After a while, the tunnels ahead bent into a wide chamber, and Pellin's six legs pattered against the damp earth, carrying him faster than ever before. His breath came in short bursts, chest heaving, antennae twitching like whips as they struggled to trace the surroundings. Behind him, the faint patter of unrelenting heavier limbs echoed like sharp needles in his mind.
The cricket followed suit, driven only by the thought of seeing the ant's dead. Cold. Corpse.
The chamber opened wider, swallowing him in a strange glow. At once, blue light bled into the darkness, faint at first but spreading across his vision, like the sunrise at the break of dawn. He skidded to a halt, just long enough to take in the sight.
The mushrooms here were like towers of azure fire, pillars rising far above his small form. To Pellin, they stretched as high as the Giant himself. Yet to the crickets, they barely reached the waist, forcing them to lumber through the glowing maze.
The light was dazzling but weak, too frail to challenge the thick shadows clinging to the chamber's walls and the dark ceiling. Their glow pulsed softly, shimmering like pools of trapped moonlight. In that mix of gloom and brilliance, Pellin could see nothing past the closest mushrooms. The rest loomed like barriers, blocking vision and near-suffocating space.
Damn it... this is not the way we came from. Pellin thought to himself. Suddenly the silence was broken by the loud thud of the crickets' feet.
He forced his legs to move again, weaving into the forest of glowing stalks. Each one seemed to appear without warning, jutting into his path like a wall. He ducked, twisted, skidded sideways, and leapt between them. His shell brushed against their smooth skin, sending them swaying left and right. The soft stalks bent but did not break, releasing a faint scent, a sour-sweet aroma filled the chamber. A sensation he had never known before.
Behind him, heavy steps thundered.
"Damn these mushrooms!" one cricket barked, its voice rough and low, vibrating through the chamber. "Quick — he's running away!"
Pellin risked a glance. The shadows were upon him. Two bulky forms that dwarfed him in size, eyes burning with fury, legs snapping mushrooms like brittle reeds under their careless strides.
They cursed again as they stumbled on the glowing stalks, their large feet unable to tread with care. Pellin's heart hammered against his chest, each beat urging him to move faster, faster, faster.
Pellin raced forward like a stampede.
He shifted his weight with grace and precision, springing left, then right, his antennae grazing stalks that almost burst into his face. The fungi rocked in his wake, swaying violently.
"There! Behind those moving mushrooms!" one cricket snarled, pointing.
The glow betrayed him. Each time he brushed a stalk, its swaying betrayed his position. His small form was swallowed by the light towers, yet the ripples in their motion was inevitable.
Rage filled the air behind him. He could hear the crickets' panting breaths, the snapping of stalks under their powerful strides, the scrape of claw against earth as they fought through the maze. Pellin's limbs burned, his body ached, yet he refused to falter.
He darted, twisted, almost tripping on roots, but momentum carried him forward. His shell grazed another mushroom, sending it into a wobble, glowing spores floating into the air like drifting embers. The faint motes clung to him, glittering against his black carapace, marking him further in the dark.
No choice. Run.
The chamber's edge came into sight. A tunnel stretched ahead, a yawning mouth of black. Pellin lunged for it, his legs scraping hard against the dirt. He dove into its embrace just as the light from the mushrooms dimmed behind him.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
His breaths came ragged. The sound of pursuit dulled behind, yet the echoes did not vanish. He ran blindly, relying on the twitch of his antennae and the pulse of his instincts. His body turned without thinking, diving left at the first fork he found. The tunnel narrowed, winding deeper, his legs scraping dirt. Yet as he emerged, he was only welcomed by the unknown.
The new chamber was worse, unforgiving to him.
Sharpness greeted him.
The air smelled different here. Dry, metallic, sharp like blood on stone. His antennae quivered, he could sense the sharpness of the jagged edges, tangible, spreading like wildfire in his nerves. The floor stretched uneven, a graveyard of spikes rising from earth and walls alike.
They were rocks. Dark, jagged, triangular rocks, pushing up from the soil in angles that seemed deliberately cruel. Each spike glittered faintly in the dimness, their tips damp and lethal.
"Could my luck get any worse? Or perhaps this was fate...."
Then a rumble echoed from behind, as if the earth itself growled. The tunnel shook faintly. Pellin's legs tensed.
From the darkness, a cricket emerged.
This one was alone now. It crawled low, four limbs pressing against the dirt as its body rippled with predatory grace. Its antennae whipped the air, its eyes glinting in the faint light.
Pellin froze for half a heartbeat.
The cricket reared, raising one of its claws high, silhouetted against the jagged terrain.
And then it struck.
The blow came down with force enough to crack stone. Pellin darted, legs pushing with everything he had. The claw slammed where he had stood, scattering dirt and shards. His shell scraped stone, the sting of sharp edges slicing faint lines across him.
The cricket rose roaring and then it lunged again, slamming its limbs against the earth, sending echoes bouncing through the chamber. The jagged spikes became both shield and trap. Each step Pellin took had to be precise, weaving between deadly rocks. He darted sideways, antennae brushing stone, shell scraping harsh edges. Every dodge slowed him.
"Gotcha!" the cricket bellowed.
Claws closed around Pellin's back, gripping his shell. The air left his body as he was lifted, legs kicking wildly. Pain shot across his back where the pressure dug in. The ground seemed to vanish beneath him.
But fate twisted.
The cricket's grip faltered as one jagged spike caught its arm, slicing deep. Blood sprayed, hot and sharp-scented, as the creature groaned in rage and pain. Pellin slipped free, thrown sideways through the air.
The world spun. Wind howled in his ears. Below, a spike loomed. Its tip glistened.
No! NO! NO! NO!
His body twisted midair, desperation giving him unnatural control. His shell scraped the deadly rock, grazing, splitting, but not piercing. But intense pain seared through him.
He hit the ground with a crack. His legs screamed. He felt bones shift, something inside splintering.
Get up. Don't stop. JUST MOVE! His mind screamed at him with no remorse.
Then he saw the tunnel open ahead. Salvation.
He staggered toward it, half-limping, half-running, forcing his broken body forward.
"No. You. DON'T!" the cricket snarled.
It tore a jagged stone from the ground, its arm bleeding but steady. With a grunt, it hurled the spike like a spear.
Pellin heard the whistle before he saw it.
He dove, flinging himself into the tunnel. The rock slammed into the entrance behind him, embedding deep, sealing part of the opening. The impact shook dirt loose, scattering dust around him.
The spear wedged tight, but it quivered. Tremors ran along the stone as if the cricket pulled, desperate to drag it free.
Pellin collapsed deeper into the tunnel, chest heaving, antennae twitching with panic. His legs burned, his back stung, but he forced breath into his lungs.
The rock behind him trembled, louder, harder.
He ran once more.