The Old City

0.12: The Underground

"I hope you can see in the dark."

The ice box's shaft dropped them into a damp, unlit tunnel forty meters beneath the surface.

The familiar darkness embraced Marcus in a chilling hug. Quiet waves echoed from afar, some unknowable distance down the path. Raspy coughs, the scattering of rats, a metronomic drip of water. His eyes adjusted before long: the passage was cramped and long such that they had to crouch with soft steps for several meters before it opened into the broader Underground.

A vast network of tunnels and caverns spread out before them, extending for kilometers in every direction, sometimes rising closer to the surface and more often sinking into the depths beneath. The only light came from occasional holes to the surface, fires set by its inhabitants, and a handful of gems past explorers had left to light their way. It exuded foreboding. No corner could be safe when anything might lurk behind. It was another world entirely, separate from yet integrated with the city above. Its entrances and exits littered the world above, popping up in the most random of places – some believed these portals moved, changing place with time to protect its secrets...and it certainly had secrets in need of protection. Those who tried exploring seldom came back. Those who did were usually...changed, scarred by things they had seen but could not repeat.

They passed several such downtrodden souls. Their smell gave them away first, but other features grew clearer up close. Most were men, unshaven and with crippled backs, too thin from only feeding upon the occasional rat. A woman lay on her back in the filth, an arm draped over her eyes and tattered blankets covering her legs. She giggled uncontrollably, and the sound reverberated off the walls like an unholy chorus. Seneca led them in the opposite direction.

"How many still live down here?"

"Nobody knows. It's just degenerates and rejects, those who have given up on the world above. Why would anybody bother to count them? They don't matter. Honestly, I would have come here had Angelica not found me."

"I wish I had been there for you. I can see life has been unkind, Seneca. I know it weighs on you, but I imagine it was worse when you first returned to Soran."

"You are here now. Think about it from my perspective: my long dead friend has come back to life. It's a godsdamned miracle. Just try not to die, alright? I don't want to bury you again."

"I'm not goin' anywhere, buddy." Nowhere but the top.

"I didn't expect you to help this much," Marcus observed. "I thought you didn't want to get involved."

"I don't want those idiots to cause any more damage either. Most civilians are smart enough to get out of the way once the fightin' starts, but there are plenty who can't – like those kids we found. If I can help them then I will. That much, at least, I can do."

"Should we worry about anything down here?"

"The gangs expanded down here, but with the battle above, we probably won't find them below."

"Nothing else though?"

Seneca laughed. "You afraid of children's tales, Marcus? Scared of basilisks or rabid fishmen?"

"They used to give me nightmares all the time."

"After all you've been through, I'm surprised something like that would get to you."

"Childhood trauma is something special, ain't it? We were lucky to escape."

"We didn't escape, Marcus. We just moved from one Hell to another. Well, I suppose everybody has their own personal Hell. Mine merely follows me everywhere I go."

"Soran may be a cesspool, but it doesn't seem so bad anymore. I have been here a week and I can see there is still good here. Things worth protectin' – isn't that what you said?"

"I suppose I did."

"How much further?" They had been walking for twenty minutes. The distance above ground could not have been more than two hundred meters, but the path turned and declined constantly. The Underground was unnavigable to most, but Seneca's superior spatial awareness trivialized the irregular geometries it threw their way.

"We're here. Are you ready?"

They had come to another ladder, wooden and rotting.

They heard explosions above, futile screams for a ceasefire, men's last breaths. It was another battlefield, not the periphery, not someplace safe. Seneca's exit had led them to the dead man zone, precisely in the crosshairs of each gang.

Marcus stretched and patted Seneca on the back.

"Let's go."

He expected Seneca to pause, to stop him from entering the fray. Instead, his oldest friend moved his hand to his hip and materialized a sword from the air, humming with power but seemingly very dull. He sighed when he looked at its edge and it disappeared again. In its place, a shield appeared to protect his back on the ascent. He handed Marcus one as well.

It seems Seneca has some secrets of his own.

Marcus climbed first, putting each hand gingerly upon the next rung for fear of the entire structure collapsing but the ladder was sturdier than he had imagined. Just before the surface, there was a small platform where he and Seneca could stand to regain their balance. Seneca fiddled with a lock above and the circular latch swung upward to open.

Again they climbed, faster this time. Marcus spent a moment to pop his head through the hole and survey the scene. It was worse than he had imagined. A monstrous giant rampaged thirty meters away, using the mangled body of some poor bastard as a limp club to swipe at anyone nearby. A dozen or so fighters backed away slowly while trying to build a perimeter around him. One man in the lead with dark skin and sharp eyes, bleeding heavily from his sword arm tried to block the projectiles the monster threw from nearby rubble, but he was at the end of his strength.

As the giant wound up again, this time to throw his makeshift club, Marcus jumped out of the manhole and shimmered between them, Seneca following quickly behind. Marcus grabbed the body and laid it on the ground and Seneca intercepted the blade Marek was about to use to cut it in half.

"Who the Hell are you," hissed the Lord of the Silver Bear.

Seneca ignored him and instead turned to see Marcus walk calmly up to Granada and smile.

"My gods, you're big."

The creature roared and wound back again to punch Marcus, whose hand was now outstretched to his left. As Granada brought his fist down, something whooshed by. In the blink of an eye, Marcus now held a magnificent halberd, seven feet in length with a tuft of red fur where the wooden blade met the glistening silver shaft. With hands on either side of the weapon, Marcus blocked Granada's powerful blow, their collision emitting a massive shockwave.

"You're gonna have to try harder if you want to beat me, giant."