It was narrow at first. Tight walls, damp stone, the usual signs of something long-forgotten. Nothing impressive. Nothing threatening. Just dark and quiet.
Then it opened.
Not gradually. Not like a tunnel widening into a chamber. It just was—suddenly massive.
The cave opened into something huge. Still a cavern, but wide enough to fit a legion. The ceiling rose high, dark, but surprisingly smooth. The air shifted, thicker than outside. Not crushing. Just present. Like it noticed us.
Jackal scanned the space, eyes flicking from edge to ceiling.
"Well, that's new."
"Yeah."
We kept walking.
The walls weren't just stone anymore. Symbols had been carved deep into them. Some were old and worn. Others looked fresh, like they'd been etched just a few weeks ago. Most were unfamiliar. A few resembled stylized suns. Others looked like moons with trailing lines, captured mid-phase. They had a celestial feel to them.
"Decoration or warning?" Jackal asked, brushing his fingers over one of the carvings.
"Could be both."
The deeper we went, the less the cave felt natural.
Edges sharpened. The floor leveled out. We passed archways, angled and deliberate, and doorways with no doors. Stone merged with shaped metal, faded and rusted but unmistakably forged.
Not ruins. Not quite. But definitely made.
"Someone built this," Jackal muttered.
"Yeah. Looks kinda man-made."
We didn't slow down.
Whatever this place was, it hadn't been meant to be found easily.
Whoever made it put real effort into hiding it.
But we were here now.
And the deeper we moved, the more it started to resemble a tunnel.
Not just a path, but a procession.
Grandiose. Broad. Almost ceremonial. Like something made for delegations to pass through. For important people. Important things.
As the tunnel continued, the paths began to split. At first, it seemed like a few. Then it was hundreds of tunnels spreading out.
We chose one, not for any particular reason. After walking for a bit, there seemed to be something far away.
Then we saw him.
Standing still at the edge of the corridor, almost blending into the stone and root-wrapped wall, was a figure.
Tall, muscled, and masked.
The mask it was wearing was wooden. Spiraling lines. Shaped almost like a tapir's face, long and narrow, with curved tusks carved down each side. The body had bark-like armor that did not seem strapped. It had grown into place, into it. It shifted with its breath. It was part of it, not how armor should usually be.
He held a long obsidian spear, its shaft banded with what looked like dried vine.
Jackal stopped beside me, tilted his head.
"Didn't sense him at all."
"Neither did I."
The warrior stepped forward, slow and deliberate. He didn't speak. Just pointed the tip of his spear at us, silent as the stone around him.
I tightened my grip on my blade. "You want to handle it?"
Jackal grinned. "Let's both play."
The warrior moved first.
It did not make a sound. If we could not see, we would never know he was making a move.
His obsidian spear blurred as he hurled it forward. It cut through the air like a bolt, humming with pressure, the mana laced through it vibrating against my skin.
I stepped aside. Barely.
The spear passed me by, smashing into the stone wall behind with enough force to crack it.
But it didn't stay there.
It stopped.
Hung in the air, quivering.
Then returned.
The weapon snapped back into his outstretched hand like it was tethered to his will. Not telegraphed. Not delayed. Just instant.
Jackal laughed, low and impressed. "Neat trick."
He vanished forward, blade already flashing toward the warrior's side. But mid-motion, he slowed. Not because he wanted to, but because something held him.
Not a wall. Not wind.
Pressure.
Like an invisible palm pressed to his chest. It didn't stop him. Just disrupted his rhythm.
The warrior turned slightly, barely moving his feet. Jackal's blade scraped bark armor but didn't bite.
I moved in behind.
My blade swept low, Hellflame trailing.
He blocked. Spear to sword. The obsidian didn't melt. Didn't even shimmer under the heat.
I narrowed my eyes.
No reaction. No damage. The flame licked against the shaft and slid off like water against oiled glass.
He countered with a flick of the spear, aiming for my shoulder. I parried, stepped in, and swung again, upward this time.
He caught it mid-motion with the butt of his spear, spinning it to redirect my momentum.
I landed, reset, and came again.
We traded five blows in rapid succession. He moved efficiently, like someone who had drilled each step a thousand times, while I moved by instinct, adapting, adjusting, learning as I fought.
I hadn't trained with a blade before this.
Not properly.
But after enough battles, it stopped mattering.
When you fought a lot of times, combat was second nature to you.
No, scratch that. First nature.
And I had. Billions, at that.
"Your style's ugly," Jackal muttered from the side, watching now, casually wiping blood from his cheek.
I didn't answer. I was already moving again.
I feinted left and stepped hard to the right, bringing my blade down with a sudden twist of the wrist. Hellflame pulsed brighter as I pushed Crown into the strike.
The warrior shifted back.
Not hurried. Just enough.
He swept the shaft up again to intercept.
But this time, I adjusted.
At the last second, I kicked forward, my boot catching his leg just beneath the knee.
He stumbled. Not much. But enough.
My blade clipped his shoulder, burning across the bark-armor and leaving a long, seared scar that hissed with steam.
He didn't cry out. Didn't flinch.
Just rolled his shoulder back, readjusted his stance, and came at me faster.
His movements sharpened.
Two quick thrusts. One sweep across the chest. Another aimed for my thigh.
I parried each, but the third clipped my side. A clean graze, nothing serious, but the precision told me something.
He wasn't testing us anymore.
Jackal whistled. "He's good. Not great. But good."
"He's holding back," I muttered, keeping my stance low.
"Yeah," Jackal said. "And so are you."