Weapons of Mass Destruction

There are still a few payments to be made, along with the final checks, and last minute confirmations—just the kind of annoying tasks the twins insisted on handling themselves.

After that, we pass through a door carved into the rock trailing behind the main group and enter a wide tunnel with a low ceiling. Soon though, the space opens up, revealing a massive hollow within the mountain.

That hole is about as wide as a city block and has a set of stairs carved into the side that spiral down. The staircase is wide enough for two people to walk side by side, and there’s obviously no railing to be seen. A single misstep would be enough to send the average person plummeting to their death.

I’m sure we have plenty of members who could survive the fall with flight, or teleportation, if not through the use of some other fancy skill. Hell, some of the races we’ve seen can fly as is. But I’m also sure some would die from falling down, and that’s because of the glow that can be seen deep below. A molten river of lava swirling and flowing through the caverns beneath us.

“We’re not sure what it’s made of, but for those who haven't heard, there’s a river of molten material flowing through here,” one of the leaders says, informing the rest of the group. “Some of you might think you could survive falling into it, but let me warn you: that river moves fast. It will drag you under and carry you deep beneath the rock, far away from here, to wherever it leads.”

He grabs a small stone and throws it down, the stone falls for almost twenty seconds before it hits the surface. And I estimate that the river sets about a mile below us.

“This expedition is headed to the lower floors of the mines into a tunnel that runs along that river of lava. If you want to complain, complain to the leaders of your parties. Everyone was informed. Let's move !”

There’s no organization, no elaborate planning—there’s too little trust for any of that. The group will rely on the sheer force of numbers when danger arises, and everyone knows it. It feels less like a unified expedition and more like a number of large groups that just happen to be moving in the same direction.

The first group begins descending the stairs, slowly making their way down. No one flies, teleports, or moves quickly. Instead, they choose to walk, and as our turn rolls around, I think I might understand why. The molten materials that make up the river below generate some sort of field that seems to have a disruptive effect. While the stairs seem to be somewhat shielded, the exposed chasm to our side is filled with a constantly fluctuating disruptive field.

It’s very fascinating to me, and I have to wonder if this is the result of the molten blend of mana-conductive metals violently mixing together in the churning currents of the river. The effect isn’t strong enough to cause me much trouble, and I bet there are plenty of people who could say the same.

As for the stairs, even though they are undamaged, it’s weirdly fun to walk on them while watching the glow of the river deep below given that the stairs are basically just stone plates sticking out of the wall, with holes in between each step.

(It feels like we are descending to hell,) Dennis grumbles, issuing our first complaint.

(Food?)

(Nat?)

(He’s asking if there is food in Hell.)

(I don’t know, Biscuit,) Dennis answers.

Biscuit seems to be disappointed but continues to look at the people walking behind us. He is currently held in my arms, my hand supporting his backside, as he rests his chin and neck on my shoulder, looking behind me.

While we are descending, I observe the effect of the river on the mana I radiate into the air and listen to some of the guys talking behind us.

“First number two died a few months back, and I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t have sworn the man was too angry to die. Then a month ago number eight went down, and just a few days ago we lost number ten. Is there someone hunting these guys?”

I notice the twins stiffen when number eight is mentioned.

(No worries, I cleared the tracks you made.) I inform them, sending it through our link.

(Yeah, I know. It just made me remember that guy. I swear, Nat, he popped up out of nowhere like some fucking scout selling cookies,) Dennis shivers.

(He also cut you in half as he was dying,) his brother reminds him.

I redirect my attention back to the guys talking behind us.

“… and what if they’re gunning The Witch or Spinecrusher? And don’t forget Babyface, there are three of them.”

“I don’t know about Spinecrusher or Babyface, but wouldn’t The Witch just fuck up anyone who tried to go against her? It’s been ten years since she went anywhere. At this point, she might as well be sweating mana, I swear.”

“What do you think would happen to all that mana if someone killed her?”

“The mana would be fine, we would be beyond screwed.”

“So damn funny. Ha ha. And fucking hell, don’t push me! I almost fell.”

“Just look where you’re stepping.”

As the conversation begins to deviate from anything resembling an interesting topic, I stop listening and notice that Biscuit is curiously sniffing at the shortsword in the sheath on my waist. It doesn’t seem like he can actually sense anything from the weapon itself, after al,l I’m sure I sealed it properly.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

We would know if it wasn’t. All of us would know.

(Nat, I’ve been wanting to ask for a while, but why did you shape that thing like a sword?) Dennis asks through our network.

Their interest peaked, Aaron and Lily rush to listen in too.

I step to the side for a better view below. The glow from the river of magma below us cuts through the darkness around us, aided by the few lights others have brought. The enormous size of the hole brings my adventurous spirit to the fore. The only thing we're missing is an old note from a dwarven expedition lamenting that they dug too deep.

(I thought about a number of shapes,) I send in a response. (It could have been a staff, javelin, spear, axe, sphere, cube, and more, but the sword felt like the most familiar and easiest thing for me to move around. It’s as simple as that.)

Dennis, who likes his shortsword and dagger, adds happily, (Swords are cool! Elegant, slim, and they don’t tend to draw too much attention, unlike Lily’s ax, which is bigger than she is.)

His brother adds, (I don’t know, man. I’m pretty sure they’re not just staring at Lily because of the axe. She is quite the looker you know.)

([Surgery],) Dennis says smartly.

(Wasn’t it [Plastic Surgery]?) Aaron asks.

(It evolved.)

(Oh!)

(You two know I’m also here right? Should I leave you cut in half next time, Dennis? Oh, and do you remember that toxin, Aaron?)

Aaron energetically shakes his head. (Lily, I know Dennis. If you leave him that way, each half will regrow, and you’ll have two annoying jerks to deal with instead of one. You really shouldn’t let that happen, for all our sakes.)

(That’s true,) Dennis agrees in a serious tone. (And I saw Aaron eat terrible things back on Earth. He’s the kind of guy who drinks orange juice after brushing his teeth. Some random toxin would mean nothing to an abomination like that.)

The conversation continues as we continue our walk down the narrow stairs projecting from the walls of the hole. It’s all friendly banter, and it might feel careless, but I know very well that all three of them are on their guard even though they’re acting like this.

It’s a habit I’ve worked hard to instill in them over the past months.

When we finally find ourselves just over the molten river and the expedition starts funneling into the target tunnel, I pause, bringing the rest of my small group to a stop with me.

(I bet he wants to jump down there just to see how the disruption effect works and if proximity would change its effect on him.)

I decide to ignore the heinous message and focus on the river. Curious, I activate [Ley Line] and toss the thread down, tied to a piece of metal I pull from my bag—a metal I know won’t melt anytime soon. Before it’s completely dragged under and carried away, I anchor it to the wall.

The river does nothing to it. Ley Line holds like a champ, without losing a hint of integrity. I leave it there and head into the tunnel, with two more threads following me, both connected to the surface.

Not too far into the tunnel, we come across some abandoned machinery—rusted, crumbling, and long forgotten. Each piece is intricate, covered in strange, unfamiliar inscriptions that give hints at their original purpose. There are empty slots where mana stones should have gone, likely to be used as power sources, but now nothing remains. The machines themselves are varied in design, each one seemingly tailored for a specific task, and all of them equally fascinating even in their state of decay, resting against the walls or buried under rock.

One machine is particularly large, with gears that no longer turn, and metal joints crumbling with age. Another is smaller, more delicate, almost like it was meant for more precise work. The inscriptions, though alien, almost look familiar to me in a way I can’t quite place. I stop for a moment to study them, my fingers touching the patterns etched into the surface. Then I spot a piece of strange alloy, something that catches my eye, and pocket it.

The group ahead continues moving and there is no more time to linger. With a final glance at the abandoned machines, I quickly catch up, knowing they won’t wait for us.

At the front of the expedition, fights break out as monsters begin attacking the lead members. The creatures are dealt with quickly, their ambushes barely slowing our group’s progress, but judging by the reactions of the people around me, it’s clear that the danger’s only just beginning.

I can sense monsters burrowing through the tunnel walls, slithering beneath our feet, and moving just above our heads, hidden in the shadows. Their movements are subtle and unmistakable, like the tremors and heat generated by their bodies, or the hint of mana they leave behind them.

For now, there are only a few dozen, but even at this distance, I can feel the presence of hundreds more lurking far beyond.

Waiting. Preparing.

Further into the tunnel, we come across several old campsites littered with broken tents, abandoned cooking implements, and some empty crates scattered around. These are all very old, likely not from any recent expeditions.

If someone were to tell me they were leftovers from before this moon was turned into a prison, I would believe them. All of these remains crumble to dust with the weakest vibrations or the simplest touch.

It’s thrilling to imagine that hundreds of years ago, there were people walking these same tunnels—living, eating, and interacting with each other—never thinking that centuries later, there would be people like us staring at the remnants they left behind.

And a feeling not unlike nostalgia captivates me.

If I die, sometime far in the future, will someone one day have the opportunity to look at what I’ve left behind, unaware of my thoughts, hopes, and struggles? Will the name Nathaniel Gwyn be forgotten, along with everyone who ever knew me, and will all these adventures we’ve been through be erased by the relentless passage of time?

It’s both fascinating and a little sad.

Before we move on, I offer Lily a bottle of water, and she takes a sip with a thankful smile. I insert a lame joke into the twins’ conversation, give Biscuit a quick pat, and then we leave the place behind.

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