Hayazaki sat cross-legged in his nest, surrounded by his prepared equipment as he studied the Axis terminal's map display. The toxic entrance by the rotten church seemed perfect - the concentration of poisonous gases would keep others away while providing him natural cover. But something about its position nagged at him.
He began marking other dungeon entrances across the Rim, watching as his terminal created a web of connections. The pattern emerged slowly - each entrance, when mapped properly, seemed to maintain some geometric relationship with the rotten church.
He tried tilting the display different ways, feeling slightly foolish as he turned his head to match angles, but the connection remained stubbornly present yet incomprehensible.
"Shen would know what to make of this," he muttered to himself, the words echoing in the empty nest. His friend had a gift for patterns, for seeing the underlying logic in seemingly random arrangements. Hayazaki could feel the importance of what he was seeing, but the meaning slipped away every time he tried to grasp it.
His terminal suggested several analytical approaches, but each one only revealed more questions. The rotten church itself was barely standing - its walls stained with chemical residue, its windows long since melted by toxic rain.
The Rim's residents avoided it not just because of the poison, but because something about it felt wrong. Even the most desperate wouldn't shelter there.
He opened a new log entry, carefully documenting his observations. The geometric pattern, the church's position, the way other entrances seemed to orient themselves around it like compass points seeking north. One more mystery to add to his growing collection - Min's disappearance, the Broker's information network, and now this strange arrangement of dungeon access points.
But he forced himself to stop, to focus. He was doing it again - letting his curiosity pull him in too many directions at once. Slasher's deadline loomed, and he needed ash. The pattern could wait. Min could wait. Everything had to wait until he could build enough power to face it all properly.
Still, as he returned to planning his route into the toxic entrance, he couldn't shake the feeling that all these separate mysteries might be connected in ways he didn't yet understand.
/////////////////////////
Shen stood slightly apart from the group, his head tilted as he studied the building's facade. Despite years of neglect, the original architecture remained visible beneath the industrial additions - geometric tiles arranged in precise patterns, ornate carvings half-hidden behind rusted pipes, mathematical precision buried under decay.
His fingers traced patterns in the air as his Axis terminal mapped coordinates. The others watched with familiar exasperation as he muttered calculations under his breath, comparing this location to other known dungeon entrances across the sector.
"Just as I thought," he said finally, his hand moving in a straight line from the warehouse to an invisible point in space, then repeating the motion to create intersecting vectors. "Every entrance we've mapped maintains a specific geometric relationship to this building. They're not randomly placed - they're part of a designed system."
"What the hell does that mean?" Surya asked, leaning against a corroded railing.
Kayode let out a loud laugh. "Here he goes again with the weird patterns. Next he'll tell us the whole city is one big math problem."
But Shen barely registered their commentary, too absorbed in logging his observations into his terminal's journal. The building's original purpose, its careful positioning, the way other entrances oriented themselves around it like spokes around a hub - none of this was accidental. Someone had planned this, had understood something about Sveethlad's underground geography that modern residents had forgotten.
Riley, her Zelion frame making the warehouse seem slightly less imposing, stepped closer to examine what had caught Shen's attention. "You think this means something? Beyond just interesting architecture?"
"Everything here means something," Shen replied absently, still recording notes. "We just have to figure out what."
Shen's analysis of architectural patterns was interrupted by approaching footsteps.
Through the warehouse entrance emerged a man who carried himself with the unmistakable confidence of a Pathos - that particular bearing that came from never having known true sickness. He stopped short at the sight of them, his expression flickering with poorly concealed surprise.
Clearly, he'd been expecting different sorts of people.
His eyes found Riley's towering Zelion frame and his demeanor shifted, relief washing over his features. He moved forward purposefully, extending his hand to her.
"Voss Thane," he introduced himself, speaking directly to Riley while barely acknowledging the others. "I'm not sure if you've heard about me, but I've led raids for House Meridian's exploration guild, guided the Ashworth Consortium's deep expeditions, served as pathfinder for the Terminal Society's research teams." He continued through four more prestigious names, each carrying weight that even their borrowed bodies' memories recognized.
"While a Zelion is an... unexpected choice," he added with diplomatic care, "your people are known for their strength and loyalty. Moira spoke highly of your group's potential, though I assumed..." he glanced at the others, his meaning clear - he'd expected more impressive specimens than a collection of unridden.
Riley took his offered hand awkwardly, her massive red fingers engulfing his. "Reveen," she managed, shooting a desperate glance at her companions. She wasn't used to being taken for the leader.
"The Terminal Society's latest expedition went quite deep," Voss continued, still focused entirely on Riley and as if trying to impress her, Shen noticed from his research that Zelions were actually rare and rarely participated in raids, and in fact having one in your team improved one's chances of survival. It also helped that they were not particularly fond of the looting of bodies, which meant less of a chance of backstabbing. Voss was trying really hard to impress this certain Zelion.
"Found some interesting artifacts in the third layer - I assume you've explored that depth yourself? Given your build, you must have excellent ash resistance."
Riley shifted uncomfortably, her massive frame making the movement more noticeable than she'd intended. "Actually..."
"The structural integrity gets tricky around that level," Voss pressed on, clearly eager to talk shop with what he assumed was a fellow experienced raider. "Though I suppose Zelions have natural advantages with the support beams. What techniques do you use for the narrow passages?"
"Well, you see..." Riley glanced desperately at her companions. Shen was too busy recording observations to help, and Kayode seemed to be fighting back laughter.
"And of course, the spectral density increases exponentially past the second checkpoint. Though someone of your capability probably has methods for dealing with that. I'm particularly interested in your approach to the shadow currents."
"I haven't..." Riley started again.
"The Terminal Society has theories about the relationship between Zelion physiology and spectral resistance. Have you noticed any particular patterns in how they react to your presence?"
"We haven't actually been in the Undawild yet," Riley finally managed to blurt out.
Voss stopped mid-sentence, his confident expression faltering. "I'm sorry, what?"
"None of us have," Riley admitted, her red skin darkening slightly with embarrassment. "We're... new to this."
The silence that followed was profound. Voss looked from Riley to the others, then back to Riley, as if trying to reconcile this information with his previous assumptions. His Pathos features arranged themselves into what might have been the most polite expression of horror they'd yet seen in Sveethlad.
"Moira sent me complete novices?" he asked, more to himself than to them. "Without any prior dungeon experience at all?"
Just as Voss was attempting to process the revelation about his would-be students' complete lack of experience, Moira appeared at the warehouse entrance, carrying several wrapped packages that emitted an enticing aroma. Angela and Surya immediately moved to help her, taking bags from her arms with an eagerness that made them seem younger than their borrowed bodies.
"Look at you two," Moira said warmly, patting them each on the head. "Always so helpful."
Kayode scoffed from his position against a wall. "Can't believe how quickly she's trained them," he muttered, but his attention kept drifting to the packages they carried.
"Kayode," Moira called out, her eyes twinkling. "I brought fresh bread."
The transformation was immediate - his affected disinterest vanished as he practically skipped over to join the others. "Well, if you insisted," he said, trying and failing to maintain his dignity.
Riley shifted from foot to foot, her massive Zelion frame making the hopeful movement almost comical. "Did you..." she started.
"What kind of host would I be," Moira interrupted with a mischievous smile, "if I didn't feed all of my charges? Especially my favorite Zelion?" She pulled out an entire loaf, clearly baked with Riley's size in mind.
"Yay!" Riley clapped her hands, the gesture so at odds with her intimidating appearance that Voss's eyes widened slightly.
Even Shen abandoned his careful documentation to approach with a polite bow, accepting his portion with scholarly grace that somehow made him seem even younger.
Voss watched this entire procession with growing incredulity - a battle-hardened Zelion clapping like a child, a group of supposedly hardened raiders transformed into eager children by the promise of bread, and Moira orchestrating it all with the air of someone thoroughly enjoying herself.
"Moira," he managed finally, his proper Pathos upbringing warring with his disbelief, "a word?"
Moira followed Voss to a quiet corner of the warehouse, away from the sound of shared bread and laughter. His face held the particular strain of someone trying to maintain proper Pathos composure while dealing with something that defied explanation.
"You told me you had expert and seasoned raiders I could trust," he said in a low voice, glancing back at the group. "Those are just... kids." He paused, studying them more carefully. "And honestly, I doubt they're street kids. They seem..." Another glance. "They seem too healthy."
Moira nodded thoughtfully. "And health is a good marker of strength, is it not?"
"That would be solid logic," Voss agreed, "if anything else made sense." He watched Riley attempting to break her bread into smaller pieces with her massive Zelion hands while the others offered advice. "None of this makes sense."
"You said you were looking for people you could trust," Moira reminded him. "And those kids seem a bit too honest for my liking, despite the fact that they reek of false identities."
Voss nodded slowly. After years in the Undawild, he'd developed an instinct for authenticity - or its lack. These strangers wore their borrowed identities like ill-fitting clothes, yet beneath the pretense was something genuinely earnest.
It was a paradox that both reassured and unsettled him.
"They don't seem like people who've seen death," he said finally, voicing his deepest concern.
Moira watched the group sharing their bread, her eyes holding something distant. "No," she agreed, "but we've both lived long enough to recognize those followed by death's shadow, even if they've never seen it themselves." She paused, considering her next words carefully.
"Though in their case... it's more of a feeling, really. Those bodies standing there, sharing bread like children..." Her voice took on an odd tone. "They're already dead."
Voss studied her face, trying to see what she saw. But perhaps that was the wrong approach. Moira had always worked on instinct, on feelings that proved truer than careful observation. If she sensed something about these strange visitors, he'd learned to trust her judgment - even when it defied logic.
Voss let out a deep sigh - the kind reserved for arguments with Moira that he knew he'd already lost. "Fine," he said, watching the group share their bread. "But I'm not taking them into the Undawild immediately. They need training first." His eyes fixed on Riley's towering frame. "And let's be clear - the only reason I'm agreeing at all is because you've managed to find me a Zelion. A properly built one at that."
He turned to face Moira directly, his voice taking on a harder edge. "You and I, we're not so different from those whitecoats we despise. All of us willing to watch five patients die to save six." His words carried the weight of old arguments, shared history. "It's our curse."
Then he looked back at the group, his tone softening slightly. "But those kids..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I'll do my best to keep them from falling to their ambitions. Because that's what this is, isn't it? Another one of your setups."
The accusation hung between them, but there was no heat in it - just the tired recognition of how Moira operated, how she moved people like pieces on a board while somehow maintaining genuine care for each one.
In the background, Riley had managed to finally break her bread into sharing-sized pieces, drawing exaggerated applause from the others.
"Do they know that we're not kind people?" Voss asked quietly.
Moira's smile held both cruelty and sadness. "No. No, they don't."
Voss sighed one final time before returning to the group, his expression softening as he watched them share their meal. "Eat your fill," he said, "but understand this - none of you sets foot in the Undawild without my permission or direct supervision."
Surya scoffed around a mouthful of bread. "You say that like we'd drop dead the moment we step in there."
Voss fixed him with an unwavering stare. "Absolutely. Unprepared, you'd die in less than three hours from the poisons alone." His voice took on a teacher's precision. "Some dungeons, like the one by the rotten church in the outer rims, are so lethal that merely approaching the entrance could kill you in half a second. Obviously, no one's foolish enough to venture near that one."
"Well," Surya whistled, trying to maintain his casual attitude despite the sobering information, "wouldn't want to be the unlucky bastard desperate enough to try that entrance."
"But that's how these places are," Voss continued, his tone carrying the weight of experience. "Every entrance has its own dangers, its own rules. To survive, you need proper training." He straightened, assuming the bearing of someone used to command. "Which is what I'll provide. Finish your food and prepare yourselves - we're going on an excursion."
/////////////////////////////////
Hayazaki stood in the shadows of the outer rim's industrial maze, studying the abandoned church through his Malara-enhanced vision. The building loomed before him like a wound in reality - its stone walls sweating toxins so potent they warped the air itself. Three miles in every direction, nothing lived. Even the hardy scavengers of the rim knew better than to venture near.
The chemical cocktail seeping from the church's foundations would kill most people before they could get within sight of its doors.
His borrowed body's enhanced senses could already map safe paths through the chemical storm, routes that would be invisible to anyone else.
Seven days to gather ash, to prove himself to Slasher. Most raiders would need weeks just to prepare for a regular entrance. But here was a path that only someone like him could take - deadly enough to ensure privacy, complex enough to force rapid growth in his abilities.
His terminal noted the experience gain just from analyzing the church's toxic patterns. If simply studying it provided this much growth, actually navigating its challenges would accelerate his development exponentially.
Exactly what he needed to grow strong enough to protect his friends, to find Min, to face whatever waited in Sveethlad's depths.
It was reckless, probably suicidal. But as he watched the toxic mists swirl around the church's spires, Hayazaki smiled. Sometimes the deadliest path was the only way forward.