Rod's Soul Eye finally showed its full worth. Layered over his Spirit Sight, it let him peer straight through the murk: past the falling haze, into the fine-grained twitch of motion, the pulse of energy, even the slight warps in space itself.
Darkness stopped being a wall. The black fog thinned into a mere backdrop—a veil over something vaster that ebbed and flowed behind it. Through that canvas he could watch deeper currents gather and condense, then shed down like soot.
Those motes became monsters.
With his vision flared open, the entire patrol grid sat inside his range. He could even see beyond it—other squads working their beats, a lone Warden moving to assist.
Thanks to Rod, their sector was the only one that hadn't had to call the Warden in. They always reached newborn threats first and erased them at the point of birth.
This time was no different.
"Move!" Raeslin barked.
He was tired, yes, but never sloppy. To a fighter, orders were orders; you didn't shave the edges. He could gossip on patrol—but when a target surfaced, he fought.
The four sprinted toward the spot Rod indicated. Rod lagged—he had no formal training—so Calamon fell back to cover him while the two with the best clear speed surged ahead.
By the time they arrived, the spawn were already down. But overhead, the fog still gaped, pouring like a black waterfall. The square lay smothered; their belt-lanterns lit only tight halos around their feet.
"Something corrupted is drawing it," Raeslin said, face set."If we don't deal with the source, this becomes a real disaster."
Aeg glanced over. "Rod—can you find it?"
Rod hesitated. He could see so much—but not all of it had names yet. "What exactly counts as 'corrupted'?"
"Anything high in spirit that's been infected by the fog," Aeg said. "It resonates with dark power and pulls more of it in."
"Traits?"
"Excellent spirit conductivity, amplifies or bends energy. When spirit warps, you get strong distortions. Once it rots through, it blackens—pure corruption, a nest of infection."
Rod swept his gaze. He didn't see the textbook distortions—but he did see filaments of black airflow threading down into the ground.
Solid matter still damped his sight. Thick stone cut lines, smeared waves. The earth itself was almost opaque.
"Below us," he said. "The fog is flowing underground."
"Then it's in the sewers," Raeslin answered at once. "The rot's down there."
A prickle ran down Rod's spine. Yesterday's chatter had made the sewers sound… unfriendly. He had no real close-quarters ability; the memory of getting one-shot in the Dream was still raw. In tight tunnels, a sudden rush could be the end.
"Let's call support."
Surprisingly, all three nodded at once. "Ping the Warden," Raeslin said. "Even the upper levels can be dicey."
Relieved, Rod pulled the signal flare. It looked like a straw-flecked dung pellet, studded with sliding toggles. He worked the blocks as Raeslin had taught him, then yanked the iron ring at the tail.
Orange-red flared to life. With a sharp hiss the flare shot skyward, trailing fire before it vanished into the fog sheet. A muffled thump, and a red bloom punched through the black.
Moments later, a yellow pulse rose to the northeast—a morphing sigil shivering behind the haze.
Raeslin read it. "The Warden says we lead in. He's alerted the district office and is right behind."
Nerves tightened in Rod's chest. He was painfully mortal. One bad angle in a cramped space…
Raeslin read him easily and clapped his shoulder. "Relax. We're vets. Upper lines are usually manageable. We've cleared stretches like this before."
"Your worst enemy is the little wall holes," Aeg added. "Just don't shove your face up to one like Calamon did."
They both snorted.
Calamon flushed. "I saw a huge tentacle go in there. Looking isn't a crime."
"Sure," Aeg said. "And then for a full week nobody would stand within ten meters of you."
Quip delivered, Raeslin checked their lanterns, sprinkling a rust-red powder into each. The light brightened visibly.
"Minor-grade fuel from Minghe Works. Decent quality—claims anti-erosion, anti-contagion, anti-theft, boosts natural immunity."
Calamon snorted. "Don't buy the ad copy."
Raeslin just smiled and handed each of them a small red glowing stone. "Redtear. Wear it on your chest. Limited protection against fog corrosion."
Rod copied the others and pressed it under his collar. Faint crimson halos shimmered over their chests.
Final checks: weapons, straps, vials. Raeslin uncorked a tonic and knocked it back in one go; the lift in his spirit was visible. The others followed suit.
"Down we go."
He strode to the indicated grate, levered it up, and dropped through. Aeg went next. Calamon followed.
Rod swallowed—and jumped.
They hit one by one. Lantern light unfurled, pushing back the gloom.
It wasn't the rank soup Rod expected. The tunnel was dry, carpeted in dust, the air old and papery—as if no one had set foot here in years. The passage stood a little over a man high and a couple men wide, chisel marks lining the stone. Ahead: branching black mouths.
"A later build," Raeslin murmured. "Looks abandoned."
"Rod, can you still track the flow?" In their naked sight, fog and dark were one; step closer and lanterns swept it back. No direction, only blur.
Rod scanned and pointed northwest.
"Good." Raeslin's voice slipped into command cadence. "Four-man small-squad formation. I'm front main. Aeg, mid control. Rod, back scout, just ahead of Calamon. Calamon, back support and rear guard—you cover Rod. Any objections?"
"No," Aeg and Calamon said together.
Rod wet his lips. "First time doing it by the book—"
"You'll be fine," Aeg said, stretching up to pat his shoulder and only reaching his back. "With me in mid, you won't die."
Calamon sniffed. "Says the guy blowing bubbles while a ghost pasted itself to my face."
"I missed it because my spirit sight is low," Aeg snapped.
"Stone-core," Calamon muttered.
"As if yours is high."
"Enough," Raeslin cut in. "None of us sees far. Rod covers the gap—we're a complete team now. No repeat of Lake Wraith. Move."
That soothed both egos. They set off.
Raeslin led. Aeg held center. Calamon watched their six. Every twenty paces, Calamon flipped a glow-stone to the floor as a breadcrumb—good for them, better for the incoming Warden.
Rod kept both sights open, sweeping walls and air as he steered them along the black currents.
The quiet pressed in—too quiet. His sight couldn't quite chew through the thicker stone; the floor and the deep earth were blind spots. The unease crept back… then faded as he looked behind and saw the chain of glow-stones glittering all the way to the grate.
Two junctions later the tunnel opened up.
The ceiling vaulted two stories overhead. The width could have taken five wagons abreast. Damp closed in; a sour reek rolled over them.
The lateral channel cut across their path. Along either side, round mouths like the ones they'd walked—dozens—fed the main line.
The moment Rod looked left he saw it: a hulking black mass not far ahead. Three meters tall, body huge, limbs stunted—its whole form sluiced with something like melted night. Its spirit lines were faint, its energy ran like tar across its skin, the soul-wave smooth with a slight wobble.
Mohr's lecture snapped into place. Only monsters carried black souls—and that wave pattern belonged to an Unformed.
"Left! Left—Unformed class!" he shouted.
Raeslin's aura snapped on—phantom layers rippling across him as he pivoted left. "Distance? Type? Tier? Any read on traits?"
Rod choked. That was already advanced. Calamon had dumped a lot of theory on him, but he hadn't sorted it all yet.
He grabbed at what he could answer. "Under a hundred meters!"
Aeg frowned. "Not meters—paces. Or yards."
"Three hundred paces!" Rod shot back, brain shifting gears.
"Keep it down," Calamon hissed. "You'll spook—"
"Too late!"
A thunderous boom rolled toward them. The thing charged with absurd speed, tiny legs hammering under a massive torso. Every step shook the stones; clods of black sludge rained from the roof like a storm of tar.
CRASH.
Before Rod could fully register it, Raeslin had met it head-on.
A lance of white vapor flashed past Rod's cheek—Aeg's mist—one bolt blasting at the monster, a second sheath wrapping Rod and sliding him backward to safety.