Chapter One Hundred Fifty: ‘O, hidden Liege...’

Royo Raju listened silently. The surface-dwellers seemed to be under the reasonable impression that none of the Hun’Kui here knew Mohssian, and he didn’t see much point in correcting them.

Certainly, his life was currently depending on these people--and in fact, the one apparently named Manuel had already saved him from falling to his death--but Royo didn’t think that reason enough to give up a potential advantage.

Primarily, though, that was not his motivation. It was not the superhumans that he was truly concerned about. They seemed like they could be effectively lied to and/or reasoned with. It was the other Hun’Kui he needed to be careful of. If they realized that he was not, in fact, a real militiaman, then they would either tell the supermen or try to kill him themselves.

And those were far from desirable outcomes.

So he decided to stay quiet, to not draw any unnecessary attention to himself.

“How did you manage to get your hands on this kind of firepower, anyway?” the one called Manuel was saying.

“Oh, it’s all about makin’ the right friends,” said the one called Robert Sheridan.

Royo observed from a distance as they armed themselves to the teeth. He’d been tempted to join them in their work, but they’d even been kind enough to toss an extra weapon his way. He’d already had one, of course, and this new piece required some reassembly, but he appreciated the gesture.

What he did not appreciate was the way that the one called Diego was looking at him. Pointed and semi-frequent stares. A suspicious man, it seemed. Perhaps he suspected. More likely, he was just being cautious around an abundance of firearms and strangers.

The reapers were doing the same thing. Looking around constantly. Surveying both their surroundings and themselves. He supposed the rumor that they made for excellent scouts was true, after all.

But what an unsettling sight, they were. Without his ardor-infused goggles, he would not have been able to see them, and he was considering taking them off for that very reason.

To his eyes, they were himself. They each had his own face, save the eyes, which cried blood, and the mouth, which dripped it as well. Their bodies, too, were mangled and twisted, at times ghostly and ethereal, and at others, slashed to ribbons and full of holes.

Horrific as it all was, and even though he wasn’t at all accustomed to it, it did make him wonder. Surely, everyone could not see them as such. The other Hun’Kui were wearing goggles, too. Perhaps they were hiding it like he was, but they did not look nearly as disturbed as he felt.

No, their appearance had to have been specialized in some way. Otherwise, it made no sense how they could all have his face without anyone else noticing.

Two of the other Hun’Kui were speaking to each other now, he noticed. But he couldn’t hear them, because they were speaking too lowly. He did, however, catch sight of them glancing in his direction.

That could prove problematic.

The only other Hun’Kui present was walking right next to him. This one, at least, was his ally--the still-nameless prisoner with whom Royo had escaped.

Ideally, this was a good thing. Ideally, the man would be helpful to their shared cause rather than a burden to it.

He was still waiting on proof of that.

And perhaps the man had read his mind, because his ally chose that moment to speak to him for the very first time. “How is your shoulder, Eleyo?” the man said in Hunese.

His shoulder? Eleyo?

Ah.

Royo understood. The man was pretending they already knew each other and had made up a name for him. Likely, he was worried that the two of them were the only ones not talking at all. And if they acted familiar with one another, their facade as militiamen would appear more credible to the others.

Smart.

If nothing else, Royo could at least be relieved that he hadn’t allied himself with a slack-jawed idiot.

“It’s a little sore, still,” Royo answered, also in Hunese, “but don’t worry, Lenos. I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it. We might make it out of this after all.”

“We might. But don’t relax just yet.”

A lull in their intentionally bland conversation arrived, and Royo was more concerned with hearing what the others were saying than in keeping it alive.

The lone woman of their group was talking to the one called Manuel. “I am sorry for causing you so much trouble.” She was wearing a suit similar to the one called Robert Sheridan, which told Royo that those two were different from the other surface-dwellers, more fragile perhaps.

“It is not your fault,” said the one called Manuel. “I am just glad you are not hurt. My brother would have never forgiven me.”

“I...”

“Ah--apologies. I didn’t mean to bring up--please forgive me.”

“You need not apologize,” she said. “You were as close to him as I was. If not more so.”

What was going on there, Royo wondered? Though it piqued his curiosity, it didn’t sound immediately relevant to his current predicament, so he tried to focus his attention elsewhere.

The Senmurai had been largely quiet so far, but it looked like the one called Diego had struck up a conversation with him.

“--don’t think so? Well, I do. In fact, I think we’re closer to it now than anyone has ever gotten. I mean, it would make sense, wouldn’t it? All these worms in the way? It’s no wonder no one else has ever returned. The slimy bastards are guarding it.”

‘...I guess,” was all the Senmurai said.

“You’re telling me you’re not curious? Just think about the possibilities. The potential. This could be our big chance. Yangéra thinks so, too.”

There came a noticeable pause.

“...She’s just saying that because she’s embarrassed. She doesn’t like people to know how much she loves and agrees with me.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” said the Senmurai.

“And I’M sure that I’m right about this. You guys should listen to me. I have great instincts when it comes to finding treasure. That train wreck was a blessing in disguise. You’ll see.”

Another pause.

“Lhutwë, of course. His will be done.”

Still another pause.

“That’s not true at all. I’ve always believed in Him when it benefits me.”

The more he listened, the more Royo thought the one called Diego sounded like a buffoon. But he could see the man still throwing glances back in his direction fairly regularly. Regardless of how he talked, that man hadn’t stopped being vigilant.

Royo had known a few men like that in his time. Men who acted one way while thinking another. They were often the most dangerous people he’d ever met.

Lenos spoke up again, interrupting Royo’s silent ruminations. “Thank you for saving my ass back there, by the way,” he said, again in Hunese. “I doubt I would have made it if not for you.”

Royo gave him a look. “Yes, well, if you get the opportunity to return the favor--and it seems like you might--then I hope you do.”

“Of course.”

Now that he was thinking about it, there was a good chance that Royo could recognize or otherwise identify this man. There had been no lack of prisoners back in Babbadelo, yet Royo had only seen a handful aboard the train. Logic would dictate, therefore, that the local government had chosen the prisoners that they found the most problematic. A few possible candidates came to mind. He’d always tried to be aware of notable individuals whenever he traveled, and Babbadelo had been no different.

He needed more information, though. He couldn’t ask for Lenos’ real name, obviously, but maybe he could get a hint. “Do you have any hidden talents that might come in handy? Anything that you’ve been keeping from me, perhaps?”

“Ah...” Lenos rubbed his neck with his hand as he took a moment to think. “Not especially...”

No good. Lenos couldn’t tell what he’d been getting at? Or perhaps he was just reluctant to say. Royo tried again. “That reminds me. What was keeping you so busy back in Babbadelo? I didn’t see you around very much.”

“Oh, you know. The usual...”

Ugh. Come on. “So you were causing problems, then?”

Lenos squinted at him briefly, then smirked. “You know me. Just can’t keep my hands to myself, sometimes.”

Was that a clue? The look on Lenos’ face suggested as much, but Royo didn’t understand what he was getting at. “I hope you weren’t doing anything unwelcome or otherwise disrespectful. It would reflect poorly on the rest of us, you know.”

“Never. I am always the perfect gentleman. Though, I admit, this time I could have been more discreet. But what can I say? I was enraptured. Not feeling myself.”

Royo’s expression flickered. Was he describing the same thing that had happened to himself?

“Normally, I never get caught,” Lenos went on. “I consider it a matter of professional dignity.”

Professional? That one had to be a clue.

The man made it sound as if he were talking about a habit of promiscuity, but as far as Royo was aware, there were no laws in Babbadelo that would have imprisoned him for such behavior. Lenos had to be talking about something else.

Thievery? If he considered it a matter of professionalism, that made the most sense to Royo. And a thief who took pride in not getting caught must have also been a thief who had been doing it for a while. One who would have earned a name for himself.

And Royo had recently heard such a name. That of Kogibur, or the Roach.

A particularly unflattering name in the Undercrust, because as far as benign pests went, cockroaches were arguably the most reviled. But that was also because they were so resilient and difficult to get rid of. So in a way, perhaps it was a kind of compliment.

Royo figured he should reciprocate and give Lenos a hint toward his own identity. “When will you learn? I’ve always tried my hardest to set a good example for you. And everyone else, too. That’s why, unlike you, when I speak, people listen.”

“Don’t lecture me, Eleyo. I know all about your reputation.”

Ah. So he’d already known. Royo was flattered but not terribly surprised.

Royo observed a change in the way the superhumans were carrying themselves, and the reapers all appeared to close ranks. Rumbling beneath his feet confirmed his fears, and moments later, a worm tunneled out of the ground ahead of them.

It was comparatively small, however, and did not prove to be nearly so grave a threat as their previous encounter. As quickly as it had appeared, the one called Zeff slew the beast whilst shouting at the top of his lungs. A single, glistening spear skewered it through the mouth, and a tower of ice erupted up out of the worm’s body, exploding it into frozen pieces.

The Senmurai raised a metal wall in defense of the Hun’Kui, but Royo still ended up taking a bead of ice on the arm.

It burned unlike anything he’d ever felt. Royo howled in agony and dropped to the ground.

Fortunately, the pain soon abated. Lenos helped him to his feet.

The bead of ice was gone, but his arm was numb, and Royo could see it twitching. As he steadied his haggard breath, he was made to wonder how something so small could have felt so torturous and debilitating. Ice truly was as terrifying as the rumors said it was.

There was little time to recuperate, however. The superhumans were ushering the group onward at an increased pace.

As they ran, the one called Zeff ventured closer and gestured with his hands. He even made a poor attempt to apologize in Hunese. He was not very familiar with the language, apparently. No surprise. Perhaps his reaper was feeding him words to say.

Royo accepted it as silently and as graciously as he could manage. As humiliating as it was, Royo understood that it had not been intentional. There would be no need to seek retribution from the one called Zeff. Royo knew the damage was most likely not permanent, and an accident was an accident, after all.

The cavernous passage they were using opened up as completely as Royo’s vision would allow, and suddenly there were no more walls, only pitch darkness.

Pitch darkness and a kind of... mist. Faint, but there. Squinting, he removed his goggles, and the mist vanished completely. He put them on, and the mist returned. Which told him that the mist was infused with ardor, if not entirely constituted from it.

The group slowed their run to a walk, then stopped altogether. He searched the superhumans’ faces for answers, but they were looking as confused as he was.

He rummaged through a rucksack that he’d procured back on the train, and he was pleased to find a directional lamplight. He pointed it ahead and switched it on.

A cone of light cut through the murky blackness, revealing large shapes in the distance.

Buildings, he soon realized. In quite poor condition. Crumbling, many of them. Very old architecture, as well.

As he moved his light to and fro horizontally, and as the others joined him in switching on their own lights, more and more structures came into view, and their discovery became more and more apparent.

They had found a city in ruins.