"You've never been up here?" Quirrel asked, nudging the elevator's lever.

"Of course not," Lemm crossed his arms. "Too many guards. Besides, something about this building is especially unsettling." He glanced over his shoulder at the dark hall behind them. "And then there's the reputation…"

Quirrel left the elevator and stepped towards an ornate archway. "I know it's called the Soul Sanctum, but I'm afraid I can't remember much else." He glanced back as he wandered into the room. "What have you learned about it?"

Lemm looked around warily. "I don't know how much is true, mind you. But supposedly there were some bugs doing experiments with SOUL. Kinda cult-ish. They might have been trying to 'ascend to a higher plane of existence' or something. Maybe they were trying to be gods." He let Quirrel help him up some platforms and up through a hole to the next floor. "Whatever it was, it was very grandiose and abstract, if the remaining records are any indication. Many saw it as nothing more than a bunch of wacky religious zealots. Some said they actually accomplished something unnatural."

"Gorgeous," Quirrel breathed, staring up at an ornate window. He tilted his head as he processed Lemm's words. "They don't sound too bad, all things considered." He peered down the hall before deciding to board the next elevator. "Certainly not the worst Hallownest has to offer," he muttered.

They'd agreed to survey the place before raiding it. Lemm marveled at the expansive rooms filled with odd trinkets and machinery, while Quirrel poked his head into every new doorway, curious to see where they led.

The conspicuously blank corridor was irresistible.

"Be careful," Lemm warned. "It's dark in there."

"I don't think there's anything in here," Quirrel mused. He cautiously stalked down the hall. "I think our friend has been here," he said, pointing with his nail to a more recently disturbed pile of rocks. "I bet they knocked this hole in the wall. From… the other side, it looks like." He ducked through the rough opening and clambered down the ledge beyond.

"Quirrel!" Lemm protested. "You can't just—!"

He heard a soft thud, followed by Quirrel's echoing voice from below. "Ah. It is dark. We should have brought a lantern. I can barely see down here! It's almost as bad as Deepnest."

"That's one place I'm not following you into," Lemm grumbled. He kneeled at the ledge and leaned out, trying to get a good look with what little light there was. "Well? Anything interesting?"

"The floor isn't flat," Quirrel called. He took a few steps, noting the severe unevenness of the ground. He scuffed his foot on the floor. "I think…" He bent down and felt the surface with his hand. "Ah. It appears I've landed on a pile of corpses."

"Lucky you," Lemm deadpanned. "Imagine that, a bunch of dead bodies just lying about. What a novel sight."

Quirrel's snicker echoed up from the floor. "See if you can find a light, would you? I think this room is bigger than I thought. You'd best stay up there for now, unless you fancy a steep climb back up."

"Yeah, no thanks," Lemm said. "I'll try and snatch one of the lumafly lanterns we passed earlier. I'll be back in a minute."

Quirrel saw his silhouette disappear from above, and heard his footsteps retreat towards the open room they'd previously been perusing.

He held his arms out from his sides for balance as he walked further. It certainly was a large pile. Perhaps the Soul Sanctum had gotten up to more malevolent activities than he'd thought. If he could just find the actual floor, or a wall, he could get a better idea of the room's size.

It took a while to reach a wall, and all the way over the carpet of carapaces hadn't given way to any kind of normal surface. He felt for the wall he could sense in front of him, and shuddered as his hand dipped into a bug's eyehole. He pulled back, but just as quickly he reached out again, exploring the wall's surface.

It was all corpses. All of it. A face here, folded legs there, cracked chitin and the feathered branches of old wings…

He shook himself, dispelling the chill that had begun to seep through the chinks in his shell. Despite his gradually accelerating heartbeat, his investigation continued. He searched along the wall, grimly identifying the body parts of several of Hallownest's many different species.

His hand brushed over a smooth shell with no obvious imperfections. A thought struck him, and he prodded the corpse with particular interest. The face was intact, still wearing its mask. All the limbs were present and in their proper places. There were no wounds or weak points in the shell.

What had killed this bug? Context clues would point to SOUL magics, but for what purpose? Target practice?

There were hundreds… Maybe even thousands. Just lying where they'd been tossed, discarded, like fruit rinds after a meal.

Drained, his mind supplied. Drained? Of wh—? But there could only be one answer, of course. This was the Soul Sanctum, after all.

Were they volunteers? Members? No. They could never recruit this many willing participants, even with deception. Did they simply pick them up off the streets?

The city seemed cleaner. Less crowded. Someone had claimed to be helping out the less fortunate, giving them places to live and jobs to work.

What?

"Don't linger in the city," Monomon instructed lightly, looking away as she rearranged a shelf of vials. "Especially after dark."

Wait—

The guard shrugged. "I don't think they'll reach immortality, but they might be able to stop the plague, sure. But while I appreciate your interest, I'm afraid I can't let you inside."

No, no—

"They took my daughter!" a bug screeched as security hauled her away. "They took my baby!" She sobbed as she struggled to get free. "You have to stop this! My King, please, you have to believe—!"

No, no no—

"—Blessed to have so many volunteers. It's incredible what lengths bugs are willing to go to protect their loved ones. We've already made some very promising advances. They will all be rewarded of course, for their work towards this most noble cause."

No, stop—

For what he was told was a simple mugging, the scream had been like nothing he'd ever heard. The most gut clenching, heart stopping, SOUL wrenching…

Stopstopsto—

Faces. Shells. Bugs he spoke with. Bugs he passed on the street. A set of triplets, musicians. A noblebug, dripping with gemstones. A maintenance team, tending bravely to the windows at the top of the towers. Shopkeepers. Entertainers. Workers. Nobility. Families.

He recognized them. He knew these bugs. Not all, but far too many. Here, a young guard he'd spoken to briefly, shell now cracked with age and the weight of hundreds of dead bugs. Here, a petty criminal, known throughout the city but tolerated for their charming demeanor, their pretty face now a stepping stone in the floor. Here, the mother whose daughter had disappeared, arms and legs stiffly curled in on themselves.

Quirrel backed up and pressed his fists into his forehead. His mind hadn't been flooded by so many memories since he gave up his—Monomon's mask. He tried to keep hold of them, for even unpleasant memories were precious, but they leaked from his mind like water from a sieve, leaving only impressions and emotions. Strong impressions and emotions.

He recognized so, so many of them. Some from only a greeting while passing by, some from extended friendships, most in ways that he couldn't consciously recall.

They were here.

And they were dead.