It's quiet and dark. Shadows just barely visible in the almost pitch black threaten to spill into his mind and Torvun forces his breathing into a rhythm and a steady beat that he has honed from years as a royal guard. The sounds of voices echo out in the distance, they bounce across the stone of the reaper tunnels and each step he takes is muffled, just barely visible as he continues to creep further and further forward.
He feels Clarke is near, he isn't sure why, he doesn't know why. But he knows. He knows because he hears voices, some frantic as they move about, some more calm as they prepare to do whatever it is they plan.
And he feels Clarke is near for it makes sense that these people, these fools, these bandits who seem so preoccupied with tech, have made residence within the reaper tunnels that almost all others avoid.
And so Torvun comes to a stop at a fork in the tunnel. One path leads deeper into its depth, the other he suspects doubles back and leads into the open air. But the fork in the tunnel isn't the thing that gives him pause, rather, it's the voices he hears, the clink of what he thinks to be tech held in baskets or bags and the presence of others so very near by.
The bow in Torvun's hand feels weightless as he takes half a second to consider his next moves. And then he acts.
Torvun steps out from around the corner, he steps out from the darkest of shadows and into what little light gives sight to his eyes and he comes face to face with two silhouettes. The closest shadow is tall, perhaps a man, and in their arms Torvun thinks he sees a basket or bag, whatever is being used to carry the tech. The second person, this one just as tall but lankier, scrawnier, seems to be trying to light a torch, the sparks of the flint and the scents of wax filling the air.
But that is all Torvun needed to know.
The closest shadow registers Torvun's presence as he releases his first arrow. The arrow snaps forward with a twang, it hits the first person squarely in the chest and they topple to the ground. The second person reacts slowly enough that Torvun thinks them never a warrior but a villager, a fool who has fallen into company with dimwits. The next arrow Torvun fires strikes the second man squarely in the forehead, his head snaps back with the impact and he hits the ground with a dull thud.
But Torvun doesn't move, he doesn't dare break the silence that settles around him as he waits and listens. The sounds of those in the distance don't seem to change, but still he waits until he is sure his presence hasn't been detected before he moves forward and pulls his two arrows free with a sickening squelch.
In the distance he can see the glimmer of firelight that must be cast by torches. He thinks he even sees the flickering shadow of people who move about and he knows he is close.
Torvun begins moving forward, another arrow nocked to his bow as he readies his aim, the pain in his body from the explosion all but forgotten as he sets his mind to the task at hand.
With each step he takes he finds part of his mind trying to discover and reveal what these fools plan. He knows they use tech, he knows they experiment with the red smoke. Perhaps they wish to destroy the the Mountain, perhaps they plan to take control, perhaps they plan something entirely different, but in the moment, Torvun's only concern is Clar—
He fires his arrow as someone unexpectedly turns the corner in the distance. He knows he isn't detected in the dark shadows but his arrow snapping through the air must be heard.
The silhouette pauses at the sound, they seem to try to pinpoint what it is and he sees their body stiffen as realisation dawns. But it's too late, it's too slow and his arrow slams into her chest and topples them to the ground.
But this time Torvun grimaces as a sword, an axe, perhaps a spear or a bag of tech rattles and clangs as it hits the stone of the tunnels. And so it doesn't surprise Torvun as he hears a shout of surprise, it doesn't surprise him as he hears someone's name be called and it doesn't surprise him when others come around the corner, flaming torches in hand in search of the disturbance.
And so all other thoughts are cast from Torvun's mind as he prepares to cut down whoever stands between him and Clarke.
Clarke thankfully isn't blindfolded this time. Not that she can really see anything that would give her any idea about what's happening. She still marches down a long reaper tunnel, the shadows cast by the few flaming torches held nearby the only thing to let her know that they actually might know where they're going.
Ilian walks beside her, the man's hand on her upper arm as he holds her close. Teben walks close by, too. It isn't lost on Clarke that Teben at times looks back at her with an expression somewhere between regret and confusion. But still, Clarke doesn't think too much of that for now, if only because she finds herself still trying to figure out just how she will get out of this situation.
For the umpteenth time she goes over everything she knows. And she knows Ilian plans to use the red smoke to knock out everyone in the Mountain. She's seen enough canisters that she wouldn't doubt that possibility at all. She even saw explosives, perhaps the same ones Lexa told her about that she had stumbled across during a hunt, and perhaps that, she thinks is the insurance policy Ilian has against her. Clarke thinks if she doesn't go along then he'll attack, he'll surprise all those in the Mountain and use the explosives to take control. But then, how will he seal the Mountain? How will he stop anyone from entering it aga—
The explosives.
Clarke's mind begins to turn faster and faster as she glances to the third man who walks with them. In his bag she is sure she can see the canisters of red smoke, and she is sure she can see explosives, too. And the tunnels, the trap, the caves that Teben had sent them to, where they had almost been crushed by the collapsing walls of rock and stone.
And that must be it, she thinks, that must be how Ilian plans to stop people from entering the Mountain again.
Clarke would almost laugh, she'd almost be impressed at his plan if it wasn't for the fact that she was almost entirely sure Ilian didn't and couldn't predict what could happen if they collapse the tunnels leading in and out of the Mountain. Not even she knows just how dangerous that can be.
A shout echoes out in the distance and Ilian pulls her to a stop, the man's grip on her upper arm tightening as he turns to the sound. Another shout comes, this one more sure, more panicked but it seems to be cut off before being able to fully be formed.
And Clarke knows. She has heard too many people try to give warning before being silenced forever. She had heard too many people panic and try to flee before being cut down and she knows.
Ilian must recognise the sounds for what they are too for his hand drops from her upper arm and to the knife strapped to his belt. Teben reacts too, she reaches for whatever weapon is strapped to her body that Clarke can't see in the dark and the third man hugs the bag of tech closer to his person.
That distraction is all Clarke needs and it happens in a split second.
Clarke lashes out at Ilian's hip, the wound he so very clearly struggles with a prime target for her attack. Clarke kicks hard, she kicks as fast and as forcefully as she can. Her reward is the pained gasp and yelp as her foot connects with the wound and Ilian stumbles, his hand dropping the knife he had drawn. Clarke rolls as fast as she can in the hopes that her movements are shrouded by the shadows. But in her movements she grabs the knife Ilian dropped, she hits the ground, ignores the bite of sharp stone that stabs into her body and she tackles the third man who carries the torch. They struggle, they crash and tumble and Clarke somehow, someway manages to bring the knife to bear.
Clarke finds herself straddling the man, the torch discarded on the ground, the flame licking at the shadows. She reverses the grip she has on the knife, point now directed straight down to the man's chest and she presses down with all her might. The man's hand snatches up, he tries to spot her but instead he howls out in pain as the blade sinks through his palm, he howls out in pain as blood explodes from the of his band and burns into his eyes and his howl of pain is cut off into a gurgling splutter as Clarke forces the blade and his hand down to his throat.
It's a sickening sound as the point slowly pierces his flesh, his eyes widen in fear, in shock, in pain and fury as he begins to chock, as his impaled hand is pressed to his throat and as the blade sinks deeper and deeper into his neck.
But Clarke can't think too long, she can't consider her next move for she feels something slam into her from the side, she feels the bite of something jab her in the ribs. But she rolls with the blow, she throws up dirt and rock behind her in an attempt to distract and as she whirls around onto her feet, as she comes to face the next threat she feels the air knocked out of her as what she thinks must be Ilian, crash into her side.
But Clarke hasn't survived life on the ground all these years to be bested in the foul reaper tunnels. And so she rolls with this blow, she rolls with the impact, she grips what she hops is Ilian's injured hip and she squeezes as hard as she can.
Ilian gasps in pain, in shock and confusion and Clarke slams her forehead upwards and grimaces past the pain as she strikes Ilian cleanly across the nose.
And then Clarke runs.
Shouts and warnings echo out around her. The sounds of people running back and forth fill the air but Clarke doesn't give them notice, she doesn't let that distract her from the most pressing of tasks. For now she needs to put as much space between her and Ilian as possible, enough that she can order her thoughts and think of the best course of action.
Clarke ducks down a passageway, a tunnel, a path full of gravel and shadows, she races past one rusted cart, she races past a discarded torch on the ground and she dives down another passageway and into the dark of nothing.
She hears her name roared out in the confusion, but perhaps it is merely her mind playing tricks on her as she doubles over and tries to catch her breath.
And then in the silence her predicament slowly dawns on her. Clarke tries to stand, she tries to rise to her feet but her legs don't seem to want to listen, they seem intent of doing the exact opposite for as soon as she tries to rise her legs collapse and she falls to the ground with a spluttering gasp.
A searing pain makes itself known to her in that moment as Clarke struggles in the shadows. Part of her doesn't comprehend what has happened, but a part of her recognises the signs for what they are. She begins to feel a wet warmth pooling along her side and as Clarke struggles to sit, her back to the tunnel wall, she presses her hand against her side before pulling it away.
In the darkness she can see that her palm is covered in blood. It seems thick, coated onto her flesh and so very unfair. A spasm of pain follows the motion and Clarke is sure her face contorts into twisted pain as she fights back a whimper as she realises Ilian has sunk a blade into her side.
Even breathing hurts, even trying to take in enough oxygen to steady her frantic breaths seems so very challenging. Perhaps it's the adrenaline, perhaps it's the fact that she yet again finds herself in the reaper tunnels. Whatever it is though makes her laugh, makes her splutter and makes her think herself so very unlucky.
Pain sears up Clarke's side and despite the laughter she feels a wetness clinging to the corners of her eyes as she tries, as she fights and forces herself to calm, to settle into something less deranged. But she hears her name being called, she hears the frustration in Ilian's voice in the distance.
And it would be easy to give up, it would be easy to roll over and die. It would be easy just to close her eyes and rest. It would be easy to give in to the throbbing headache that seems to be returning, it would be so very easy to let her feet rest, to give the blisters she knows to be split open the chance to calm.
But Clarke doesn't think she got this far in life to give up now.
And so she whimpers, she takes in one steady breath and then she forces herself to her feet, one hand braced against the reaper tunnel wall, the other trying to hold herself together as blood seeps out from between her fingers.
Somehow she finds the strength to stand without needing to brace herself against a wall but still, even holding herself steady hurts. Clarke wonders if the hand she has to her stab wound is even doing anything to help, part of her thinks not from the amount of blood she can still feel seeping out. But at least she feels comforted knowing that she is trying to hold herself somewhat together.
But she shakes those thoughts free, she shakes those pains away and she focuses on what she knows, on what has happened in the last few moments.
Someone found her, someone attacked, someone distracted Ilian enough for her to get away. She hopes it her friends, she hopes it Lexa and she hopes help will soon come. But for now the only person she can rely on, the only person who can help her is herself.
And so Clarke tries to remember the way she had fled, she tries to remember the ducks and turns she had taken to get to wherever she now finds herself. She needs to find those with the explosive, the red smoke can be dealt with later, but she knows if the explosives are detonated and the Mountain is sealed off from the outside then there will be no chance of accessing the Mountain again. Or at least for years. And she knows that no acceptable.
And so Clarke coughs, she spits out the blood that fills her mouth and she forces herself to put one foot before the other as she ignores the shooting pain in her side. And she hopes she has guessed correctly as she begins fumbling her way through the darkness.
Torvun ducks the swing of a sword and he slams his hand up at someone's chin. The sound of teeth clattering together fills the air and he lunges forward and drives his knife into an eye socket with a roar. Blood and bodily fluids explode with the impact and he grimaces as it splashes against his face. He tries to yank his knife free only to find that it has become stuck in the woman's skull.
And so he leaves it, he punches out, kicks, even bites as he moves to the next attacker. A blade sinks into his forearm, the cut deep enough to slip past the thick furs, shallow enough that it only makes him grimaces as he snaps around in the dark, as he grabs a person by the throat and pulls them onto the arrow he rips from his quiver and slams forward.
Blood sprays, it splatters and stings as it hits his face but Torvun ignores that as he throws the twitching body aside. But he dives at the hiss of an axe being swung at his head, he hits the ground and rolls and scrambles away as fast as he can in search of a weapon, of a tool, of anything to hel—
He jumps to his feet, large stone in hand as he somehow manages to parry a sword with the makeshift weapon. And he charges. Torvun's body aches, it burns, fury and pain fill his mind as he slams into someone. Anger fuels his actions as someone jumps on his back only for him to throw them off before slamming his foot down onto their face. Satisfaction flows through his veins as he brings the rock held in his fist up before he crashes it down upon the last person's head with a satisfying crunch.
And then he finds himself standing in a pool of dead and dying bodies. Blood drips from a wound above his eye. The burns atop his head seem to somehow hurt even more and the teeth that were knocked out from the explosion don't even phase him anymore as he bends down and yanks his knife from where it had become stuck with the help of his foot placed upon the person's chest.
The spluttering cough of someone to his side draws his attention and Torvun turns to find a man, one hand missing three fingers, the other with all fingers bent in decidedly the wrong way trying to crawl away.
Torvun doesn't much care for the fool, he doesn't much care that he has presumably killed the man's friends. The only thing he cares for in the moment is extracting as much information out of the man before taking his life. He takes the few short steps to the man's side before he kicks him hard enough in the ribs to flip him onto his back. A gash runs down the man's cheek and Torvun kneels down, his knee squarely placed on the man's chest as he levels his knife directly above his right eye.
"Where is Wanheda," it comes out more statement than question, and Torvun lets his face contort with as much hate and fury and pain as he can muster.
The only answer he gets is a spluttering curse and the man tries to push his knee from his chest.
"Where is she," Torvun says again and this time he lets the tip of his knife touch the main's eyeball with a satisfied grunt as the man gasps out and flinches as the blade begins to dig into the vulnerable organ. "Where is she?" this time Torvun asks a little more nicely.
"Deeper into the tunnels," the man gasps out as he tries to close his eye only for Torvun's blade to cut into his eye lids.
"Thank you," Torvun says as he drives his knife down hard, the sounds of the man's pained screams filling his ears as blood and warm jelly-like liquid pools around his fingers.
Torvun waits until the man's agonised screams turn to whimpered death rattle and then he pulls his knife free, wipes it clean on the man's clothes and rises to his full height amongst the carnage he has last in his wake.
The bodies that lie around him are not the only ones he has left. Part of him thinks he could have done things more cleanly but he knows he must leave a trail for whoever is to follow. He knows the more carnage to be found the easier their ability to track him and so he takes a moment to gather whatever weapon's he can carry before he turns back to the tunnel that stretches out before him.
And so he begins descending once more into its depths with uncertainty before him and death to his back.
Lexa hasn't ridden her horse this hard in what seems like years. They have travelled far through the night and now as she pulls on her horses reins and throws herself off the saddle she feels an exhilaration and anger beginning to fill her bones.
She doesn't know why she believes this is where Clarke is held captive, she doesn't know what she will even find in the reaper tunnels but something calls her forward and so she draws her sword and she pauses at the entrance as the warriors with her dismount and ready themselves.
Anya and Costia come to stand beside her, Gustus behind her. A handful of her most fierce warriors all gather behind her in anticipation for what they will find. Part of her wonders if the Azgeda who went to Arkadia are in as much uncertainty as she finds herself, part of her wonders if they have been attacked, too. But no word has been received and she knows she can't act on information she does not have in the moment and so she discards that thought as she crouches down and examines the footprints that lead into the depths before her.
"These people will use tech against us," Lexa says quietly as she rises. "Be prepared for anything," and she grits her teeth and settles her thoughts as she begins to move forward.
The tunnel swallows her in a blanket of shadow as suddenly as the warmth of the air is replaced by a chilling cold. The barest hints of sound that echo out from the tunnel's depths also catch her attention, even some others notice it too.
"Fighting," one of her warriors whispers lowly, the woman's hearing honed after years as a scout.
Lexa nods as she pauses and raises her hand and motions for no other noise to be made. And with that Lexa and her warriors begin stalking forward as one with the sounds of fighting in the distance the only thing to break the silence.