Chapter 3: Along the Waterway

"A waking nightmare of many forms."​

Dream visits you, deep in the darkness. You see before you a field of grain, and a beautiful woman standing under a red moon. You try to call out to her, but black bile and blood begins to pour from your lips. Hands crawl all over your body, up your throat, and inside of your mouth. A barrel of liquor tumbles down an endless staircase and collides with a mountain of dead bodies. An owl flies overhead. Curtains draw shut before its wings, clipping them mid-flight. A small spirit is born and dies. The woman turns away from you. You're falling. Falling into a deep sea. You can't speak. You can't breathe. The whole world is shaking. The moon turns black.

"Father! Father Anscham!" A gruff voice calls out to you. Everything is still shaking.

"Orgoth." Orgoth is shaking you. You look at him groggily. Ray seems to be sleeping behind him, splayed out on some rocks above the water level. You wipe the side of your face. Blood parts onto your hand.

"Father? You were out for two days! Are you...?" The orc looks at you, and his face turns to alarm as he sees what's on the palm of your hand. He knits his eyebrows together. "Is this normal?"

The reply is hurried. "Thank you for waking me."

Before Orgoth can ask anything further, you dash over to your gear— paying no heed to the pain in your side— and tear into your journal. Dream's visit is transcribed to the letter, while muttering fevered prayers to the God himself. You don't stop until you've gotten every last detail down. It seems nonsensical now, but you have never been one to take the Gods lightly. Only when you finish, do you look with wide eyes over to Orgoth. "Alright. We have some business to take care of. Let's get that looked at, and clean those weapons—"

"What's wrong with you?" He's looking at you with extreme concern.

You flinch as if Orgoth hit you. The unearthly blue of your irises loses their verve, and transitions back to a normal shade of green. The fade to humanity is accompanied by a glance down to the floor. To the side. Anywhere for answers. "What's wrong with me?"

Down the corridor— streaked over the etchings on the wall— are smears of black blood that were not present before you passed out. You gesture towards the streaks of gore. "Did you— what was that from...?"

He nods his head— arms crossed— and laughs with pride. "It would have been dishonorable not to guard you! This floor is teeming with strange creatures, but they are no match for ORGOTH! THE GREATEST WARRIOR TO HAVE EVER GRACED THIS MISERABLE RUIN!"

You wince, while letting him gloat. It's likely that you would have died if he didn't guard you while you slept. Ray is a good boy, but he's still only a dog, and no doubt wouldn't have been able to stave off any more demons. Not right after that fight, at any rate. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it! Ahahaha!"

"I appreciate you keeping your word, too." Your murmurs are almost imperceptible. "I owe you. Honestly." You smear the edge of your robe over your face, wiping off the last of the blood that you produced while you were sleeping. Your volume raises only as you continue looking at your sleeve. The blood is thick, fresh, and definitely your own. "Have you encountered many humans before?"

Aggressiveness inches into Orgoth's voice. "Of course I have! I've fought many men. You humans have an incredible spirit! I have lost many of my kind to your forces in Baranfen, and on my borders at home! Truly— a formidable foe! Ahaha!"

Bloodthirsty reminiscing occupies his progressively angrier laughter. You let him work it out of his system. Orgoth eventually calms down enough to continue.

Red-rimmed eyes burn into you. "Normally you all only bleed when struck. And never have I seen any of you smoking in the way you did! I've seen a few of you 'holy' men. But never anything like this." The orc's aged, gruff voice takes on a tone of apprehension. "The way you fought was not human, Father."

"It was, and it wasn't." You can't restrain the warm smile that takes hold of your face. Recalling Flesh's brutal strength and confidence has you hold onto yourself for a moment. Wanting for the feeling has you attempt to make eye contact in earnest.

The fine lines around his eyes, the wrinkles on his squashed features, and all of his concern can't make you falter. Your voice is as warm as if you were speaking of a lover. "It was the Gods, Orgoth. The God of Flesh answered my prayer. He is generous. He granted me enough strength to to contend with you, and the with demon that you tamed."

The stare you're given is full of concern and confusion. "You didn't look it. I would have mistaken you for a non-combatant, until you defiled my axe!"

The smile fades. A great deal of pain takes hold in your voice. "They can't change my body. Not truly. I'm only a vessel. A shell. But the Gods— the Gods can work through me." A disturbing thought occurs to you. "Do you not know of Them?"

"No! The people of Cyno worship the art of war! The call of battle! Our 'Gods' are our fellow orcs. Our greatest champions! More importantly, I don't care to know of these Gods if they're responsible for that!" He's looking at the blood on your sleeve. "And even more importantly, you're avoiding my question, Father. What's wrong with you?"

You drop your arms to your sides, and recoil slightly into yourself. He's really not letting up. You're not used to anyone being this direct.

Is this a trait of his species? Am I just this unused to conversation?

If only nervously turning your eyes towards the ceiling could grant you a view of divinity— rather than the sin by your side. "I have always been sick. I have been— I get terrible headaches. " You close your eyes, and sigh. "Some people are better shells than others."

The orc doesn't seem to mind waiting a minute.

You hold your holy symbol tightly against your beating heart. Its gold gleams in the light filtering through the waterway. Blood and bile is not only smudged across all of your clothing and skin, but has sullied the pair of outstretched hands as well. Appalled, you immediately start wiping off the item with the hem of your cleanest sleeve. "The Gods are just, Orgoth, but their miracles are difficult for humans to endure. We are not built like Orcs. We are weaker."

The symbol is clean, but compulsion keeps buffing it as you bitterly continue. "The people of my village were weaker still. My parents bore me. Only me. Not sixteen healthy sons." Once the gold, outstretched hands are buffed enough to see your face, you release it from your grasp. "It's uncommon for humans to use the blessing of the Gods."

The weight against your heart is almost as reassuring as crossing your arms over your chest. "Even if they're in good health— for a healthy man, or even woman— it is unusual. Even in times of great need." The movement stings, thanks to the wound in your side barely starting to heal. "We humans, we— we try to endure. Some humans are so weak that they still try, despite—" You cross your arms tighter around your chest, even though it hurts. Fear is written plainly across your face. "Weaker humans are often subject to retribution, Orgoth."

The concern directed at you intensifies. He seems to get it— but you continue, while staring him straight down. "I'm weak, Orgoth— but the Gods see fit to keep me alive. There's— there's something wrong with my head. Our healers cannot fix me. This is the Gods' will. Do you understand?" Fear mixes with desperation. "They have seen fit to use my weakness as Their blessing. Even if I can't do much on my own, the Gods have always listened. They see fit to bless me— time, after time, after time again. And even though it may wear on me— even though my shell has cracks— I still hold. I don't lose myself. I don't die."

Orgoth takes a step back.

"So, you— do you see?" The blood on your palm has yet to dry. The desperation in your voice is leaning over into something much darker, as you extend the congealing crimson towards your distressed companion. "I do bleed when struck. I bleed from a power greater than anything mortal eyes can see."

"I understand." The orc's hulking, battle-scarred frame moves to leave.

Blood is smeared on most of his clothing. He has no armor, or gear. He's been surviving in the ruins with nothing but his bare hands— and it's only as Orgoth has moved to leave that you hazarded a decent look at him.

A weapon is unfastened from the side of his belt, and tossed towards your trembling fingers. "My mace. You cleaned it—?"

"Don't mention it!" His back is already turned to you. A hint of fear worms its way through his voice, while looking off to the furthest reaches of the waterway. "I have things to do, and someone to go home to. We'd better part here. You take care of yourself, Father Richard Anscham."

A lifetime of repressing yourself makes it easy to hide the hurt in your voice. You let him go. "Take care of yourself, too, Orgoth. The— the greatest warrior who ever lived."

With a look over his shoulder, he flashes you a huge smile, and continues down the waterway. He's walking in the direction you came from— opposite of where the demon retreated. His heavy steps sloshes and echo through the shallow water, far beyond your line of sight.

Ray is still sleeping peacefully. You remind yourself that Dream doesn't visit animals, as you slump down beside your boy and scratch behind his ears. The soft contact is comforting, but it does nothing for the dull ache in your chest from having yet another person leave you.

What a terrible misunderstanding.

There's absolutely no sign left of Orgoth or the demon within minutes. It's as if they were never there.

At least the Church made sure I'm never truly alone.

With the help of your cartography tools, sketches are made of the ruins around you. The illustrations include some of the larger carvings on the walls, a note of your descent, and the location where you last saw the centipede demon. After a few more minutes of ruminating over the battle and Orgoth's departure, you painfully eat a ration and drink some water. Stretching the supplies is prudent. You could filter some of the water here— but with how many demons have likely died in the streams, you don't quite trust it.

While you're looking down, the sound of Ray splashing through the water puts a spark in your spine. The moment you jump, Ray eagerly licks your face. He must have smelled the food, as bland as it is. He deserves more than the scratch at his ears, but it's the best you can do. "I'm happy to see you too. Did you just want this?"

Your hero sits dutifully. Going through the motions of training him with a few exercises— whistling, fetching, propping you up if you pass out— is purely for decorum.

Once you're done, you toss him the remainder of the ration. It's inhaled without chewing. "I wish I knew if Orgoth fed you."

The waterway is a labyrinth. Though it's adorned with countless inscriptions and carvings of demons, the direction ahead is difficult to discern. Before you are two main passageways. One stretches off towards where you first entered. The other will lead off to where you last saw the centipede demon. Countless branching tunnels lie further beyond.

Up above, the pale yellow light obscures the ruins. It would be troublesome to climb back up— yet Malimos alluded to untold secrets that could lie in the ruins above.

"Alright boy. Where to now?"

There is no indication that this cracked, creased, and decaying place was meant to be inhabited. You make sure you have your journal out as you start to walk. Keeping your eyes to the walls of the ruins, you take thorough notes on any inscriptions that bear recording. The sea of runes and monsters depicted makes it difficult to pick out anything of note— though you realize that the entire hierarchy of demons are mentioned. Rather than representing the power of an individual monster, you've observed that demons are categorized by their influence over one another. From imps, to minor demons, up through lesser, greater, major, and even archdemons.

A gigantic mural along the side of the waterway has you awe-struck. Upon it is a depiction of a creature that may have once been a man. It has no fewer than 10 torsos, perched atop a freakishly long, horse-like body. Each head has a forked tongue, horns, and the front-most head is breathing flame. Your hands shake slightly as you try to duplicate the image as best as you can. Your fingers linger with charcoal over parchment for only a moment after you're done. Two words are hesitantly written under the drawing. "Greater demon."

You continue walking down the passageway, while inscribing various runes. You fill about five pages before bringing the recordings to a halt. There's little use attempting to duplicate thousands of letters. Now that there is a substantial supply of the multiple languages represented here, you close the journal, and stash it in your pack. This surely will satisfy the nobility and Church of Mercy.

The Church of Mercy.

Your first sermon was meant to be a trial by fire. While Father Edmund truly wished to protect you, your fellow priests were appalled by the thought of you serving the church. They had surely hoped you would be killed during the service. Yet despite all odds, you survived, and have gone on to survive so much more: Traveling the countryside. Preaching compassion and Mercy to the disheartened peoples of Corcaea. Acting as a living example of how faith can be rewarded. Striking down demons from the wilderness. Saving little towns. Anson's outbreak— when a monster manifested in the heart of the city— and your subsequent invocation that saved many lives. Years of prayer and abuse have left your body weak and weary, but there is no denying that your resolve is absolute.

It's with a grimace that your gaze settles on the grotesque figure above.

I know that I'm not a monster.

The intense scrutiny of the creature's image, and your trembling hands pick up on a faint draft coming from the other side of the wall. You gasp. "What...?"

One of the demon's legs is unmistakably lined by a groove. The draft coming from the other side is from a hidden door.

Cautiously backing up from the door without so much as touching it, only a second is taken to label your map with its location. A small diagram of the giant mural is made as well. "Let's keep moving, Ray."

He barks, and obediently hops to your side.

Your eyes trail along the walls and down the passage to where Orgoth was last seen.

You swallow hard.

I just need to gather more information.

Orgoth caught your mace during the fight with his bare hands. His blood is still dried onto the sharpened flanges. As you take your weapon out and wave the item under your boy's nose, he gives the gore his full attention. Ready to trail whoever you command.

"Follow." At the order, your boy barks repeatedly, and immediately starts moving down the corridor. "Slow."

Whining, he points his nose down the waterway, and brings his motions to a low crawl. You stay right on his heels with a mutter. "Mercy, forgive me."

You're acutely aware of how much noise you're making as your shoes slosh through the filthy water. The foam and flecks of guts come up to your ankles. It's impossible to completely muffle the sound no matter how carefully you step. Ray doesn't help matters, as he ruthlessly trails Orgoth's scent. You have to frequently remind the mastiff to slow his pace.

Time crawls on. It could be one hour, or it could be five. Your side is aching, but you keep moving forward. The waterway is like a maze, with countless branching paths. It would be unbelievably easy to become lost down here. The monotony of your straight and singular path is truly a blessing.

Something is up ahead. You whisper, "stop."

If you had been moving faster, it would have been easy to miss. There's barbed trip wire strung across the path at the level of your ankles— and at the height of your neck.

"What's wrong with you?"

The memory hurts as badly as running into metal wire could have been.

The Church of Mercy took you in at such a young age. Father Edmund did everything he could for you, but it wasn't enough. You hated your life before your service. The company of the Gods was not enough.

With a step backwards, you make several further commands to drop Ray's tracking, and to keep him from hurting himself.

You were alone. You ran away. You watched and waited. For a time, a place, and any way to talk to someone. To get help. One time was enough.

There's a dull throbbing in your chest and head. It's hard to breathe.

"Get away from me!"

"Don't touch her!"

"You don't understand. Please—"

When Father Edmund found you, he couldn't hide how badly you were beaten. To this day, you're certain Mercy is the only reason you didn't die.

"What were you thinking? What's wrong with you?"

A closer examination of the wire shows it's designed to slow down any pursuer. It surely would have killed you or Ray if you ran past.

Shoulders and regret slumps forward as you look at the wire. "We— I shouldn't have followed him in the first place." You wave the mace again by Ray's nose. "Let's go, boy. Drop it."

The perk of his ears and tail relaxes with the end to the search, but your dog is still aware of how stressed you are. He licks on the side of your hand liberally, and you pat his head in appreciation. You even try to straighten your shoulders slightly. The ache in your chest and head subsides enough for some strained reassurance. "I'll be fine. Come on."

Ray looks to you for where to go next. You turn your back to the corridor Orgoth went down, and your boy keeps the pace. The pain in your side has decreased since you first were hit. So much sleep must have actually helped.

You make it back to where you began far faster than it took you to pursue Orgoth. Without stalking around, the travel time was at least halved. "That wasn't so bad." Ray barks in response once, then twice. He sounds distressed, and barks again.

"What is it, boy?" A few pebbles trickle from a nearby ledge. The ceiling and walls echo with your slowing footsteps.

Something else has been trapped. You've seen enough tunnels fall to know what's coming. With a shout, you dive as far from the source of an incoming collapse as you can. "RAY! MOVE—!"

The light rapidly fades from the hole overhead, as it fills with rock and silt. You and your boy slide through the repulsive waterway— muddying your bandages— and taking you just out from the ceiling as it breaks apart at your back.

The floor shakes, as the tunnel at your back falls to pieces. Ray tugs on your robes with his teeth, whining as you struggle to get up. The damn wound. It's slowing you down, but you manage to get to your feet in seconds.

Though it re-opens the injury at your side to do so, you break into a sprint. There's no use looking anywhere but straight ahead, to not trip on any of the debris underfoot. The tunnel brutally quakes as the entire opening at your back collapses in on itself.

Your broad strides take you deeper into the waterway than you've ever been. The familiar golden light is completely extinguished. You slow to a stop, and call out to the pitch-black corridor between ragged breaths. "Ray?"

A familiar bark sounds off right next to you. He doesn't sound hurt.

You let loose a heavy sigh, with relief that borders on a sob. "Good boy." You quickly get a hold of yourself, and blindly feel around for a torch. "Mercy..."

It's bad enough that you're drenched head-to-toe, but the backpack and the bottom of your robes seem to have gotten the worst of it. With great difficulty, you manage to extract a torch in the dark. It's a good thing the wood was treated. You command Ray to stay back while you strike the flame, and your eyes widen the moment the light catches.

Even in the dim glow, you can see something alarming. Very alarming.

The water is rising.

You frantically look overhead. There is solid stone above you, and below you as well. Spinning around, and swinging your torch towards the distance only reveals that the passage is stacked to the ceiling with heavy, fallen stone. Turning back around— running ahead— there's a three-pronged fork just a little further beyond. Your eyes go even wider when you see that the central path leads down.

Water is pouring into some dark slope. The path to the right leads up, granting drier ground. The path to the left stays straight and level, where the water is about a foot high and rising fast. The pounding beat of your heart, and Ray's barking is deafening in the ever-shrinking space.

Time is precious, and you desperately need to see. You wrap both hands around the torch, and close your eyes. Ray's barking fades from your mind as you pour yourself into an invocation. A prayer, to reach out to Mercy. Using Her blessing in times of great peril is something you know you can do without fear of pain or retribution.

Light flares out with the intensity of the day for the briefest of moments, before shrinking back in on itself. The radius of the torch is at least doubled. Heat radiates off of it, as a constant reminder of Her favor. Comfort and joy pour forth from your lips, as you cry out in relief. "The Gods are Merciful!"

Thank to Her momentary blessing, you can clearly see to the end of the right path. A broad swing of your torch reveals that there is a large grate covering the entire passage. It's difficult to discern a way to open it from such a distance. The straight path ends is shorter, and also ends with a large grate. The only unobstructed path is the one leading down, and you can't see to its end— even with Mercy's gift.

The water is about two feet up from the floor now, and still rising.

Ray's barking increases. His breed is enormous— nearly four feet tall standing— but the water is still rising rapidly. Fearing the worst, you decide to take the high ground. "Run, Ray!"

Sprinting through the water to the rightmost path, your dog practically has to swim to keep up with you. He immediately lags behind. The ground to the right slopes up dramatically. Thankfully, it takes you both above the water level about halfway into the passage. The filthy runoff menacingly rises and rushes up from behind. Its source is impossible to point, but you don't have time for a proper investigation.

"Mercy—"

The metal bars of the grate block the entire passage. The lattice is wide enough to stick a hand through, but not even your lithe frame would fit. You have to act quickly. The last bit of rope you were able to salvage is used to secure the torch onto the metal bars of the grate, while taking a few precious seconds to pray for the metal to soften. Meanwhile, the water rises to soak the bottom of your shoes.

Your boy whines, and continues to back up away from the flood. With a great heave and a shout, you get some leverage, slam your mace down, and pry with all of your might. A few agonizing seconds pass as you strain against the rusted obstruction. The screech of old metal into stone echoes down the passage beyond.

Holding your ground, and digging in your heels, every last bit of strength your legs possess work to their absolute limit. Along with Ray's barking, screaming stone and iron shakes through the passage.

Your eyes are screwed shut, sweat dripping from your brow. The lattice weakens, buckles, and completely collapses in the center. A small, viciously sharp passage can barely be squeezed through. A shout of victory is all you can hazard. "Yes!"

Every bit of training and cooperation you and Ray possess goes into guiding him through first. "Go! RUN!" The moment he's through, you unfasten the torch as fast as your shaking hands can work. With your mace recovered, you deftly slip through the opening.

Both of you break into a full sprint. The dampness in your bandages spreads. Blood weeps from your side from the strain of opening the grate, but you can't care. Adrenaline keeps the fatigue and pain at bay for a few precious moments. Following the path upwards, you are taken along a swerve to the side— and down.

Your eyes are as wide as saucers, while scouring the walls for any other doors or openings. There are many carvings of demons— and something more. Light shines around some of the carvings. They must be openings in the grooves along the wall. They could be hidden doors, or traps. Maybe something more. There's three of them.

One— just to your left— is around a carving of an imp. This weakest kind of demon is usually in service to a monster of greater power. They are mischievous, and terrible to contend with nonetheless. Its depiction stands about as tall as Ray— while you stand two inches over 6 feet. The lanky and wiry frame you possess would have to crouch down to pass through.

A drawing of a minor demon is further down the tunnel, just as the floor starts to dip down. A lit, circular gap encompasses the image. If a tunnel lies beyond, it would be large enough for you to pass through while standing.

The last series of grooves are made in an ornate pattern, in an outline of a lesser demon. It reaches the entire height of the passage, and some of the ceiling. Detail is difficult to make out on the massive expanse. It's far enough down the passage that it meets the very edge of your bright torchlight.

The rush of water behind you is unrelenting. You're currently on dry land, but there's no telling for how long.

The water is still rising rapidly, and you're soaked to the bone. Ray doesn't even bother to shake himself off as he whines and barks.

"Move!" Froth and gray foam rushes behind you as you run along the corridor. Hooking around the corner, you and Ray descend towards the largest opening you can see. The light faintly coming from the border of the demon gives you hope.

"BACK, boy!" If this is trapped, you aren't going to risk both of you getting hurt. "Mercy, guide me—!"

Hooking your mace on its holster, you unsling your shield, and slam your full weight onto the side of the wall's grooves. The solid stone slides slightly with the force— and starts to retract.

Waves of water rush down from the slope at your back to meet you. The thrum of your heartbeat is in your ears and soul. The rush of scum is nearly enough to knock you off your feet. Ray holds his ground valiantly, and barks at the retracting door with a ferocity you rarely see from him. With the water rising rapidly, your boy is up to his neck in water in seconds. The grooves around the demon's picture part completely. Its hidden door has slid only halfway into the walls around it, but you can see a wide cavern ahead. It's glowing with a pale yellow light.

There's no time to waste. Shield out, you push ahead towards the golden opening, and slip through the narrow exit. "With me, Ray."

Your command and the slosh of your robes through the water echoes throughout the cavern. It's hard to imagine this place flooding. A colossal cavern is lined with the pale glow of countless parasites from floor to ceiling. Ray is beside himself, and barks incessantly at the walls. The creatures clinging to them are neither fireflies, nor beetles. The light that's eclipsing Mercy's blessing comes from leeches. There must be hundreds of them. They've been slowly moving your way, but many of them flop into the water— and swim with uncanny speed straight towards you.

​

You whip your head around to your boy howling. Several of the leeches have latched onto his body. Sparks burst before your eyes from a panicked outburst. "RAY!"

Swinging your torch, you scream out as you try to deter the leeches. With Ray biting and gnashing at them, and your quick efforts, most are quickly pried off. It matters little. The cavern is illuminated as every last parasite swims towards you.

Panic has you look around for any exit. At first glance,it would seem that this room is a dead-end, but there's a hole in the floor at the farthest end. It follows a steep incline— and drops off sharply beyond your sight. It will flood. You'll likely wind up swimming. A quick glance over your shoulder sinks the pounding beat of your heart. The water level is not only still increasing— it has nearly flooded the passage you entered from.

Not like this. Not today.

Given the size of the cavern, the water level is increasing much faster than it has any right to. Moving forward becomes excruciatingly slow, between the current and leeches gathering in the waves around you. Ray tears into a great number as he does his best to follow you, and it's all you can do to try and help him. The creatures creep under your sleeves, under your shirt and socks, and latch onto skin wherever they can.

We're going to die if we don't get out of here.

"Ray!"

Your dog sinks under the surface. Despite being right at his side, he can barely be seen through the monstrous infestation in the water. You fearlessly dive under, grab Ray with both arms, and pull him back out. "Come on, boy. Come on."

Every word of reassurance you can utter accompanies your desperate motions, as you get him to higher ground. It's more than a struggle, as he bites and tears at the leeches covering both your bodies. With the water rapidly approaching, you still stop for a moment to pry and throw as many of the freakishly large creatures off of Ray as you can. He licks at you thankfully, but whines, and is certainly hurt.

Your mind thunders with thoughts of staying and fighting the leeches, but the water is rising so rapidly now that you fear you'll drown if you stay. Dangerous, churning muck pushes against the walls of the cavern. Waves lap at your elevated position.

Running up to the hole, you quickly peer inside. It's dry. Due to its steep slope, seeing further beyond is out of the question even with Mercy's light.

It's the only way out.

Ray is visibly distraught, but his ears perk up at your whistle. He immediately leaps to your side.

What did I ever do to deserve you?

A wordless run goes down the steep decline. Ray— despite his bites— manages to keep his footing right alongside you as you stagger forward. Your feet barely catch on the moist earth. The light of the leeches fades, but the sound of the water intensifies in a way that makes your heart sink. You know what you need to do, and it frightens you.

Even as a young boy, you always have striven to exhibit restraint. You've never called upon the Gods for aid unless you felt that lives were in danger. These occurrences have become more and more frequent as the years have dragged on— and you've felt it. Sleep comes rarely. Eating is a struggle. Your limbs are thin, but weigh on you like a much heavier burden. Yet you are compelled to pray. To invoke. To save others. To save yourself.

Ray is panting hard as you both run forward. From the top of the incline comes a deafening roar. Gallons upon gallons of water careens down and into the passage at your back. You stop, hold onto your dog, and brace against the side of the nearest outcropping of rock. Water rushes to meet you both.

There's no time to say goodbye.