“Holy water… That’s a useful thing. Very useful,” Jack said, running his shaky hand through his hair. “But what the hell?! If you’d waited a second longer--”

“I realized that I couldn’t trust this holy water. The priest was corrupted and I had less than zero ideas what side effects that could have. I didn’t know if this thing worked just fine, or if it was a damn servant itself,” Hunter made an excuse for himself. “Sure, sure… Now I see you can evaporate the normal deads, but Everia and her servants are unholier than what holy water can cleanse. They’re above the power of the powers that be.”

Jack rubbed where a burning from the auras still remained. “They’re a pain in the ass to kill. Damn them like bascalles.”

“All deads are a pain,” Hunter pointed at the floor. “See the cracks they entered through?”

Yeah. I could only miss these if they were smaller than an inch and shoved half a foot down my ass.

“Get in.”

Jack laughed.

Hunter looked at him, still and quiet.

“Why?” Jack furrowed his brow. Better be a treasure there otherwise going down is pure suicide.

“Sure, sure… I’ve explained enough. If I want, I can tell you what to do and you’ll have to go along no matter what.” Hunter flashed the Gunpowder of the Deal and a subtle force pushed on Jack’s finger. “Though I’ll keep my tongue warm with these words: what we need to keep going is down there. If you don’t listen, we’re gonna be stuck in this room till you’re skull and I’m bones.”

Jack crouched and opened up the darkness-filled hole out of which dozens of deads had emerged. Jack cursed. Before he knew it, his blood boiled. All the curiosity he had had faded as cabin fewer took hold of him.

He growled through his teeth, trying to control himself. He regretted making the deal with Hunter, he regretted being curious to see what would happen. Then, he grew even more angry. If not for Guardian, he would’ve never ended up here. If not for Lady Je, he would not have ended up with Guardian.

In… out… in… out…

It’s alright.

I do what he says and I get out of here faster.

As his anger faded, he jumped in the dark hole, not letting his fear of heights come into his mind.

The hole was only a bit taller than he was.

“How you holding up in the pit of endless depths?” Hunter leaned in. “Take this.” He lowered his lantern from above.

The light landed in Jack’s grip and revealed four narrow tunnels. One in each wall. Someone thin--so thin that they’d blend in with the handle of a sword--could crawl through them. Or someone who didn’t feel the pain of the edgy stone that lined the walls.

Jack pushed the lantern into a tunnel in front and crawled in. He was curious and knew Hunter would order him a second later anyway. Also, he’d conveniently not eaten since Nite’s death and was as thin as a young tree.

Now that I think about it, Guardian’s undercooked rabbit could be a dessert.

Or dumplings…. oh, how I miss dumplings.

I just need food, to eat something, whatever may that be.

“Sure, sure… What’s down there these days?” Hunter asked.

“Four tunnels,” Jack responded.

“Good, good.”

As Jack crawled, his tunic tore on sharp edges, his forearms scratched and bruised. A smell of… staleness lingered in the darkness. It repulsed him more than breathing the deads’ crimson dust.

Maybe these tunnels actually lead to a treasure, he thought. Or maybe… considering everything… from where the deads come?

The silence made his heartbeat and the ringing in his ears louder.

Damn guns like bascalles, he thought. When only the Swords of the Guardians had them, things could be quiet. But no, everyone had to get them! Fools didn’t know yours ears ring if you shoot them all the time.

The tunnel widened and morphed into a room. Jack stood up and cheered inside. Then, he became lightheaded.

The tiny room had enough space for him to stand in and for a coffin. A tiny crystal glowed atop that coffin. It’s tobacco-like smell made Jack’s face sour.

This place is like that room where Hunter told me the secret of the Hall of Ceremony...

A sack lied in the right corner of the coffin, a pair of roses dried in the left and an obituary stood in the middle.

Jack grabbed the things and put them all in his satchel. Then, out of interest, he took the obituary out and opened the first page which contained a name--Sabrina Helwof--and a quote--”I’ll live till I’m dead twice.”

Fitting, he thought and opened the second page.

As a block of text appeared in his hands, the ground rumbled. Tremors went through Jack’s feet.

He put his back against the wall and his muscles tensed, ready to jump in the tunnel and escape.

The coffin door closed. The ground below it flung open. The coffin dropped into the darkness. Odd sounds and scratches echoed below, but nothing signalled the coffin hitting the ground.

Jack crouched by the edge of the dark pit and squinted. “Why the hell...”

The ground moved again.

He quickly backed off then, on his back, crawled into the tunnel.

The quaking intensified. Small cracks appeared on the walls of the tunnel. Then, it stopped.

And it closes back up, Jack thought and started the struggle of getting out.

“Well, you found anything? Hunter’s voice echoed from above.

Jack threw everything he collected. He would’ve liked to the finish reading that woman’s obituary, but also didn’t want to waste time and crawled in right before the old man said another word.

The tunnel winded on for long and contained even more painful obstacles.

Jack’s arms tired from the incessant crawling. He reached the end of the tunnel and rubbed all his new wounds.

The room bore no difference from the last one. Its short ceiling scraped the top of Jack’s head and an obsidian coffin took up most of its space.

Jack slumped over and tried opening the coffin. He pushed harder and the heavy door started to creek. He took the loot--three potions, a cross, a candle and a scroll--and unravelled the paper.

Long strokes and colorful, winding words went down the scroll. It was written in the tongue of the Hall of Ceremony.

This tongue of the dead again, Jack thought and stuffed the paper into his satchel. He discerned a couple patterns common on the dungeon walls, but couldn’t understand what any of it meant.

Two walls shook while one remained still. Cracks opened in the ground and dust fell from the ceiling.

Jack crawled back into the tunnel. He didn’t need to see again how the ground split open and the coffin fell into an endless pit.

“Get anything else?” Hunter said.

Jack emptied his satchel and handed over everything inside.

“Good, good.” The old man took the things. “It may not look like it, but these are going to help us not die...”

Jack didn’t listen to any more of Hunter’s words and struggled into the third tunnel.

It was the narrowest, yet the smoothest of the three. Also, it didn’t go on for long. After a few feet, it led into a large room.

Engravings of hounds and other beasts covered the walls while a complex system of tiny canals winded on the floor. They all connected to one thing: a crooked pedestal basin in the middle with a maroon stained top.

Jack raised his bruised hand over the basin and squeezed a few drops of blood. He guessed it was what had dyed the thing red and caused the atrocious smell.

The blood in the basin sizzled and morphed into a thick layer of red sludge. It multiplied until it occupied the whole basin. Then it dissipated into crimson dust. That dust levitated down to the tiny canals in the floors and popped into red sludge.

In the wall, a cavity, the size of a human head, opened.

Jack stuck his bloody hand in. He gripped something cold and brought out a black potion.

Then the ground shook.

Jack groaned in annoyance and slumbered towards the exit.

A massive gap opened under his feet.

Jack’s heart dropped and he jumped. He banged his head on the ceiling, cried out then grabbed on to a ledge. He managed to raise himself into the tunnel and breathed through the pain, the surprise and the frustration.

Too damn close, he thought.

“You back? If you are, what you get?”

Jack chucked the potion.

Hunter grabbed it, but the glass bottle slipped out of his hands. The old man stumbled and caught it again, but it fell out once more. This time, he fell to the ground and broke the potion’s fall a second before it shattered.

“Good.” He took a deep breath. “Get through the last tunnel and we’ll move on the other pits.”

The last tunnel? The next pits?

Jack growled. “I’m not doing that. It hurts. Too much.”

“Forget the--”

“I know we have a deal. I know. But even in the Swords of the Guardians, quests of certain death are forbidden.”

This would also take forever.

Hunter frowned then licked his lips. “Sure, sure… what you brought out is good enough,” he said and lowered his hand.

Jack grabbed on and got out.

“What is this potion?”

“Like holy water,” Hunter said. “But stronger. I guess you take it. You worked for it anyway.”

“Could I... dip my dagger in?”

“Try it.”

Jack popped the cap open.

The liquid was black and reeked of blood.

Jack frowned and dipped his blade into the potion. Then, as quickly as he could, he closed the stinking bottle.

“I guess we’re undefeatable now,” Jack said. “Just wish I could stop starving.”

Hunter laughed then wiped a tear. “Sure, sure… We’re more alike than I thought.”

The old man crouched beside one of the pits the deads had climbed out of. He took his lantern back from Jack and clambered in. “Follow me,” his voice sounded in the darkness.

Ugh, I put all this effort in to get out quicker, but you just descend into a random pit?

If it’s like that, I’ll need to be way faster.

Jack jumped in and hurried after.

This pit wasn’t as narrow or rough as the last one. Hunter walked straight through it until he reached a big door. He shook his lantern then pointed at a barely visible sign above it.

“That reads ‘bar.’” He grinned.

Oh?