CHAPTER 22

  Offerings

  The tunnel up ahead opened into a wider chamber, the ceiling vaulting up into shadows. Rusted iron cages lined one wall, mostly empty, but two were occupied.

  Two women huddled in the first cage, pressed together. A man sat alone in the second, knees drawn to his chest, rocking slightly. All three were gaunt, hollow-eyed.

  Bash triggered Investigator. It sputtered, barely holding long enough to tag the prisoners.

  The skill left Bash feeling queasy, a splitting ache forming behind both eyes. He wasn't sure if it was the lack of sleep or the infection he could feel spreading across his back. Probably both.

  Catherine spotted him first. Her eyes went wide, and she scrambled backward, chains rattling. “No, no, please, we don't have anything left!”

  “Easy. I’m not with the goblins.” Bash held up his hands, showing the brass knuckles but keeping them low. He examined the cage locks, thick iron.

  “Stand back,” he said. “This is going to be loud.”

  He wound up and slammed his brass knuckles into the lock. The impact rang through the chamber like a bell. The lock held. A dent, nothing more. He hit it again. Harder. The metal groaned but didn't give. Rust flaked off in chunks, but the mechanism stayed stubbornly intact.

  “Come on, you piece of shit.”

  He could hear footsteps now, heavy and getting closer. A third hit. Fourth. Each one echoing off the stone walls, bouncing down tunnels, announcing his presence to anything with ears. These were much sturdier than the ones the bandits had used.

  Bash changed tactics, desperately grabbing two of the cages bars and flexing, pulling them apart with all of his might. They bent apart slowly. Way too slowly.

  Out of time, Bash spun as something walked through the chamber entrance.

  This goblin was different. Taller than the others by nearly two feet, its frame thick with ropy muscle instead of the usual knobby weakness. Scars crisscrossed its gray-green skin. One ear was missing entirely and it wore armor, actual armor, plates of scavenged metal strapped together with leather and bits of sinew.

  And hanging from its belt, a ring of keys.

  The creature's piggy eyes swept the room. Landed on Bash and the prisoners watching from their cages.

  It roared and charged.

  Bash barely got his arms up before the thing was on him. It moved fast, way faster than the smaller ones, and its first swing caught him across the jaw with enough force to send him staggering backward.

  He felt something crack from the blow, hopefully just a tooth. “Okay,” Bash wheezed, circling left. “So you're the manager, huh?”

  The septic debuff pulsed angry red in his periphery. His arms felt like they were moving through syrup, reactions a half-beat slower than they should be. Twelve trash mobs shouldn't have taken this much out of him.

  The goblin charged again and Bash ducked under the swing, driving his brass knuckles into its side. The creature grunted but didn't slow down. Its backhand caught Bash across the jaw, snapping his head sideways, causing stars to explode across his vision.

  The next swing came while he was still seeing double. Bash had to throw himself backward to avoid it, feeling the fist whistle past his face. The goblin pressed forward, not giving him room to breathe, and Bash tried desperately to kick out at its legs. One lucky hit caused the creature to lose its balance and pitch forward, arms pinwheeling.

  Bash took advantage before it recovered, circling and wrapping his arms around the creature's torso, pinning its limbs to its sides. He locked his hands together and squeezed, hauling it off the ground. The goblin thrashed, legs kicking wildly, heels slamming into his shins.

  Bash gritted his teeth against the pain and squeezed harder. Put everything into it. Felt his muscles burn, felt the creature's ribs creak under the pressure.

  Something in the goblin's back gave way with a wet crunch. It screamed, the sound booming as its head was so near his own. Its lower half went limp instantly, legs dangling uselessly. But its arms kept moving, claws scrabbling at his forearms, tearing fresh lines through his already ruined armor.

  Damage done, Bash let it drop, allowing the goblin to fall to the floor, legs now twisted at wrong angles. The thing hadn’t given up and it dragged itself around to face him, eyes blazing with hatred.

  Bash circled slowly, breathing ragged, arms shaking from the effort. He kicked the goblin across the face. Its head snapped sideways and it collapsed, cheek pressed to the stone, dazed but still conscious. Still making wet, gurgling sounds.

  Raising his boot, he stomped once. The skull dented, bone cracking beneath his heel. Twice, and the thing stopped making noises. The third stomp caved in the skull entirely. Green-black ichor sprayed across the stone, across his leg, across the rusted bars of the nearest cage. The body twitched and went still.

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  Bash stood there, breathing hard, looking at the mess at his feet. His arms were shaking. Blood ran down his forearm in warm rivulets, mixing with the goblin's ichor.

  "Great," he muttered, examining the cuts. Some of them fairly deep, already starting to throb. "Add it to the tab."

  He grabbed the keys from the creature's belt, then turned to the cages.

  Catherine and the NPC woman were pressed against the far wall, as far from the bars as they could get. Marcus had stopped rocking. All three stared at Bash with wide eyes.

  Not grateful, terrified, the same way Ella had been.

  Right. I just beat something to death with my bare hands while covered in sewage. Probably don't look like the hero they were hoping for.

  He caught his reflection in a puddle of water near the cage. Stopped. Stared.

  He looked like something that crawled out of a swamp to devour the living. Filth caked every inch of him. Blood, both red and green, painted his arms and chest. His face was smeared with grime, eyes too bright in the darkness, teeth bared in what he'd thought was a reassuring smile but probably looked more like a threat display.

  Jesus. I'd run from me too.

  He forced his expression into something softer. Held up the keys. “Good news. Found a shortcut.”

  Nobody laughed.

  The locks opened easily. Catherine and the NPC woman stumbled out of the first cage, supporting each other. Marcus barely had the strength to stand, leaning against the wall.

  “There's a troll,” Catherine whispered, her voice shaking. “Deeper in. The goblins feed it. They bring it...”

  She couldn't finish.

  “Offerings,” Marcus said flatly. “They bring it offerings.”

  Bash looked at the three of them. Starving. Traumatized. Barely able to stand, then at the tunnel leading deeper into the dark. “Okay, new plan.” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm getting you out of here. Then I'm coming back to have a conversation with this troll.”

  Catherine grabbed his arm. “You can't fight that thing. It's huge. It heals too fast.”

  “Yeah, I know how trolls work.” Bash gently removed her hand. “Let's focus on getting out first. Stay behind me. Move when I move. If you see a goblin, point and scream.”

  He started toward the passage that seemed to slope upward, the three survivors shuffling behind him. The NPC woman had found a rock somewhere and clutched it like a lifeline.

  They'd made it maybe fifty meters when the passage opened into another chamber.

  Smaller than the last, but with the same rusted-iron aesthetic. A table dominated the center, its surface stained dark. What lay on the table made Catherine scream.

  A person, cut into pieces with surgical precision. Organs arranged in neat rows. Flesh peeled back and pinned like a biology experiment. The face was intact enough to be recognizable. A young man with dark hair and a look of frozen horror.

  Catherine sobbed, the name ripping out of her. “Oh god, Thomas, no!” She lurched toward the table, and Bash caught her, pulling her back.

  “We need to move.” Bash tried to steer her away. “Catherine. Catherine! We need to go.”

  “He was my friend,” she choked out. “We came here together, we were supposed to…” Her sobbing echoed off the stone. It bounced down tunnels. It carried.

  And something in the darkness answered.

  Guttural snarls from multiple directions. Feet slapping against wet stone. Getting closer. From the left. From the right. From somewhere behind them.

  “God, I hate escort missions,” Bash muttered, spinning to face the sounds.

  A side tunnel erupted with movement. Three goblins poured out, heading straight for the group.

  Bash moved to intercept, but more chittering came from the opposite direction. He turned, saw another pack emerging from the shadows.

  Too many angles. Too many tunnels. He couldn't cover them all. “Stay close!” he shouted, wading into the first group.

  His brass knuckles caved in a skull. He grabbed another goblin by the throat and used it as a club against the third. He turned back to check on the others.

  The NPC woman was gone.

  A flash of movement in a side tunnel he hadn't even noticed. Small shapes dragging something larger. A scream, high and desperate, cutting off with horrible abruptness.

  Bash started toward the tunnel, but he heard Marcus yell. Catherine shrieking.

  He looked back. Three more goblins had emerged from somewhere, circling the two Uploads. Marcus was swinging wildly with a loose brick. Catherine had grabbed the NPC woman's rock and was backing away, face white with terror.

  The side tunnel. The darkness where the NPC woman had vanished. He could still hear sounds. Wet sounds. Feeding sounds. It was too late for her.

  Bash ran toward Marcus and Catherine.

  He hit the goblin pack, brass knuckles turning skulls to pulp. One. Two. Three. Bodies dropped. Ichor sprayed.

  When the last one fell, he turned back to the side tunnel. Silence. Nothing but silence. Sorry, script.

  The rest of the escape was a nightmare of twisted tunnels. They hit a collapsed section and had to crawl through, stone scraping against Bash's hands and knees. Marcus got stuck halfway through and Bash had to shove him from behind, ignoring the man's whimpers.

  Another bloated goblin blocked their path, that distended belly sloshing with every step. Bash grabbed a loose stone and hurled it. The creature burst like a water balloon full of acid, spraying the walls. They had to wait for the slime to stop hissing before they could pass.

  Catherine froze twice. Just stopped moving, staring at nothing, trapped in some loop of horror. Both times Bash had to grab her shoulders and shake her back to reality.

  “Move. You can fall apart later. Move now.”

  Marcus got weaker with every step. By the end, Bash was half-carrying him, one arm around the man's waist, the other holding his brass knuckles ready.

  They heard chittering behind them. Getting closer. Bash moved faster, dragging Marcus along, Catherine stumbling after them.

  Finally, a tunnel that ended with a rusted-out gate leading to actual daylight.

  “Go,” Bash ordered. “Don't stop until you're in the market district.”

  Marcus went first, limping slowly, one hand on the wall for balance.

  Catherine paused. Her eyes were red, her face streaked with grime and tears. She'd watched him kill a dozen things. Watched him choose who lived and who died. Watched him enjoy parts of it.

  “Come with us,” she said. Her voice cracked. “Please. You don't have to go back down there. You've done enough. More than enough.”

  Bash looked at her. Then he looked at the tunnel behind him, at the darkness that went down and down and down.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

  “You'll die.” She grabbed his arm, fingers digging in. “That thing will kill you. Please. Please, just come with us. We can find another way.”

  “There might be more people. Can't just leave them to the buffet line.” Bash gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

  She stared at him for a long moment. Her lip trembled. Fresh tears cut tracks through the grime on her face. She let her hand drop and started to turn. “Thank you.”

  Bash watched her walk up the tunnel until she disappeared outside.

  He turned and walked back into the dark.