The fight erupted into chaos, the air thick with the sharp cracks of gunfire, the shattering of porcelain, and the sickening creak of wooden limbs bending at unnatural angles.

  Ciel moved first, faster than thought, twin revolvers snapping up, firing shot after shot, the sound deafening in the enclosed tunnel.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Each bullet tore through a mannequin, exploding heads, splintering limbs, sending plastic and ceramic shards flying, but they didn’t stop.

  Even headless, armless, their legs twitched, their fingers still grasped at the air.

  “What the fuck are these things?!” she growled, ducking under a wild swipe, rolling to the side, firing again.

  A doll lunged for her, its jaw unhinging like a snake, revealing rows of jagged ceramic teeth—

  She shot it point-blank in the face.

  Its head popped like a glass ornament.

  But they just kept coming.

  Sylva was a blur of movement, her daggers flashing, her dark magic surging through the air like living shadows.

  She danced between the mannequins, twisting, cutting, moving with deadly grace— but for every one she cut down, two more replaced it.

  Raze held the front, his greatsword carving through the horde like a war engine, his face set in a grimace of concentration.

  A doll latched onto him, clawing at his chestplate—he grunted, twisted, grabbed it by the face and crushed it with his bare hands.

  Miri sighed dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. “I hate enemies that don’t bleed!”

  But even as she complained, her fingers snapped outward, lashing the air with blackened hexes, her voice a low, whispering song of curses.

  Gorrug, true to his nature, was laughing.

  “YES! COME, LITTLE WARRIORS! I WILL BREAK YOU ALL!”

  His warhammer smashed into the ground, sending a shockwave through the horde, sending mannequins flying, shattering against the walls like broken dolls.

  Skrimp, still clutched under his arm, let out a screeching honk and bit part the head off a downed mannequin.

  But then came the real problem.

  Pinocchio moved through them like a phantom, his wooden body twisting, jerking unnaturally, always just out of reach.

  “You’re lying.”

  His voice crawled through the air, not coming from one place, but all around them, layered, broken, distorted.

  Ciel fired at him, three shots straight at his head.

  He tilted. Just slightly. Just enough.

  The bullets missed by inches.

  His carved wooden face split into a wide grin.

  “You’re trying to go deeper, aren’t you?”

  Veyra, perched on a broken ledge, snapped her rifle up, took aim, fired.

  Pinocchio twitched out of the way, faster than he should have been.

  “You’re liars.”

  His limbs snapped outward, faster than thought, long fingers grabbing Raze by the wrist.

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  Raze snarled, twisting away, but not before those wooden claws dug in deep, too deep.

  The wound festered instantly, dark splinters burrowing into his flesh, spreading like veins beneath his skin.

  Ciel saw red.

  She moved on instinct, closing the distance between them, bringing her revolvers up—

  Pinocchio grinned.

  “Go on, liar. Tell me another one.”

  Ciel fired.

  This time, she hit him square in the chest.

  The wood splintered, cracked, split open.

  For the first time, Pinocchio staggered back.

  Sylva was already on him, her daggers sinking deep into his side, dark magic spreading like rot through the wood.

  Miri, with a sharp twist of her wrist, whispered something in an old tongue, the air around them hummed, vibrated—

  And then, with a sickening CRACK, Pinocchio’s body snapped in half.

  The lower half collapsed to the ground, twitching uselessly.

  His upper body hit the floor hard, his carved face frozen in something that might have been shock.

  The mannequins stopped moving.

  Ciel exhaled, panting, keeping her guns trained on him.

  Veyra tilted her head, rifle still raised. “That it?”

  Miri eyed the remains, humming thoughtfully. “Seems too easy.”

  Then—

  The wooden mouth twitched.

  And then it grinned again.

  The voice that followed was sharper now, more distant.

  “Oh, you thought that was me?”

  The air chilled.

  The mannequin bodies around them twitched, shuddered—

  One lifted its head.

  The voice came from it now.

  “No, no, no, my toys.”

  The mannequin stood, head tilting unnaturally, that same carved grin stretching wider and wider.

  “I just moved.”

  Ciel’s blood ran cold.

  Pinocchio’s original body cracked apart, lifeless now. Just discarded.

  The new one lifted its arms, fingers flexing.

  “You did well, liars. I was almost impressed.”

  The mannequin body took one step back. Another.

  Ciel raised her gun. “You’re not leaving.”

  Pinocchio laughed.

  “Oh, but I am.”

  And then, he was gone.

  The mannequin collapsed, lifeless again.

  But his laughter still echoed.

  His voice crawled along the tunnel walls.

  “I’ll be back. And next time, I’ll make you my puppets.”

  Silence.

  Long. Heavy. Suffocating.

  Ciel finally let out a slow breath, holstering her revolvers. “I hate this place.”

  They didn’t travel far. Not after that fight.

  The remains of the mannequins were still sprawled across the tunnel behind them, their twisted limbs frozen in unnatural angles, their glass eyes dull and lifeless now. Pinocchio had fled, but his presence lingered, a suffocating, unseen pressure in the air.

  It was clear that they needed to stop, to breathe, to recover.

  So, they did.

  They found a wider alcove along the sewer path, an old maintenance chamber, barely intact, half-collapsed with rusted pipes hissing low steam from the ceiling. The stench was still awful, the humidity thick, the damp stone pressing into their bones, but at the very least, it was a place to sit. To rest.

  They needed that.

  Miri was the first to sink to the ground, letting out an exhausted sigh as she leaned against the cool stone wall. Her normally ethereal presence seemed dimmed, her shoulders tense, her hands trembling slightly from exertion.

  Sylva, ever efficient, began distributing rations, carefully pulling small portions from her enchanted satchel.

  “Eat slow,” she instructed, voice quiet but firm. “We don’t know how long we’ll be down here, and we’re not exactly swimming in supplies.”

  Raze, wincing as he peeled back his sleeve to assess the splintered wounds Pinocchio left on his arm, muttered, “Great. Love rationing. Almost as much as I love getting cursed by haunted puppets.”

  Miri chuckled weakly, shaking out her hands before shifting forward, settling onto her knees beside him.

  “Oh, hush, you big grump.” Her fingers ghosted over his wound, whispering an incantation as a soft, silver-black glow pulsed from her palms.

  Raze grunted, jaw tight, but said nothing as the splinters of dark wood slowly receded from his veins, pushed out by Miri’s magic.

  Ciel flopped down against the stone wall across from them, kicking her boots off lazily, exhaling.

  “Well, gotta say,” she stretched her arms over her head, smirking, “this hasn’t been nearly as bad as I expected.”

  The group collectively froze.

  Sylva, mid-bite into her ration bar, stopped chewing.

  Veyra, who had been tending to her rifle, slowly turned her head.

  Raze actually closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling through his nose like he was physically restraining himself.

  Even Miri, who was still pale and visibly drained, blinked at Ciel as if she had just personally committed a cosmic sin.

  Gorrug, on the other hand, actually perked up.

  “Yes! It could be worse! More fighting! More battle! More carnage!” His golden eyes gleamed, and he grinned, his massive tusks bared. “This is good warm-up.”

  The group continued to stare at Ciel.

  Veyra dropped her head into her hands.

  “You. Walking. Talking. Jinx.”

  Ciel blinked. “What?”

  Sylva sighed, shaking her head, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  Raze muttered, “We’re all gonna die.”

  Miri, despite her exhaustion, giggled.

  Ciel raised an eyebrow, looking around. “What? You all really thought it was going to be never-ending fighting?”

  Veyra, still muffled in her hands, groaned. “YES. AND NOW IT WILL BE. BECAUSE YOU SAID IT WOULDN’T BE.”

  Ciel snorted.

  “Okay, okay, fine. My bad. If we all get eaten by some eldritch horror down here, I’ll take full responsibility.”

  Gorrug nodded sagely. “Yes. That is only fair.”

  Ciel laughed, stretching out on the cold stone floor, letting her eyes drift up to the corroded ceiling.

  Despite the injuries, the exhaustion, the undeniable truth that they were in a complete nightmare of a situation…

  They were still here. Alive.