The shadows of the underground passage seemed to twist with a malevolent life of their own, as though they were conspiring to betray Riley's presence.
His heartbeat, an erratic staccato, echoed in his ears, loud enough that he feared the guards might hear it. His palms were slick with sweat, and every breath he took was shallow, as though the very air was poisoned with the tension that gripped him.
He had managed to trick the guards—but only just. The illusions he had conjured were thin, weak veils that could barely hold together under the scrutiny of a trained eye.
"Thank the gods they didn't pay too much attention, or else I would have exposed myself," he thought, a nervous tremor slipping into his mind as he replayed the events in his head.
Riley was all too aware of the fragility of his tricks. His illusions could distort reality, but they weren't flawless.
His magic was strong but unreliable, especially when facing an opponent of greater strength or sharper senses.
A small part of him cursed himself for not refining his skills further, but then again, no amount of preparation would have completely calmed his racing nerves in a situation like this.
His illusions, however, had worked. These guards were complacent, their attention dulled by routine and the confidence that no one would dare infiltrate this deep underground.
But Riley knew that the veil of deception could easily tear at any moment. One wrong breath, one misstep, and everything would collapse.
"Phew, that was close," Riley thought, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his brow. His heart still raced, a wild thing in his chest that he could barely control. Panic clawed at the edges of his mind, but he forced it down, clinging to his focus like a drowning man clutching a lifeline.
"Maybe I should inform the captain and not do this on my own," he lamented silently, bitterly. His gut churned with the decision he had made, knowing full well that a man with more sense would have turned back by now, regrouped with his team, and informed the authorities.
But something deeper—something darker—pulled him forward. His curiosity had gotten the best of him, and though he knew better, it drove him on, whispering promises of answers just beyond the next corner.
As he continued his descent into the bowels of the underground complex, the atmosphere became heavier, more oppressive.
Gas lamps dotted the walls, their flames flickering with an uneasy life that cast long, wavering shadows against the stone. The walls themselves felt alive, the damp stone cold and unforgiving, as if the structure itself was watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake.
Riley wasn't worried about the lamps, though. His illusions would protect him, masking his presence in the dim light. But even with that reassurance, he couldn't shake the sensation of being hunted, as if the darkness itself had taken notice of him.
At the bottom of the staircase, he found himself in a cavernous room. The space was vast, far larger than he had anticipated. Its size unsettled him, and he couldn't help but feel like an intruder in a place not meant for human eyes.
The walls were lined with doors—dozens of them—each one a potential gateway to horrors unknown. It reminded him of an underground hotel, though the thought did little to ease his rising dread.
He hesitated, his fingers brushing against the hilt of the dagger at his waist. The urge to turn back, to flee this place while he still could, gnawed at his insides. Every fiber of his being screamed that something was wrong, that he was trespassing in a place where only death waited.
But Riley couldn't turn back—not yet. His feet, as if guided by some unseen force, moved forward, carrying him deeper into the underground labyrinth.
His mind screamed at him to stop, but he pressed on, each step taking him further away from the safety of the surface and deeper into the unknown.
The air grew warmer, stifling, as though the very walls were breathing in tandem with him. The passageway twisted downward once more, leading him further into the heart of the complex.
The darkness here felt thicker, more oppressive, and the shadows no longer behaved as they should. They seemed to writhe and crawl, taking on shapes that defied explanation.
Riley's pulse quickened, and a cold, creeping fear slithered up his spine. The darkness felt alive, sentient. It pressed against him, suffocating him with its presence. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, to abandon this place and never look back.
He could almost hear the whispers of the shadows, taunting him, promising doom if he continued.
His breaths came faster now, shallow and quick. The weight of the air crushed his lungs, and his mind raced with the possibilities of what might be lurking just beyond his vision. Sweat dripped down his brow, his grip on the dagger tightening until his knuckles turned white.
"I need to get out," he thought, a desperate plea forming in his mind. "I need to get out before it's too late."
For a moment, Riley hesitated. His entire body screamed at him to turn back, to abandon his mission and run. He reached out for the wall, the cool stone beneath his fingertips offering a momentary reprieve from the panic rising in his chest.
"It's not worth it," he thought, the weight of the situation finally crashing down on him. He had pushed his luck too far. He needed to go back, to report what he had seen to his captain. There was no shame in retreat—especially not in a place like this, where the darkness seemed to hunger for his soul.
But just as he turned to leave, his heart leapt into his throat. Footsteps—slow, deliberate, and unmistakable—echoed through the passage behind him.
Riley's breath caught in his throat, and a cold wave of terror washed over him. He turned slowly, his muscles tense, every instinct telling him not to make a sound.
Emerging from the darkness was a figure—a man with brown hair and a full beard. His presence was commanding, regal even, with an air of authority that immediately set Riley on edge.
Shane's teacher.
The relief that flooded Riley's veins was short-lived. Yes, the man was alive, but there was something wrong. His posture, his expression—everything about him felt…off.
The two men flanking him moved with an unnatural precision, their eyes scanning the surroundings with an intensity that made Riley's skin crawl.
"It's unlikely my illusions would work on him… I have to head deeper to avoid them," Riley thought, panic now seeping into his every thought.
There was no time to think. Turning swiftly, Riley retreated further into the underground, his footsteps silent but quick. His mind raced as he calculated his next move.
Shane's teacher…there was something about him that Riley couldn't place. His presence alone set off alarms in Riley's mind. Whoever this man truly was, Riley doubted his magic would be enough to deceive him.
As Riley fled deeper into the labyrinth, he overheard fragments of conversation from behind him.
"Mr. Markham, there are several goods that fit your criteria," Shane's teacher said, his voice carrying an eerie calmness that sent a chill down Riley's spine.
Goods? The word echoed in Riley's mind, and a sickening realization began to form.
'Mr. Markham? The supposedly dead teacher?' Riley didn't have time to think much of this.
The deeper Riley went, the more disturbing the air became. Finally, he reached the heart of the underground structure—an expansive, dimly lit room lined with iron bars.
Riley's breath hitched. Behind those bars were people. No…children.
His stomach twisted painfully as he took in the sight. These were the missing kids from the academy. They huddled together, their faces pale and terrified, their eyes wide with fear. The scene was nightmarish, and for a moment, Riley felt the walls closing in on him.
---
Meanwhile, in the City of Darkness, lightning lit the sky sporadically, briefly breaking the oppressive veil that cloaked the city.
The hunter and exploration teams sent by Kylie had already left, leaving behind only River and her own team to prepare for their mission.
River glanced over her shoulder at her crew—Marion, Sarah, and several other hardened explorers. Their faces were grim, their eyes shadowed with the weight of the task ahead.
Marion was acting as her second-in-command, while Sarah, with her sharp wit and deadly precision, stood as the third.
Despite their skills, River felt the heavy weight of unease. She would need every bit of help they could offer, every bit of protection, if they were to survive the horrors that lurked in the city's depths.
Her gaze drifted to a blonde-haired girl sitting alone, her expression distant, almost ethereal. This was Alice, a young woman gifted—or cursed—with the ability to receive visions.
Her sight could glimpse the past, present, or future, but it was a wild, untamable force, one that Alice had little control over.
River approached her, her voice low but commanding. "Report."
Alice lifted her head, her pale eyes meeting River's without flinching. "Nothing," she replied bluntly. "Divination doesn't seem to work here."
She hesitated before adding, "I occasionally receive dreams and insights in the waking world, but here… it's as if something is blocking my revelations."
River nodded thoughtfully, though inwardly, she cursed. Alice's abilities were a valuable asset, but it seemed even her visions were stifled in this wretched place.
Regardless, it wasn't as though River had truly relied on the visions for success. The plan would go forward, vision or no vision. Her true goal remained unchanged: to find that white-haired boy.
Her powers, imbued with a holy golden light, allowed her to communicate with the world, discerning the real from the unreal.
It was this ability that had revealed to her the truth about Riley—he wasn't truly connected to the world as others were.
Where a person's presence should have resonated with life, all she saw in Riley was an empty void, an abyss that threatened to consume everything around it.
And yet, despite this eerie revelation, River's curiosity had led her to challenge Riley to a duel, hoping to gain further insight into his mysterious background.
During the battle, she had noted his sword style—a style reminiscent of the Broken Swords Clan.
That small detail had been enough to ignite her suspicions, though she could not recall ever seeing him within the clan.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the hunters and explorers returned, their faces lit with triumph. One of the men from the investigative unit approached the leader of the group.
"How did it go?" the man asked.
"We killed the shadow walker. It was easy," the leader responded cheerfully.
River watched them, her expression unreadable, but deep inside, a chill crawled up her spine. Something about the men's demeanor, their overly jubilant expressions, sent a ripple of unease through her.
'These people… they've been corrupted.'