Relief was not the only thing to flood through Smudge’s mind as the four of them each escaped the noxious gas that seemed to be determined to follow him throughout the dungeon. There was a resigned sort of malaise that he didn’t quite recognize, the complacency that he had always been certain to push aside whenever it dare rear its ugly head.

And why?

He had failed, of course, but his failures had not been any greater than anyone else. All the care and effort he took had not prepared him for the dungeon, most of the time it seemed to come down to sheer dumb luck. 

His face was smooth as he glanced towards Illene and Monaco both, ignoring the heraldic who seemed as if he belonged at the lower depths of the dungeon. The former half of the party was far more likely to … huh. Smudge had been taken by his thoughts, he had hardly noticed the stagnant water that began to splash up his hocks. It had a strange, musky smell, not quite of death but a cousin perhaps. 

He snorted, “Be mindful,” he voiced to the group, heeding his own words as he stepped carefully across the the columns, “Who knows how deep this goes,” as if his words had summoned the inevitable, silvery fins splashed in the dim light of the cavern and Smudge found himself swearing.

The creature was not quite of the surface, and not quite of the dungeon.

An alien, lost and forgotten.

It’s mother had been born here, but it’s grandmother had come from the light. Transported, fat and pregnant and alone, to this dark world where it’s children would never know the world they had been meant for.

Its teeth stood out against the cartilage of its head, sharp rows that continued back in its mouth. Perhaps once it might have been intelligent, but hunger had driven all of that from its mind.

Kerameikos looked on unblinking as the thing rushed up from the depths, seeking to return each and everyone of them to the mother dungeon as they belonged. He did not balk as Smudge reared, his language far more colorful than his bay hide. His long tail whipped patiently, “She is hungry.” 

A sentence that meant nothing and everything as he perched upon his column, his shadow as still as the courser himself. Skia knew no fear that Kerameikos did not.

“What say you ranger,” His question was an idle curiosity for the one who had been so ready when the gas had stolen the air from their lungs, “Can you win?” 

Could she fight flesh and tooth as well as she had the intangible? 

Turning his head toward Kerameikos, Monaco regarded him steadily. “We only need to step aside to win,” the ranger said firmly. One did not walk the dungeon for as long as he had without knowing when to fight and when to evade. The dungeon was a delicate ecosystem, this creature of the depths would set aside a chain reaction that was not Monaco’s to decide.

The rows of dripping, angry teeth gnashed as the water gave away ahead of the worm, setting off a wave that lapped against the sides of the room.

Stepping to the side, Monaco whistled sharply, drawing its attention. And then broke into a canter, splashing water around his hooves as he pulled the creature away from his party, if only a temporary one. He would loop back, once he had found higher ground.

Illene sighed heavily, as the ranger took off. But it did not behoove her to argue now that he had taken the role as bait. 

Water lapping at her hocks, Illene moved toward the exit of the chamber, gesturing with her muzzle for Marshall to continue ahead. To scout and take the lead for them. The hound’s hair took on end, a low growl sounding as he watched the splashing and shifting that Illene did not.

If the ranger died, then that would provide distraction enough.

An inconvenience, still, perhaps.

When the staircase leading upward was within view, Illene regarded the hound with a steady gaze. “Speak, Marshal.” He began to bark, loudly, and annoyingly, drawing their enemy toward them.