Kael stood before the sewer's gaping maw, its stench rolling over him in waves—rot, chemical burn, and something alive, something that squirmed in the back of his throat. The Sanctum's waste wasn't just filth; it was poison, laced with enough residual mana to twist flesh and bone. Perfect breeding ground for monsters.
He forced himself forward, boots sinking into sludge that bubbled like a living thing. The tunnel swallowed him whole, darkness pressing in until he uncorked the sickly green potion from his belt. The liquid burned going down, searing his vision with acidic clarity—shadows sharpened into edges, the blackened pipe now glowing a murky emerald. Effects from a night vision potion he had purchased. He tied a cloth over his nose, but nothing could block the reek of tainted meat and spoiled magic.
Kael moved fast, shoulders brushing the curved walls, every splash of his footsteps too loud in the dripping silence. Rabid mana-beasts prowled these tunnels—mutated by the Sanctum's runoff, driven mad by the very energy that birthed them. He'd fought them before in open air, but here? Here, he was the intruder.
A corner. A flicker of movement.
His breath locked in his chest.
The beast crouched over its kill—a rat the size of a cat, its claws like cleavers. The creature feasting on it was worse: a dog-shaped horror, half its body sloughing off to expose pulsating veins and jutting bone. Black pus wept from its wounds. One hind leg was stripped to the femur, yet it ate with frenzied snaps, lungs heaving like bellows.
Just walk past. It's wounded. Distracted.
Kael took a silent step—
The beast's head jerked up. Black eyes, pupil-less, staring through him.
No time for fear. Kael's blades cleared their sheaths in a crossguard stance, steel glinting poison-green in his enhanced sight.
He exploded forward, shortsword whipping down in a brutal arc—aimed at the exposed back leg. The blade sheared through tendon and bone with a wet crack. The beast howled, spine twisting to face him, jaws unhinging to reveal teeth still tangled with rat flesh.
It lunged, unbalanced. Kael pivoted, sword rising to block—
Clang.
The beast's teeth clamped on steel, thrashing like a shark. Saliva sprayed as it tried to wrench the weapon away. Kael held firm, left hand driving the dagger upward, under the ribs, toward the heart. The blade punched through lung, but not deep enough.
The beast recoiled, blood gushing black from its chest. Kael gave it no quarter—he feinted left, then spun with his whole weight behind the shortsword. The edge bit deep into its neck, severing spine, lodging halfway through.
The beast spasmed, legs churning uselessly. For a heartbeat, their eyes met—Kael's cold, calculating; the beast's wild with dying hunger. Then instinct won. It fled, dragging its ruined body into the dark, leaving a trail of thick blood.
Kael didn't chase. A decapitated beast still bites.
He wiped his blades clean, the cloth staining oily black.
Ahead, a rusted ladder led to the surface. Kael climbed, emerging into the Sanctum's sterile air—all perfumed gardens and polished stone. Behind him, the sewer exhaled its rot.
Somewhere above, the Baron's mansion waited.