Darkness closed instantly, like a slamming door. Ayan was engulfed by cold—damp, penetrating to the bone. Underfoot lay stone—uneven, slippery with moisture.

  The lad stopped, waiting for his eyes to adjust. His heritage worked flawlessly—within seconds the contours emerged. Corridor walls. A low vault. A narrow passage ahead.

  Ainur froze beside him, listening intently. Her breathing quickened—the girl was nervous, though she hid it.

  "Can you see anything?"

  "A corridor. Narrow. Leading downwards."

  Yernazar stepped closer, peering into the darkness.

  "No light at all?"

  "None."

  The healer rummaged in his bag, retrieved a small glass orb. He shook it—inside flared a pale greenish light, illuminating the space within a radius of several metres.

  The walls proved damp, covered with moss. Drops trickled down the stone, leaving dark trails. The air smelt of mildew and something musty, stagnant.

  The girl wrinkled her nose.

  "It stinks."

  "Tolerable."

  Rayan pressed against Ayan's leg, scraping his plates against his boots. The lad glanced at him briefly, pondering whether to send him ahead.

  "Stay behind," he decided.

  The worm scraped in response, turned and crawled towards the healer. It moved slowly, stopping and turning round, as though its master might change his mind at any moment and send it forward.

  Ayan was in no hurry to advance. The weeping echoing from the cave's depths troubled him, set him on edge. Such heart-rending, quiet, bone-chilling weeping the lad had never heard before—not in virtual school, not in holofilms, not here in Seratis. And he certainly had no desire whatsoever to comfort whoever was making these agonising, broken, almost animal sounds. Something about them was wrong, false, as though someone were trying to imitate the weeping of a living being but couldn't quite capture the intonation.

  Finally steeling himself to act, the lad gripped the spear shaft more firmly in his right hand and the shield in his left, feeling how the damp leather of the grip stuck slightly to his palms.

  "Moving out," he whispered and took his first cautious step forward, peering into the darkness ahead.

  The corridor narrowed gradually, slowly, metre by metre. The vault grew ever lower, forcing him to duck his head involuntarily and strain his neck. The walls seemed to creep in from both sides, pressing psychologically, creating an oppressive sensation as though the cave itself were a living entity, slowly closing its jaws round unwelcome guests.

  His sphere of perception encompassed the surrounding space, but showed nothing suspicious—only stone, moss and dampness.

  Several minutes of slow progress passed. The weeping echoing from the depths grew clearer, louder, filled with new intonations—agonising, broken sobs that sent an unpleasant shiver down one's spine.

  Ainur tensed.

  "Can you hear it?"

  "Yes."

  Yernazar listened closely.

  "A child?"

  "Seems like it."

  Ayan sharply raised his right hand, clenched in a fist, stopping his companions. He froze in place, listening to the surrounding space. The weeping echoed distinctly from beyond a bend in the corridor—about twenty metres away by his reckoning. The lad clearly sensed that somewhere there, beyond the stone passage's curve, someone existed. Someone... or something.

  "Careful. Prepare yourselves," he said without turning round.

  The girl drew her bowstring tighter, her fingers whitening from tension on the bow shaft. Yernazar raised his shield forward, protecting himself from the possible threat.

  The trio moved on slowly, cautiously, step by step. Rayan crawled behind them, scraping his stone plates across the damp floor. Light from the magical orb danced across the uneven walls, casting bizarre, constantly shifting shadows.

  The turn opened sharply, unexpectedly. Beyond it lay a small chamber—about five metres wide, perhaps slightly more. In the middle, with its back to the entrance, stood a child.

  An orc child. About five years old, no more. Small, fragile. Its back shuddered with sobs, shoulders heaving.

  Ainur exhaled with relief, slowly lowering her bow.

  "A child..." she whispered, her voice trembling with sympathy.

  Ayan didn't lower his spear. His sphere of perception encompassed the chamber entirely, extending in all directions, but showed no one besides the child—no monsters, no threat. Yet a feeling of wrongness, of alarm, of horror filled him from head to toe, making every muscle tense instinctively.

  "Stop."

  The girl turned round.

  "What?"

  "Don't approach."

  The orc child continued weeping, not turning round. The sobs echoed off the walls, filling the space.

  Yernazar stepped forward, raising the orb higher.

  "Little one, how did you end up here?"

  "What? Are you mad? There can't be anyone living here!" Ayan said, but in the silence his voice rang like a shout.

  The child froze. The weeping cut off instantly. Silence descended—heavy, oppressive.

  Rayan scraped anxiously, crawling closer. Ayan gripped his spear, preparing himself.

  The orc child slowly turned round.

  The face proved distorted, unnatural. Eyes—black voids, without pupils, without whites. The mouth stretched too wide, exposing rows of sharp teeth. Skin—pale, waxy.

  Ainur cried out, retreating. Yernazar thrust his shield forward.

  The creature that had taken the child's form opened its maw wider. It made a sound—a screech mixed with giggling. Icy, bone-chilling.

  Looking more closely, Ayan could discern no system information above the creature—no health points, no level, no name, no rank. Only empty space where the data should have hung. This meant one thing: they had become the first explorers of this dungeon, the first to enter here after its creation by the system.

  Such a discovery had its advantages—increased loot coefficient, experience bonuses, chance of unique trophies. But there were also disadvantages, substantial ones: maximum possible completion difficulty, lack of ready tactics, complete uncertainty regarding opponents' abilities.

  Right now, however, was definitely not the time to ponder dungeon systems and the intricacies of completing this particular one. The creature opposite clearly wasn't going to wait whilst they discussed all the nuances.

  Ayan stepped forward resolutely, levelling his spear at the creature, ready to strike at any moment.

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  "Back. Both of you."

  The creature jerked forward sharply, unnaturally fast. Fingers elongated into claws, lengthened, sharpened.

  The lad delivered a thrusting blow with his spear, putting all his strength into it. The point pierced the creature in the chest, passed clean through. The creature shrieked, leapt backwards, crashed into the wall.

  Ainur loosed two arrows. One struck, hitting the shoulder.

  The creature jerked with its whole body, sharply, like a marionette on taut strings. Its left arm shot upward, seized the arrow protruding from its shoulder and yanked it out in one movement. The wounds closed instantly—flesh seemed to merge back together, leaving not even a trace of blood. The creature hurled the shaft aside with contemptuous ease, hissed—low, guttural, inhuman—and fixed its unblinking eyes on the young orcs.

  "Don't stop, shoot!" Ayan shouted, noticing that Ainur had frozen in place, as though paralysed. The bow in her hands trembled, but she didn't move, didn't draw the string. The girl's gaze was riveted to the creature, as though her will had evaporated.

  The lad's shout didn't help—she continued simply staring at the creature, frozen in an unnatural pose. But Yernazar snapped out of his trance-like state, shook his head sharply and, without hesitation, hurled his axe. The haft whistled through the air, the blade buried itself straight in the creature's stomach.

  The scream that followed was terrible—guttural, distorted, like the cry of several voices woven into one. The sound echoed off the cave walls, making the air around them shudder.

  This brought the girl to her senses. She inhaled sharply, blinked several times as though waking from sleep, and continued shooting—one arrow after another, fast, methodically, aiming for the head and torso.

  The creature jerked under the hail of arrows, each hit throwing it backwards. The spears that Ayan began hurling protruded from its chest and neck, the axe stuck in its stomach, but the creature didn't fall. Flesh closed round the weapons, as though absorbing them.

  The lad lunged forward, gripping his shield. His sphere of perception encompassed the creature entirely—every movement, every twitch of muscle beneath pale skin. He crashed his shield into the creature's torso, putting his whole body weight into it. The blow proved powerful, dull, driving the arrows in to the very fletching. The creature flew into the wall, slammed back-first into the stone.

  Rayan rushed after, writhing across the floor. His maw opened wide, exposing concentric rows of teeth. The worm latched onto the creature's leg, began gnawing, drilling through. The creature shrieked piercingly, tried to fling it off with its claws, but Ayan interposed his shield, then pinned its arms, preventing movement.

  Yernazar ran up, yanked the axe from its stomach with a jerk. Black liquid spurted onto the floor, hissed when it touched the stone. The healer swung and struck from above downwards, aiming for the neck.

  The blade sank deep, stuck in the vertebrae. The creature howled—the sound shifted to a rasp, gurgling, choking. Its head jerked backwards at an unnatural angle, but didn't come off.

  Ainur, unable to continue shooting, put away her bow and drew the dagger from her belt. Running up, she began hacking at the creature's other leg.

  Ayan wrenched his spear from the body and activated "Strike of the Ether Follower", directing the spear at the creature. Mana flowed down the shaft, gathered at the point in white radiance. The blow, filled with the ability, crashed into the creature's chest, pierced clean through, leaving a smoking hole the size of a fist.

  The creature shook with its whole body. Its limbs jerked chaotically, spasmodically. Rayan spun one last time, tore a chunk of flesh from the leg and crawled back, clattering his plates on the floor.

  The others followed the pet's example, wary of a death surprise, but it was over. The creature opened its mouth in an attempt to say something, but from its severed throat came only a rasp with remnants of blood, then it toppled sideways, jerked twice and fell still.

  Silence crashed down instantly, heavy and oppressive. Only drops of water trickled down the walls, marking the seconds.

  Yernazar breathed heavily, leaning on his axe. Sweat ran down his brow, mixing with spatters of black liquid on his face.

  "What on earth was that?"

  Ainur approached cautiously, not putting away her dagger. The girl crouched beside the corpse, peering at the distorted features.

  "I've never seen anything like it."

  Ayan circled the body, studying it closely. Flesh began decomposing slowly, streaming from the bones in dark rivulets. The stench intensified—sickly sweet, cloying, nauseating.

  And then, straight from the creature's chest, a translucent silhouette began emerging. Taking the form of a child, the spirit, phantom or soul silently spoke words of gratitude and dissolved into the cave's vault.

  Ayan watched the dissolving silhouette until the last outlines vanished into the stone. A strange feeling of peace settled over him—as though something heavy pressing on his shoulders had released him.

  "And what was that?" Ainur couldn't tear her gaze from the ceiling where the spectre had hovered a second ago.

  "A child's soul, I suppose," answered Yernazar, wiping his axe on the edge of his tunic. "The creature was holding it captive."

  The lad nodded silently. The explanation seemed logical—the creature had taken the orc child's form for a reason. It had used the soul as bait, as a shell. And the weeping... it had been genuine. Real pain, real despair.

  To distract himself from heavy, oppressive thoughts, Ayan decided to examine the slain creature more closely.

  After the captured soul had finally left its captor, dissolving into the cave's stone vault, the creature's corpse began changing rapidly. The limbs—already unnaturally thin—seemed to retract inside the torso, vanishing beneath folds of flaccid, dead flesh. The body shrivelled, contracted, forming a revolting semblance of a bloated, fattened maggot covered in a layer of dark slime.

  Before he could properly examine the transformed creature's corpse and attempt to understand the nature of this abomination, a semi-transparent system notification appeared right above the decomposing body.

  [Devourer Larva (0/1,090)

  Level 25

  Rank: D]

  The name revealed absolutely nothing useful. Larva—meaning somewhere there existed an adult specimen. Not a cheering thought.

  Yernazar yanked his axe from where the corpse's neck had once been, wiped the blade on his trousers. The healer's face remained pale, lips pressed together.

  "If this is a larva, I don't want to imagine what's further on..."

  Ainur rose, sheathing her dagger. The girl's gaze darted to the chamber's exit, then back to the corridor leading deeper into the cave.

  "Perhaps we should turn back? Tell Ata or the baksy what's happening here?"

  Ayan pondered, weighing the options. Retreat seemed the sensible decision—they had no idea how many more creatures inhabited these passages and how dangerous the adult specimens would prove. On the other hand, the source of the weeping clearly lay deeper, meaning something important was hidden there.

  The lad glanced briefly at Rayan. The worm coiled round his leg, scraping its plates. Listening closely, he found something reassuring and encouraging in the sound.

  "The creature was imposing some sort of hypnosis on you; we need to work out a solution to this. Turning back's not an option—I know that if we do, this place will vanish forever. And no one will be able to say what will happen to the souls trapped here."

  "Souls... Souls... Devourer. Larva. Of course! I think I've got it! Most likely the Soul Devourer himself or one of his spawn arrived here, drawn by the lamentations of so many souls! How did I not remember at once? Grandmother told me about it!"

  "Wonderful that you've found time to reminisce about your childhood, but that doesn't help us now—unless your grandmother told you how to kill it." Ainur looked at Yernazar, hoping that perhaps she really had told him.

  "Of course not! I don't think she even believed in its existence—she just frightened me with it when I misbehaved."

  "Right, stop! First we'll decide what to do about your mental defences, then we can reminisce."

  Ayan's voice returned the young orcs to reality, forcing them to shake off the grim reflections about the entity lurking in the cave's depths. Yernazar shook his head, as though casting off the remnants of the spell, whilst Ainur clenched her fists, restoring her concentration.

  They began discussing options for countering the larva's ability—going through everything they knew about mental protection. Yernazar recalled fragments of the baksy's instructions, Ainur suggested physical methods—pain, movement, something that might keep the mind anchored in the present moment. Ayan listened silently, occasionally interjecting, but his own experience was too limited for such situations.

  After lengthy and heated debate, in which each tried to find at least some foothold, they still couldn't devise a single reliable method of defence against the creature's mental assault.

  In the end, they decided to test all their ideas during the fight with the next larva. But to avoid attracting the attention of the dungeon's other inhabitants, Ayan would lure it to this chamber.

  "Wait here. Don't leave the chamber."

  Giving his final instruction, the lad stepped out of their shelter, spear held ready. Experts in polearms would confidently say he held either a spetum or a protazan.

  The corridor led deeper, narrowing gradually, the walls almost meeting. His vision adjusted to the absence of external light sources. Ayan now saw everything in shades of grey, but this didn't trouble him. During his time spent in Zhalgaztur's cave, he'd already grown accustomed to such vision.

  The lad moved slowly, placing his feet carefully so as not to make unnecessary sounds. Rayan remained behind—Ayan didn't want to risk his pet needlessly.

  The weeping resumed somewhere ahead. Quiet, agonising, almost indistinguishable behind the sound of dripping water. This time it echoed from somewhere to the right, from a side passage.

  The lad slowed his pace. Listened more attentively. The weeping sounded the same as before—childish, desperate, piercing in its sincerity. But now, knowing the true nature of its source, the sound evoked only revulsion.

  He approached the turn, peered cautiously round the corner. A narrow passage stretched about five metres, ending in a dead end. In the middle, with its back to him, stood a figure. Another child. Small, this time not an orc but a human, shoulders shaking with sobs.

  Realising the larva wasn't reacting to his appearance, Ayan retrieved a javelin from his inventory and without hesitating another second, hurled the short spear. The weapon whistled through the air, pierced the creature's back, emerged through its chest. The creature shrieked piercingly, collapsed to its knees.

  Ayan spun on his heels and bolted back down the corridor, not waiting for the creature's reaction—he had no doubt it would follow immediately. His steps echoed hollowly off the stone walls, the echo multiplying and overlapping, creating a cacophony of sounds in the enclosed space.

  Behind him came a prolonged screech—metal on flesh, flesh on stone. The creature was rising to its feet, tearing the embedded spear from its own body. The lad heard the shaft snapping, heard the splinters scattering.

  The shriek echoed off the cave's low vault, shifted into a deep guttural snarl that sent shivers down his spine. The creature was pursuing him—Ayan clearly heard the scrape of claws on rough stone, the slap of bare, wet flesh on the floor, heavy, rapid breathing that grew closer with every second.