Chapter 29: Into the Dark

  The night has been long and brutal.

  I sit with my back against a twisted root, observing the eastern horizon slowly bleed from the everpresent blue to a deep purple.

  My body is aching from the night’s forced march, twelve long hours of wading through chest-deep water, climbing over moss-slick logs, and dodging the snapping jaws of things that moved beneath the murky surface.

  Around me, the remnants of our expedition lay scattered in various states of collapse. Six slaves and Nine Gnolls, led by Hynnal's terrifying presence.

  Kor'ik sits beside me, his eyes wide, reflecting the growing dawn, unblinking and traumatized. His throat sac expands and contracts with each breath.

  "Can’t you see it?" he croaks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

  I follow his gaze eastward and feel my breath catch.

  Dawn comes to the Sunken City like a revelation.

  The morning mist begins to burn away, and with each passing moment, more of the impossible structures emerge from the gloom. At first I mistake them for natural formations, strange rock outcroppings shaped by millennia of water and wind. But as the light grows stronger, the immensity of these ruins stretches before us like the bones of some impossible leviathan.

  Great towers rise from the shallow waters at angles that defy geometry, their marbled surfaces shining despite obvious age, their foundations lost somewhere in the murky depths below. Some lean at impossible angles, yet still standing. Others have already collapsed, piercing the surface like broken fingers.

  "My god," I breathe.

  This architecture is unlike anything I have ever seen before, be it this world or Earth. Doorways seem too tall and large for anyone or anything of a regular size. The Windows look like spirals rather than squares. And the surfaces appear flat until you look directly at them, then reveal subtle curves that hurt to focus on.

  And everywhere, covering every visible surface below water, there is a thick carpet of bioluminescent coral. Even in the growing dawn light, they pulse with their own illumination of deep blues, ethereal greens and ghostly purples that seemed to shift constantly. The effect is hypnotic and deeply unsettling.

  "By the ancestors," Kor'ik murmurs beside me. "I thought the stories were exaggerations."

  This definitely hasn't been built by Lizardmen, Frogmen, much less these Gnolls, or any species I'd encountered in my few months in this world. I am not even sure if humans could create something like this. Whatever civilization raised these structures had been something else entirely.

  But underneath all the grandiosity, there is definitely something deeply unsettling in this landscape as well.

  Behind us, I heard the Gnolls stirring. Their guttural language barking through the morning air, harsh and commanding.

  Kor'ik tilts his head, listening. "Hynnal orders camp preparation. We stay here to rest and plan our approach." He paused, his throat sac pulsing with what might have been anxiety. "He says to prepare scouts..."

  I watch as Hynnal rises to his full height, his scarred face surveying the ruins with calculating intensity. He is older than most Gnolls I'd seen, and who even knows how long these creatures live. There's even some gray creeping into his muzzle, but his movements hold a coiled violence that makes the younger warriors defer to him without question.

  He barks another series of commands, gesturing toward one of the closer raised stone platforms. It emerges from the water at a relatively stable angle and is covered in less coral growth than the surrounding structures. A good position for a camp, defensible, with clear sightlines to multiple approaches.

  "We establish the base there," Kor'ik translated, his voice tight. "Also says slaves to move first."

  Of course. Always the slaves first.

  We gather our meager possessions and begin wading toward the platform. The water here is clearer than the marsh we'd traversed, but that only makes it more disturbing.

  Looking down I can see far into the depths. There are countless structures beneath the surface, even entire buildings and what might have been streets or canals. The city didn't just sit atop the water, it really is sunken underneath it.

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  Fortunately the platform proves stable, though the stone is unlike anything I'd ever encountered before. Still extraordinarily smooth despite the clear signs of erosion and in a greyish beige colour. After who knows how long underwater this should have been at least filled with pores. Instead, it feels almost polished, as if it had been carved yesterday.

  The Gnolls begin their own preparations with brutal efficiency. Shelters made from hides go up quickly, positioned to provide cover from multiple angles. The weapons are checked and rechecked.

  I run my hand over the surface, a reminder that the curious scientist within me is still very much alive.. The stone is cool to the touch but not cold, and when I press my palm flat against it, I can feel a very faint vibration.

  "My people have stories. Old stories, told for generations. "His webbed hands work at organizing supplies, but his eyes never leave the structures. "Stories about the city that sank when the gods grew angry."

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  "Myths," I said, but my voice lacked conviction

  "Perhaps…”

  Hynnal calls out something in their harsh language, and Kor'ik's eyes widen slightly.

  "What?" I ask.

  "The goblins, he's sending them to scout nearby submerged sections." Kor'ik gestured to two small, hunched figures near the edge of our group, slaves like us, but more adapted to aquatic environments in ways even Lizardmen and Frogmen aren't. "He says they dive, find entrances below water, report what they see."

  The two bog goblins reach the platform's edge. Their webbed fingers gripping the stone, and for a moment, I think they might refuse.

  Hynnal's patience lasted exactly three seconds.

  He raises his clawed hand, and I see a faint glow even before the pain hit. The bog goblins shriek and clutch at their heads where the Mark appears to burn. One of them stumbles, nearly falling into the water. The other drops to ground convulsing.

  The agony lasts only a few heartbeats, still enough of a reminder of what defiance costs.

  When Hynnal lowers his hand, both goblins are already scrambling to obey, their yellow eyes wide with terror.

  Then they are gone, disappearing into the crystalline depths with barely a ripple.

  Hynnal gives more commands, which Kor'ik readily translates. "Other slaves check the main entrance. Look for traps, or anything dangerous."

  The main entrance was obvious even from our position, a massive archway not so far from us, carved into what might have been a temple or palace. A mouth of darkness that seems to swallow the morning light rather than reflect it.

  Gorvash takes the front position, while me, Kor'ik and the silent Frogmen slowly move behind him towards the gate with Gnolls following at a distance.

  Every step feels precarious, though the stone remains solid beneath our feet. The bioluminescent coral grows thicker near the entrance, pulsing with rhythms that seem almost deliberate.

  "I can't," Kor’ik whispers. "I can't go in there. Something's wrong. Can't you feel it?"

  And I have to agree with him. As we draw nearer, the air at the entrance grows colder and heavier, as if a mental pressure is physically manifesting. Unfortunately stopping isn't an option.

  "We need to," I state as pragmatically as possible. "You know what happens if we refuse."

  "Better than going in there." Kor’ik's voice cracks. "Better than turning into a ghost"

  Behind us, Hynnal snarled something sharp and angry.

  Then the Mark flares.

  It feels like someone wrapped my head in barbed wire and then set it on fire. I hear myself screaming as well as the others, all of us dropping to the stone as agony radiates through our bodies.

  Through the haze of pain, I see Hynnal standing with one clawed hand raised, a faint glow emanating from his palm. His scarred face shows no emotion whatsoever as he holds us in that grip of supernatural torment.

  Kor'ik collapses beside me, convulsing and sobbing with his throat sac distended and his limbs thrashing.

  The Shackled Frogman deals with it better than us, but still goes to one knee to deal with the excruciating pain.

  It lasts perhaps ten seconds but feels like hours.

  When it finally cut off, we lie gasping on the stone, our bodies trembling with aftershocks.

  Hynnal barked something that needed no translation. “Move”.

  And so we move.

  Kor’ik stumbles forward on shaking legs, tears streaming down his face. I force myself up and walk along him, my head still throbbing with phantom pain. The Mark burns there like a brand. A magical shackle that ensures our obedience more effectively than any chain.

  The archway looms ahead, and as we draw closer, I can finally see the symbols.

  Covering every inch of the structure's surface, this script is like nothing I'd ever seen. Not Human nor Frogmen or any language I'd encountered in my studies. The characters seem to magically writhe at the edge of my vision, though they hold perfectly still when I look directly at one of them.

  Kor'ik is now frozen again, staring at the symbols with what could only be described as horror.

  "What is it?" I ask quietly.

  His voice shook. "I have seen something like this before… at True Lord’s palace. Not much, but... My people's sacred texts are similar to this." He swallows hard, his throat sac pulsing rapidly. "These symbols... They speak of worthiness and of… God’s Judgment."

  "Of what?"

  I think..." He looked at me with those wide, unblinking eyes. "I think it says if you are not worthy, you do not leave."

  Hynnal's silent approach makes us both jump. It's scary how such a tall creature can move with such speed and stealth.

  They exchange a few words in Gnoll Language and Hynnal's response is both dismissive and final, with a simple gesture that needs no translation. Keep moving.

  Kor’ik finally comes back beside me relaying the Gnoll's query, "Hynnal wants to know if the symbols mention treasures. Power. Weapons from the old world.

  “And he wasn’t too keen on your translation, it seems?” I answer.

  "No, he said it's useless. He wants this power, even if it means sacrificing all of our lives," Kor'ik replies.

  The air grows colder as we draw closer, and I notice even the bioluminescent coral seem to dim near the entrance, as if the plants themselves are reluctant to grow too close.

  We finally reach the archway's threshold and stop. The darkness now is absolutely unnatural. Beyond the archway, there is a shadow realm untouched even by the dawn light that illuminates the ruins behind us.

  One of the bog goblins surfaces nearby, breaking the water with a gasp. It calls out something in their strange language, and Hynnal's response is immediate.

  He snarls something that is clearly a rebuke, but I notice that even Hynnal's voice holds an edge now. Even the scarred pack leader feels the wrongness of this place.

  The sense we were not simply exploring ancient ruins but walking into someone… or something's domain.

  But greed always prevails in the end. With a simple gesture, Hynnal raises his hand hinting another torturous activation of the mark.

  Despite the gripping fear, I force my legs to move, force myself to walk toward that black opening. Beside me, Gorvash silently nods while Kor’ik mutters something in his native tongue, a prayer or perhaps a goodbye.

  Then, like the closing mouth of a titanic beast, the dark archway swallows us.