Ayan shouted, but no one turned. Not even a flicker of recognition. It was as if he didn't exist.
He cursed under his breath and clenched his jaw. They are in complete shock.
The disciples stood like lifeless husks, eyes fixed on the grotesque creature looming before them. They had thrown everything they had at the Verdant Maw—their spells, Prana, pride—it had all vanished like breath into fog.
Except the cost.
Nearly half the disciples lay dead. The Maw had torn through them, leaving scattered corpses and blood-slicked ground. Three clung barely to life, grievously wounded and whimpering in pain.
Surprisingly, Jagbir was still alive. Nestled within the litter, he crawled out, clutching his head. Bruised but conscious, better off than the others.
The rest stood with slumped shoulders and faces drained of color and hope. Their depleted Prana reserves left them as vulnerable as newborns in this den of death. Their eyes searched for exits, not enemies. They weren't fighters anymore. They were prey.
Ayan knew that taste—metallic, bitter, clinging to the back of his throat. The kind that came when death pressed so close you could hear your heartbeat in your ears and nothing else.
Kanshul stood at the forefront, his robes torn and stained with blood—some his, most of it belonging to others. The lightning that had crackled around his fists minutes ago was gone, leaving his hands empty and shaking. He looked around wildly, as if searching for someone to blame.
Beside him, Sharav remained silent, his dark eyes fixed on the regenerating monstrosity. Unlike Kanshul's explosive rage, Sharav's shock manifested in stillness. His jaw twitched, but he didn't speak. He held his fear tightly inside.
The surviving disciples huddled together, their whispers filling the cavern with despair.
"We're going to die here."
"It devoured Mahip… like she was nothing."
"We should have never come this deep."
Ayan's own body screamed in exhaustion. His lungs burned from the air filled with spores, and his legs threatened to buckle under his weight. He grit his teeth and forced himself forward, stepping past the quivering disciples.
"Listen…" he tried again; his voice, forceful and urgent, cut through the murmur. "We can still escape this."
They looked at him as if he were a figment of their own imagination. But the word 'escape' had a power of its own. It pulled them from their daze, just enough.
"It used [Cursed Eye Bloom]," he said, his voice steady despite the fear churning his gut. "The Maw sacrificed its third eye to regenerate itself, but at a cost. Its lifespan is now reduced to a decade."
He paused, letting the weight of that settle.
"More importantly, after using it, the Maw can't move for five minutes. Not while its internal organs are being restructured and repaired."
Doubt flickered in their eyes. Some leaned forward. Others flinched back.
"How the hell would you know that?" a disciple snapped, blood welling from a deep cut above his eye.
Ayan didn't flinch.
"I read it. In the Archives. The Maw is an ancient species, classified under Abyssal Flora. I memorized everything I could from the Bestiary of Abyssal Lifeforms."
He didn't mention the nights spent crouched in the cold corners of the Archives, thumbing through moldy parchment by borrowed candlelight. Or that the scrolls had been his only shield—against fists, fate, and the insidious curse slowly consuming Tanvi.
Let them guess and doubt. But he knew. Because he had to.
"Only four minutes left," he continued, pointing outward from the entrance of the lair. "There's an escape route: a tunnel. It's narrow, hidden. Too small for the Maw. It loops around closer to the cavern's entrance. If we move now—"
"Now the servant gives orders?" Kanshul's laughter cut through him—raw, bitter. "Maybe you want to become a disciple, too?"
"And maybe we should let him." A female disciple stepped forward, wincing as she adjusted the bloodied arm pressed to her side. "I don't see you offering a better plan. Half of us are dead because we ignored him before."
Another disciple, his face gray with shock, nodded. "Earlier, the Bagboy knew about the trap. I'm listening this time."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the disciples. Fear peeled back layers of pride. Beneath it all, the instinct to survive remained.
Sharav snapped out of his trance. "You've been through these tunnels before?"
Ayan nodded. "Yeah… I used them a few times when fights got bad." He didn't mention that most of these fights weren't with monsters. Or that the walls had once muffled his cries just as well they did now.
Sharav considered his words, glancing back at the Maw. Its massive body remained frozen in place, while its roots scrawled and inched across the surface. There wasn't much time left.
"How narrow are these tunnels?" Sharav asked hesitantly.
"Tight in places. We'll need to crawl through some sections. But it's safe, and it'll get us out."
Sharav nodded slowly, a decision forming in his eyes. "We've lost too many already. If there's a path that leads back, we'll take it."
"What about the core?" Kanshul's face flushed with renewed anger. He jabbed a finger towards the Blightfang Ravager's corpse. "It's still there."
"You're still after that… trophy?" Sharav asked, incredulous. "After all that happened?"
"It's not just a trophy," Kanshul snarled. "It's a great advancement treasure. We earned it. We're not leaving without it."
"You won't make it. The Maw will move soon. We must enter the tunnel beforehand," Ayan said.
Kanshul rounded on him, teeth bared. "Nobody asked you, servant. This isn't your decision to make."
"Enough." Sharav stepped between them, his patience fraying visibly. "Stay and die with the core if you want. The rest of us are leaving."
Silence fell over the group.
The air turned brittle. Kanshul's fists clenched, his gaze darting between Sharav, Ayan, and the Ravager's chest where the core lay. His eyes burned.
"Fine." He gave in, words thick with barely contained fury. "Lead the way… Bagboy."
Ayan noted Kanshul's vengeful glare, but there was no time to worry about it now. The Verdant Maw's regeneration was nearly complete, its form beginning to twitch as mobility returned to its limbs.
He felt his heart pound—not in fear, but with something new. Responsibility. They were following him now. And if he made a mistake, they'd die for it.
"This way," Ayan directed, hurrying them from the lair to the hidden fissure. "Stay close and move quickly."
They passed the Maw's dormant frame, its petals twitching as its body slowly knitted together inside. Time was running out.
He located the familiar pile of moss-covered rocks he'd left, and he easily moved the hastily assembled barrier of broken branches, twigs, and leaves masking the tunnel mouth.
"In here. Stay low and move fast."
He slipped inside first. As he squeezed into the narrow tunnel, the walls pressed in immediately; narrow, damp, slick with moss. He felt the weight of their lives pressing down on him. For once, the Bagboy wasn't following—he was leading them.
Behind him, Kanshul entered, closely followed by Sharav and the other disciples. He focused on the tunnel ahead and the precious seconds ticking away before the Maw would pursue them.
The tunnel swallowed them one by one, the opening barely wide enough for a person's shoulders. For Ayan, the passages were like old friends, and his movements were fluid. Behind him, the disciples followed, their breaths ragged as the walls closed around them with each turn, forcing the taller disciples to double down, and even crawl on their bellies and arms.
A carpet of fungi sprouted from the rocks, their sickly green glow illuminating the path in an unsettling way. Some sections were so narrow they had to inch through sideways, scraping flesh against rough surfaces, and muffled curses echoed as knees and elbows met stone.
"Keep moving," Ayan said, his voice sounding distorted in the confined space. "There's a wider section ahead."
"Ahhh…" a disciple screamed, terror and panic in her voice. "Something's on me."
Everyone froze in an instant. Ayan twisted around, heart in his throat. But it was just a salamander, pale as death and nearly translucent. It scurried down the screaming disciple's legs and disappeared into a crevice in the wall.
"What's that?" the disciple whispered, flinching as another one darted past her foot.
"Cave salamanders," Ayan replied. "They look scary, but they are blind and practically harmless."
They pressed on.
Soon, they emerged onto a slightly wider path, though still too low to stand upright. The air was thick with moisture; they could smell the deep, musky scent of damp earth and decaying vegetation.
From here, the way was more treacherous. Loose stone and cloying moss made the ground slick, catching at their feet, sending several sprawling on the ground. Tangled roots clawed the path overhead, dragging through hair and flesh. The passages forced them to crouch, crawl, trip.
A sudden puff of spores erupted from a fungal growth as Kanshul bumped against it, filling the air with minuscule particles in a haze of gold and green. Coughs and sputters erupted behind Ayan.
Kanshul made a disgusted sound. "Bagboy, how much farther until we're out of this filth?"
"There's a junction about two hundred feet ahead. Beyond that point, the passage is wide enough to stand. Then it's a relatively straight path to the exit."
The passage curved, where three tunnels branched off from a central point, and Ayan took the rightmost passage without hesitation. Slowly, the ceilings rose until they could stand bent over, then fully upright.
Relief washed over them as everyone stretched, easing their cramped muscles and stiff shoulders.
Ayan exhaled. They're going to make it.
Then—a tremor.
It was subtle, a faint vibration through the uneven surface beneath their feet. Followed by the sound, distant at first. And it drew rapidly closer.
And then, a monstrous roar. Bone-deep. A sound like stone mountains grinding together.
Ayan's heart clenched.
"It's moving," he whispered.
No one needed to explain.
The Maw had awakened.