Holding his carpus in his palm, Caius gave a slight twirl of his wrist. He walked forward with an endless sense of calm, almost as through he were completely ignorant to the hellscape around him.
On either side of the tatty dirt road they trudged along stood an immense forest of tall, almost mutated-appearing trees and plants. The Knights of Torrice were very familiar to the concept of hell's jungles, though their twisted and otherworldly presence still found a way to persist in being deeply unsettling in nature.
With just a single glance up, your eyes would be greeted with the assault of endless hues of green and red — all subtly contained within the caps of colossal blue shrooms which seemed to dwarf all else in the vicinity.
"No matter how many times I lay eyes on it..." Bane muttered, "It still finds a way to creep me the hell out."
Caius led the pack, the rest of the bevy tailing not far behind. Their eyes remained on the brush, as if waiting for an ambush that would never come. The instincts of training were simply impossible to breach.
They knew they were safe, at this point being well within district grounds, though the thought lingered in their minds like an all-consuming plague.
The first rule of being a soldier is that, when it comes to the underworld, you're simply never safe.
Having said that, The Hellwalker seemed almost unfazed by their environment. His eyes remained on one place, and one place only; Forward.
Of course, it was with good reason. Not far ahead of them already stood the towering sight of the metallic rampart. Reinforced with pillars of steel and various glowing lights tracing its edges, it reigned as a symbol of humanity and the rehabilitation of a hostile plain.
From their perspective, they were merely ants returning to the mother colony.
Once they were mere moments away from reaching the front gate, their ears were quick to be tainted by the hum of mechanical instruments mostly unknown to them.
A thin buzz stained the surrounding air, emanating from the glowing strips of energy by their sides. The sudden clamor began to perk up within the instruments, hidden gears clicking to life and lifting the thick, rust-covered gate before them.
Beyond the thick gate sat a dimly lit corridor — one so long that the end only seemed like a distant prospect. A small pedestal sat just to the side, a slim imprint within the device perfect for sliding in one's finger.
"-Hey," Bane spewed, "identification, you big oaf!"
Chrono was only a few paces forward, toeing the line of walking further if it weren't for Bane's shout. "Oh, yeah… give me one second."
He stepped forward, raising up his hand before firmly shoving the ring finger into the slot. Notably, a large circular gap pierced straight through his digit's center, rimmed by a slight form of metallic substance with carvings engraved and spiraling against its surface.
As soon as pressure was made against the pedestal, a hold was quick to wrap itself around his wrist, all before a spike began to lower from above.
With immense precision, it centered on the gaping hole in his flesh, dropping down without making a single wound. Protruding from the prong was another, smaller thorn, just low enough for it to pierce the surface of his skin and produce blood.
For only a brief moment, the machine seemed to have stopped. Not a single noise or movement was made, ominously silent as if awaiting some hidden command.
Once it rebooted, the spike was raised and the hold was dropped. Chrono pulled his hand away, giving a slight rub on his finger before continuing. "Let's go."
Progressing through the dark hall, they moved with a stride of confidence. No longer being subject to the hells of Hell, a wave of comfort began to wash over the group.
So much so, in fact, that Chrono's progressively tensed posture began to subside.
"Stern yourself," Caius muttered, "what if a council member were to see you?"
Chrono sighed. "In this dark hallway at the depths of Hell? Those bastards wouldn't dare."
"Still better to be careful. There could be an inspection underway."
"If there is, I'd be first to feed their severed heads to the demons. Though… you have a point, I suppose." Begrudgingly, he was quick to embolden himself.
After a long stretch of silence, they had finally made it to the end.
Through the gaping hole, they were greeted with sights all too familiar to them — the skiffer ships billowing out copious amounts of smog, the bustling and shifting populace of scribes and knights alike, and of course the central lift ascending straight through The Gap.
As far as they were concerned, they were already home.