When the initial abomination bellowed its war cry and lunged menacingly in her direction, Agatha elegantly evaded its path, moving just a touch to the side. In the fleeting instant when her trajectory intersected with that of the beast, she gently brushed its body with her magical staff. This seemingly soft touch instigated rapid incineration, almost instantaneously reducing the creature to ashes.
Before the pallid flames of the beast’s demise could even touch the ground, Agatha skillfully redirected her staff, projecting an intense white line from the residual fire. This line descended upon the path ahead, expanding with a terrifying speed like a voracious wildfire, consuming the grotesque monsters in its path.
Agatha deliberately minimized grand bodily movements, conserving her physical energy and reducing the strain on her body. She also made an effort to prevent direct physical contact with the beasts, aiming to decrease the psychological exhaustion such engagements could cause. The number of beasts that were yet to come was an unknown variable, making energy preservation paramount.
Fear of death was a sentiment she did not share. She was well aware that even when her physical form ceased to exist, her spirit could continue to combat the enemy until her remains were naught but ashes. These ashes would drift throughout this damned land, perpetually purifying the repulsive creatures inhabiting it. She harbored no fear towards these eventualities; however, before she could embrace the sweet release of death, she had a mission to fulfill: uncovering the truth hidden within this chaos and preventing the heretics’ actions as much as she could.
As she journeyed onward, the frequency of attacks increased and the deformed beasts became notably agitated. This subtly reinforced her belief that she was headed in the correct direction—towards the heart of the heretics’ den.
More of the black, viscous substance began to ooze out from the surrounding walls and the imposing vaulted ceiling. Each crack, each crevice, provided an ideal breeding ground for these monstrous replicas. The environment had seemingly bred cunning into these creatures, making their behavior increasingly deceptive.
A sinister hissing noise resonated from behind her. A surge of caution swept through Agatha’s consciousness. Fatigue had started to cripple her reflexes, and she could only manage to barely twist her body in time to deflect the incoming attack with her staff. She felt a sharp pain in her shoulder, and amidst the shower of sparks from the center of her staff, a figure clad in black and wielding a similar staff was sent sprawling.
This figure hit the ground, then awkwardly rose, moving with the repulsive grace of a soft-bodied creature. As it lifted its head beneath its black hat, a face that was slowly morphing and shifting was revealed. Amid the horror of this fluid countenance, some recognizable features began to form.
The face abruptly ceased its movements, solidifying into a distinctive young man’s visage. He raised his eyes to meet Agatha’s, his expression one of confusion. “Captain? Why are you here?” he inquired.
The grip of Agatha’s hand on her staff intensified until her knuckles turned an almost ghostly white, her penetrating gaze seemingly frozen in the horror of the moment.
Simultaneously, an eerie voice began to resonate around her. The voice appeared to emanate from all directions, as if the labyrinthine sewer was the source.
“Ah, you recognize him,” the voice cooed, reverberating off the wet walls. “When you were not yet a gatekeeper, your loyal deputy captain shielded your escape from the abysmal darkness… You abandoned him there… Why not take him back? How does that sound?”
Agatha chose not to respond verbally. Her silence was her answer. She advanced stoically, taking three deliberate steps before morphing into a swirling gust of ashen wind. Her ephemeral form halted abruptly, solidifying before the young “guardian”. When she materialized again, her staff’s metallic shaft was embedded deeply within the chest of the black-garbed pretender.
Disbelief washed over the young guardian’s face as he struggled to comprehend the lethal strike delivered by his once-trusted “captain”. Then a flicker of understanding passed through his eyes as if he’d finally accepted the inevitable. With his strength waning, he whispered, “So… it’s already over…”
“I’m sorry, it’ll be over soon,” Agatha murmured apologetically.
A soft chuckle emanated from the dying guardian as his head dipped, “Captain, you’ve finally mastered the power of the Grey Wind…”
“Yes, it took a lot of practice,” Agatha replied softly, her voice barely audible over the crescendo of pale flames flickering in her line of sight. The “guardian’s” body was consumed by the fire, quickly disintegrating into a heap of dark ashes.
“Decisive, ruthless… qualities befitting a disciple of the God of Death.” The revolting voice echoed once more.
As Agatha pivoted, she was greeted by a new wave of monstrous aberrations taking form. Imitations surged towards her from every direction. The puppeteer of the voice evidently had little regard for honor, commanding his minions to attack while simultaneously trying to manipulate her emotionally.
The sound of exploding flames, the clashing of her staff against the monstrous bodies, and the whistle of the wind slicing through the confined space filled the underground corridor. As Agatha battled the onslaught of beasts, she called out defiantly, “These tricks serve only to stoke my fury, not to delay my progress. If anything, my anger will expedite my pursuit of your hideout. What do you stand to gain from this?”
“…Indeed, you are angry, and you seem more ferocious than before, but that’s alright. A bit of emotional turmoil is necessary, Miss Gatekeeper.”
A sense of unease stirred within Agatha’s heart as the voice faded into an ominous echo. “What did he mean by a bit of emotional upheaval is necessary?”
But there was no one to respond to her questions. The master of the voice had a single objective: to exploit his minions to sap her strength and slow her pursuit. Now he had vanished, leaving behind another wave of monsters seeping menacingly from the dank walls.
Agatha’s gaze took on a resolute edge as she braced herself for the impending clash against her monstrous adversaries.
…
“Our warrior is embroiled in a skirmish with the enemy!”
An incandescent beam of green light suddenly pierced through the oppressive gloom of the Second Waterway. The fiery silhouette of a dove, named Ai, emerged from the blazing tongues of fire, making a graceful landing on Duncan’s shoulder. With a flurry of wing beats, she began to squawk in a shrill, urgent tone.
The unexpected arrival of the avian messenger, coupled with her piercing cries, took Duncan by surprise. His startled reaction almost resulted in a head-on collision with Alice.
Having been meticulously combing the dry, sprawling underground corridor for half a day, Duncan widened his eyes in surprise and turned towards the flaming dove perched on his shoulder, “What’s got you all flustered?”
Ai cocked her head to the side, her small eyes boring into Duncan’s as she nodded emphatically, “Our scout is under attack! Our scout is under attack! The battle is not tilting in our favor… Our warrior is in combat with the enemy!”
Clutching her head, Alice said, “Captain, do you think Ai is having a case of indigestion?”
In response, Ai swiveled her head to shoot a reproachful look at the doll, pecking her head twice and emitting a “dong dong” sound. Then, she resumed her squawking, “Does it make sense, does it make sense, does it make sense…”
Alice let out a startled yelp, cradling her head in her hands as she scurried away from the relentless onslaught of the dove.
Choosing to ignore the surrounding chaos, Duncan adopted a grave expression after processing Ai’s incessant cries. He turned towards a particular direction, his gaze piercing the distance.
“You two, quiet down,” he commanded after a few moments of silence, directing a serious glance towards another entrance to the corridor, “I believe Ai might be onto something.”
Alice immediately fell silent, turning her gaze to match Duncan’s.
“It’s the marker I left… it must be Gatekeeper Agatha,” Duncan’s voice echoed through the underground chamber as he began to move forward, “She’s in the vicinity.”
Alice followed his gaze, and her eyes suddenly widened in recognition.
“Oh, there’s a line!”
Miss Doll let out an excited exclamation and quickly darted past Duncan, moving at a speed that made her seem like a blur. Reminiscent of a child trying to catch a runaway balloon, she bolted towards a nearby intersection, jumping up to seize something seemingly invisible.
All Duncan could see was Alice running ahead and then starting to leap in the air, reaching for something unseen. Then, he noticed her hand closing around something that had materialized out of thin air.
He swiftly approached the spot, and Alice turned around to face him, her face beaming with a triumphant smile.
“I caught it…”
Miss Doll’s radiant smile endured only for a fleeting moment. In the next instant, the ethereal line held delicately in her hands started to fracture and break apart, evaporating into the surrounding air as though subjected to a rapid process of decay.
“Ah!” Alice cried out, “The line broke!”
However, before she could even finish her exclamation, a towering figure swiftly approached from one side. Duncan extended his hand towards the disintegrating “line”—a fragment on the brink of complete dissipation dropped into his palm.
Suddenly, a dim, green flame infused the fading line with a ghostly glow.
Slowly turning his head, Duncan met Alice’s eyes. Mirrored in Alice’s wide-open eyes was the mesmerizing spectacle of a faint, green flame flickering with an eerie dance.
“I’ve got it,” Duncan murmured in a gentle tone.
…
One grotesque creature was reduced to ashes in the cool glow of the ghostly flames, while another succumbed to a staff-induced blow that shattered its skull, causing it to collapse into a formless heap of mud. Agatha twisted her form in a fluid motion, her battle staff whirling through the air and arcing towards the last remaining enemy standing at the crossroads.
However, her motion abruptly halted.
Driven purely by instinct, without a second to ponder, an overwhelming wave of fear and shock consumed her completely. She could even feel her muscles and bones screaming in protest, forcing her staff to stop just millimeters shy of the head of the last “counterfeit” that had freshly emerged from the mire.
Her eyes widened in anticipation as she observed the humanoid figure, molded from shifting mud, slowly raise its head. A pair of eyes slowly took form where the skull should be, and dim green flames sparked to life across its form. A deep voice reverberated from the dancing flames.
“Agatha, do you require assistance?”
