Fear rippled through the group like a physical force. Heads turned back, eyes wide, the whites stark in the dim light.
"How far to the exit?" Sharav asked.
"Another half a mile, more or less," Ayan replied. "But we need to move faster."
A deep shudder rolled through the earth, sending stones clattering from the ceiling. Dust sifted down, coating hair and shoulders in a gray-green film.
"It's breaking through the tunnels," someone whispered, horror etched in their voice. "There's no way it fits… is there?"
"It doesn't fit," Ayan replied grimly. "It's tearing its way through."
The disciples surged forward. Behind them, stones cracked and earth shifted as the massive body of Verdant Maw forced its way through spaces never meant to accommodate its bulk.
"Keep it together!" Sharav's voice cut through the frenzy. "We can make it if we don't lose our heads."
Ayan pushed forward, driven by pure will. Desperation lent strength to his legs. The roars grew louder, reverberating through the tunnels like thunder.
Behind him came ragged breaths and terrified cries. The Maw was closing in—fast, furious, and unstoppable. The sound was horrific, like trees being uprooted and shattered against each other.
A bone-rattling roar cracked through the tunnels, so loud it forced them to cover their ears. A shrill ringing seized Ayan's ears, cutting through even the roar.
"Run!" Sharav shouted, abandoning all pretense of command.
They ran—crashing into walls, tripping over unseen roots, slipping on loose stone. Chaos swallowed the tunnel.
A disciple fell with a cry as his ankle twisted beneath him. Without hesitation, Sharav turned and hoisted him up, supporting him on his shoulder.
"I've got you," Sharav said. "Just keep moving."
Ahead, another figure stumbled—Rudrak, pale and shaking, his legs giving way beneath him. Ayan remembered the deep gash across his thigh during the battle with the Maw.
Ayan grabbed him and slung Rudrak's arm around his shoulders. "Lean on me. We're almost there."
Rudrak nodded, face pale with pain. "Thank you," he gasped, limping with each agonizing step.
The tunnel widened. They could move faster now, but so could the Maw. The tremors behind them grew stronger. The earth groaned.
Exhaustion pressed against Ayan's limbs like physical weights. Beside him, Rudrak wheezed painfully, dragging his injured leg.
"There!" a voice shouted from the front. "I see light ahead!"
And there it was—a glimmer ahead, a faint whisper of the world beyond this nightmare. The exit lay far ahead, just a pinprick of light at the end of the winding corridor.
The effect on the group was immediate and electric. Renewed energy surged through exhausted limbs. Those still uninjured pulled ahead, risking everything in the mad rush towards safety.
"We're going to make it," Rudrak whispered, his grip tightening on Ayan's shoulder.
Ayan nodded, though his own strength was flagging. Supporting Rudrak's weight had slowed him considerably, and the others were leaving them behind, the gap widening with each step.
"Just a little farther," he panted. "We can rest when we're out."
But Rudrak stumbled again, sagging against the tunnel wall. "Wait… just a moment."
Ayan stayed beside him, every instinct screaming to keep moving. The exit glimmered in the distance, yet it appeared hopelessly far. Behind them, the pursuit had grown alarmingly close. Time was bleeding away.
"We can't stop," he urged. "It's too close."
Rudrak gritted his teeth and pushed forward, every step a fresh insult to his wounds. "I can move."
As they prepared to continue, movement caught Ayan's eye. A figure had detached from the retreating group and was returning toward them. For a brief, hopeful moment, Ayan thought someone had come back to help—perhaps Sharav, noting their absence.
But it was Kanshul.
The senior disciple strode toward them—measured, unhurried. His face, unreadable in the gloom, held no urgency. Only intent. His gaze flicked between Ayan and Rudrak, then to the trembling tunnel behind them.
"Kanshul," Rudrak greeted him with relief. "Did you come back to help?"
The corner of Kanshul's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but something colder. "In a manner of speaking."
A deafening crash sounded behind them; close now, much closer. The Maw was gaining ground rapidly.
"We need to move," Ayan said, stepping forward, tension coiling in his gut. Something in Kanshul's posture triggered warnings in his mind.
"Yes," Kanshul said, his voice smooth as glass. "We certainly do."
He stepped forward as if to assist, but instead of offering support, his hands shot out in a sudden, violent movement. The impact hit Ayan square in the chest and sent him staggering backward.
His feet, unsteady on the slick stone, slipped completely. The world tilted, then spun as he crashed to the ground, the impact knocking the air from his lungs in a painful whoosh. Pain lanced through his shoulder and hips.
For a moment, Ayan could only lie there, stunned and gasping, trying to make sense of what happened. Above him, Kanshul's face appeared, features arranged in a mask of cold satisfaction.
"Told you I'd get you back, Hauler," he said, voice barely audible over the rumbling behind them.
Ayan tried to push himself upright, but Kanshul was on him again. A foot slammed down on Ayan's chest, grinding him back to the dirt. The pain was immediate and crushing.
"Kanshul, no!" Rudrak shouted, horror mingling with disbelief.
But Kanshul ignored him. He shifted his weight and grabbed Ayan's leg, pinning it under his knee. The world slowed as Ayan realized what was coming—every muscle in his body tensed in terror and desperation.
Kanshul's hand clamped like a vice around Ayan's ankle.
"No!" Ayan screamed. "Don't!"
The grip tightened, pulling with relentless force. Then he wrenched his leg with a brutal twist. Agony exploded through Ayan, blinding and absolute, as the bone snapped with a sickening pop. He choked back a scream, fearing the tearing deep within as pain radiated all the way to his spine.
The world blurred at the edges, wavering like a heat mirage. He clawed at the ground, desperate and instinctual.
Rudrak lunged towards Kanshul, his movement slow and staggered by his own injury. "Stop!" he cried. "Why are you—"
"You'll slow it down for us," Kanshul said, releasing his hold on Ayan and turning away.
Then he seized Rudrak by the collar, yanking him off balance and dragging him away despite the boy's protests.
"Kanshul! We can't leave him!" Rudrak shouted.
"Then go back for him. I'm not dying here."
Their voices faded, leaving Ayan alone.
Ayan lay there, vision swimming and leg a mangled wreck. The Maw roared, loud enough to split worlds. Its shadow loomed monstrously, a creeping darkness consuming the tunnel behind him. Rudrak's cries faded as Kanshul hauled him away.
The pain was immense, consuming. Every attempt to move sent fresh shocks through him, paralyzing in their intensity.
He had to get up. He had to move, or he'd be…
"No," he whispered to himself through gritted teeth. "No."
His vision blurred, the world a tunnel of black, blood, and collapsing stone. Somewhere deep inside him, he searched for the spark—the one he'd felt before.
The pulse of power. The strange wordless light that had once stopped Kanshul in his tracks.
Sphurna.
He gasped the word like a prayer. Clutched at it with everything he had.
Nothing.
No warmth. No rising tide of strength.
Only pain. Only dirt. Nothing but the Maw's relentless advance.
He clenched his fists. Screamed into the dust-choked dark. "Why won't you come?"
But the only answer was the sickening sound of the Maw tearing through stone.
With sheer force of will, Ayan rolled onto his side. He clawed forward, inch by inch, toward a narrow crevice that snaked off the main tunnel—a chance at refuge.
The exit was impossibly far now.
And yet… if he could just keep moving…
"Kanshul!" Rudrak's voice rang again, farther this time, raw with helplessness.
A sudden crash—louder than anything before—split the air as the Maw smashed through another chamber wall. Massive shards of stone flew past Ayan's head, showering him with debris.
It was there.
Its massive body thrashed, terrible and unstoppable, as it forced itself through the collapsing tunnel. Tendrils writhed ahead of it, searching. Its inner maw opened wide, revealing concentric rows of serrated teeth that glistened with an otherworldly green.
Ayan bit down a scream. His hands tore against stone, scraping skin raw. He had to move. Had to.
Another impact sent him sprawling forward. He hit the ground hard, cheek pressed against the dirt as a shockwave of pain threatened to overwhelm him.
He lifted his head, and his vision swam.
"No," he whispered again, drawing strength from places deep and desperate within himself. He didn't know how long he could keep this up.
Tanvi needed him alive; needed him to fight, and come with the medicine he promised.
The creature reared up—a mountain rising on legs of sinew and power—crashed down with a sound so vast it eclipsed thought.
The world turned to blackness and noise—until even sound ceased.
Then silence claimed the tunnel. Dust hung thick in the air, suspended like ash after a fire. Where Ayan had crawled, only broken stone remained. No breath. No body. Not even a shadow.
Just the faint, fading pulse of something ancient retreating into the earth.
A breathless hush lingered. Not peace, but pause—as if the dungeon itself were listening.
And somewhere beneath, something old stirred… waiting.