The darkness we drop into is absolute. It is a physical weight, a smothering blanket of pure, crushing black. But the darkness is not the first thing that assaults us.
The smell is.
It hits like a physical blow. It is a tangible thing, a miasma of decay, waste, and ancient rot so thick I gag on it, my throat closing instantly. It is the smell of a million forgotten, filthy things, and it is so powerful it feels like I am drowning in it.
"GAAAAH! I-I think I swallowed it! It's in my MOUTH!"
Hachiro's voice, stripped of all its cheer, echoes from the bottom of the ladder. His panic is a wet, gurgling sound, followed by Yogawa's miserable groan. "It is... unspeakably... vile."
"Shut up. Both of you." Erima's voice is a sharp hiss, cutting through the horror. She lands softly on the floor next to me, her hand still gripping mine. Her grip is the only solid thing in this world. The floor... is not a floor. It is sludge. A thick, ankle-deep, clinging soup of indescribable filth. My boots sink into it with a disgusting schloop, and the cold, wet cold seeps in almost instantly.
"My feet... my feet are sinking!" Hachiro wails.
"Of course they are sinking, you idiot! It is a sewer!" Erima snaps. "What did you expect? Rose petals?"
"I expected... less... poop!"
"Quiet!"
Kizawa's voice is not a shout. It is a blade. It slices through the dark, through Hachiro's panic, and demands silence. And it works. The only sounds are the distant, steady drip... drip... drip... of water from some unseen crack, and the vile, sucking sound of our boots pulling free of the muck. My stomach roils. The adrenaline from the injector is still coursing through me, making my heart hammer, but this new reality is a cold, sobering slap.
"Yogawa. Light. Now." Kizawa commands.
"I... I told you... my... reserves..." Yogawa's protest is weak.
"I do not care. I am not walking blind in this. I do not care if it is a candle. I need to see. We need to move."
A miserable sigh. A moment of shuffling. Yogawa mutters a single, strained word. "Lucen."
A tiny, flickering ball of pale blue light appears, hovering over Yogawa's shoulder. It is a pathetic thing, a dying ember in the oppressive dark. It casts just enough light to illuminate our faces, turning us all into pale, haunted ghouls. And it illuminates the tunnel.
The reality is worse than the darkness. The walls are weeping. A thick, black ooze coats the bricks, glistening wetly. The "floor" we stand on is a slurry of things I refuse to identify. Hachiro, of course, looks down. His face, already pale, transitions to a bright, impressive shade of green.
"Oh... no... I'm... I'm gonna..."
"You are not," Erima snaps, slapping a hand over his mouth before he can make good on the threat. "You swallow it. We are not... leaving... evidence."
Hachiro's eyes water over Erima's glove, but he gives a frantic, jerking nod. She removes her hand, which is now coated in... something. She looks at her glove with a look of pure, unadulterated hatred before wiping it on a patch of... slightly less... disgusting... wall.
"This... is the... worst..." she mutters, her voice vibrating with loathing.
"We are all in agreement on that," I say, my voice hoarse. The adrenaline is still working, I am still standing, my body wired and tense. "Can we go? Kizawa? What do you see?"
Kizawa is already ten feet ahead, a shadow moving at the very edge of the pathetic blue light. He is not looking at the filth. He is looking at the path. "The tunnel... it splits. Three-way fork. Left, right, straight."
"Yogawa? Detector-man. Detect." Erima orders.
Yogawa closes his eyes, his face a mask of pained concentration. The blue light flickers, threatening to die. "Don't... distract... me..."
He is silent for a long, agonizing minute. The drip... drip... drip... is the only metronome in our suffocating tomb.
"The... the pressure... is... everywhere," he finally whispers. "The web... it is above us. Like a... blanket. It is... heavy."
"We know that, Grumpy," Hachiro complains, his voice muffled. "We need... a direction. Which way is... less... death?"
"I... I am getting to it, you... punching... moron!" Yogawa snarls, his anger giving his voice a brief spark. He takes another shaky breath. "The... surface... is... bad. All... three... tunnels... go out. But... the... middle... one. Straight ahead. It... it feels... colder. Deeper. It... descends. It... feels... further... from the... web."
"Deeper is good," Erima nods, her expression all business. "Deeper means... more... rock... between us and... them."
"Deeper... also means... more... sewage..." Hachiro whimpers, looking down at his ankles. "It is... already... so... deep..."
"Kizawa. Straight. We go," Erima ignores him.
"Understood." Kizawa's voice is a ghost, and he vanishes from the light.
I follow. Schloop. Schloop. Schloop. It is a foul, rhythmic sound. The thick sludge sucks at my boots with every step, a greedy, wet mouth trying to pull me down. It is work. My adrenaline-fueled muscles are burning just from the simple act of walking. The air is so low on oxygen I feel light-headed, and the stench is a constant, nauseating companion.
"This is... disgusting." Hachiro's voice echoes.
"Hachiro. We know." Erima sighs.
"No... but... like... really... disgusting. My socks... Erima... my... socks... are... ruined. They were... new..."
"I... am... bleeding... from... five... different... wounds." Kizawa's voice floats back from the darkness ahead, laced with ice. "My... ribs... are... cracked. And... I... lost... my... best... sword. I do not... care... about... your... socks."
"Well... you... should... Kizawa! Foot... hygiene... is... important! We... could... get... trench... foot! Or... sewer... foot! Is... that... a thing? Yogawa... is... sewer-foot... a... thing?"
"If you do not... shut... up... I am... going... to... invent... a... spell... called... 'sewer-mouth'... and... fuse... your... lips... shut," Yogawa snarls, his exhaustion making his voice raw.
"You guys... are... so... mean..."
We walk in a miserable, tense silence for another ten minutes. The tunnel is, as Yogawa predicted, sloping down. The sludge is... deeper. It is up to my knees now, a thick, icy slurry that makes my legs ache with cold and effort. I hate it. I hate this place. I hate everything about this.
"Yogawa... your... light..." Erima's voice is tight with new alarm.
I look back. The tiny blue flame is flickering, a dying pulse. "I... told... you... I am... out... of... juice!" he gasps. "This... miasma... it... drains... me... just... being... here..."
"I... need... a... light," Kizawa calls back. His voice is different. Tense. "The... tunnel... ends. It is... a... wall."
"A... dead... end?" My heart, already low, sinks into the filth.
"No... not... exactly. It is... a... drop. Into... water."
"Oh... great... 'water'," Hachiro's sarcasm is thick. "Wonder... what... kind..."
"Lucen... Maxima!" Yogawa shouts. In a burst of desperate energy, he slams his hand against his grimoire.
The blue light explodes. It flares into a brilliant, blinding beacon, illuminating a vast, circular chamber. And then it dies. Plunging us back into absolute, suffocating darkness. But not before we see.
We stand on a wide ledge. The tunnel ends, dropping ten feet into a rushing river. A black, fast-moving, churning river of filth. And on the walls. On the ceiling. Things. White, pale, pulsing things. Hundreds of them. They are shaped like human-sized leeches, pale and glistening. They were asleep. Until Yogawa's light hit them.
"...Ghouls..." Yogawa's voice is a tiny, terrified whisper.
A sound begins. Not a drip. It is a wet... slapping. A chorus of hisses. They are detaching from the walls. Dropping into the river. Crawling up the walls of our ledge.
"Yogawa! You... absolute... MORON!" Erima screams.
"I... I... panicked!"
"Kizawa! Status!"
"They are fast! They are... on... the... ledge!"
"BACK! BACK... UP... THE... TUNNEL!" Erima is shoving me, her professionalism gone, replaced by pure, reactive panic. I stumble backwards in the dark, the sludge sucking at my boots. I can hear them. A slithering, sucking sound that is somehow worse than a roar. And the smell. They stink. Worse than the sewer. They smell like rotting graves.
"Hachiro! REAR... GUARD! Smash... something!"
"I... CAN'T... SEE... ANYTHING!"
"Just... PUNCH... BACKWARDS!"
"Terra-Luce!" Yogawa screams, his voice cracking with desperation. A faint, sickly green glow ignites from the floor. It is dim, stinking of phosphorus, but... I can see. The first ghoul is on Kizawa. It is bone-white, bloated, and eyeless. Just a round, pink sucker-mouth filled with needle-like teeth. Kizawa roars, a sound of pure fury, and stabs sideways with his one good arm. His katana sinks into the creature's chest. It deflates like a rotten balloon, spraying black sludge everywhere. Two more take its place.
"Erima! Shoot!" I scream, drawing my daggers. The adrenaline is burning, a fire in my veins.
"I... can't! The... tunnel... is... too... narrow! I'll... hit... Kizawa!" She drops her bow and pulls a long, wicked-looking knife, bracing herself. "Hachiro! KICK!"
"On... it!" Hachiro spins. Even with broken hands, he is a whirlwind of motion. He plants his hands on the slimy wall and delivers a spinning axe kick. His boot connects with a ghoul crawling up behind me. There is a sound like a watermelon bursting. Splat. "Ew! Ew! Ew! It is... ON... my... SHOE!"
"Less... whining! More... KICKING!" Erima shouts, stabbing a ghoul that tries to flank her.
I move forward, my daggers glinting in the foul green light, placing myself next to Kizawa. He is fighting three at once, and he is too slow. His injuries are catching up to him. "Mizuki! Get... back!"
"You... need... help!"
"I... do... not... need... you... dying!"
"I... am... not... dying... here!" I duck under his wild swing. A ghoul is lunging at his legs. My daggers flash. Stab. Stab. Stab. I carve my name into its pale back. It shrieks and dissolves. "I... told... you... to... stay... back!" he snarls, spinning to block another. "You... are... welcome!" "This... is... not... a... discussion!"
"AETHER-BOLT!" Yogawa screams. A tiny purple spark, the last dregs of his magic, shoots from his fingers and hits a ghoul in the face. It sizzles... and stops. ...And then it lunges at Yogawa. "It... tickled... it! I... TICKLED... IT! MY... MAGIC... TICKLED... IT!"
"Hachiro! HELP... HIM!" Erima roars. Hachiro jumps over me, grabs the ghoul attacking Yogawa with his bare, bandaged hands. He screams in pain as its acidic skin burns him, but he lifts it. He roars and slams it head-first into the ceiling. SPLAT. "My... HANDS! AHHHH... MY... HANDS... ARE... MELTING!"
"Kizawa! We... have... to... JUMP!" Erima shouts over the rising, hissing tide. "What?!" "Into... the... river! It is... the... only... way! We... cannot... fight... all... of... them! They... are... endless!"
I look back. She is right. The green light is fading, but I can see them. A river of pale, blind bodies crawling up from the ledge. Dozens. Hundreds. "We... jump? Into... THAT?" I scream. "It... is... that... or... this! Choose! NOW!"
Kizawa looks at me. His eyes are wild in the gloom. He grabs my arm. Again. "We... jump! Together!" "What... about... the... others?!" "Hachiro! Yogawa! JUMP!" Erima screams.
"I... CAN'T... SWIM!" Hachiro roars, kicking another ghoul into paste. "We... will... catch... you! JUMP!" "This... is... the... WORST... PLAaaaaaaan...!" Hachiro grabs the semi-conscious Yogawa under one arm and leaps into the blackness. A huge, disgusting SPLASH echoes up.
"Erima! GO!" Kizawa shouts. Erima stabs her knife into a ghoul's mouth, kicks it off the ledge, and dives in after it. SPLASH. It is just us. The ghouls are surrounding us, their sucker-mouths hissing. "Hold... your... breath,... Mizuki!" "Kizawa... wait...!"
He does not wait. He pulls me with him. We fall. The air is cold. And then the water hits me. It is ice. It is filth. It fills my nose, my mouth, my eyes. It steals my breath. It is pitch black. I panic. I flail. I am drowning in filth. Then, a hand grabs the back of my kimono. It hauls me up. I break the surface. GASPING. COUGHING. SPITTING. "I... g-g-got... you!" Hachiro's voice sputters. He is treading water next to me, still holding a limp Yogawa. "K-K-Kizawa...!" I choke out. SPLASH. He surfaces next to me, katana still in his hand, his blue hair plastered to his face.
"The... current! Grab... on! Chain!" Erima shouts. She is paddling hard, pointing. There is light. A faint, grey light. A storm grate, further down the river. "Everyone... grab... on... to... me!" Hachiro roars. I grab his jacket. Kizawa grabs mine. Erima grabs Kizawa's. Hachiro kicks. He kicks like a motor. He is pulling all four of us through the rushing filth. The ghouls are behind us, hissing and splashing, but Hachiro is faster. "Almost... there!" he grunts.
We reach the grate. It is rusted shut. But next to it, there is a small, stone ledge. A maintenance platform. It is dry. "Get... out!" Kizawa shoves me up. I crawl onto the stone like a drowned rat, shaking violently. Erima climbs up next. Hachiro throws Yogawa up like a sack of flour. Then Hachiro and Kizawa haul themselves out.
We lie there. Five of us. Soaked in indescribable horror. Panting. Gasping. Shaking. The ghouls hiss from the water, but they cannot reach us. Hachiro rolls over. He coughs up something terrible and looks at us, his face streaked with black slime. He breaks into a slow, pained grin. "So... guys..." he wheezes. "That... was... awful. But... at... least... we... are... out... of... the... sewer... sludge,... right?"
I look down at the river of filth rushing past my feet. I look at what I am covered in. "Hachiro..." My voice cracks. "...This... is... the... sewer... sludge."
"...Oh." He blinks. His face falls. "I... am... so... unbelievably... gross... right... now."
"We... all... are," Erima murmurs, wringing out her long, black hair. I lean back against the cold, wet stone. My adrenaline is gone. I am shaking from cold, covered in things I will have nightmares about forever. But the ghouls cannot reach us. The web feels distant. We are alive.
"This... place..." I whisper, my teeth chattering. "It is... a... sanctuary."
"It... is... a... toilet," Yogawa groans, finally waking up. "And... I... think... I... am... going... to... be... sick..."
"At... least... it is... our... toilet," Hachiro sighs, patting the stone. "Our... smelly... safe... toilet."
No one laughs. But no one argues. For now, on this tiny, dry ledge in a river of death, he is right. We are safe.