They didn’t wait.

  Misty streaked into the dark, claws scratching stone, her lean shape disappearing into the gloom without hesitation. Del bolted after her, boots thudding against the tunnel floor, the echo of his breath catching in his ears. Behind him, Elara’s footsteps followed—quiet, measured, but urgent.

  The walls seemed to press in tighter as they ran, the air growing close and stale. The last kill was already fading from Del’s mind, its gore-slick finality replaced by the growing certainty that they were running into something worse.

  The warning hadn’t been for effect.

  The vibrations started as a subtle tremble beneath their feet—a murmur in the earth that quickly rose to a steady pulse. Not distant. Not random.

  Rhythmic. Organised.

  Like something alive was marching toward them.

  Del slowed, eyes narrowing. “They’re moving.”

  Elara nodded grimly. “The colony knows.”

  The sound sharpened—scrapes, grunts, low growls in the dark. Something clawing its way toward them, fast and many-legged.

  “Elara, can you block the tunnel behind us?” Del asked, voice low.

  She didn’t hesitate. Her hand lifted, palm to the soil, and a shimmer of mana pulsed through her fingertips. Roots exploded from the tunnel walls—twisting, writhing, binding together in a tangled barricade of bark and vine and splintered earth. The air filled with the sharp scent of sap and churned loam.

  “It won’t hold them for long,” she warned, breath already catching. “But it’ll buy us time.”

  “Time’s all we need,” Del muttered, though even he wasn’t sure he believed it.

  They moved fast, the tunnel twisting suddenly in a sharp curve. The stink hit first—rank and sour, like wet fur and meat left to rot. The air thickened, slick against their skin.

  Misty skidded to a halt, her fur rising in a bristle of tension. Her tail lashed once.

  ‘Room ahead,’ she said, voice clipped. ‘Four, maybe five inside. One’s bigger.’

  Del slowed, motioning for silence, then glanced at Elara. “Ready?”

  She took a slow breath, steadying her grip on the dagger. “Let’s end this quickly.”

  They stepped through.

  The chamber beyond was lower than the others, its ceiling curved in a steep dome, walls slick with condensation. The ground was littered with bones, fur, torn fabric—evidence of old kills. And waiting for them were five skeps.

  Four of the smaller ones circled the edges, moving with the twitchy, twitching energy of starving rats. Their twin heads swivelled in eerie synchrony, sniffing the air, tasting the magic.

  In the centre stood something larger. Broader. Scarred.

  It didn’t lunge—it watched. Growling low, its twin mouths curling back in a snarl that echoed off the walls like two voices speaking over each other.

  Then the chaos began.

  One of the smaller skeps darted forward—fast. Too fast. Elara flicked her wrist, mana flaring. Thorned vines erupted from the soil, snaking across the chamber floor. The creature tripped mid-lunge, limbs tangling in the growth.

  Del was already moving.

  He closed the distance in a heartbeat and drove his dagger straight into the skep’s chest. The blade sank deep—meat and gristle parting with sickening ease. The creature screamed, flailed. Then the venom took hold. Its limbs jerked violently and it collapsed, spasming once, then falling still.

  Another leapt from the left—only to be intercepted mid-air by Misty. She slammed into it with claws extended, tearing a gouge down its side that sprayed dark blood across the floor. Her weight drove it back, snapping jaws missing her throat by inches. She finished it with a quick, brutal bite to the neck—crunching through cartilage and vertebrae with feline precision.

  The largest skep surged forward—straight for her.

  It hit like a bull, its size giving it terrifying momentum. Misty hissed, dodging sideways, but not fast enough—one of the heads clipped her flank, throwing her into the wall with a heavy thud. She snarled, scrambled upright, blood matting her fur.

  Del swore, darting to intercept. “Elara—light!”

  She didn’t need telling twice. Her hands flared with mana and a burst of searing white light flooded the chamber. The skeps recoiled at once, shrieking in pain, their sensitive eyes no match for the sudden brilliance.

  Del charged.

  One of the remaining smaller skeps tried to intercept him, jaws wide. He pivoted low and slashed it across the ribs, then reversed his grip and drove the second dagger deep into its belly. It shrieked—a gargled, wet sound—and fell twitching to the floor.

  The light caught the huge skep full in the face. One head snarled and tried to retreat, but the other kept its eyes locked on Del.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  It lunged.

  Del didn’t have time to think—only react.

  He dodged left, slashed up, his blade tearing into the thick muscle of its shoulder. It bellowed, blood spraying. One head snapped at him wildly. The other swung to track Misty again.

  She was already moving.

  With a feral growl, she launched herself onto the beast’s back, claws tearing into its spine. It reared, bucking wildly, trying to shake her free. Elara ran in low, her dagger flashing silver in the light. She drove the blade up into the creature’s chest—between the ribs, under the sternum.

  It screamed—both mouths in unison.

  Then it dropped.

  The chamber was still.

  Steam rose off the corpses. The air reeked of blood, sweat, and the sharp stink of skep musk. Del’s shoulders rose and fell with every breath, the daggers hanging loose in his grip.

  Misty limped slightly as she padded back toward him, one ear torn, fur dark with blood not entirely her own.

  Elara slumped against the wall, her chest heaving. The glow from her spell faded to a faint shimmer on her fingertips.

  “That... wasn’t subtle,” she said between breaths.

  Del wiped his blade clean on a shredded bit of fur. “Subtle’s overrated.”

  He crouched beside the big skep, brow furrowing. This one was definitely something more than the others.

  ‘Identify.’

  Skep Guard – Beast, male

  Level – 9

  Scavenger

  Strengths: Strong olfaction

  Weaknesses: Light

  Skill: Unknown

  Lore: Skeps are pack animals, often living in large colonies underground or in cave systems. They have poor eyesight and can be easily disorientated by bright lights. They have a very strong sense of smell and use this to hunt out food to scavenge and return to the home nest. The guards typically defend the lair mother and direct the lesser skeps.

  Del stared at the corpse, its twin mouths frozen in an expression of defiant hatred even in death.

  “This wasn’t just a patrol,” he muttered. “They were defending something.”

  ‘It was too noisy,’ Misty confirmed grimly, her voice tighter than before. She was already prowling toward the next tunnel, nose low, tail lashing with agitation. “We’re close now. The scent is stronger—foul and sharp. The lair mother is near.”

  Del nodded at the news. “Misty can smell the central nest chamber. It’s close.”

  Elara pushed herself upright with a wince, brushing blood from her sleeve. Her breathing had steadied, but her face was pale. “Then let’s see what we’re up against.”

  They moved forward, and the tunnel shifted with them—widening slightly, the air changing. A slow, biting chill crept in from ahead. The walls grew slick beneath their fingers, oozing with moisture that smelled of fungus and decay. The ground underfoot softened—less packed earth, more… mulch. A paste of old rot and discarded bones.

  Del gagged, catching the stench of bile and wet fur. “Gods,” he muttered. “It smells like something died down here.”

  “Many somethings,” Elara said, voice low.

  Then—Misty froze.

  ‘Ahead. Movement. Three—maybe more. They’re malformed.’

  Del caught a flicker at the edge of the glow—a twisted shape darting through a side tunnel. Then another. Smaller than the skeps they’d faced before, but wrong. Crooked limbs. Too many joints. One moved on three legs, its fourth dragging uselessly behind. Another had only one head, but its jaw hung open unnaturally wide, stretched and gaping.

  “Great,” Del muttered. “Mutant skeps.”

  “They’re still dangerous,” Elara warned, summoning a pulse of light between her palms. “Maybe more so.”

  The malformed things didn’t wait.

  They swarmed—scrabbling out of crevices and holes in the tunnel walls like insects spilling from a cracked hive. Six of them. Their screeches were shrill, uncoordinated. But fast. Desperate.

  Del lunged, blades flashing. His dagger sank into the chest of the first, but it didn’t fall. It shrieked and clawed at him, frothing at the mouth. Elara pulled it away with a blast of air magic, flinging it hard into the wall where it crumpled with a wet crunch.

  Two more charged her.

  One bit into her shoulder before she drove her dagger upward under its jaw, stabbing again and again until it stopped twitching. The other tangled in her vines—still alive, snapping wildly, until Misty barrelled into it from the side and tore it in half with a savage shake of her head.

  Del dropped another with a slice across both necks. The blood that sprayed out was darker, thicker—almost black.

  The last two circled wide.

  “They’re trying to separate us,” Del growled.

  But Misty was already moving.

  She caught one mid-leap, slammed it down, and crushed its skull with a sickening crunch beneath her paw.

  The final one turned to flee.

  Elara didn’t give it the chance. A lash of vines tore through its spine, pinning it to the far wall. It struggled for but a moment. Then stopped.

  Silence returned. Yet it was louder than a scream.

  Everyone was breathing harder. Misty’s left side was matted with blood, one ear notched and her chest rising in slow, shallow pulses. Elara leaned briefly against the tunnel wall, her posture taut with focus, but the glow around her hands was flickering—unstable.

  Del stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he caught the way she cradled one arm. Her shoulder was bleeding—nothing gushing, but enough to soak the fabric of her sleeve in a wide, spreading bloom.

  He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out one of the few vials they had left. The glass clinked faintly as he uncorked it. “Drink this.”

  Elara shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re bleeding. And slowing.”

  “It’s not worth—”

  “It is,” he interrupted, gently but firm. “We’re about to face something worse. Save stubbornness for when we’re safe.”

  She looked at him for a moment, her jaw working, then sighed. “Fine.” She took the vial, grimacing as she downed the bitter contents.

  The colour in her cheeks returned almost immediately, and the magic at her fingertips steadied. Her next breath came easier.

  “Still want to press on?” Del asked, though he already knew the answer.

  “Absolutely,” she said, voice steadier now—but just as fierce.

  Misty was already at the next tunnel mouth. ‘We’re here,’ she hissed. Her voice had lost all sarcasm. It was pure threat now.

  Del stepped up beside her—and saw it.

  The lair mother’s chamber was vast. The ceiling rose out of sight, swallowed by gloom. The air pulsed with a strange, rhythmic beat—not sound exactly, but pressure. Like a heartbeat in the walls.

  Bones blanketed the floor. Skulls. Ribcages. Scattered like leaves. Some animal. Some not. Threads of old cloth clung to some of the remains. Chunks of fur and meat half-consumed to others.

  And in the centre, looming above the filth, was the lair mother.

  She was immense. More than twice the size of the guards. Her twin heads moved separately—sniffing, scanning, watching. Her sides heaved with breath. Her skin was blackened and patchy, riddled with pale scars. Sharp spines rose from her back like a ridge of broken glass.

  Around her, lesser skeps crawled and twitched and shifted—agitated, nervous.

  Then—one crept too close.

  With terrifying speed, the lair mother struck. One head clamped down, swallowed it whole. Bone cracked between her jaws. The other head spat out the remnants—half-chewed limbs and spine—onto the nest floor with a wet plop.

  Elara’s light dimmed, as if the chamber itself were feeding on it.

  “She’s enormous,” she whispered.

  Del nodded slowly. “We can’t fight her here. Not like this. We’ll be ripped apart.”

  But behind them, the tunnels stirred. More skeps, drawn by blood and noise.

  Retreat was no longer an option.

  ‘We need a plan,’ Misty said, her voice low and flat. ‘Quickly.’

  Del’s mind raced. He looked at the lair mother—both heads sniffing. One turned.

  Her eyes locked on him.

  And the room exploded into chaos.