They had been walking for days.

  The sewers were twisted veins, endless and unyielding, stretching further than they could track, winding through darkness and decay. But for all the horror stories, for all the rumors of death traps and eldritch nightmares lurking below Lost Angeles, they had only encountered a handful of enemies since Pinocchio.

  And those? Weak. Too weak.

  Which was... odd.

  Raze had brought it up first. “This place is too damn quiet.”

  Sylva, ever skeptical, had agreed. “Almost feels like we’ve been walking through ghost stories.”

  Even Miri, normally so cheerful in the face of horror, seemed almost bored.

  “Maybe all the real monsters left, darlings. Maybe we’re the scariest things in here now.”

  Ciel wasn’t sure if that was comforting or unsettling.

  But now, as they moved forward, the tunnel widened, the narrow corridors giving way to something bigger.

  A large opening ahead.

  They stopped at the edge, looking out into a massive chamber.

  The room was huge, a cavernous, man-made space that must have once served a purpose—long before the world fell apart. Flooded levels, half-submerged structures, rusted pipes stretching from the walls.

  They stood on a ledge, high above the ground, looking down.

  And below?

  Water.

  Still, unmoving.

  Thick with layers of grime, rust, and mold, the surface blackened with age, untouched by time.

  A single, fire-escape-style staircase twisted downward into the abyss, metal steps rusted but still intact.

  A way down.

  Or a way into something worse.

  Ciel exhaled sharply, rubbing at her temple. “Well, that looks welcoming.”

  Veyra scoffed, peering down, rifle resting against her shoulder. “Yeah. Can’t wait to go swimming in that. Real appealing.”

  They weren’t wrong to hesitate.

  Yesterday, they had killed something grotesque, something that had grown from the walls, a heart of flesh and bone, twisted like a blooming flower.

  It had been connected to something bigger, pulsing, alive even as they tore it apart.

  Gorrug had taken a bad hit, forced to save Skrimp from the beast’s gnashing, razor-lined mouth.

  Even now, he limped slightly, one of his thick arms still wrapped in makeshift bandages.

  But he stood firm.

  And now? They had a choice.

  Go down. Or turn back.

  Ciel crossed her arms, staring at the water below, the unmoving, stagnant filth.

  Sylva, standing beside her, exhaled quietly.

  “If we turn back, we waste days. But if we go down...”

  She didn’t finish.

  Because they all knew.

  If they went down, there was no telling what waited beneath.

  Raze made the call.

  Reluctantly, with a tired exhale and the flick of his half-burnt cigar into the filth below, he muttered, “We go down.” No one argued. They just stood there a moment longer, staring down into the stagnant, unmoving water. The silence was thick, heavy, suffocating, there was something deeply wrong about the way the surface didn’t even ripple, as if it were waiting for them to disturb it.

  The only way down was the fire-escape-style staircase, rusted to hell and back, clinging to the decayed wall like a relic of the past. The metal groaned as Gorrug stepped forward, his massive frame making the thing shudder under his weight. They had agreed he’d go first, if it held him, it would hold all of them. But if it broke… well. They’d follow him down one way or another.

  Gorrug placed one foot on the first step. A deep creak, echoing through the open chamber. The sound was sharp, jarring, making the back of Ciel’s neck prickle with unease. Another step. The structure shifted slightly, but held. Another step. Then another. The entire team held their breath as he made his way downward, his grip firm on the rusted railing, his expression unreadable as he carefully balanced his weight. By the time he reached the halfway point, Ciel could see the fine layer of rust flakes drifting from the bolts, crumbling under decades of decay.

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  Finally, his boots hit the water. A wet slosh, followed by a faint ripple. He turned back, giving a small nod. “It holds.”

  One by one, they followed. Ciel went next, her every step met with another loud whine of protest from the rusting metal. Her fingers gripped the railing, the chill of oxidation rough beneath her fingertips, flakes of rust clinging to her hands. By the time she reached the last step, the smell hit her in full force.

  It was unbearable. Rot, mold, rust, and something worse. It burned in the back of her throat, her stomach twisting as bile wanted to crawl out of throat. She sucked in a sharp breath, forcing herself to swallow it down, but her eyes were already watering.

  The water was frigid, biting through her clothing instantly, soaking through her shorts, her belt, her gear. It reached her waist, thick and unmoving, coating her in grime the moment she stepped in. The weight of it was unnatural, dense, as if it didn’t want them to move through it. She could feel things brushing against her legs beneath the surface, things that shouldn’t be there.

  Sylva came next, her breath sharp as she touched the water, muttering something under her breath in her native tongue. Then Raze, Veyra, and finally, Miri, who was grinning despite looking absolutely miserable.

  They began to move, slow and careful, their bodies half-submerged in the filth. Their goal was the door at the far end of the room, barely visible through the thick shadows, its frame warped with time. They moved quietly, as if instinctually knowing that noise would be the worst thing they could make.

  Ciel could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, her breath slow and careful, hyper-aware of every shift in the water, every ripple, every unseen thing that brushed against her legs.

  Then she heard it.

  A sound.

  It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

  Something moving.

  Not them.

  Something else.

  It wasn’t the sound of sloshing water from their movements, it was softer. A gliding motion. A slow, deliberate shift, like something lurking just beneath the surface. Watching. Waiting.

  Ciel stopped walking, her fingers twitching toward her revolvers. The rest of the team did the same, some kind of unspoken understanding passing between them.

  There it was again.

  A soft, slithering sound. A ripple that didn’t come from them.

  Something was in here with them.

  And it wasn’t alone.

  The group moved slowly, wading through the thick, freezing water, their movements measured, careful, too aware of the unseen thing that was moving with them. The silence had weight now, a presence in itself, pressing in from all sides. Each breath felt too loud, each step through the filth sent ripples that carried too far.

  Ciel’s fingers hovered near her revolvers, but she didn’t pull them yet. Not when they couldn’t even see what they were dealing with. That was the worst part, the not knowing. She could feel the prickle of something unseen on the back of her neck, the undeniable, almost instinctual knowledge that something was watching them.

  It was close.

  They all felt it.

  Something moved just beyond their line of sight, something massive, slithering through the depths, gliding without effort. There was no splashing, no disruption of the stagnant filth, just the sensation of displacement, of the water shifting in unnatural ways.

  The room felt bigger now, as if it had stretched, warped, become something not quite real.

  Sylva’s breathing had slowed, her eyes narrowed, her fingers twitching at her sides, prepared to cast. Raze kept one hand near his greatsword, his expression grim, unreadable. Veyra’s rifle was half-raised, though aiming at what, exactly? She wasn’t sure.

  Gorrug, as always, looked ready for a fight.

  But even he was silent now.

  Miri was the first to break it. Her voice was a whisper, laced with something rare for her, actual caution.

  “I don’t think we’re the first things to come through here.”

  She nodded toward the walls, and Ciel followed her gaze.

  The corroded metal, the pipes that stretched toward the ceiling, the broken debris that lined the edges of the room, they weren’t just decayed. They had been torn. Shredded. Something had left deep, unnatural gashes along the metal, long curved marks carved into the rusted surface.

  Not claws.

  Suction.

  Suckers the size of a human skull, peeling back layers of old-world steel.

  Ciel’s mouth went dry.

  Then, as if sensing their realization, something shifted.

  A deep, almost imperceptible hum reverberated through the water, like a pulse from something too large to be fully present in this space. The stillness was broken just slightly, a ripple moving from the center of the room outward.

  They froze.

  The water beneath them stirred, not from their movement, but from something rising.

  And then...

  A flicker. A spark. The hum of old-world machinery grinding back to life.

  The emergency lights flickered on, igniting the chamber in a dim, failing red glow. The light wasn’t steady, pulsing, dying, then relighting in uneven intervals, casting eerie shadows against the walls.

  And then, the water began to drain.

  A low groan of machinery echoed through the chamber, the sound of rusted gears and ancient pipes forcing themselves to function. The water level lowered rapidly, swirling toward unseen grates, revealing the long-forgotten floor beneath.

  Gorrug, standing near the edge of the room, let out a proud, satisfied huff.

  “Ah! I found a lever!” He gestured to the rusted mechanism near the far wall, one of his massive hands still resting on it. "Easy enough! Just needed to look!”

  Ciel could only stare at him.

  The rest of the crew, too, stood in absolute stunned silence.

  “…You just. Pulled. A random lever,” Sylva said, her voice a careful mix of disbelief and restraint.

  Gorrug grinned. “Yes. It was quite large. Seemed important.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Raze muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

  And then, as if responding to their absurdity, the water behind them surged.

  A massive, gurgling suction of air erupted from the depths as something rose.

  The draining water had forced it out of hiding.

  And now, it was here.

  A wet, slithering sound filled the space, followed by the deep, unmistakable thud of something heavy hitting the metal floor.

  It was huge.

  A towering mass of shifting flesh, thick, glistening, coated in the filth of the sewer. Tentacles unfurled, slow and deliberate, the sheer length of them stretching toward the walls, sliding over rusted metal, curling like a predator testing its reach.

  And at its center, high above them... a single, massive, unblinking eye.

  A cyclopean nightmare.

  A creature that shouldn’t exist.

  Ciel felt her stomach twist in something primal, something deep-seated and ancient in its fear.

  Miri, standing just beside her, let out a slow, awestruck breath.

  “Oh. A Cyphlopod.”

  The rest of them slowly turned to stare at her.

  Miri blinked, clutching her grimoire a little too tightly now, her expression somewhere between fascination and deep, undeniable terror.

  “I’ve only heard of them,” she whispered.

  The beast exhaled, the sound a deep, rumbling gurgle, its massive, singular pupil dilating.

  "Shit." Ciel whispered.