Chương 10: A Dark Shoal

The Nosferians did not often swoop, but when they saw a cannibal enter any sort of elevated position, or any that attempted to leave the cave, they would swarm, squawking and crying, until one of them got a good, direct hit in, always killing when it landed. From a distance though, he watched one of the kicks miss- and the nosferian's momentum caused its entire body to spin, its back slamming into the ground. For a moment, he thought it was dead for sure.

The cannibal would jump on and kill it with ease, or perhaps it'd died the moment it hit the ground simply from how hard it collided, and how fragile their upper bodies were. Luckily, the others of its kind jumped to action, finishing off the cannibal before checking on it. The nosferian in question stood up, shook itself off a bit, and took to the air once more. He decided to get closer. Not only did he want to help if needed, he found the nosferians quite fascinating.

"Amelia, I'm going to follow Squeaky, do you want to come or no?" She simply shook her head, "No. Not only is it obvious the nosferians will want to meet you alone and definitely not me… both the cannibals and the nosferians are scaring me really, really bad right now…" after a moment of silence, she also mumbled "... and Richard. I don't want to see him again any time soon." He could only nod, unsure of what to say to that. He'd guess that Richard was the one that ran off to kill the other cannibals.

Now that they had a moment though, he turned to her and said "By the way… I know that it's private, but I think the doctor would really appreciate hearing your… story. Of what you experienced after they took you from the cage." Amelia's flinched, and he felt terrible for even bringing it up, but he had experience with trauma as well.

He knew he would've killed to have someone pry into his own life, to fight past the prickly grief shielding him and try to help him despite that, to allow him to vent despite how irritable he'd been. Despite everything he did to push others away… he wished he'd had someone to talk to.

"I know it's hard," he said in a low whisper, "I know you're suffering, and I won't think less of you if you refuse, but I remember when I lost my family. I didn't talk to anyone either, and after so long… I came to regret that. And out of everyone, that doctor is the one person who needs to hear your story the most. She's still seeing them as people, as if they could've been helped or rehabilitated in another life.

As if their circumstances made them like this, when in reality they are utterly unapologetic for what they've done." He shook his head, "I'm the very last person that can give advice on how to heal, but I know it's best if you at least try." Giving her one last smile, he said "And if you're not comfortable with her, know that I am here, if you need me." Amelia stared at the ground, shifting uneasily and throwing occasional glances at him. He… really was not that good with people.

How long had it been since he'd talked to someone? Hell, that might've been the longest sentence he'd spoken to another human since his family passed away. It was just as awkward as he'd expected and he'd probably made an inappropriate remark somehow without realizing, but he'd tried, and he liked to think that counted. He was about to turn away to keep walking when Amelia stepped forward, giving him a hug.

"Thank you… really. For saving me and everyone else… and for not hating me." Careful not to slice her with his feather, he returned it.

"Thanks for coming back for me, I would've died if you hadn't." They pulled away from each other, and she rubbed her eyes, wiping away the tears.

"Be safe. We might need you to open the other cages if we can't find the key." He let himself smile and rolled his eyes at her attempt of breaking the tension, and said "Ah yes, that's why you want me to come back safely." She laughed, "Yea, and I'll deny anything else." She blinked a few times, and the redness in her eyes went down. Giving him one last wave, she turned around and walked back towards where the other humans- and caged aliens- still sat.

Relief coursed through him as he realized he hadn't screwed up another friendship, and he didn't push it any further, just turning to make his way towards the nosferians. He doubted he'd make it before they cleaned up the last of the camp, but he'd at least try. * Jogging through the camp, he saw how Richard's unique way of killing was precise, and blunt. Every single body he could see was strangely intact, despite obviously broken bones and large, growing purple splotches that indicated severe blunt force trauma.

As he passed by them though, he realized a strangely high number of them were still alive, just whimpering on the… He frowned as he passed another group, all alive, all in pain. He slowed down, looking closer.

'Actually… I can't spot a single one that's dead yet… nor one with all their limbs intact or able to move.' That pained a grim picture, both for Richard and the fate of the cannibals. They weren't simply bruised, Richard had broken multiple bones within them and more than a few were coughing up blood. Each injury was calculated, not to kill immediately, but they would kill eventually. Richard was giving every single cannibal a slow, painful death. His mind flashed back to how he'd found Amelia.

He didn't enjoy hurting other people, but seeing them like this… he found that he didn't mind it as much as he likely should've.

'Good riddance,' he found himself thinking, despite the growing discomfort as he saw just how much pain Richard caused. * He was closer now, but both Richard and the nosferians were faster than him, and it seems they'd come to an uneasy alliance. The nosferians would corral the cannibals, picking off those who strayed too far ahead of the fleeing "Pack," while Richard would slowly, agonizingly, torture those who fell too far behind. He wasn't even sure what he'd do if he caught up…

Instead, he chose to study how the nosferians themselves, seeing as he would likely be interacting with them the most out of all the humans. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. The most obvious was that there were two types of nosferians- some were pallor, like Squeaky, while others were dark, just like a bat. He could only assume that it was some kind of dimorphism where the females were white and the males black.

The second most obvious thing he found was that their misses or stumbles, those he'd noted before and feared would kill them? They were actually quite a common occurrence. While the nosferians were very accurate, they weren't supernaturally accurate. Every bit of specialization went into the force of their kicks. And luckily, that meant surviving their failures as well.

Perhaps the bones at their backs were harder, or their organs were shaped strangely, but despite having obviously fragile upper bodies, they appeared no worse for wear after each tumble.

He was leaning more towards "Specialized survival mechanism" rather than "Actually not that fragile" because when they missed a kick, they always fell in the exact same way, right where the shoulder blades would be on a human; sometimes, they'd twist specifically to hit the ground exactly like that, making him think of a cat landing on its feet. The nosferians, though diligent, did not actually get many chances to attack.

Perhaps five or six cannibals were killed by nosferians, the rest cut down by Richard and the steel poles he wielded. Before Aaron knew it, the last cannibal fell, and the swarm of nosferians hovered mid-air for a bit, looking around, scanning the wreckage for any signs of life. He stopped as well, and began scouring the camp. It was harsh, but they could not allow a single cannibal to escape. * He checked through the collapsed skin tarps, but never found any.

Based on the sounds of the nosferians though, he believed that they'd found two hidden survivors- though not for long as the rest swarmed to kill. They searched through the rubble for thirty minutes, sifting through the broken tents. He found a few places where resources were stored that he'd come back to later, but nothing immediately jumped out; the most noteworthy things were the magical metal bars and the alcohol from the distillery.

His nerves were shot, always expecting something to jump out at him, but he never lowered his guard for even a moment, slicing at every lump in the tarps, pulling back the leather from a distance when there was a particularly large pile, and listening for the barest hint of breathing. He was halfway convinced he'd be lucky enough to get out of it without confrontation… when he saw a pile nearby shift ever so slightly.

Stilling, he stared intensely at the mound of garbage, a mismatch of trashed plastic, broken scrap, and torn fabric. Stalking towards it slowly, blade held low and ready to swing, he got within ten feet when he heard a faint whisper.

"P-please…" the cannibal hiding said, and his face darkened. Beneath those piles, he finally made out the shape of a half-revealed face.

"Please. I never wanted to do this. It was either eat or die. Please, don't tell the others I'm here… or, or, take me prisoner. I promise, I know more about the Underworld than any of you, don't I? I could be useful." Aaron scoffed.

"You'd say anything to last until your boss gets here."

"No… I… I really do know a lot. F-For example, the Dark-Edge you're holding? Boss has two. Two of the first drops of Mushki feathers- every camp has at least one, it's… required to survive anywhere. Boss uses them to drill through the walls of the floor, move faster than anyone through the shortcuts… and I haven't even told you about the purging!" he said in a charged tone, though still quietly. Aaron considered it, realizing that the man was likely right, they could get information out of him. Yet…

looking at the infuriated nosferians… he considered how he would be able to explain this to them. If they found him sparing one of their jailors, one of the people who'd eaten them, what would they think of him? How could he explain it? He couldn't, not easily. Information would be useful, but group cohesion mattered far more.

'And what would that do to the doctor? How would it affect her to find one of the cannibals begging for his life helplessly, just as she had?' His eyes hardened, and he struck out blade cutting through the garbage as the man within exploded into motion, lunging for Aaron's wrist. His feather was as large as a claymore. The cannibal didn't even get close. He cut through the raised hand, rendering the cannibal's attempts to block it useless as his blade arched down, splitting him from shoulder to hip.

Aaron was once more coated in blood and viscera as the chunks of organs splashed down his naked chest. The corpse fell to the ground with a squelch, and Aaron's jaw clenched. His stomach roiled and nausea washed over him, but he simply shook his head, stepping back and being careful to make sure there was nobody else to threaten him, then stared back at the corpse lying face-down. He felt… intense vertigo wash over him, and stumbled back a few paces. He struggled to put his emotions into words.

How many had he killed? The old man of course, then the rapist, then those three he'd run past- some of those he'd slaughtered with reckless abandon, a nonchalant attitude that gave him pause. He hadn't considered them, not really. They were monsters to him, and he was not wrong to think so. But that didn't mean spilling blood would be simple and easy- especially not for someone who was browsing his catalogue of video games only yesterday.

He fought the bile rising in his throat, taking several deep breaths- and feeling the sharp tang of blood flow through his nostrils, dancing on his tongue as it passed by. He leaned over, vomiting bile; his stomach already empty, there wasn't much to lose anyway. After heaving for several seconds, he fell back, half crawling away from the blood and puke to fall back against the cold ground.

Some of the things he'd done set his heart ablaze in a fury of satisfaction, others made him question his sanity and mortality. He closed his eyes, and found his mind strangely clear. He was just so… overwhelmed.

'What I wouldn't give for a…' His eyes snapped open as he remembered the one thing he'd gotten to bring with him.

"Wait." Wasn't he… smoking weed before he fell into the Underworld? Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out his metal glasses case that he'd ignored until now, laying eyes upon the container that he'd carried with him for close to two years now. Since… shortly after his family died. He'd gotten it after he picked up doing drugs, and it rarely left him since, but he hadn't expected it to survive this much. Looking at it, he could see it was barely even damaged.

There were a few scratches, a bump or two, but overall unharmed relative to… everything else he'd gone through. His own shirt hadn't survived, but this metal container did. Opening it, he lay eyes upon exactly what he needed right now: a break. His joint and lighter were perfectly preserved. Snapping it shut, he picked up his sword, stood up, and stepped away from the horrible scene behind him.

Walking to the edge of the camp, he used a greasy cloth he found along the way to wipe his hands and sword as best he could of blood, throwing it away afterwards. He stabbed his feather into the ground, sitting down in front of it and leaning against the flat of the blade. He was wasting time, yes, but maybe this was for the best. The nosferians and Richard both enjoyed taking out the cannibals far more than he, so he'd let them. The noise of the camp behind him faded to the background.

The survivors spoke among themselves and the combatants struggled, but here? This far? All that reached him was a low hum. The dark dome of Floor 0 stood before him, pockmarked with tunnels that seemed to hide their depth through a formless wall of black shadows. It was terrifying, but… it inspired a strange type of awe that was difficult to pinpoint.

Like standing before a shelf break in the ocean, watching the shallows end abruptly and seeing nothing but a shifting mass of light streaming in from the surface, being swallowed up by the darkness of the abyss. There was nothing out here, no living creature other than those traveling from one shallows to the next. Or… was there?

Hidden behemoths lurked out there, lost somewhere in the ocean currents, drifting about from one place to the next and, occasionally, if you waited long enough, you just might catch a glimpse. Pulling out the case from his pocket, he opened i, gingerly taking out his joint and lighter. He set the container off to the side, lit it up, and drew deeply, filling his lungs with a familiar heat.

He held it for perhaps a few seconds longer than he normally would've, and slowly released it, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. The slight tremor that'd continued to run through his body until now finally calmed, and he felt tears well in his eyes. Taking one more hit, he quickly put it out. He would… probably need it again before all was said and done, but for now, he enjoyed the warmth in his chest and the calm spreading through his mind.

Perhaps it was placebo; with how highly he'd built his tolerance, he doubted he'd normally feel this little, but if it was, he didn't care. Exhaling another cloud of smoke, he finally let the tears stream down his face.