Silva broke up the fight, made everyone apologize, and gave a little speech.

"Listen up, kids. We are officially running out of time, so we can't waste any of it on infighting. I was suspicious of Law going into this, but the fact is, it doesn't matter how we got here, it matters that we get out. Once we're back where we need to be, you can beat each other to death for all I care. We have to get into the engine room. Dokutsu is not a mission priority. My badass sword is not a mission priority. The engine room is where we have to go. So how do we get there?"

The boys were sitting in a crescent around Silva, who was standing with her hands on her hips and her chest pushed out. Her hair was still slicked with mucous, as was most of her clothing.

Shippo raised his hand, and she gave him the nod.

"We go to the monastery?"

"That depends. Hollen, what's the situation there now?"

"Continuing to prepare defenses," I said. "Dokutsu has sealed off a number of corridors in the warrens with her excretions, but she hasn't approached the Nezumi tribe, though she is patently aware of their location."

"Why do you think that is?"

"She may not be hungry, or she might still be recovering from your scuffle. My best estimation is that she is intelligent enough not to wipe out her only food source. She intends to keep the monastery alive and functioning as her personal livestock corral."

"They can still get us to the engine room," Lawlimi said.

Silva dropped her arms. "Let's hope so."

Traveling back to the monastery was tense for the party. Despite my ability to track Dokutsu as well as map every bend and straightaway in the Undercity, there was still the chance that the worm would catch their scent and give chase. Fortunately, she was completely occupied with the art and practice of hanging mucus. After she vomited up a section of the fibrous, pulpy barrier, she spent minutes arranging each section in patterns and non-patterns reminiscent of the nouveau Asharian monks. Her tendrils were braided over her skull and down her back, suggesting that she wasn't currently interested in hunting or fighting. Her face was relaxed, and she took a childish pleasure in her activity.

I did not explain all of that to Silva.

The monastery was on a war footing, a bristle of crossbows and one ballista greeted them as they came through the main entrance into a scrap gauntlet they intended to use as a kill zone.

Damwise was there to meet them. "Praise the powers of the earth and sky! My Lady Red Wolf, you are alive and well. Sash, Lawlimi, in my darker moments I wondered whether we would survive to toast one another over a shared campfire again."

Silva rolled her eyes, and Sashimibandit was still too bitter to pay attention to Damwise.

"I don't think we've ever shared a campfire," Lawlimi said. He had a hand on Shippo, who was wary of the welcome he was about to receive from the people who had banished him.

The party was led through the gauntlet and up the piecemeal ramp to the Elders. Ink Eyes stood at the edge of his tier, hands behind his back. His beady eyes were narrowed into slits.

"Dokutsu lives," he said.

"Dokutsu died," Silva said. "The girl is his child."

"She is a greater threat than he ever was. You do not deserve the rewards we showered you with."

"We have the Kiss," Silva changed the subject. "Take us to the engine room so this can be over."

"Not while Dokutsu still roams free, and you still carry your ill-gotten rewards."

"If you want the sword, you can pull it out of her belly yourself, but we need to go."

"And the armor," he turned his gaze on Sashimibandit, "and the boy." Shippo stiffened, ducking his head to avoid the Elder's glare.

Lawlimi turned his back on the council and moved back down the ramp, accompanied by much hissing and spitting from the onlookers. If it came to it, I probably could get them to the engine room, but it was always better to act with local support.

"You have not been given leave," Ink Eyes said.

"I'm going to deal with Dokutsu," Lawlimi kept walking, "like you wanted."

"Surely, we can come to a more harmonious understanding than this?" Damwise spread his arms wide. "Are we not all reasonable men, women, and Therians?"

Cutthroats waited at the base of the ramp to apprehend Lawlimi, his recent advancement wouldn't be enough to rival them, especially as crippled by exhaustion as he was. He was barely on his feet.

"Let them go," Ink Eyes said, "when they die, they will die together."

"What the hell?" Silva called down. "You're splitting again?"

"Of course, he's leaving us to die," Sashimibandit said. "You should have let me kill him."

"I think I've got a plan," Lawlimi waved back at her.

"You think?"

"I think I think! Hollen can keep you updated."

"I have no idea what he's talking about," I whispered to her.

"Fine," Silva spun back to face Ink Eyes. "If he's going to deal with Dokutsu, what's the situation with us? Are you going to open the engine room?"

Ink Eyes watched the retreating pair after the cutthroats gave way, and he stayed silent until they disappeared into the gauntlet. His jaw relaxed, becoming less hostile.

"Very well. The engine will wake, but it requires a sacrifice. You will have to accompany us through the ventilation shafts, then you will understand."

Lawlimi walked onto the target range like a man who'd recently bought the place. He went to one of the lanes, allowed a trickle of clear mana to flow into the X-Cannon's cabochons, aimed, and fired. A fuzzy yellow spark emitted from the front of his augmentation, flashed forward in a sine wave pattern, and petered out before it reached the nearest target.

"Okay," he said, hiding his disappointment. "So, show me what got you locked in the pit."

Shippo had hidden his face in his hands, waiting for the critical malfunction that would lead to a detonation, but it hadn't happened. Both of his eponymous tails waved happily as he led Lawlimi to a large utility panel on the far wall behind the targets.

"I took parts from dummies," he said. "Why I noticed this."

The panel was missing screws, and in their place was a makeshift latch and hinges. Behind the sheet metal panel was a narrow elbow, well-sized for ratfolk, that ended on an altar. A strange shrine of rusted iron and unlit candles; a star of wizardry had been outlined in blood, circumscribed by an ouroboros. The snake that bites its own tail was a common emblem, a sign of Acarus, and it was depicted eleven more times, ensnaring all the other gods.

"What's this about?" Lawlimi asked, squinting in the weak light of his half-charged torch.

"Forbidden," Shippo pointed from graphic to graphic, "forbidden, forbidden."

"So, this is someone's private shrine, one of the Elders, you think?"

Shippo nodded, his eyes wide with fear.

"Why does this matter? I haven't seen much religion down here, except you guys leaving offerings for the dark paladin."

"Starman. Star-Lord. The Maker. These are sacred names." The kitsune pointed at the altar. "This is blasphemy."

"Do you have a take on this, Hollen?"

"It seems that this zone was meant to be beyond the gods, but that at least one of them has found a foothold here. The nezumi already admitted we were not the first party to arrive, one of our predecessors may have included an acolyte of Acarus."

"I'm not a loremaster, but isn't Acarus supposed to be dead?"

"Indeed. The Lord Betai slew Acarus in the first age and his mantle was divided into three parts so that his seat in the stars would remain empty forever after. One portion became the Tellurians in their city beneath the corrupted roots of Shaed. Another portion was eaten by Bolaerian, Wyrmsdotter, and she became the mother of the innumerable species of worm we know today, including a troubling specimen named Dokutsu. Finally, Acarus's most terrible gift, Hunger, was taken and hidden by Bemoi in her own body. It was then that her eyes were sewn shut, to prevent Hunger from looking out of her, and others being subjected to its sight."

Lawlimi was back in the shooting range, thinking over what I had said. "So, whatever got into this place could have come from a worm, a tellurian, or Bemoi. What about Dokutsu? Is she part of the issue?"

"Only in the sense that I believe the Elders have been feeding her."

"Come again?"

"I'm not certain, but the number of bones present in the vault, the size of the worm, and the practice of banishment to the pit as a ready food source, all suggest that whoever is worshiping Acarus chose to do so by raising a normal cave worm to advanced levels."

"That's messed up, but it doesn't answer our question. Where did the corruption start?"

"I heard a story," Shippo said. "A dark elf came here alone. Gave the elders gifts. Went to see the engine. That was all."

"I can corroborate," I said, "that there is someone in the engine room. This being has the ability to obscure itself from me. A dark elf wizard might have that skill, and might also be acting on behalf of Bemoi, if she has succumbed to corruption."

"Okay, that's a problem. But first, we've got to deal with Dokutsu."

"You said you had a plan."

"I've got an assumption. Can you tell me where she is?"

"As you wish."

00000000

The ventilation ducts were not made with humans in mind. The nezumi, four feet of wiry muscle and stiff fur, went swiftly on their fingers and toes. Silva, broad-shouldered and tall, was doing her best to army crawl after them. Damwise was short enough but far too stocky, he became a sort of cube person as he forced himself forward, and Sashimibandit scraped by unhappily behind him.

The ducts presented them with a few challenges, sudden directional changes that had Sashimibandit yelling "Pivot! Pivot!" as Damwise wriggled and unequipped down to his underclothes. It was cold down there, and dark, the torches were hardly of use. The Elders stopped whenever they found roaches to eat them and share them out, which at least spared the heroes having to feel prickling feet crawling over their hands.

Their Fatigue levels were creeping up, and their progress had slowed. They reached a central shaft where many branches met and found that metal rungs had been mounted to make for a manageable descent. Ink Eyes assured them that they were near their destination, and the nezumi dropped with alacrity. The humans sweated their way down, limbs shivering with exhaustion. As they reached the bottom, a steady warmth worked its way out of the darkness, and a musky copper smell.

They debauched from another utility panel into the heart of the dynamo. The engine was as large as a traditional donjon, the nobleman's keep that foreshadowed the development of true castles. Nothing else in the chamber—contraptions and controls, conduits and channels—were of consequence beside it. The engine was itself an amalgam of machine and biological components, though none that had ever been human. Beneath the rivets and the lamellar were scales paled by their absence from the sun. Mingling with the artificial tubes were real, if atrophied, veins. Its muscles were strained and torn, rearranged to limit its mobility, and its wings, the membranes had been burned away, were mere handles by which vast clamps hanging from the ceiling could better grip this tortured horror. Its eyes were filled with cataracts and blood; it was somewhere lost between the mirror realms of death and sleep. A heartbeat once every minute or so, maintaining the semblance of life in a frame pushed far beyond it. This was the beast I had caught a glimpse of before, the Unbound Engine. Never was a denomination less appropriate.

It had been a dragon once.

So where was the other, the wizard or dark elf, the one who could cloud my eye? The party all stopped and stared, luminous crystals in the ceiling burgeoned as soon as they entered, though only a handful hadn't been cracked by age or accident. The engine was revealed half in shadow, as if the weak orange radiance of mana rocks was too ashamed to touch the hidden part.

Silva had no words. She tried to speak, but there were none. Sashimibandit started to sniffle, and Damwise pulled at his beard with the look of a madman denying the presence of the world. The reek of corruption was stultifying.

The Elders spread out around the room, manning stations, checking dials, chittering to each other and themselves. Red gems woke in discreet corners, the eyes of Orobos, always watching. Then the dark elf came.

He was of a height with Silva, but leaner, and his skin was the color of charcoal, his eyes a verdant green. The elf wore light, loose clothing, almost a caftan, and a cloak that disturbed me. I found I could not look at it or touch it with my mind. When I tried to analyze him, all I saw was a name.

>>

Isekel, the Anointed — XXXXXXXX

XXXX — XXXXXX — XXXXX

(XXXXXX/XXXXXX)

>>

That was new.

"You brought three. I thought there were four." He was speaking to the rats.

"The fourth belongs to the Maker," Ink Eyes said. "It wouldn't serve us to bring him here."

"Well enough," Isekel looked to the players. "Which of you has the Herald's Kiss?"

"What's it to you," Silva said, squaring her shoulders.

"I am your guide in this last leg of your journey."

"We have never heard of you."

"You are hearing now. Please, show me the Herald's Kiss, so that we can move onto the next phase."

Silva frowned, and her instincts were correct. I put myself in her ear.

"His cloak is a powerful artifact that prevents scrying. I can't read him, but I'm certain he is not an NPC. Lawlimi found evidence of a cult of Acarus in the Undercity, and I believe this man is its source."

"I've got the key," Silva said, "and we're here to get the engine started. Let's do that first."

The dark elf looked annoyed. "If you wish. Elders, begin the ritual of awakening."

The nezumi acted in a highly ritualized manner, praying to the machines and to the engine before dabbing them with oils and unguents meant to appease restive ghosts. Faint whirring and chinking could be heard, fans spun, and leather belting pulled against steel pulleys as mechano constructs were brought to life all over the chamber. Some of them were stationary, planted in the floor, shunted lubricants and coolants from this way and that, while others clambered on legs with too many joints to touch the Unbound Engine.

That lonely heartbeat could be heard above the rest, and it began to pace a little faster. Its claws twitched, and its jaw lolled open.

"What's next?" Silva asked. "How do we feed it?"

Isekel produced three pieces of fruit, red like apples, but with a softer meat. They were called Tubtubs, and their smell was known to be irresistible to dragons. As if to corroborate my recognition, the engine's nostrils flared and sniffed the humid air.

"Take them," Isekel said, "and feed him one by one."

He tossed the first to Damwise, who analyzed it immediately. "My lord, I fear approaching such a beast with temptation ripe within my hand."

"Do not fear," the dark elf's smile was genuine. "This is the way it must be."

>>

(Charm Successful)

>>

Damwise hesitated a moment more, then hopped a bundle of wiring that ran across the floor before the engine. Nothing happened as he approached, and he tossed the Tubtub into the black recess of the mechano dragon's throat. The jaw snapped shut, it swallowed, and then hung open again.

Damwise laughed in relief, and Sashimibandit caught the next piece of fruit.

"I just want this to be over," he said, and moved beside Damwise to make his throw. In the same moment that he raised his arm, Isekel crushed the third fruit in his hand and whipped the pulp so fast it splattered over both men's backs. Sashimibandit paused half-cocked when he felt the pulp hit. Then the dragon's claw swiped them both up and thrust them into its gullet in one robotic motion. The jaw snapped shut.

Isekel fluttered his cloak, and my awareness was ejected.

>>

(Sashimibandit has died)

(Damwise has died)

>>