crush with a foot! Look!"

  Francies still didn't get up. The fight might be over, but the boiling, vibrating bones situation was starting to worry him. Was that some kind of effect from the Dwellers attack? Had he become infected with some sickness? he didn't have any more tails to lose, anything else he would miss!

  "H-hey, fellas, is anyon—"

  Fendrano swung his club dry, splattering him quiet with gore. "Class I, all of them, but you would expect at least an alpha to be the cause of such unique behavior."

  "Meeeeeeeeeh!" Menan ground a foot on the decapitated Dweller's back. "Waiting a second to charge like mad ain't much of a unique behavior! I was expecting a bit more spice, you hear me?! Fucking idiots, at least try a bit harder if you aren't leaving us a single decent hide to sell..."

  "Menan, I believe this may be worth more concern than you currently show."

  "And me thinks there is something else we oughta be more concerned about right now," she said, and flashed a thumb back towards the Party.

  She couldn't have meant the more experienced Newbies. Scarlet, black with Dweller viscera and glistening with sweat, had pulled some amazing weight as far as he had seen. Bulwark hadn't broken a sweat, but he wasn't about to call out the man who saved his life. Of course, she wouldn't have meant Fendrano himself either, which left two.

  Francies laid his head back down, and saw a tiny grey bow, discarded on the ground by an arrow never shot. Behind him and to the left, at the very corner of the corridor, a very familiar sobbing echoed unbidden.

  The humming faded soon, but the shame would take a while longer.