He shouldn't be here.

A thought which permeates his conscious, holding him in its intangible claws as it feasts on the fear mingling just behind those cerulean eyes glinting under the faint torchlight of the ancient cavernous corridor, the sound of hooves on worn cobblestone paths echoing endlessly against the walls—it's a thought that had surfaced before, for the middle-aged adventurer; even when he recalls to himself unrolling the contract from his bag, the paper almost frail in intangible hands as he watched her sign it so steadily, as if she had done it a thousand times before.

She was there now, the faint flames from their torches lighting her otherworldly glow, as if the dungeon welcomed her; it was this uncanny feeling that had the man rolling his shoulders uneasily, unable to release that ever-present tension that lingered in the air all around them, suffocating for him but just beyond, he could hear the faint humming of some unfamiliar tune lifting from the woman's throat as she led the way through the passage.

Down they went, deeper than he would've cared to have gone on his own, tired gaze idly watching as the first level disappeared, swallowed up by the darkness as they descended into the furnace. The first thing to greet them was the warmth, a flaring heat which pooled up from the depths they walked into, like the maw of some roiling dragon, lava like arms pooling and bubbling and sizzling snapping fiery jaws just out of reach of decadent flesh—almost as if the furnace, itself, were alive; it was enough to make him shiver, quickening his pace to catch up to his hired helper who merrily chirped some nonsensical thing of whimsy, her words airy and bubbly, bouncing from one topic to the next or, if he showed interest at anything with a short quip or a clipped answer, it would divulge into an encyclopedia of various random facts on a particular thing of note; and despite his reluctance to garner what he had referred to as his "help" for the entirety of the journey thus far, Nicodemus couldn't help but find the woman rather endearing in her strange dungeon-loving mannerisms, her knowledge almost exceptional enough to make even him stop questioning if he chose the right one for the job.

He would've been content if they had found nothing, if the journey to the dungeon had uncovered no reward and no treasure; but he needed the money to send back home to his family, and he was nothing if not stubborn. He needed more than just the trivial rubbish that first-time divers brought back with them, from the level they'd just bypassed, and for the coin he was willing to do just about anything for it.

"Shh," her abruptness of the action caught him off-guard, his steps faltering on the solid walkway, ears swiveling near-frantically, but he couldn't hear what she supposedly could, her brows immediately furrowing, "they're coming."

The statement was eerie, causing his bones to chill as he stood stock still, ears pinned back and a frown marring his features as his tongue hissed out, "Who's coming?" in hurried tones, insisting even as she ran in the opposite direction of where they'd just been, the molten sounds around them booming thunderous churning as lava shifted, taking glee in the fleeing bodies.

Then came the keening.

The wailing hounds, paw pads pattering hastily against old stone like a heart beat thrumming to life in tune to his own frantic one, faster and faster through the tunnel just ahead, where they would've been heading had his hire not turned them down another path off to the side, and suddenly the realization that he might actually die resounded like a drum in tune to the barking of the hellhounds bounding swiftly down the corridor.

A crescendo came after them, a chorus of cacophonous sounds—the lava bubbling up from hellish depths like unheard laughter, the clicking and slavering jaws of the hounds calling for the intruder's heads on a platter, and the sound of hooves slipping down another path, the heart in his chest trying desperately to crawl out of his throat as teeth came barreling after them both, tongues lolling from undead mouths and snapping canines flashing white in the looming shadows held alight only by the ember flame of the lava overflowing.

Ahead of them lay the only option as the hounds drew nearer, baying like hunter's dogs after their quarry; but a gap had taken out the stone walkway, a fallen pillar laden had eventually given and toppled, crumbling the path in two and leaving a sizeable gap to another tunnel on the other side.

They had no choice, given the circumstances.

His hire wasted no time and leapt from the very edge of the crumbling stones, the lava brewing beneath her illuminated form as she shakily landed on the other half of the broken path, excitement brightening her expression—the complete and utter opposite of the panic widening his own as he lunged headfirst after her, his own fear throwing caution to the wind as the weight of his body lifts into the air, if for only a moment; and its then that he understands the enigma of the woman who laughs giddily up at him as he barrels straight into her, barely catching the other broken path with a slipped back hind, causing him to fall ungracefully into his hire.

The both of them look at each other, excitement coloring two gazes now.
They look to the snarling hellhounds, whining and bickering at the edge.

A synchronized laughter breaks out merrily, echoing against the dungeon as they gain their wits about them and race each other into the next hidden passage and dark corridor, illuminated softly by the glow of the lava and the few torches lighting their way.

It is then that Nicodemus understands why others venture down into the dungeons below; and he releases a sigh at what the future may hold.

This is where he's supposed to be.