The stench struck her first. That stagnant musk of human shit tangled with the iron smack of blood. It flooded Bethany's senses, churning her stomach, driving her sleeve to her nose, even before her racing mind caught pace with the nauseating sight. The sodden spit and splat across the chamber echoed into her ears, drawing her gaze down into puddles of red, then skyward to the scarlet gore staining the crystal-lit ceiling where blood dripped down like anguished rain.

The chamber basked in a cerulean glow—almost holy, but tainted, defiled by the mutilated corpses of what had surely once been human. She took a step. She took another. Then held—the pliant squelch of ruptured organ slick beneath her boot.

A grating rasp caught her ear, strained as if every strangled breath bore the weight of the heavens. Bethany's gaze followed the sound. Amidst the horror, two survivors remained—Field Captain Harper on her knees, and the frail, sickly girl she held cradled to her chest.

Crusted yellow streaks trailed from hand to arm to neck along the girl's skin. Cracked at the centre, each line showed wet scarlet beneath, seeping through the amber glaze. She drew a heavy, broken breath, her sullen eyes shifting towards Bethany as she approached. Her lips began to move as if to speak, but whatever word formed was swallowed by blood-choked coughs and bone-twisting convulsions.

'Hush now. Rest. Be still. Don't speak,' Harper soothed, tightening her hold to keep the girl still—her tears falling upon the girl's face like the mourning sky.

Save the girl's croaking breaths, Harper's shuddering tears, and the mangled death dripping down into crimson pools, there was silence. Sorrowful and intimate, it struck at Bethany's heart to see it broken. But there was no other way. She needed to know what had happened—what they faced—what she had conscripted her army to fight in her name.

'What happened here?'

Caught unaware, Bethany stepped back, her body tensing, coiled to strike. It was not only the sudden shatter of silence that unnerved her, but the theft of her words. The very question she had meant to voice slipped heartbeats earlier from Rexford's mouth, reminding her of his presence, the gathered company, and the weight of command still pressing on her shoulders.

'Healer,' Harper murmured without looking up, as though afraid the fading girl might vanish the moment her gaze slipped away.

'What—' Rexford began, but his words broke beneath Harper's sudden cry.

'Healer!' she snapped, clutching the girl to her chest as her ragged breaths faltered.

Bethany glanced across the mass of whitened faces, settling her eyes on a Servant she knew to be a competent healer. She jabbed a finger toward him. Their eyes locked, and with a closing hand, she signalled his approach.

Waiting for permission, not instruction, he knelt beside the Field Captain. A small, verdant sack shimmered into being in his grip. Unbinding its knot, he dipped a hand inside and withdrew it, fingers coated in glowing green salve. With tender care he applied it, and the frail girl's breaths began to steady. Amber scabs peeled from blistered skin, and her running wounds knit closed.

Only when the girl's pallid complexion began to pink, and her breaths flowed gentle as wind-swept leaves, did Harper give a shuddering sigh. Slowly, she lifted her tear-blurred gaze to meet Bethany's eyes.

'It's all my fault,' she whispered at last, sorrow streaming her face like twin rivers breaking their banks.

'What happened?' Bethany asked, her tone firmer than intended. The question drew heaving lamentations from Harper's lips.

Bethany went down to one knee. Hands gently resting on Harper's shoulders, she drew her in. Harper's quivering breaths became her own; her mournful weeps soaked into Bethany's chest. The captain collapsed into her embrace, her body slack beneath the dreadful weight she had never been meant to bear.

'It's all my fault,' Harper repeated, her voice muffled as she wept into Bethany's bosom.

'No,' Bethany said. 'That burden is not yours. It is mine. I brought you here—me. That was my choosing. Everything that happens, it falls on me.'

She broke her hold, meeting the captain's eyes. Then, with a softness she had never thought her own, she said:

'You are absolved.'

They were the words Harper had been waiting for. Bethany knew it, for she longed to hear them herself. Harper's tears fell anew, but then she stilled, the tension draining from her body at last.

****

'Wake the girl,' came the Lord Mayor's shrill command. 'Only the Stewards know what lurks ahead, and we've no time to wallow in cloying sentiment. She must be interrogated—grilled like spoiled fish—if we're to keep ourselves safe.'

Harper's eyes fluttered open. Cerulean light from the gem-encrusted ceiling poured down, searing her vision. She raised an arm from beneath heavy fur, shielding herself from the harsh gleam.

'Give the poor lass a moment's reprieve, I beg you,' said the silver-haired Enforcer. 'She's been through enough, and this place already reeks of death. Let us not heap foul upon foul by subjecting her to your sour breath.'

A chuckle slipped from Harper's lips, drawing the gaze of all around. Bethany stepped closer, extending a hand, and with effortless strength lifted Harper to her feet.

'It's good to see you up,' Bethany said, her voice steady, yet touched with a delicate mien.

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Harper tried to meet the Field Marshal's eyes, but they slipped away as Bethany glanced aside, her cheeks flushing red like a blushing rose.

They had shared a tender moment, fleeting and chaste, yet Harper suspected that for a woman such as the Marshal, even so faint a vulnerability was more exposing than standing bare.

'Good, she's up,' the Lord-Mayor sneered as he approached. 'Perhaps now someone can explain the blighted imbroglio you abandoned for others to reckon with in your stead.'

Harper glanced across the chamber. Where bodies had once been strewn in ruined heaps, only ashen outlines remained—scorched shadows of the dead. Even the ceiling had been scoured, stone charred black where once gore had clung.

The chamber had undergone a more striking transformation. Where once it was sealed, a tunnel now cleaved open in the far wall, sloping downward until it vanished around a bend. Near its mouth the crystal lights burned brighter, like an orb glowing beneath the sea—an invitation luring the hapless into a waiting maw.

She stepped back as if by instinct, cold sweat slick upon her skin. Her pulse quickened, her chest seized, and panic closed around her breath as memory clawed back the Abomination.

It was down there.

Somewhere.

Waiting.

Unmoved by whoever dared descend.

What did it have to fear? Not her, that much was certain. It stood a Champion—with all her strength, she doubted she could so much as scratch its onyx armour.

'What waits for us below?' Rexford asked as he joined the gathering, his scarlet armour gleaming beneath the crystal light.

Harper's gaze lingered on him. For a heartbeat, hope clutched at her breath—only to slip loose on the exhale. Rexford was mighty, mightier than the rest. Yet he was still only a Soldier. And the greatest ant remained nothing more than a smear beneath a Champion's heel.

They had to turn back. Her lips parted to voice her fears, but no sound came. Retreat was impossible. Even were the Bleeding Hand not further in, marching toward the unbinding of a Beast of Undoing, she remembered the Dungeon's words—the harrowing song only a Listener could know. It had mourned humanity's stalling. Not one of their kind had ascended to Monarch. Not one had dared to seize a throne among gods. It yearned for undoing, for flames to temper all but steel.

The Dungeon's will could be swayed, but not by weakness. Not by fear. Not by meek prayers or brittle resolve. Only unflinching determination might turn it from its course—and even then, it might not yield.

'Tell us what you know,' the Lord-Mayor snapped, his voice sharp as a lash.

And Harper obeyed. She told them everything—every detail, holding nothing back.

****

Bethany hoped she seemed composed.

She was not.

Her expression remained reserved, her breaths steady, her eyes sharp and unflinching. Yet as the last word slipped from Harper's lips, her fists had balled so tight she could have warped steel in her grip.

It was never going to be easy. She knew that—of course she did. But a Champion Abomination here, within the Settled Floors… that went beyond what could be asked.

The leap between Ranks was exponential. Even with all their strength united, hope of prevailing was scarce. A Champion was not merely mighty; they bore the Dungeon's will upon their backs. A Servant's strike would scarcely scratch them. Even a Soldier's blow would be repelled. It took a Champion to slay a Champion—and among their host, there were none.

Except Havoc…

She clung to the thought as to a branch overhanging a fall.

He was no Champion, yet he had slain one. Wolf's Requiem had been wounded and weakened, but that took nothing from the act. It should not have been possible—yet he had done it. And if fortune favoured, he could do it again.

He slept still, but he was stirring. Even before they departed the slums, there had been signs he would soon wake. Naereah and Anton kept vigil at his side, Bethany's orders binding them to rejoin when he rose.

It was a frail hope, but hope all the same. And for her part, she needed only to clear the way.

'We press on as planned,' she said, her tone unwavering.

She had expected Lord-Mayor Atticus' dissent, yet his tongue held still. Ever the bloviating foil, dredging depths of provocation with every word, he sought only to undermine. But even he must have sensed the truth—there was no path left but down.

Without a word, Atticus slipped back to his contingent, lips pressed to noble ears—no doubt soothing them with lies, each sharpened by slivers of truth that would gnaw at their courage even as they believed.

Bethany glanced at Harper, then shifted her gaze to her lieutenant. Few within the Dungeon did she trust so completely. Sedrick was no serious man, yet when it counted, he had never failed her. She would have had him in her band, but Soldiers were too scarce to strip him of his own command. If anyone could lift the weight of trauma from Harper's shoulders, it was him. And if anyone could rein in his excesses, Harper had the look of one well-versed in restraint.

'Field Captain Harper Cartwright,' Bethany called. 'You are to serve as second to Field Captain Bogata's band. You report directly to me. Should the need arise, you are authorised to act on your own authority. As for the girl—'

'Rosella,' Harper cut in.

'Quite right,' Bethany coughed, her cheeks warming at the insensitivity of her lapse. 'She is to report directly to you. Should any Field Captain fall in our campaign, you will assume command of their unit.'

With a thumping fist to her heart, Bethany offered an Enforcer's salute, then faced her gathered host.

'We do not know what we face. But there is no turning back. The fate of this city rests on our shoulders. We shall prevail.'

Her fighters cycled through an array of expressions—some hollow with dread, others gleaming like burnished steel. The Lord-Mayor's contingent met her with contemptuous glares, while Rexford offered a steady, supportive nod.

It did not matter if they respected her. All that mattered was that they fell into line. She barked her commands, and they moved at once, slotting into their fighting ranks.

Bethany took her place at their head, Sedrick's band marching alongside her own, and together they advanced into the tunnel.

****

Pale light slipped through a break in the curtain, shadows stretching across the walls. The night's chill bit at her skin, but Naereah cherished it all the same. She drew the heavy drapes wide, letting the glow spill into the room.

In pale light, Havoc stirred from slumber. She would have him bask in its glow. Returning to his side, she plunged a cloth into cool water and reached for his brow—only to gasp as a sudden grip seized her wrist. Her heart leapt, screamed—then sang.

Warmth crashed through her chest, her heart near to bursting. Tears blurred her vision, joy and disbelief tangled into one—after so long, after all her prayers, Havoc Gray opened his eyes.

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