There is a certain energy of dragging two strangers into a dungeon. Nothing bad, of course, but probably something Quail would berate him over later. Or maybe he wouldn’t, considering the looks he was giving one of the… guests… on this expedition. They had met Coleslaw early on in the dungeon, the courser having lost his regular party in the twisting passages. It had been agreed that he would join Kyle and Quail for the rest of the dungeon, keeping an eye out for his group.

That was where things started going downhill faster than usual. The proud courser had immediately attempted to take charge, having a very clear intention to take things over as leader. Considering Kyle’s… everything… it was about as successful as mixing oil and water. For every command Collapse gave, Kyle either pretended he didn’t hear it or made a scene about it.

“We’re going this way, this passage looks safe,” Collapse stated, turning down the hall and expecting the others to follow. While Jimothy, trusting and just there for a good time, happily bounced past Collapse to continue on, Kyle gave a noise of protest. “Absolutely not! Look at it! The walls are so dirty, what if my cloak gets stained? Do you know how long it takes to get dirt out? FOREVER! No, nope, that way is clearly not safe for fashion,” Kyle argued, gesturing to his cloak.

The look Collapse gave could have killed any lesser being, but Kyle was a different breed of stubborn. Quail could only roll his eyes, watching as his husband made their temporary ally’s life difficult in the worst ways possible. When they had met Collapse, he just knew from the way he held himself and the way he spoke that having him in the same space as Kyle was a horrible idea. While the two continued bickering, he glanced over at their last member- a very quiet, solitary courser who had introduced herself as Valkyrie.

She stood apart from them, stoic as she observed their surroundings, a large crow perched on her shoulder as a grim sentry. Quail wasn’t sure what to make of her, with the bone markings, rusty weapon, and an eerie aura about her. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite put his hoof on it, and he hated that. His job as Kyle’s husband involved keeping him safe, however many stupid situations they got into, and this strange courser presented an unknown danger. But Valkyrie had done nothing other than observe, politely asking to come along and then doing her part in hauling gear and traversing the halls.

“THE NERVE! I’m telling you, that hall is filled with gunk and grime! All of us will be filthy!” Kyle exclaimed, tearing Quail away from his musing. Kyle and Collapse had seemed to have reached a certain point in the argument, an unstoppable force meeting an unmovable object. Collapse had a vein bulging from his forehead at that point, the vast pool of patience running short in the face of Kyle’s petty theatrics.

“We are going. Down. That. Hall.” Collapse ground out, the stress causing his brow to twitch. He had enough. He was done with this entire situation. The skull-faced courser he could deal with, she was quiet and just followed along, Quail he could also put up with. But Kyle? And his stupid pomeranian? Collapse was at the end of his rope, and death could not come fast enough to get him out of this situation.

“Actually? Fine. Stay here, go somewhere different, I don’t care. Your presence will not be missed,” he spat, turning and plodding down the dark hall. The walls were indeed grimy and gross, and it kind of smelled like decay, but it was safe-

Clunk.

Collapse picked up his hoof, looking down at the stone which had evidently been some sort of pressure mechanism. Ahead, the grinding sound of stone and the ominous sound of mechanics rose in volume, a rhythmic clicking of gears rattling down the hall. Well, sounds aside, Collapse wasn’t backing down after he fought so hard to go down this way. Resuming his path, he walked towards the sound.

Behind, Valkyrie followed, not seeming to care of the danger. Quail and Kyle were… a different story. Quail had Kyle’s cloak in his mouth, dragging the other down the hall in a mimicry of cats in harnesses. Generalized whining and complaints filled the air, mixing with the ticking into a cacophony of noise.

When the group stepped into the new chamber, the rusted and dull metal of a giant clock greeted them. The hands were worn from years upon years of use, and the arms and body seemed to shudder with each movement, a sort of breath heaving and heart pounding of a machine. It wasn’t alive, but the forced movement of time seemed to keep it away from death.

Valkyrie looked on at the mechanism, empty white eyes taking in such a being, sitting in between its final days and an eternity of waiting. Counting years and seconds for a death that would never greet it, never release it from service. Not when the marked passing of time was so valuable to the cycle of rot. While even when this great beast stopped its counting, its body would remain, a marked reminder of inevitability. A monolith to an end. Her Mother would appreciate the symbology of such a creation.

Suddenly, the clock halted, its gears grinding to a stop and its hands freezing in place. A second of silence, of only the breaths or the living, before a crashing sound echoes in the distance. Something was falling, quick, and it was making its way towards them.