The layers of the Labyrinth ran deep; storms within the walls guarded its secrets from those not meant to venture in. Stone stairways worked their way down, but the stone crumbled as the light above grew more distant, and even Cenobites did not know what waited past their own barriers. Lighting and stone flooring and common sense prevented them from going further down towards that enticing blue light beneath their feet.

Everyone - all of Leviathan's creations knew not to go towards the blue light. Beyond Leviathan's reach the Labyrinth was unpredictable; she was as wild with her creations as Leviathan was ordered with his, and the space between the Labyrinth's surface and her heart was occupied with all that had been left to fester in ages before. Even Leviathan himself wouldn't touch it. That, the Cenobite Prince thought to himself, was the genius of it all. He hated Angelique for it, but casting him down here was the perfect means to get him out of the way while she did... whatever it was she planned to do.

Perhaps it was his fault for assuming she would play somewhat fair.

Perhaps, the Prince thought to himself, he should have seen this coming. Angelique was as notorious for her guile as her temper, and she had used both to unexpected effect; perhaps, in different circumstances, he'd even have been impressed. These, however, were not the right circumstances to appreciate the cleverness of such a tactic.

No, he thought, standing over the dying form of some unspeakable beast that had tried to eat his heart from within his chest, the Cenobite Prince could not appreciate much of this at all. He craned his neck up, and the corridors of the Labyrinth spiraled upwards beyond what he could even see. He was perhaps a mile beneath the surface, far beyond contact of his Gash or even his god; the dimmest beam of Leviathan's gaze passed over the enclave, its reach only halfway to the depth the Prince found himself. He watched the beam pass, and felt the slightest twinge of panic; no one could find him.

He stepped back from the beast, which gurgled and dripped black blood from the wound in what he assumed was its neck. Truthfully he was unsure; he only knew it was what he'd grasped and he'd felt a pulse under his fingertips. That was enough for him to cut deep, and now the beast lay motionless at his feet. It was vaguely spider-shaped, but with too many legs and too many protrusions that might have been the head. And it was melting.

He took a step back; the black blood was consuming and dissolving the carcass, and soon it was all one bubbling and noxious puddle that seeped into the stone below. The stone itself was rotted and crumbling; it was held together not by itself, but by networks of vines, or perhaps veins, that intertwined and weaved their way into every crack and every crevice they could find. Even further below the foundation was overgrown with them, and they blossomed into flowers that were full as roses and wet with something red and dark.

Perhaps, under better circumstances, he'd have found it quite beautiful. It was so rare for the Labyrinth to have flowers.

He needed to focus. These corridors were winding and overgrown and brimming with more forgotten beasts, but they obeyed the structure of the levels above them. There would be stairs. That was his primary concern at the moment, to find his way back up and warn his Gash of Angelique's presence. He needed to focus. Now, he thought to himself, he'd just come from another hall with promise, and this had proven to be a dead end. Returning to that point seemed the best course of action. He closed his eyes and willed himself to it.

The floor gave out beneath him; the Cenobite Prince opened his eyes in time to grab the edge of the floor, and he pulled himself up from crumbling stone and looked down. He'd missed, he'd aimed for the ground and had ended up on its very edge. Panic bloomed into an aching horror in his chest; he did not know this place enough to will himself anywhere. He was constrained to walking.

Would his chains even answer his call?

The weight of his tools hung at the Cenobite's waist as he stood, a small comfort. He could still use those to defend himself; a waste of artistry, but a necessity of he was to encounter more of those beasts. As he stood a vine tried to tangle with his fingers; he pulled his hand back and watched the vine disappear. His finger was scratched, and he watched a drop of dark blood form at his fingertip before spilling down his hand. This land was lawless, a Labyrinth beyond his recognition and understanding. He looked up again; somewhere above, his Gash was looking for him. perhaps his god was looking for him. But here, in these recesses of ages past, he was alone.

"Dammit!" The voice pierced the silence of his thoughts, and it was followed by a raspy shriek and a wet smack. "Get away!" That was a voice - a human voice, masked by the sounds of this cacophonous underworld. He closed his eyes - and stopped, opening them again, and starting towards it. When was the last time he'd needed to rush?

Though the halls were wide, they were winding, and he couldn't quite gauge where the sounds were coming from. He did know it was a struggle; blunt force and hissing and something thrown into a wall. He followed, and hastened his walk at the sound of another squelch.

Leviathan have mercy, he prayed, let the human live. The Cenobite Prince turned the corner - and stared. The human woman stared back, holding a rock and standing over some sort of pulsing and multi-jawed worm. She was covered in purplish liquid, but that wasn't why he was staring.

"...Kirsty?" The Cenobite Prince almost couldn't believe his eyes. She away looked from him, to the rock in her hands, to the corridors spiraling above their heads.

"I don't..." she started, and her voice was ragged, "suppose... you know... how we're going to get out of here?" He sighed, closing his eyes again.

He was going to kill Angelique.

New story! A big thank you to IdreamtofManderleyAgain, who provided the inspiration for this with a writing prompt! More to come soon!