In a strange world as a Doppelganger

Chapter 55 - Below it Bellows

As per Bewella's previous imperative, we head into the left-hand corridor. At least this passage has a stable floor and after a little bit of walking there's no more muck underfoot. Bewella keeps sloshing around the jar of goop that she collected and it has a rather satisfying sound to it. The tunnel still smells of refuse and garbage, like something has been laying around untouched and rotted for a long time.

The path takes a sudden dip and we have to use the roots as grips and take it very slow downwards. It's too steep for me to maintain the light as I need both hands and I tell Bewella to go in front and lead the way. Using my clawed hands and feet, I steady myself and find a stable pace. Bewella, not only being able to see in the dark but having some gnomish lineage is barely fazed by the decline that we head down. Every now and then she whispers out things she sees; like a rock that I might trip on or a root hanging low. The smell changes as we go deeper, slowly taking on the traits of an earthy cavern or cave, the smell of rock.

"We're reaching the bottom." Bewella whispers and slows down to let me catch up.

When I place my foot on stable ground I can feel slabs of cold stone mixed with the earth.

"Is it safe to shed some light?" I ask.

"I think so, I can't see anything moving at least."

I carefully allow a small flame to blossom in my palm and block some of the light with my other hand.

"Woah." My companion and I say at the same time.

All around us are paintings on flattened rock walls. Imagery drawn in blues and reds, spread out sporadically where large enough stones stick out of the earthen hall. The room is maybe 50 feet deep and half that from left to right. I give some more energy to the flame and as it lights up even more of these paintings are revealed, as well as two passage onward at the other end. I walk up to the nearest image and it shows a person wielding a mace against a large spiky creature. The paint is old and not made to last. It's hard to make out too many details and small trickles of water from the roots have created small pathways over the rocks where the paints break up.

Another image shows a thin man atop a thin horse, the same person with the mace, or maybe a maul, fighting the thin man. This man appear in most of the imagery I realize, often fighting these spiky and thin creatures. We view the slabs as we walk through the chamber and as we reach the end we find some writing. None of us can read the text but under one of the lines of runes there is an arrow to the left and the other one, pointing to the right, only has a symbol of a skull drawn.

I look down at Bewella, giving her a look that asks her to pick.

"Honestly, the skull at least gives some expectation, whereas the writing could be anything."

"Fair point, skull it is."

We head to the right, entering a corridor with chains hanging across from wall to wall and ceiling to floor. A crisscross and zigzag pattern of small and large chains that cover the tunnel as far as we can see before reaching a bend. The striking oddity with the setup is that it's not hard for us to just go over or under some of these links and keeping going forward. In the back of my mind I can feel an itching question but the excitement of the unknown pushes it away.

About halfway through the chains, their dangling and clinking now echoing far, there is a large and very obvious stone plate on the ground. It's odd how easy it is to see the holes along the walls and ceiling as well. That question in the back of my mind makes itself known, 'Is this to keep something in or out?'. And what was it supposed to stop with all of this, considering we're just walking through it.

Suddenly, just before we reach the end of the chained passage, there is a sound that echoes down from the direction we're heading. The sound of something heavy impacting metal. I usher Bewella to stay behind me and she gets one of her little sachets ready.

The sight that greets us in the next room is one of terror and awe. In this spacious cavern even more chains spread out like a spiders web, taut and in many layers. Kept almost perfectly immobile by this setup is a massive skeleton. The banging sound comes through again and we can now see it's coming from one chain that's come slightly loose compared to the others. The massive rectangular head of the skeletal form moves. Both of us leap back as the head of this dead creature tried to turn in our direction. The banging again. A small arm of the creature suspended in midair is tugging at the loosened chain. There must be upwards of a hundred individual chains holding this creature in place, it's massive clawed feet off the ground and even its tail that stretches a dozen feet behind it is completely locked down. Even with all of this, I am gripped with fear. The immediate fear that this thing might one day break free.

Bewella stands as frozen as me, staring at the undead beast that hangs imprisoned before us. It's massive size, dwarfed by the room and its shackles. If this thing could open its jaw it would be able to swallow both of us whole without any effort. I take a careful step forward and the skeleton immediately tugs at the chain again. Both of us jump form the scare. I take another step forward and steel myself before the next tug at the chain. As I observe its form, the long tail, the massive hind legs and the small forearms. As well as the massive head and the teeth that are as big as swords. An image of a dream comes to me, the sad person stands in a large stone hall with a high ceiling. People are walking around a massive building where dead things stand frozen in place. The memory focuses on a plaque in front of a skeleton just like this one, if smaller even. And I speak the words out loud.

Tyrannosaurus Rex.