Chapter 13: Castaway IV

Darkness. Silence thick as wet wool. Then: pain.

Adrian stirred, the dull ache of bruised ribs and torn muscles dragging him back to consciousness. Every breath was raw, tinged with the faint scent of ash, blood, and stone. He wasn't lying on dirt or leaves—this surface was cold and smooth. Stone. He opened his eyes slowly.

A cavern. The air was damp. Bioluminescent moss glowed dimly on the ceiling. The "cell" he was in was a dead-end tunnel, about three meters wide, enclosed save for a massive slab of rock that sealed the exit.

He sat up with effort, wincing. His right hand was bandaged in rough cloth, still missing two fingers. Healing, but slowly. Telekinesis had sealed the arteries, and the blood loss was stabilized—barely.

Where am I…?

His senses extended beyond the stone. Dozens. No—over a hundred entities, crawling, twitching, breathing. The same twisted humanoid creatures. He was deep underground.

And then… others. Human souls. Imprisoned.

May…? he whispered hoarsely.

No response.

"Guess she's gone," he muttered to himself. "Not that she was real anyway."

"Rude," said a voice behind him.

He flinched. Turned. May sat casually on a ledge of stone, arms folded, her black boots swinging slightly in the air. Her form flickered faintly, like a projection that had bled into reality. Her expression? Smug.

Adrian narrowed his eyes. "You weren't here a second ago."

"You're welcome for the shoulder tap. You'd still be sulking."

"I'm not sulking," he grumbled. "I'm strategizing."

"Oh yeah? What's the plan, strategist?"

Adrian stood, cracking his neck. "We're not staying here. I can sense at least five other people in this pit with us. If we want out, we're going to need more than one and a hallucination."

"Excuse you. I'm an emotionally supportive hallucination."

He snorted. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

May leaned in. "So... break out and do what? Fight a hundred freaks? Half of them are stronger than the one that took off your hand."

Adrian didn't answer. He was already walking toward the wall. His left hand pressed against the stone, eyes closed. He felt the soul behind it—faint, curled in misery. The wall between them thinned near the top, like an air bubble caught in a shell.

He pulled his hand back, red mist beginning to stream off his forearm.Focus. Inhale. Shape. Push.

A dull crack thundered through the cave as the stone fractured outward in a smooth, concussive blast of telekinetic pressure. Dust billowed in. May blinked through the cloud.

Adrian stepped through, red mist trailing behind him.

Inside, crouched in the corner, was a man with tousled chestnut hair, a once-expensive vest torn to rags and dust. A tattered monocle hung from one eye. His curled mustache twitched.

Adrian raised a hand. "Hello there?"