"So I can die easy."
"I suppose I oughta clean this mess up."
Chance, having calmed down just a little bit from his horrifying revelation and a good night's sleep, stood in the main room of his house, hands firmly on his hips, sighing as he surveyed the damage from the other night. Globs of spit on the ground remained from where he tried to get the taste out of his mouth, overturned furniture from his stumbling about at midnight, and of course, the massive pile of vomit that lay resting upon his bed.
The retch had air-dried a little, but the ominous, orange glow still remained. It stained deep into the blanket and sheets, tainting them a deep orange. It gave off a vile stench of stomach fluids and… something sweet-ish?
"No," Iselda said, having accompanied Chance back to his house. He turned around and looked at her, confused.
"Burn them."
Chance took a step back in surprise, unable to hide his incredulous look. Burning anything over a bit of bile seemed a tad extreme. Though, after a moment's consideration, it made sense; if this disease, this… infection, really was as dangerous as it had been described, it was better to completely eradicate it before he wound up infecting the rest of Dirtmouth.
The thought made him shudder; Iselda, who welcomed him with warm, open arms, keeled over in agony from the ravages of the orange sickness within her. Whole-hearted Cornifer, his eyes tinted orange with madness. Gentle and considerate Elderbug, buried on the outskirts of the town, having succumbed to the disease.
He shook his head, ridding the horrid thoughts.
"A-Alright," he breathed. Though, there was the matter of how to move the sheets somewhere safe to burn, since he wasn't about to start any open flames in his new house.
Well… he was already infected, right? It wasn't like he couldn't catch the same sickness twice, right? Then again, getting his own retch on him would be disgusting, as well as make himself a much more potent vector for this disease. Besides, there was no chance he would burn his only clothing if any got on him. Still, there really wasn't much choice in the matter.
Carefully, he stripped the bed of its sheets, then bundled the sheets into a small, compact ball with the bile firmly entrapped in the center. Luckily for him, it didn't spill out of the makeshift cocoon, but would it seep through? Either way, they could worry about the minuscule amount he had spit on the floor later. His nose remained crinkled at the foul smell throughout the whole process.
The bundle firmly in hand, he made his way to the door, Iselda behind him. The two stepped out into the street, the latter leading them.
No words were spoken between them as he carried the filthy pile of cloth through the streets and past the outskirts of the small town. Here, the frigid wind was at full strength, the light of Dirtmouth far behind them. Despite the featureless, wind-blasted plains, they found a larger rock to act as a windbreak and with the application of a bit of tinder, flint, and steel, Iselda managed to get a fire going.
With the sheets flared up in flame, Iselda turned to leave, but froze when she realized Chance wasn't following. He stood close by the fire, hands firmly planted in his coat pockets, the weak fire reflected in his orange eyes as he stared into the light, silent.
"Chance?"
"...I need to go down."
Iselda raised an eyebrow at his vague words before Chance turned his head to give her a backward glance.
"I…" he faltered for a moment, "I need to go down the well. Into the old kingdom."
Iselda took a step forward and, against her better judgement, rested her hand on the human's shoulder. "...Chance, no, you're not thinking straight. Come, you need rest-"
"But I am thinking straight for once," he firmly replied. "If this… disease is what made that old kingdom collapse - Hallownest or whatever - then maybe there's something left down there I can find out."
"Chance, There's nothing," Iselda tried to reason with him. "If anyone down there ever knew how to cure it, Hallownest would still draw breath."
"Maybe," Chance acknowledged. "But what's the point in staying up here? I'm dying, Iselda. Slowly, but I am. I can't just sit up here and wait for death. I have to at least look. I have to try!"
"Chance, listen to me!" Iselda had raised her voice, grasping the human by both of his shoulders. A despondent look shrouded his face, and dark shadows from the fire shrouded his face. "You do not know how many times I've witnessed bugs go down that well, seeking wealth or power or knowledge, and never returned. If you descend into Hallownest, you'll almost certainly die!"
"Almost," Chance replied. "But if I stay up here, I'll die for sure. I don't have a choice."
Iselda opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her grip on his coat slowly loosened, until her arms fell back at her sides. A quiet sigh escaped her.
"You don't, do you?"
Chance said nothing, gazing into the flames, his thoughts and emotions concealed by an empty gaze into the fire.
There wasn't much he had to pack.
Long after the old, infection-smeared bedsheets had been reduced to smoldering embers, Chance was preparing to descend into the unknown depths. He hadn't bothered to get a replacement for his blanket. After all, he wasn't sure he'd ever come back up here again.
His phone was firmly in his pocket, and… that was just about it, actually. He didn't have many possessions he could call his own. The meager supply he did possess wouldn't cut it. There were still many more articles needed for this journey- something to defend himself with, as well as medical supplies.
Food and water were also kind of important too, he supposed.
No suitable weapon of any kind was to be found in his own home, nor anything that resembled first-aid. The best that he could find were a few moldy strips of cloth and a dull knife from the kitchen. Outside of his home, though… there was that blue goop from the cliffside; maybe he could grab a few bottles of that if he could make the hike there and back. It wasn't too far, and its miraculous ability to completely sew up his injuries, such as when the Knight put it on his hands, would be invaluable. Much better than anything in the house, that was certain.
The Knight. He hadn't thought about the small bug in a while, now that he thought about it. The thing went down the well, too, didn't it? He toyed with the thought of running into it. The bug was much stronger than he was, for sure; maybe he could even ask for the Knight's help once more? Even if he could wrangle the bug into helping him, Chance still needed to be able to defend himself. Because truly, what were the odds he would conveniently wander into his savior in the catacombs beneath the well? Nill, most likely, as such there was no point to count on it. Which brought him back to his current activity.
At the moment, he was rummaging through his home's closet, looking for some kind of bag. As it stood, the closet itself was filled with all sorts of knick-knacks. Multiple pairs of the same rough shoes, a primitive umbrella, a chipped, ceramic bowl… pushing aside the last item, his prize was revealed. It was an older, grey cloth bag with a sturdy strap and brass, latched top tucked against the back wall. Yoink.
Taking it back to the rough counter of the little kitchen, he unclasped the two latches and peered inside. Several smaller odds and ends lined the bottom, as well as a thin layer of dust. Chance turned the bag upside down, letting it all spill out onto the counter. The various objects bounced dully onto the counter, dust engulfing them. Except for one.
It was some sort of odd medallion, an old tarnished thing. Actually, more of a smaller badge, now that he had a closer look. Despite the dust's best efforts, the old thing refused to let it stick on. The badge fit comfortably in his hand, and from what he felt, had a sturdy pin on the back. The design itself was almost like a butterfly, with a dull crimson center, three dark blues prongs on each side. The design was completed by a small grey spike on the bottom, matched by four longer, more elegant grey spikes on the top.
He gently rubbed the center surface with his thumb. Almost unconsciously, he pinned it onto the bag. It just felt right.
Inside the bag went several glass bottles he had scavenged from the cupboards. They'd need to be washed before he could put anything in them, but even then, having dirty bottles was better than no bottles.
With the bag a tad heavier than before, he slung it over his shoulder and went out onto the streets of Dirtmouth. The last item on his preparation checklist was to wash the bottles, then head back to the cliffs for the Healing Juice™. Well, the last preparation aside from getting a proper weapon, of course.
A few minutes of silently shambling through the streets brought him back to the town center. The same dark, dreary sky kept him company, though he wished the sun would come out just once. Did the sun actually come out, or was the town subject to perpetual night? If the latter were the case, wouldn't that mean-
His train of thought cut off upon spotting the Elder, who was lightly dozing under his signature lamp by the bench. A loud greeting was enough to rouse him from his little catnap.
"Oh dear me, who is it now?" Elderbug groaned, hands rubbing his eye… sockets. There really was no getting around that.
"It's Chance," he said, coming to stand under the lamp as well. The Elder jumped slightly at his sudden appearance.
"Oh," Elderbug went silent for a moment, "...If I may ask, what is it you need?"
"Well, I was wondering if you knew where I could find some drinking water."
"Right, right. We have a pump near the edge of town you can use. Just go down that street." A chitinous hand was pointed down a dark path, somewhere beyond his house. Chance waved and began to make his way over there, giving the Elder a wave as he walked by.
"Thanks."
Chance was a bit doubtful of the sanitation of Dirtmouth's solitary water pump, but seeing as he'd already drunk a glass of its water last night with no ill effects, there really wasn't a point in worrying. Several quick pumps from the surprisingly well-maintained handle brought forth a spew of water from the sprout. Each bottle was filled full of H2O, swirled around, then emptied and dried. The flow from the pump slowly relaxed into a soft dripping as Chance dried off the last of his bottles with his jacket.
The approaching footfall of someone coming up behind him brought Chance out of his mindless task. He put the newly cleaned bottle back into his bag before rising back to his feet. Turning to face his visitor, he beheld the form of Iselda. As usual, she cut right to the point.
"If you are going down into the ruins, you'll need a nail," she said. In her hand was a shortsword, though like the Knight's own sword, it had no crossguard. Once again, the referral to swords as nails struck him as odd. Iselda held out the blade to him.
He hesitantly took the hilt, feeling its weight. A bit heavy, but quite balanced. "I appreciate it, but why? You said it was long dead." Not to mention he didn't have any sort of combat training.
Iselda froze slightly at his response, then sighed, "What roams down under the well does not follow the kingdom's example. The dead are the lucky ones, so to speak."
She can't be serious… "Are you saying..."
"They are what is left of those who fail to perish from the Infection." Her tone was quite somber. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Zombies?
A brief pause fell between them. Chance's lips pursed, mentally preparing himself for the horrors beneath."Thank you Iselda. I mean it." He would have hugged her, but that would have been way, way too awkward. Besides, even without proper training, a weapon was better than nothing, right?
She nodded, "Thank me by not dying." With that, she turned tail (or rather, thorax?) and went back down the streets of Dirtmouth.
His eyes moved back to the sword in his hand. It was an older thing, obvious from the dullness of the blade and the few small cracks present. Still, it seemed sharp, along with a newish looking grip on the handle, as well as a fine layer of oil on the blade. Didn't Cornifer say something about Iselda being a warrior in the past? She must have refurbished one of her old weapons for him.
He'd have to get a belt loop or something to hold the thing on, though. Or maybe something else. That could probably wait though. With his new clean bottles, he had a bunch of miracle goop to claim.
As it turned out, trying to use a sword without any training was a very bad idea. The results spoke for themselves. As it stood, he was sitting up against one of the rocky walls forming the cavern, nursing a large gash in his leg. Not a gash from one of those large beetles or mosquitos; rather, it was from the bite of his own sword.
If he had to guess why, it was probably his "technique" of swinging it around like a baseball bat. While the resulting grand slam of force into one of those damn flies felt cathartic as all hell, the momentum from the blade cleaving through the bug and striking his leg was much less so. It actually quite hurt, believe it or not. Luckily, the cut was quite shallow, but still, lesson learned.
He couldn't just, like, cram this thing into his bag for the time being, could he? With his inexperience, trying to use a nail was literally a double-edged sword. Except with that sharp blade, it'd probably just ruin his bag and everything in it. Damn it.
It was hard to judge where he was. He'd have to remember to snag a map from Cornifer or Iselda before he went under the well. Even his memory of traveling with the Knight wasn't too helpful, since now he was going in the opposite direction. Pitfalls became steep cliffs and vice versa.
He tossed his nail up a ledge to give himself a free hand to pull himself up with, and saw his prize sitting before him. The vibrant blue cocoon suspended in the air, pulsing, ethereal butterflies flittering around it, glowing flowers peacefully illuminating the area-
Wait. Didn't the Knight tear this thing open?
The human paused. Why didn't he consider this before coming all this way? They'd just about used up all the goo they found. And yet, here it was, right before his eyes. Did they really grow back that fast? Another mystery to get thrown in the pile, gather dust, be forgotten about, and forever go unanswered.
Let's see. The Knight poked it with his nail, and-
The goo splashed everywhere as he punctured the cocoon, coating the cavern in blue. The human quickly unsealed a few bottles and scooped as much as he could into them, leaving only barely enough room left to force the cork back in.
As he handled the alien substance, he noticed his hands healing further, except this time instead of deep gashes, the only wounds he suffered were bruises and some scratches. He made sure to slather a fair bit on his wounded leg as well, letting it heal before stashing the bottles in his bag and going on his way.
As he walked, he double-checked his bag to make sure he had everything. He was carrying five bottles at the moment, all filled to the brim. Hopefully, he could at least get back to Dirtmouth before he needed to use one.
Chance strolled into Dirtmouth casually, humming a tune to himself while holding a bottle of lifeblood in his hands. He thought about asking Elderbug what exactly this stuff was before relying on it too much, just in case it turned out to be bad for him in some way. He didn't need to ask, however, as Elderbug's eyes widened a little upon seeing the blue bottle in his hand.
"Chance… Why do you have Lifeblood?" Elderbug asked, disbelief laced in his voice. He stared with intense discontinuity at the bottle of goo in Chance's hand.
"Lifeblood? You mean this?" He held up the bottle for closer inspection. Is that what this stuff is called?
The Elderbug sighed, "Did you break one of the cocoons?" he asked wearily.
Chance looked away, then down at the ground, unable to look Elderbug in the eyes. "Um… yeah. ...Is… is that bad?" he asked. He broke one of their social customs, didn't he?
"In a way," the Elder replied, "breaking them is rather taboo."
"Oh…" Dammit! "Um… Sorry."
Elderbug's expression softened, "No, it is I who should apologize. I keep forgetting you are not native to Hallownest." he paused for a moment, "If I may ask, however. Why did you retrieve lifeblood in the first place?"
"It's a bit of a long story."
"We have all the time in the world."
Well, quite frankly, neither of them had even remotely that much time, but he clearly wasn't getting out of this, anyway."Uhm… When I first arrived here, I may or may not have fallen down a cliff."
"Surely you jest!" Elderbug protested, "There's not a scratch on you!"
"And that's where the 'Lifeblood' comes in," Chance said, "We ran into the cocoon, the Knight split it open, and I applied it to my wounds."
"Are you saying..." Elderbug trailed off, seemingly out of words.
"It healed me completely," he confirmed.
A moment of silence from the Elderbug. "Chance, Lifeblood strengthens our shells. Not…" he gestured to the human, "... whatever it did to you."
"Oh…" he thought for a moment, "I'm certain of what I saw, though." He held up his left hand so the Elder could see its woundless surface, "The lifeblood restored my hand and my leg."
"If what you say is true…" Elderbug mused, "I will have to explore this further."
"Well, you um… have fun with that, I guess," Chance turned to leave, but was stopped by the Elder placing a chitinous hand on his shoulder.
"A word of wisdom," The Elder said, "Don't show those jars to anyone else."
"Sure, but why?" It was a taboo, sure, but why?
"Lifeblood is a sacred substance connected to dreams, Chance. I myself don't care much for the old superstition, but the others may be more averse to its use."
"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks again," Finally, he removed himself from his conversation with the Elderbug and continued on his way to Iselda's store. Before entering, though, he stuffed the jar back into his bag. Iselda may not hold the same beliefs about lifeblood, but taking a chance and accidentally alienating one of the few people who had been kind to him would be both a detrimental and dick move to make. Mostly the former, though.
He gave the bag a worried glance. Was it his imagination, or was there a faint, blue glow coming from it? Was the glow of the lifeblood really that strong? There wasn't any reason to take chances, so he laid the bag near the door before entering. Despite that, he still held onto the nail.
As per the norm, Iselda sat hunched over the counter, a similar bored expression gracing her features. She did perk up a little when she saw Chance, however. A bit of worry was also written across her face.
"You're back earlier than I expected. You're not hurt, are you?" The last part was delivered with a bit more force.
"Don't worry Iselda, I'm fine!" He held up both of his hands, "Just went back to the cliffs… lost something there."
Iselda smiled, "Oh! Did your nail help you any?"
"Um..., Yeah, yeah, it did. I managed to kill one of those large flies there." She didn't need to know about the leg wound.
"A Vengefly, you mean?" Iselda said, "They're common enough, mostly harmless."
"Definitely," he blustered.
A high pitched screech from the roof of the cavern caught his attention. Chance turned around just in time for something to slam into his face, carving several more scratches into it. He shrieked in surprise, stumbling backward and tripping on some loose rubble, sending him falling back into the dirt. He tried to bat the thing off of his eyes, only causing his creature to latch onto his left forearm instead. It dug its two mandibles deep into it, drawing crimson blood….
Yeah… mostly harmless.
"Something tells me it gave you more trouble than what you're telling me," she said, "There's no shame in it. We all start somewhere."
Chance sighed, "Yeah, it went a bit… worse than I would have liked. May or may not have cut myself when killing it."
Iselda quietly cursed to herself, a hand on her forehead, "You don't even know how to use a nail?" she questioned, before quietly adding, "And I just gave it to you…"
"Iselda, are you okay-"
He was quickly cut off by Iselda, "You need to know the basics." She got up from behind the counter and walked out the door. "Follow me."
He quietly walked out behind Iselda's fleeting form. They went out into the town square, where a slightly nervous-looking Elderbug stood under a lampost, watching them wordlessly. Iselda spun around suddenly, and Chance stopped where he was in surprise, a good distance between the two.
Iselda drew out a carved, long stick. "This isn't a real nail, since you took mine, but it should be sufficient for our purposes." She moved her feet, squatting down slightly into a fighting stance. Her experience was apparent in her stance; she was completely focused on him, her nerves fine-tuned to react at the slightest provocation, like a cat's. Chance gulped, and tried to match her stance as best as he could.
Iselda nodded, "Good, now see how your body is positioned. What do you notice?"
"I'm compact?" he asked. The stance he held certainly did lower his center of gravity.
"And ready to react," Iselda replied. She darted forward with incredible speed, swinging her stick towards the human's side. Chance, in a knee-jerk reaction, flung his nail up to block, wincing as the stick came close to his face. A stick could never win against a nail, but even with such an advantage, Chance's nail still flew out of his grip as he dropped it in surprise, landing into the dirt nearby. He flailed backwards, falling on his back in the dirt.
"Pick your nail back up," Iselda said, maintaining her position. Chance warily rolled over and got back to his feet, grasping the nail which had fallen to his side. Despite Iselda's daunting size, she definitely was fast. A shame he had to learn it the hard way, but he couldn't help but feel impressed, even as she came sprinting at him for another strike.
Unbeknownst to the two, the sounds of metallic rustling and clanks could be heard reverberating throughout one of the older buildings lining the town center. Said clunking was quickly replaced by silence, which was interrupted by a quiet Click! as the intricate, wooden door of the structure flung itself open.
Light poured out of the open doorway, framing the enigmatic Knight as he stepped free from the station and into the town square. The Knight's hollow eyes swept across the scene, taking in the serenity. Save for Elderbug, nobody seemed to be here. It took a cautious step forward towards the bench, only for it to tilt its head quizzically.
The air spoke of something wrong, something out of place. Not the air itself, but rather, the sound of the place. The soft wind carried the sounds of rustling grass, the occasional creak of buildings, and… the clashing of nails? The idea of there being combat in the quiet village of Dirtmouth was alarming, at the very least. The Knight tilted its head, looking for the source of the noise.
Its gaze zeroed in on that human and a very tall and lithe bug sparring against each other, the human holding a nail and the other wielding a long stick. The Knight almost turned back to the bench, but for just a moment, its eyes caught the human's. Instead of the deep green they had been when they first met, his irises were now a vibrant orange. And he was fighting against that bug…
The Knight swiftly brought its nail to its hand, the weight bringing it a measure of comfort. Just another one of the Infection's slaves to free. Nail firmly grasped, the Knight ran to the fighting pair.
"Ha… ha…" Chance huffed bent over, one hand clutching his chest. Soreness once again crept into his limbs, only accentuated by how sticky and sweaty the session had made him. His heart beat uncomfortably fast within his ribs, keeping him alert still.
Overall, he felt like shit. A good kind, however. Not the falling down a cliff and oh god there's so much blood shit feeling. There was a very real difference, he now understood. A kind of understanding that only came from experiencing both of them firsthand.
Iselda, on the other hand, hadn't even broken a sweat from what must've been a mere warm-up for the experienced warrior(Did bugs sweat? ...It wasn't his concern right now). She straightened up, lowering her stick and peering at something beyond their impromptu training area, "I say, isn't that your companion?"
Chance turned to see where Iselda was looking. Lo and behold, it certainly was the Knight, its cracked nail in hand. And approaching them.
"Yeah… yeah, i-it is," Chance replied, still trying to catch his breath with eyes on the Knight. It hadn't stopped its advance; on the contrary, it had sped up to a light jog, blade still in its hand. That… was concerning. Said concern exploded into action when the Knight lunged at him, nail poised to skewer him. With a shout, Chance toppled backwards, dropping his own nail in the process. The wind was knocked out of him when his back slammed into the ground. The Knight used the human's shock to its advantage, swinging its nail down in a glittering arc to render Chance asunder.
Unfortunately for the Knight, Chance had rolled to the side, narrowly missing its swing. He quickly got back onto his feet. By then, however, the Knight had regathered its wits and took another strike at him. It had better luck this time, hitting a glancing blow to Chance's bicep. He gasped in pain, clutching the wound. He stood still, like a deer caught in headlights.
The Knight wound up to deliver another piercing blow, but instead of it striking, the flat end of another nail struck it. The sheer force of it lifted the Knight off the ground and sent it flying through the air, where it crashed into one of the buildings. Humorously enough, the Knight's horns had embedded themselves into the pliable wood of the structure, keeping it pinned there. It flailed about trying to extricate itself from the wood, but found no luck.
Chance, still nursing his bicep, saw that Iselda was now holding his nail. She exuded a look of shock and anger.
"T-thanks…" he mumbled sheepishly. His words fell on deaf ears, as Iselda was already storming her way to the struggling form of the Knight. Chance followed behind, warily keeping his distance. Why the hell did the Knight attack him?
"Don't you know how rude it is to interrupt a sparring session?!" Iselda scolded as she angrily stabbed her nail into the dirt. The Knight froze at her shouts, pausing its struggles. Iselda crossed her arms and huffed, "Just because he's infected doesn't mean he's a free training dummy to throw around-"
Chance stopped listening to Iselda's rant and grabbed onto the Knight's shoulders, tugging it out of the wall until it came free with a thunk. The Knight immediately made a move for its nail, but Chance grabbed it by the forearms and turned it to face him. His orange eyes gazed into its dark, empty ones.
"It's… because I'm infected, isn't it?"
Iselda was silent. The Knight made no movements or expression, only pausing for a brief moment before nodding. Chance sighed. "There's other infected down there, right? Violent and mindless, like… like zombies." The Knight was unfamiliar with what a zombie was, but nodded anyway. Chance shuffled, trying to soften his gaze into the Knight's eyes as best as he could.
"Listen, I'm… I'm not like them, okay? I may be infected, but I still have my mind. I don't want to hurt anyone."
The Knight stared into Chance's eyes, but finally slouched in defeat. Carefully, he let the Knight go, who remained limp on the ground. Whether it was from relief or remorse he didn't know. Whatever the reason, it was an almost depressing sight, seeing the strong and stoic Knight slouched and motionless. Chance turned to pick up the Knight's fallen nail.
"Here," he said, holding the blade out to the Knight. It looked up to him, then to the nail, then back to him. He forced a small smile to his face, "Come on, it's okay."
The Knight finally took the nail, gently grasping the hilt. The nail was quickly replaced to its back, its rightful place. Surprisingly, it held out one of its dark hands, which Chance grasped. The Knight gave it a small squeeze, before letting go. It reached its arm up and playfully ruffled his hair. Chance gave a soft, warm laugh.
"T-Thank you." He hesitated for a moment, before gently embracing the small Knight. They'd be alright in the end.
Definitely.
With one final grunt, Chance let go of the chain and landed lightly on his feet. The Knight had already descended down the well and was waiting for him. Lucky bastard could just jump down the well with no worries; no stumbled, no broken limbs, not even arthritis. Comparatively, his descent down the well had been anything but pleasant. Grasping a mere metal chain and slowly sliding down it for god knows how long was actually was much harder than he thought.
He grimaced from the stabbing pain in his arms. Wasn't there a saying or something like "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger"? Clearly the person who thought of that one was a filthy liar who had never had to climb down a well. Still, if swinging a nail and around all day and climbing around were going to be the norm, the pain would lessen over time, right? Alternatively, his arms would snap like a few small twigs handled by a rough child, but hope is a valuable commodity.
"So, where now?" Chance asked, looking down at the Knight. With nail in hand, it pointed the blade's edge at an ancient archway near the edge of the cavern. Yeah… the cavern… Despite being underground, dim light encompassed the cave from what looked like street lamps lining the path. This place kept getting stranger and stranger every day. Or every few hours.
Looking around, it was much less of a cavern and more of a… road, in a sense. The stone under them was cobbled, though nature had reclaimed them with shoots and lichen sprouting out around the rocky edges. Decayed statues, ancient carts, and broken fence posts lined the edge of the highway, and in some spots had collapsed haphazardly on the road.
Obviously a perfect place to put a damn well of all places. Gee, what genius thought this was a good idea? Oh yes, a convenient shaft for travels to travel down into the middle of a presumably busy road. This whole project reeked of budget padding.
Their trek through the underground road wasn't unlike their hike through the cliffs before, with the Knight mostly going ahead to defeat the hostile creatures lurking in the dark. Chance warily brandished his nail as he followed closely behind the night to some unknown destination. He stepped over corpses of bugs that the Knight did the courtesy of slicing open for him, continuing down the cavern.
Now that he had a closer look at their deceased bodies, it was quite obvious what had become of them. Not by the Knight's nail; rather, by the infection. Granted, the nail strikes hadn't done the poor bugs any favors, but even those showcased the infected fluid leaking from their carcasses. Even now, that pulsating liquid was slowly creeping up along the bodies and enveloping it in its sick glow. Bipedal, beetle, it didn't matter. It just consumed.
He gently brought two fingers to his temple. Their fate, while now ended, was destined for him as well. The two fingers started rubbing. Would his own body suffer the same end? His bloated corpse on the ground, put down by one stronger, infection leaking from every cut and orifice? The phlegm coating him, decomposing him? It was most certainly not a comforting thought.
Forcing his eyes away from the corpses, he continued behind the Knight, eyes scanning for danger. The path they were on was slowly, but surely returning back to nature. The cobble slowly broke down the further they went, along with the impediments of the doomed society.
Speaking of said society, Chance couldn't help but gaze up in awe at the pillars lining the cavern. To think he was actually exploring the ruins of a long-lost alien civilization took his breath away.
But that was before they stumbled upon the temple.
Blinding white light flooded through the windows and door, like a face screaming their soul out, with massive horns protruded from the round structure. Having adjusted to the darkness of the cave, Chance had to shield his eyes from the bright light as he gasped. The Knight spent no time taking in the sights, however, and ran inside of the building, with Chance needing to sprint to catch up.
The inside was impossibly larger than the outside seemingly showed. The interior itself was brightly lit from a swarm of fluttering fireflies near the roof of the structure. Not that there was much to illuminate; a cursory glance revealed practically nothing in the room, save for a pedestal near the back wall. What rested behind, however… large was not a just descriptor. The back wall itself was less of a wall and more of a cracked, yet shiny obsidian surface, shaped like a shell. The surface wasn't smooth, though the vastness of it gave it the illusion of uniformity. Rather, it had a slightly rounded shape.
"What… what is that?" Despite the vast space afforded, the presence of that black shell beat down upon him, crushing him. Focusing his gaze upon the pedestal, he realized that the whole thing wasn't quite as uniform as he thought. An odd, shell-like section jutted out from the other impervious structure. Strangely enough, it bore the sigil of three… symbols, of sorts. Three pointed ovals, all showcasing a different myriad of marks. Not just symbols, but perhaps... masks? The marks could very well be eyeholes, but he wasn't sure what kind of creature had six eyes.
The Knight had moved up to the pedestal, beckoning him with its free hand. Chance glanced between the Knight and the strange wall, before nervously walking up towards it. Unsure of what to expect, he softly pressed an open palm against its surface, and-
Agony.
A horrific screech.
A hollow soul crying in anguish.
A tumor, a cancer.
A brilliant, beautiful light.
Chance jerked his hand away from the wall, stumbling backwards, tripping over his feet and falling on his back. His breaths were uneven, and his brow had a thin layer of sweat. Shaking, he groaned, and lifted his head up to see a figure standing before him. Who was definitely too tall to be the Knight.
"Er… is everything alright? You took a rough tumble there, Chance."
"Q-Quirrel," Chance breathed. The wandering bug held out a hand, which Chance gladly took, and pulled him up from the ground with a heave. He rose unsteadily to his feet, his other hand clutching his head. "Ugh… w-what happened?"
Quirrel shrugged, "I am not certain. I found you unconscious, and your friend trying to wake you." Said Knight was staring up at him, its face as expressionless as ever, yet there was an air about it that felt like… worry? That was new. What also was new was where he had been lying. Not on the pedestal; rather against one of the far walls.
"Whatever the reason, it is good to see that you are…" he made eye contact with Chance, "Oh… oh no," he finished softly. Chance was about to ask what was wrong, but then remembered. Orange eyes, right. Quirrel reaching for his nail quickly brought him back to the present.
"Quirrel, Quirrel! It's okay, it's okay," he hurriedly said, "I'm still sane."
Quirrel still appeared hesitant, "But for how much longer Chance? You may be fine now, but will that be true in a few hours, or a day?" Thankfully though, Quirrel had stopped reaching for his longer nail, though the Knight placing its own hand on Quirrel's helped.
It pointed a finger from its other hand at Chance's infected eyes, then moved to point at the effigy above the pedestal. Both Chance and Quirrel followed the finger, confusion evident on their faces. The Knight finished its game of charades with a cutting motion of its hand.
"... I… don't follow."
The Knight darted up towards the strange wall and smacked it with its nail. To Chance's amazement, the attack was shielded by some otherworldly pale glow, ghostly fractals protecting it like a force field. The Knight hit it fruitlessly a few more times to make it clear that he wasn't just seeing things.
"Amazing!" Quirrel breathed. "What kind of magic is this? A protection charm? I-I don't believe I've ever seen anything like it before!" Something in his voice shook in that last statement, but Chance ignored it as the Knight rushed back to him, and pointed at his orange eyes again. He blinked, pointing at himself dumbly. The Knight nodded wordlessly.
"...Does, uh… does this place have something to do with the Infection?" The Knight nodded again.
Quirrel leaned in, listening to their conversation with awe. "Does it really? I'd have never suspected! A massive, dark egg resting in such a desolate place, and it's linked to the Infection somehow?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully, before spinning around to face Chance. "Maybe a cure could be found inside! Or would that be too much to hope for?"
Chance looked down at the Knight, his eyes wide and excited. "Is the cure inside of that egg?"
The Knight shook its head, and he felt his heart fall.
"Oh. I… Oh." He was silent for a long moment, before looking back at the Knight. "Then what does it have to do with the Infection? Can it help us at all?"
The Knight, strangely enough, only looked down at the ground, silent as ever. Quirrel spoke up. "Er… I suppose the small one's muteness limits its ability to answer more complicated questions." Chance facepalmed internally; that should've been a no-brainer. He got too caught up in the excitement of an easy way out of his disease that he forgot about that.
So he was limited to yes-or-no questions, then.
"Um… can it help us at all?" A pause, and a slow nod.
"Is there a way to open it?" A nod.
"Do you know how?" A shake.
"...Could we figure out how?" A nod. Chance had to bite his tongue from asking how.
"Does this egg, perhaps, contain sensitive information regarding the Infection?" Quirrel offered. The Knight stared up at him and tilted its head, confused at the question. Quirrel's face slowly fell. "...It was just a thought."
Chance looked back at the Knight. "Do you plan to open this thing somehow?" A nod. He took a deep breath, preparing himself. The million-dollar question.
"...Can I come with you?"
Quirrel staggered at the apparently ludicrous suggestion. "C-Chance! You're in no state to go on wild adventures like this! You may be fine now, but-"
"I know I don't have much time," Chance interrupted. "But I can't just lay around and wait to die. I have to try to cure myself."
"B-But-!"
"Quirrel, please. I don't have a choice. It's my life."
Quirrel raised a hand in protest, only for it to slowly lower back to his side. "...I… do suppose that's true…" He kept his eyes on the floor, feeling conflicted. In his silence, Chance walked closer to the wall, making sure not to touch it again. He studied the three symbols on its surface; they appeared to be faces with varying eyes, but other than that, there was no description or helpful information to be found.
"What are these?"
Quirrel was shaken from his thoughts, and came over to join Chance. "I'm… not sure. They appear hauntingly familiar to me, yet I cannot place my finger upon it…"
A pause. "Even though you're wearing one on your head right now?"
Quirrel tripped over his words in confusion, before taking off the large object on his head and holding it up. Sure enough, it matched one of the symbols on the door exactly. "Wh-Why-! B-By the Wyrm, you're right! B-But how…? I don't- I never-!"
…'Wyrm'? Chance brushed it off as a cultural thing. "How'd you get that thing, anyway?"
"I- Why, I…" Quirrel wiped his brow shakily. "I never thought my travels would lead me to a place that I myself and linked to so intimately… Have I been to Hallownest before? No, I'm certain that I have not…"
The normally calm and collected Quirrel acting so nervous was an uncomfortable sight to bear witness to. "H-Hey," Chance said soothingly. "Calm down, let's think this through. Again, where'd you get that… what even is that thing, a mask?"
"I-It is, indeed, a mask," Quirrel said. "Please forgive me for my… lack of composure, I… it's just… I can't actually recall where I acquired this mask."
"...What? Really?"
"Really!" Quirrel said. "I've had it for as long as I can remember! Which, fair enough, is not all too long, but still…"
Damn. So that line of questioning was a dead end. Still, it was clear enough that Quirrel was somehow linked to the method behind opening this egg. Maybe if they-
"Wait."
As long as he could remember… but also not all too long?
"Quirrel." The bug turned to him, surprised by Chance's unusually shaky tone. "This may be a personal question, but… do you happen to have amnesia of some kind?"
Quirrel seemed taken aback by the question. "Ah- Now that you mention it, I… I really can't remember anything before arriving in Hallownest. Only… base instinct, if that makes any sense."
So maybe it wasn't a dead end after all. Quirrel did have something to do with that mask, but lost his memory upon reaching Hallownest. So one objective of figuring out how to open this wall would be to find out what Quirrel's lost past is, and his connection to the masks.
But on top of that, a very concerning fact arose.
"...Funny," Chance whispered, his face stone-set in a worried frown.
Quirrel blinked. "F-Funny? In what way is my memory loss 'funny' to you?"
Chance took a shaky breath, his infection-filled eyes laced with fear. "It's funny, because I can't remember anything before Hallownest, either. Just like you, I lost my memory when I got here."
The Knight looked between the two, patiently waiting. Quirrel finally broke the silence, "That… is troubling, " he quietly said.
Chance brought a dirty hand to his forehead, "Tell me about it." He shook his head, "Everything has gone to hell."
Quirrel shook his head, "I did not mean it like that, Chance. If the two of us are afflicted with amnesia, are we the only ones? It is either that, or a stretched coincidence." He had a fair point. It was already strange enough that the two of them had amnesia, and Chance assumed they had some strange outside force to thank for that. But if it happened to them, who's to say it wouldn't have happened to others, too?
"I don't think Iselda and Cornifer are amnesiacs, and the Elder is… well… you know," he awkwardly finished.
"Truly a mystery, indeed," Quirrel replied. He thought for a moment, "But what about you? Do you remember anything before coming to Hollownest?"
Chance's face scrunched slightly, a hand brought to his chin. "...Truthfully, I don't remember... well, much. A few fragments of memory, walking in the cold, no purpose to it…" the pull of the memories called to him, but he stood his ground, "And light. At the moment, glorious, amazing light. Even my own possessions haven't helped me remember much." Well, most of them, at least.
"...That is incredibly disturbing, Chance," Quirrel said, "Had the infection really taken hold that early on?" He looked back up to the door, "And yet, here you are."
"I guess?"
Quirrel went quiet again, going over the embedded masks. Guy must enjoy his dramatic pauses. "We should continue our journeys again soon. There is no time to waste."
Chance idly followed behind the Knight, his nail in hand. Sure, he probably wouldn't be able to use it very effectively, but it always paid to be safer than sorry. Especially with some of the bugs they had encountered. In addition to those crawling roaches and "vengeflies"(as Iselda had called them), they had encountered their first bipedal, infected being.
A short, rounded bug, mindlessly shambling in the same small crevice, the infection dripping out of every orifice. Chance shuddered away at the sight of it, gagging as the familiar, sickly sweet smell of infection wafted through his nose.
"W-What the…?"
The infected creature rushed them, arms waving forward mindlessly. This thing was straight out of a zombie movie. Chance brandished his nail to defend himself, but froze when his eyes and the zombie's eyes met.
A golden light, encompassing all and everything.
It was almost a mercy when the Knight sliced its nail across the zombie's abdomen, cutting the creature down for good. But while the poor creature's body fell to the ground, so did Chance's nail from his shaking hands, clattering to the ground. The Knight looked back to see Chance fall to his knees, his whole body shaking.
"A-Am… am I g-g-gonna… am I-I really… g-gonna e-e-end up… like t-th-that…?"
His orange eyes held a vacant and deeply terrified gaze, staring off into nothing at all. His body quaked violently; he was finally starting to grasp the horror of the Infection, and the nightmarish fate that awaited him in the coming days.
Days. He probably only had days to live. After that… maybe he wouldn't exactly die. But it sure as hell wouldn't be much of a life worth living.
Soft pats echoed through the caves as the Knight approached Chance. He slowly lifted a small, dark hand, and gently ruffled the human's brown hair. Chance looked up at the small bug, some life returning to his tangerine eyes.
"T-Thank you…"
They sat there like that for a few minutes as Chance calmed down from his panic attack, but they couldn't stay there forever. When they finally got moving again, the Knight wasted no time hopping over the zombie's corpse and slashing away at the mushroom-shaped rock behind it. It swung its nail like a bat, with cracks growing along the rock's surface with every strike.
"Uh… What're you…?"
The rock finally gave way and crumbled, and from within flooded out a small pile of shiny, metallic objects. They were small and rounded, with an almost bubbly surface. Chance crouched down and picked one up while the Knight scrambled to hoard the rest. He turned it around in his hand, feeling its smooth texture; he could easily hide several of these in the palm of his hand. He showed it to the Knight.
"What are these?"
Of course, instead of vocalizing an answer, the Knight simply yoinked the one out of his hand, and slipped it into a brown, cloth bag that Chance had never noticed it having before. It shook the bag a bit, as though weighing its findings, before- wait, where the hell'd he put that thing?! The bag had seemingly vanished in midair, much to Chance's surprise. The Knight, ever so mysterious, simply tugged on his hand to keep moving.
"I… You know what? I'm not gonna ask."
With that, they continued forward. Or rather, down. Beyond the tunnel was a large pitfall, filled with suspended platforms and the buzzing sound of flying bugs, and likely the kind that wouldn't mind ripping them apart. The Knight, of course, went ahead and did him the courtesy of chopping up every last hostile bug hovering around the dark, cavernous shaft. That only left the issue of getting down himself.
Chance dramatically leapt from one platform to the next, stumbling after every other landing and sweating profusely. The worst ones were the ones straight down. It wasn't a matter of how far he could jump or how athletic or agile he was; either his legs would handle the impact just fine, or they wouldn't. The shakiness from the seemingly ancient metal platforms wasn't doing his ankles any favors, either. After what felt like hours, Chance finally approached the very bottom of the cavern, landing funny on the rocky floor and he falling face-first.
Strangely, he would've eaten the dirt if not for this conveniently placed paper left on the ground. Rolling over and sitting up, he rubbed his sore legs, before glancing over at the paper on the ground next to him, now with the shape of his face indented into it. He picked it up and flipped it over, finding markings etched into it. The Knight had ran up behind him, and was also studying the strange paper from over his shoulder. There were scribbles all over it, as though its creator was unhappy with how it had turned out and carelessly discarded it.
And something else caught his attention. Not on the paper, but in the noise in the air.
"Is that… whistling?" Chance asked the Knight. It tilted its head, then nodded. It was more of a hum, now that he thought about it. Amateur, yet an odd and catchy tune. Maybe the person who threw away this paper was nearby? Creeping into the hole in the floor from which the humming came, they descended into another cavern, however, Chance failed to watch his step and fell down again, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. A startled scream echoed through the caves, and the humming ceased.
"...Ch-Chance, is that you?" a familiar voice called.
"C-Cornifer?" Chance asked, grunting as he pulled himself up. The Knight hopped down beside him, clean of injury.
Sure enough, Cornifer was perched against a nearby wall, scribbling away at a sheet with a quill, humming all the while before his concentration was broken by Chance's fall. The cartographer readjusted his spectacles, wide-eyed in shock at Chance's presence.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought with your Infection, you were staying up in Dirtmouth-"
"Until the end of my days?" Chance interrupted, coughing heavily. He probably fractured a rib back there. "No. If there's a way to cure myself, I'm gonna risk my life to find it."
Cornifer stared at Chance through his glasses, before he sighed. "You've already had this conversation with Iselda before, haven't you? I can see it in your eyes." Smiling at Chance's surprised expression, he said, "What? Did you expect an argument from me? I can't say I endorse your reckless… adventure, but even I know there's no better way."
Chance couldn't help but break out in a smile as he leaned his back up against the same wall Cornifer sat against. "Th-thank you for understanding, Cornifer." As he spoke, the Knight, too, sat down next to him, holding its feet with its hands and looking around expectantly, as if it was unsure what they were supposed to be doing here. Cornifer suddenly perked up and buried his face in the parchment he held, scribbling away furiously.
"If you're looking for a cure- or anything down here, for that matter…" he pulled away his quill and lowered the paper, allowing Chance to look at it, "then you're going to need a map."
The paper was covered in the same scribbles as the previously discarded scraps. Unlike the abandoned pages, this particular specimen had reached maturity. It wasn't that great, mind you, but preferable to exploring blindly. The map itself was composed of several scribbled lines, outlining many different pathways throughout the ruined crossroads. Curiously, one of the box rooms near the center of page had an ominous symbol, a crude helmet with two large, jagged horns protruding out of it.
Chance pointed at the aforementioned symbol. "What's that symbolize?" After all, no one would put down something like that for no reason.
Cornifer squinted at the symbol, before straightening up. "A great bug knight rests there. It almost squashed me while I was exploring! I would highly recommend you not go there." He said.
Chance nodded, "Noted." He went silent for a moment, "Say, you wouldn't happen to have a copy, would you?" He asked hopefully.
"Of course! I'd be glad to give you one for… let's say, twenty-five Geo."
...What? "I-I'm sorry?"
"Oh, don't be sorry, friend! Why, I couldn't in good conscience charge you full price for this, considering our friendship, and your, ahem, condition."
Chance blinked, trying to understand. "T-That's not what I meant, I-"
The Knight suddenly hopped up, pulling that strange bag out of thin air again and grasping tiny handfuls of the bubly metal objects out of it. Some slipped from its grasp, falling back into the back with soft clinks. Cornifer laughed, "Having your companion pay for you, I see! A bit strapped for Geo at the moment, are you?" he asked in amusement, counting out the tiny metals from the Knight's bag.
"...Oh. I get it." Chance watched the exchange as a wave of understanding came over him. Cornifer and the Knight turned to look at him. "That's… well, money, isn't it? Geo is Hallownest's currency."
Cornifer seemed puzzled by the question, before his eyes widened behind his spectacles. "O-Oh, right! You've never heard of Geo before, have you?"
"Er, yeah. We used… other types of money where I come from." How alien of a concept would paper money be to Hallownest's people? ...Probably best not to worry about it now. It's not like it mattered anyway; he had no choice but to start using 'Geo' as long as he stayed here.
"Fascinating!" Cornifer said. "You'll have to tell me more about it some time. But until then," he gingerly folded up the map and held it out to him. "I believe this is yours?"
Chance reached out to take it, but not before the Knight hopped up and plucked it out of Cornifer's hand. It unfolded the parchment, studying it, before meandering further down the cavern.
Cornifer laughed again. "Well, I suppose he did pay for it, didn't he? Ahahaha! Oh, that child's a riot." Chance couldn't help but smile at the Knight's antics, before standing up to chase after him. Cornifer, however, called out to him before he got far.
"Chance!"
He turned around.
"...Stay safe, friend."
Chance beamed. "I will. Thank you." He felt a tug on his hand, and looked down to see the Knight standing by him, having returned to bring him along. Chance smiled and waved wordlessly back to Cornifer, before running off into the darkness with the Knight by his side.
Cornifer sighed, rolling up his parchment and placing it back into his patch, preparing to move onto the next area. "Oh, those children…"
"That was nice," Chance mused as he carefully inched himself down a slope, making sure not to slip and get hurt. The Knight, on the other hand, had raced through the caves and down the slope, impatiently waiting for Chance to reach him. If he didn't know any better, Chance would've thought the small thing was invincible.
"So, where to now?" Chance said as he dusted off his pants, having finally reached the bottom. The Knight pulled out their map, and Chance crouched beside him to look for himself. Funnily enough, these caves were lined with streetlights, powered by those "lumaflies", so he could see the map and the general area clearly.
Uhh… Okay, so that's where Cornifer was. Then they went down… and… left- no, that'd be right on this map. Right? No, left. They went left… and it looked like there was just a long stretch of cavern ahead of them.
"I guess we just keep going forward, right?" There didn't seem to be any other options around. Chance stood up, and the duo walked forward through the-
Sssschlink!
They both whirled around; a gate had appeared seemingly out of nowhere behind them, locking them in the room. On top of that, a familiar buzzing noise filled the air around them. Looking up, Chance saw no less than three giant fly-like creatures, with heavy globs of orange Infection coating their abdomens. All three starred imposingly down upon Chance and the Knight.
"...Oh boy…"
A blast of Infection suddenly came flying at them, and the duo leapt in opposite directions to dodge it. The shot smashed into the ground where they once stood, and Chance could've sworn he heard a fizzing noise from the earth where it landed. They both drew their nails, and Chance got into a defensive position while the Knight jumped incredibly high up, intent on eliminating its foes before they got a chance to strike again.
Another round of Infection orbs flew at him, and Chance, in a moment of dumb panic, tried to shield himself from the blast instead of dodging. He raised his nail up to his face, and the orb smacked into it, Infection flying everywhere except for his face. It stained his clothes and, where it made contact with it, burned his skin. Chance yelped in pain as he dropped his Infection-covered nail, collapsing to one knee as he held his burning hand.
The Knight was, thankfully, faring slightly better. With a mighty leap, he practically flew into the air and swung his nail at one of the flies, giving it a nasty scar dripping with Infection. As he descended, however, the fly took a shot at it. It was too late for the Knight to change course mid-air, and was lucky to get away with a bad hit on its leg. The small bug hit the ground and tumbled, dropping its nail, but despite its wounds, it managed to stagger upright again. It managed to dodge out of the way of another attack, picking up its nail and running the best it could around the small room. One had to keep moving to fight these things; staying still meant one's demise.
Speaking of, Chance was still sitting duck, clenching his burnt hand. He saw the Knight hop onto a stone column and leap over to get another shot at the fly. Sure enough, his nail sliced open its side, and the fly finally lost control and crashed into the ground.
One down. But that still left two to go, and Chance and the Knight weren't in the best shape.
Chance weakly tried to reach for his nail, but his burns flared up, and he collapsed, lying on his side, desperately trying to grasp his only method of self-defense. The Knight noticed his struggle and ran to help him. But with its injured leg, it wasn't able to reach him fast enough, and Chance could only watch in horror as a glob of Infection flew at him and splashed square in the middle of-
-his face, finally having breached the surface of the water, took a heavy gasp of breath. He waved his arms around, trying to keep afloat as he took in his bearings. He was in the middle of an ocean, colored with oranges and golds from a brilliant sunset, the sky painted with soft reds and golds as the clouds drifted cooly by. His breathing was labored, and his soaked clothes were weighing him down, threatening to drag him into the abyss below.
A creak. He spun around in the water, and behind him was a small canoe, painted an inviting shade of white. With nobody else on it, he grabbed onto the edge and clambered up into the boat, collapsing on his back when he fell in. He let his lungs take in all the air they wanted, heaving gulp after gulp of breath as the boat rocked beneath him.
He laid there for a while, trying to catch his breath. Eventually, he pulled himself up, sitting properly on the seat of the canoe. His drenched clothes and hair were plastered to his skin, but he felt oddly warm. He looked around the area yet again; a sight for sore eyes, to be sure. The golden clouds floated across a tangerine sky, and the sea bent in fractals of brilliant sunlight and black abyss. It was… soothing.
"...What are you…?"
He froze. With a shaky breath, he slowly turned around. There, sitting at the opposite end of the canoe, was her. A being, brilliant in her divinity, her silhouette barely visible with the blinding sun behind her back. He couldn't recognize her, but he knew she was not of this world. Or perhaps she was more worldly than he was? He knew nothing of her, of any of this. A shiver running up his spine, he carefully stood and reached out to her with an open hand. Her orange eyes went back and forth between his hand and his face expectantly as he took another step forward. However, the odd weight he placed on the boat caused it to rock, and he stumbled, falling face first-
-into the earth beneath him. Chance's head shot up as he gasped for breath, wiping a growing layer of sweat off his brow and onto his sleeve. He rolled onto his back and quickly scrambled up, looking around frantically for his nail. Finding it in the dirt nearby, he rushed over and fumbled with it until it was firmly in his hands again. He could feel his heart beating in his head as his eyes darted over the scene.
He must've blacked out when that glob hit him, but two of the flies were dead, while one was injured. The Knight was not in the best of shape; it was covered in the orange stuff, and had fallen to one knee, only sheer willpower keeping it conscious. The final fly hovered above it, before rapidly descending, intent on finishing him off.
Chance, in yet another moment of panic, did the only thing his adrenaline-fueled mind could come up with, and threw his nail as hard as he could at the fly. It soared through the air, spinning in chaotic spirals, before it managed to hit its target. Chance's arm wasn't strong enough to completely slice the fly in two, but a heavy gash opened up the fly's guts as the nail's blade hit it. Both the nail and the fly fell to the ground with a splat and a clang, before a silence fell over the cavern.
...Ssschlink!
The gates that had locked them in had opened, somehow in response to the outcome of the battle. Chance dashed over to the Knight and collapsed next to it, sliding across the dirt as he did so.
"Hey, heyheyhey, are you alright? Please be alright, c'mon, stay with me…"
He mumbled incoherently, praying that he wasn't too late. A small hand rose from the Knight, and slowly, ever so slowly, began to ruffle the human's unkempt hair. Chance chuckled, then broke into a laugh as he held the Knight close in his arms, tears threatening to breach his eyes.
Maybe they'd be alright after all.
Chapter name and summary are a reference to In My Time of Dying by Led Zeppelin.
So we spent over a month of near-daily writing to make this +10k word chapter. It's... been exhausting. Neither of us have actually ever made a chapter this long before. But don't worry, because we plan on future updates to be far shorter and far more frequent for a while, we're not expecting to spend another month in silence before dropping another bomb like this.
Also, to our FFN readers, I strongly suggest you make a habit of reading this story on Archive of Our Own instead of on FFN, as Ao3 is our main platform and we focus on there far more, and our updates here may not be as fast as on there.Thank you for your continued support, and we'll see you in the next chapter in the (much more) near future!
Thank you for your continued support, and we'll see you in the next chapter in the (much more) near future!