Interspirit

Stepping through the door was entering a maze. Tunnels unfurled in all directions, crossing through each other, looping around. Some were on inclines, others dropped down precipitously. Each turn had a choice with five new options in front of it. And Silvestia moved through them all like they were nothing.

Kyrylo couldn’t keep up with it. In the first moments he had been trying to track it so they could weave backwards but he was quickly lost, especially underground with no landmarks to adhere to. Some of the tunnels had torches on the walls to light the way; others were nothing but darkness. Spirits skulked through some, hissing, cackling, scurrying, they all reacted in different ways as they passed by.

They all had varied forms, some duplicates of each other like they were species you could classify. That wasn’t unbelievable; the RIF had gone over files and classifications many times on expected specters. But he was used to a single enemy here or there, not dozens of them conniving and skittering about. It did make sense that since he had seen an entire city there could be hundreds of them all at once. His stomach dropped at the thought.

There was no yielding from Silvestia. She passed by like nothing else existed. She barely blinked when the first spirit lunged at them, a feline thing with twin heads and purple fur. Felix reacted first, shearing it in half with his blade, the pieces of its body colliding with the wall behind them. That broke a dam and both Felix and Kyrylo shot forwards into a sprint as they saw more spirits turn their attention towards them. Silvestia kept pace with them, staying between the pair as the onslaught began.

Kyrylo was barely thinking as they went, his own sword up and swiping at anything that came close. Most stayed back in response, some got a piece taken out of them. A few were killed and Kyrylo was reminded of the incredible power his weapon had against these foes. That had always been strange to him from the moment they handed it to him and he questioned the blocky design. Why not just have normal swords? He was told that wouldn’t harm them. These were special. Now he really believed it.

He felt something grab at his leg and he absently swiped down behind him, increasingly satisfied by the efficiency of his blade. The feeling was gone but he didn’t dare look down, eyes ahead on the remaining threats.

“This is what you wanted?”

Kyrylo ignored Felix’s words, focusing on a serpentine amalgamation hanging overhead. He realized as he looked past it that it was on a balcony of sorts. There were levels to this place, overlapping layers that could house further spirits. He had to refocus on the snake-thing, each arm ending in a serpent’s head with vicious fangs. He cleaved both off in a single stroke and the monster tumbled down behind them as they ran past.

This was almost suspiciously easy. It did feel closer to the usual encounters with spirits where they had the element of surprise but the battle with the guards had already showcased Kyrylo didn’t have nearly enough skill to take down any serious fighter. If they were to stumble into someone who was properly paying attention, could properly fight…

Silvestia halted, almost instantly, and Kyrylo nearly tripped trying to stop himself. He recomposed and watched Felix do the same on her other side.

They were only steps away from the current path ending and dropping off at an edge, dim light from a few mounted torches barely revealing where they could have fallen. Kyrylo could hear the spirits behind them but they didn’t seem to be getting any closer. He checked over his shoulder, noting the surprising trail of corpses and carnage he could make out, mostly limbs and ends to keep the creatures back. There were some sets of eyes, some shadowy shapes, but they were all retreating back into the labyrinth.

When he looked ahead, he realized the drop down did not go on forever but had a bottom just a few floors down, a circular space with a metal grate around the edges, where different streams of water splashed through on their way down from a variety of different holes up the walls. This was a central sewer component it seemed, not that most of the sewer had made any sense in its design so far.

At the bottom were proper lanterns, lit with the same green flame from outside, properly illuminating the ground floor. At one end sat a throne, constructed from rusting pipes and various stones and metals that looked scrounged from anywhere underground. And in the center were a hulking mass of grey fur, a top-heavy rat that stood on its hind legs like a person, lengthy tail swishing behind it, rounded ears swiveling to the different sounds. Its head seemed slightly too small for the chest underneath, reminding Kyrylo of some of the gym guys he had bumped into once at the university as they discussed their delt growth or something.

All of it was overshadowed by its right arm, a massive, mechanical limb nearly as long as its entire body, ending in an enormous set of claws, each one a carving knife in size. It held its arm up in front of its face, the clawed-hand holding up some other spirit by the head, a limp body dangling down below. The rat sneered at its caught prey and squeezed, crushing the spirit’s skull before slicing through the remains and leaving the body to hit the stone below. Cheers rang out from up and down the sewer shaft as other beings watched from the different paths, balconies, and ledges that all peered down.

The Rat King.

“What are you doing here?” Silvestia’s voice pulled Kyrylo back up to their level. She was turned to face him but her glowing eye didn’t meet his, looking straight past him to something else.

Kyrylo whipped around to find a man behind him, dressed in an immaculate black suit, wisps of silver hair framing his pale face. Red-rimmed irises observed Kyrylo with a disdainful curiosity, like a child pondering ways to torment an ant. The man smiled, revealing a glittering row of fangs.

“Nothing anymore,” he said, a little despondent in his tone. He glanced down into the central arena and scratched at his upper lip. “My visit hasn’t gone how I hoped but that’s why you plan ahead, isn’t it?” His focus returned to Kyrylo. The smile returned. “You’re an odd find. Drakmir.” He did a small nod as if that was a sufficient introduction and left a silence between them as he waited for Kyrylo to return the favour.

“I thought the Night Lord couldn’t bear to be underground?” Silvestia almost snarled. Kyrylo became increasingly curious what was even under her cloths as this point. “Doesn’t it disgust you?”

“I had hoped to clean house.” Drakmir retreated slightly, stepping back a bit from the trio. He gave them a once over again. “But the artistry I bring to this world isn’t appreciated by that brute. He’ll just maul anything that gets close to him.” Drakmir shook his head. It sounded like he actually tutted, something Kyrylo had never heard aloud outside of a film so he had to believe he just misheard him.

“The Rat King is to be an Honour. Your champions are beneath him.” Kyrylo could practically feel the smile radiating out from under Silvestia’s cloaked face as she spoke.

“That one, maybe.” Drakmir reached into his suit jacket’s pocket and pulled out a little notebook. He patted his chest then down to his pants until he found a small pair of glasses, golden frames, and placed them across his nose. He started to flip through the book and examine something. “I think on a different day, in a different moment, it could have gone a different way. But there’s also experience to be gained in watching. Now why are you bringing these two down here?” He pointed his finger at Kyrylo and the young man felt a bolt shoot through his spine, standing straight to attention. It felt like he had been caught by the principal in elementary school.

“This is Rat King business,” Silvestia replied, tugging on Kyrylo’s shirt to get him to move backwards. He was still frozen in place by the authoritative power of the person in front of him. “They have a request to make and that is all.”

“But you judge me for treating this place as a gristle mill?” Drakmir did a pout as he tucked away his notebook and glasses. “Feels unfair.”

“Kill us,” Silvestia snapped. “Don’t waste our time.”

Kyrylo’s chest tightened around his heart, palms going sweaty. He was concerned the sword was going to slip right out of his hands. He was already regretting commenting on how easy everything had felt before this moment. He wanted the regular spirits back to slice and dice. This was…something else.

“Not worth the effort.” Drakmir’s answer only partially unwound the knot in Kyrylo’s stomach. “Experience is something though, for someone in training.” Drakmir checked over his shoulder into the darkness of the tunnel he had stepped out from. Kyrylo could spot an outline, the form of someone else, but couldn’t make out any details. “As I said, there were other plans. This one isn’t nearly ready but at least they got to watch the cost of losing. Maybe he would gain something out of a fight.”

A flick of his fingers and Drakmir summoned out his compatriot. They stepped forwards, similarly human in appearance with no strange antlers or claws to speak of. If anything they were a bit too plain in this world, just a regular person, a teenager probably, with baggy pants and an ill-fitting t-shirt. Their arms were wrapped in bandages, a few loose strands dangling off their forearms. Their hair was black and draped across their face, not a fashion statement but just a lack of styling left to grow. There was no emotion in them, empty eyes that took in nothing.

“You can’t break him though,” Drakmir continued, and this time Kyrylo was sure he tutted. It felt like he was going to waggle a finger in their faces too. “He’s still fresh and I expect big things in the future. So you’ll have to keep it fair.” He moved his pointing to Felix now and Kyrylo felt a strange sense of relief wash over him. “You stay out of it. Just one-on-one, no other tricks from you subterraneans. And like I said, please don’t kill him, I’m trying to build a champion worthy of me here.”

Kyrylo tightened the grip on his sword and took in a deep breath, shaking free of the paralysis from before. Having experienced the force behind Drakmir’s words, he understood there was no way out. He had already committed to fighting his way through this.

“Can I be killed?” he asked, properly squaring up against the teen.

Drakmir grinned again. “Of course. I’m sorry it’s not fair but Pel here needs to know how to take a life too. You understand.”

“Whatever,” Kyrylo said. “Just let me do this.”

“I trust you’ll abide as well, Silvestia?” Drakmir brushed something off his shoulder as his focus shifted. Silvestia seemed to shrink behind Kyrylo, retreating and pushing Felix back with her. Drakmir looked up at the ceiling and gently shook his head. “That’s the thing with followers. She’s very good at it but just can’t make a decision for herself. Reliable though.” He stepped back, letting the teen Pel take his place. “Remember what you saw before, Pel. Wouldn’t want to end up like your brother.”

There was a sudden spark in the boy’s eyes as they came alive with a burning fire. He grimaced and clenched his fists, holding them up to match Kyrylo.

“Of course,” he said, before lunging forwards.