Within a hidden crevasse, Marcy strained her eyes to lead her through the darkness. The roars of combat echoed above; the sound of Wildmen’s chatter ran past while their legions hurried in hordes toward the surface. Their many figures ran through a labyrinthian network of tunnels. Marcy’s ears perked at their movements. She reached into her pocket, removing a soft white stone, one of many she bore for the purpose of marking her pathway back to the surface. As the hordes ran past, leaving but a gap of fate for her to creep forward, she rushed deeper down their many passages, leading toward the heart of their under-realm, where she presumed her prey to be.

  Her heart paced steadily as soft footsteps echoed light splashes through the murky ground. The sound of chattering and footsteps swiftly approached; she once again ducked away into the pitch black, awaiting their passage. As she descended, the muffled sounds of warfare faded, replaced by the soft droplets of moisture escaping the thick, entangled roots that seemed to make way for the lower network. The echoes of strange chants escaped every dark corner and untrodden tunnel. Faint lights from illuminated mushrooms marked a path down an ever-expanding passage that soon became the only way forward.

  As she continued, the sound of soft moaning drifted across the lightly illuminated pathway, escaping beyond its grasp. Treading carefully, a shadowed mass of white appeared before her. As her eyes strained, the mass took shape, and the form of a Wildwoman, draped in its white gown, lay before her, releasing mournful moans as it slept. Marcy’s eyes trailed forward, where the ground was littered with resting Wildwomen.

  “Some security measure,” Marcy thought to herself.

  Placing a hand upon the tunnel wall, she felt the entangled roots slither upward onto the dark ceiling above. Grasping a root, she felt the aged bark crumble under her firm grip, leaving the soil covered root exposed. She pulled, testing its strength, feeling a light dust fall as the stubborn thing held steady.

  “Perfect,” she thought.

  Placing her free hand upon the root, she lifted herself, climbing the entanglement beyond the darkness, where her body felt the arch of the tunnel. Utilizing her legs, she pressed her hands and feet into the strong roots, pulling herself over the mass of Wildwomen who rested below. She held her breath, inching across the ceiling, careful not to test the loose bark and flutter debris onto the sleeping creatures. Her ears were captivated by the guttural moans escaping them, a nightmarish choir of horror that sent a shiver through her, testing Marcy’s burning limbs.

  From below, a Wildwoman choked and snorted; the sounds of shuffling met Marcy’s ears. She froze, breath held as her burning arms tested her. The sound of the Wildthing below rumbled but for a moment before it joined the nightmarish choir once more. With a still heart, Marcy released her breath and reached her right arm forward. An unexpected texture of scales met her fingers as something grasping the vines shook at her touch.

  Pulling back, Marcy heard the distinct hiss of a snake as it lost its grip. Its hiss passed her, followed by a loud thump, sending the tunnel into a frantic awakening. The dry mutterings of sickly women erupted. A surge of urgency propelled Marcy forward; her loud movements masked by the sound of the suddenly stirring band of women as her ears caught the echo of walls that signaled the end of their horde. Finding new energy, she disappeared beyond their stir. Thinking herself safe, Marcy silently lowered herself, relieving her strained arms. Picking up her pace, she took steps forward before something stopped her, bumping Marcy off her feet, shifting herself, her keen reflexes kept her feet beneath her. Through her strained eyes she saw, the visage of a large breathing mass shift after her disturbance. The soft sounds of her daggers being unsheathed slithered through the damp network.

  Tar covered in foliage swayed as a terrible groan struck her ears, echoing off the damp network. Her eyes widened at the figure; two large arms protruded from its sides as a head, clouded in thick green shrub, lifted, revealing a Goliath, half-man, half-ape with its back to Marcy. The thing swayed left and right, its limbs reaching toward the surrounding walls, lifting itself beyond the tunnel’s height.

  With daggers in hand, Marcy did not falter. Her heart stayed at an easy pace, her mind remained sharp. Deadly instinct led her hands, and discipline commanded her feet. A strike of sudden pain forced an inhuman gasp and the thing extended its body to frightening heights, smashing its head into the network’s ceiling. Its tar-laden head crashed through the hardened entanglement of bark, sending debris in all directions. A sharp pain erupted through its lower spine as Marcy removed one dagger, its dark metal dripping with an orange fluid, before unleashing the other dagger, feeling a liquidous interior as the blade slid inward. The familiar rumble of bones shattering was absent from her strike, yet its painful retorts were encouragement enough.

  She unleashed a flurry of precise hacks, cuts, and cleaves, tearing through every artery, tendon, and organ she knew resided within the average person’s body, drenching herself in the orange filth it bled, sending the beast into a tantrum of terror. Its eerie groans of pain carried through the tunnel network, and as it fell, until the beast’s movements finally ceased. Marcy waited not a moment. An assault of shrieks retorted to its death; the strange movements of Wildwomen rumbled, footsteps shaking the underground as they approached. Marcy found the body of the strange beast stretched out before her, clogging the path. She stabbed her daggers into its lifeless form and dragged herself over the cadaver as the breath of the Wildwomen met her heels. Peering behind her, she caught their gaze, the many pairs of yellow eyes protruding forth from their skeletal faces, their hair dragging and entangled entangled upon one another as the mass of women now clogged the path back.

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  The sight of them fueled her movements, rushing her crawl. Marcy’s sight was blinded by the foliage protruding from the mass she pulled herself over. Seeing the approaching dark, she pressed herself over the leaf-covered head of the beast, expecting to find ground. She fell forward, plummeting down an unseen drop. The surprise stole her breath; the sharp fall ended with a thrashing crash upon skin-scraping brush, cushioning her sudden stop. She felt the sting of a dozen minor wounds when she rolled off the brush, landing on moist and muddy ground. Releasing only a short cough, Marcy reached into her pouch, removing a small metallic device.

  The sound of buzzing filled the damp cavern. A mechanical bug hovered before Marcy, a yellow light escaping the bug device, illuminating the pitch black, revealing large spherical overgrowths slithering from a gigantic wooden branch whose circumference expanded beyond the cavern floor, the walls built of entangled branches growing out of the ground itself. Looking toward the branches from which she had landed, she saw thorned, thin branches swirling into a perfect egg shape, splinters protruding outward.

  “Did that thing come from here?” she muttered; her soft words echoed off the wall of tangled branches.

  Placing her hand under the buzzing light, she puckered her lips and released a light breeze, pressing the light-illuminating bug forward, traversing the only path that lay ahead. As her soft feet pressed through the muck and felt the rotting bark below, a sap engulfed her foot, forcing her to lie upon her chest, spreading her weight across the soft ground—once again using her blades to pull herself forward. From the corner of her eye, something froze her. Turning, she saw a familiar egg-shaped brush growing from the ground, also splintered from the interior. Lifting her head, she strained her eyes beyond the circumference of the light; her keen senses caught the familiar egg shapes surrounding her, each cracked from within.

  “This can’t be good,” she thought. Focusing herself, she strained to breathe through the thick air riddled with mold. Following the buzzing light forward, about the turn of a bend, the warm glow of candles escaped the end of her path. Her heart froze; that far-off instinct rushed forth. “It’s time…”

  Like a swift shadow, she prowled forward as a predator. The soft sense of movement beyond her sight struck a chord in her heart, coaxing an old thirst within. Disappearing into the dissolving shadows, she slithered into the alternate cavern. Marcy found herself within the bowels of the underworld itself. The entangled walls bled a mixture of coagulated blood, water, and that tar-like substance. The petrified branches were bone-white, and the walls groaned while something like the sound of slithering rumbled from under the wooden ground.

  Glaring upward, Marcy witnessed the groaning walls stretch to such heights that her sharp eyes only caught a single needle-sized dot piercing the dark, far above. In the center of the awe-inducing chamber rested a lifted colonnade with a wide center platform, standing as a cylindrical stone centerpiece, erected into the air. Its pillars built of sick flesh breaking through the stone, exposing pustular growths. Upon the center platform of the lifted colonnade, circled a stairway of steps, rising upward from the cylinder’s base. A stain of blood caught Marcy’s eye, the stairs were stained with freshly spilt blood and the bodies of Wildmen from a recent battle.

  In its center, the colonnade stood high, as an abnormally tall Wildman gawked downward, his strange, petrified crown of wood broken, his long, rough gown stained and torn. Its thin, elongated arm stretched downward, where a young rooster gasping for breath, was left at the chieftain’s mercy. Her heart stopped, her mind froze; all time fell still as the boy’s face slowly came into focus.

  “You bastard.” The whisper of his words fell upon Marcy’s ears.

  Her feet propelled her forward, gliding across the cavern and launching herself up the many stairs, circling the colonnade walls that protruded so high she could no longer see the Chieftain. The steps arched as they circled the colonnade. As she stepped upon its highest platform, the familiar figure of Frankfer at the mercy of the chieftain came into view…

  Frankfer glared upward, the pain coursing through his body begging for tears. He defiantly held a stern face as blood poured down his scalp, glaring into the pus-filled eyes of the thin, sickly chieftain who seemed to command a supernatural strength. He was prepared to meet his fate among the fallen when, from the corner of his eye, the glint of a blade stole his attention. The familiar face of Marcy, donning a cold glare, came into view. She rushed forth, releasing a blade with such force that its steel released a swift whistle, tearing through the thin cloth of the Chieftain, coaxing a cry of inhuman proportion. Frankfer’s body fell as it released its grip; that terrible screech echoed off the walls and was carried upward towards that faraway ceiling.

  “Bastard!” She yelled, lifting herself mid-stride, pressing her legs together before kicking forward, using the weight of her well-built form as a weapon. Her muddied boots smashed into the Chieftain, propelling him off the platform.

  Marcy turned towards Frankfer, kneeling beside him, examining him.

  “You need to go.” Frankfer struggled. “Kill it, finish this…” his words were accented with pain. The familiar cry of the Chieftain met their ears. “Do it...” Frankfer continued.

  Marcy nodded. Gripping her blade, she lifted herself, eyes locked on the suffering orphan.

  “You’re one of us now.” Frankfer panted. “Fight like a Rooster.”

  The sound of something shifting echoed through the walls. Marcy felt the taste of dust from above meet her lips.

  “Roosters don’t retreat.” The suffering boy continued, his panting increasing.

  The walls gave way, bark fell as the rumbling increased, revealing hidden passages where dim light approached from afar, accented by the chieftain’s daunting laughter from below, the air thickening with more dust. Marcy prepared herself as the sound of scuttling penetrated her ears from all directions, and those hidden passages began to spew bodies of Wildmen and women, surrounding the colonnade.

  Her eyes met Frankfer’s, his body broken and bleeding. “I’m sorry.” She said.

  “Fight.” Was his struggling reply, breath fading.

  The Wildmen rushed upon the circling stairway. Her eyes met the first of their kind to reach the platform.

  TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK…