The dark underground labyrinth pressed suffocatingly on Siren. Now that he understood the nature of the anthill, everything around seemed scaled up: the walls had grown taller, and the number of passages was countless.
"But isn't it too empty?" — that strangeness comforted him slightly.
If the anthill were abandoned, one could breathe easy. But Siren still feared distancing himself from the group.
"After all, I can't say for sure whether the entire anthill is abandoned or just a part of it."
Tas and Mearin, unaware of his thoughts, continued on. Fenar's body rested on an air cushion — a spell that the Senior Mage had so kindly cast. Now, up close, Siren could clearly trace the residual trace of ether on the body. It was strange: the trace had not yet dissipated.
After some time, they reached the camp. However, something in the atmosphere was disturbingly tense.
Approaching, Siren noticed that Lance's group was surrounded by other people. The stocky Rud looked enraged, while Ayra, sitting next to him, was doing something. Because bodies blocked the view, Siren couldn't see what she was doing, but the feeling of unease remained with him.
Suddenly Rud, noticing their approach, flung a look at him, full of contempt and rage. In the next second, he sprang up with a blade raised.
There was a clang of metal on metal. Rud's body was thrown backwards: Mearin had managed to react, casting a spell that sent him flying aside.
The Priest, expression unchanged, raised his rifle and aimed the barrel straight at the attacker.
A fraction of a second earlier, when Rud had lunged at Siren, Tas stepped forward, using the rifle's body to block the heavy blade's strike.
Siren clearly saw both the Priest's actions and the etheric contours of the Mage's spell but didn't manage to react.
"Crazy old men…" — he shuddered mentally.
Both — the Priest and the Senior Mage — were head and shoulders stronger than the stocky Rud.
He, brushing dust off himself, cast a glance first at Siren, then at the Priest.
"Enough, Rud," — came a hoarse female voice.
"Ayra…" — Rud faltered.
The woman with light hair appeared silently, like a stalking cat. Her face was still hidden by a hood, but disapproval in her voice was as cold as ice.
"We need to leave here. We can't stay any longer."
Rud was silent for a second, then, throwing one last threatening look at Siren, moved toward Mearin's people.
"Move aside, lazy bastards!" — he snarled, dispersing the gathering crowd.
Only now did Siren manage to see Lance lying peacefully on the ground.
Hoisting two backpacks — his own and apparently Lance's — Rud gently lifted the body and followed Ayra toward the exit.
Siren didn't know what to do. He stood, watching as the two disappeared from view.
Next to him, Mearin, frowning, called one of his group members and began to question him.
From the conversation, Siren understood that shortly after their departure Lance had fallen ill and died. Death came unexpectedly and under strange circumstances, frightening the others.
"That's, of course, scary… But what the hell did that big lug attack me for?!" — Siren mentally exclaimed in outrage.
Although, to be honest, he wasn't too upset about the death of someone who repulsed him.
"Ha, seems that guy had a serious grudge against the infected. Not the rarest thing though," — the gray-haired Priest remarked, watching him.
"My advice to you: stay away from the camp for a while. I'm not as good-natured and understanding as Mearin. If I see you hanging around — I'll shoot you."
With those words, Tas turned and walked toward the temporary camp.
At that same moment, Mearin approached Siren, sighing tiredly.
"We'll need some time to bury Fenar. After that, without delay, we'll head deeper into the labyrinth."
"You said you'd fulfill my request, and now you're dodging it?" — Siren snapped irritably.
In response, Mearin handed him a bag.
"I'm not dodging, I just want to shift the terms of the agreement. You'll help us on our expedition by warning of potential dangers. And we, in return, will help you get out of here once it's all over. Does that suit you?"
Siren was surprised. He even hesitated for a second, trying to figure out — was the Mage lying?
But without forcing himself to wait any longer, he snatched the backpack from Mearin's hands.
"Agreed!"
The Mage gave him a strange look but, without saying a word, headed back to the camp.
Siren, opening the bag, saw several food parcels and a canteen of water.
"Jackpot!"
After a while, Fenar's body was lowered into the grave they'd dug, with his mementos removed. Siren didn't approach the group and kept his distance from its members.
It seemed they were relieved to learn their comrade's body had been found, but Mearin gave no answers about how he had died. That troubling secret in the camp was known to only three people.
Initially, Mearin had been skeptical of Siren's perceptive abilities. Mostly because of Tas's words, he had decided to test him, but he couldn't turn away from the result. Even now, recalling how Siren had calmly chosen the trail as if he knew exactly where the body lay, he doubted. "Did he stage this from the beginning?" — Mearin thought. But Siren physically couldn't have pulled anything like that off. Even not considering that he'd been tied up, he wouldn't have had the strength to overpower Fenar in a fight. The Mage knew how experienced a fighter his subordinate was. Only magic remained to be considered. But again, Siren had been outside the dome at the time, and if he'd tried to break through it with magic, his dead-ether source would have surely been detected.
"It doesn't have to be an Infected — it could have been those people from the nomadic clan. But why would they do it? Besides, didn't their Mage die around midday?"
Evaline, their field medic, had confirmed Lance's death by cardiac arrest. It was sudden and disturbing, and he was powerless to do anything about it.
"What do you think?" — came the Priest's voice beside him.
Mearin slightly relaxed his tightly furrowed brows at the sight of the old acquaintance. Tas had been one of his contemporaries, with whom he had studied at the institute and served in the armies. After Tas was appointed an investigator, their paths diverged for a long six years, but Mearin still trusted his old friend unconditionally.
"I don't think that Infected guy is involved in this, but I still think we should keep an eye on him."
The Priest tipped his hat slightly, then pulled a silver cigarette case from his pocket. Opening it, he took out a thick cigarette and put it in his mouth, removing his glove.
His iron hand with hand-engraved detailing held the cigarette's end while the finger implant channeled ether, igniting a flame at the tip.
After a deep drag, Tas extended the case to Merein and said:
"During one assignment in the south, I encountered a settlement on an iron platform. It was a nomadic clan sending a distress signal. Their herald delivered the last letter the same day they took in an Infected. The whole platform, which was moving west, came to a halt after accidents near the Flat Valleys. When I arrived there to investigate, I saw that the entire settlement was in ruins. I set out there urgently, deeming it critical, but even so I only arrived after twenty-four hours. On the day the Infected arrived, the herald departed on his journey, one day taken to deliver the letter, and another for me to reach the settlement. Three days total. That's the time it took for one Infected to slaughter 3,689 people, including the elderly and children. I tracked him down and shot the bastard, but he managed to infect me, taking my hand. The disease was curable — it was in its early stage — but since then I remember the massacre on Platform 167 vividly."
Merein exhaled dense smoke, staring at his friend's hand implant. For mages and priests, losing a limb meant losing channels for manipulating ether. It permanently made them crippled, diminishing their synchronization level.
Tas continued, exhaling clouds of acrid smoke:
"That maniac went mad from ether, burning his own blood as fuel. The one they thought was a helpless drifter, quarantined, turned out to be a bloodthirsty butcher, who reveled in the deaths of ordinary people. The clan's warriors couldn't stop him, their local priests were powerless to contain him, and the mages' spells couldn't leave even a scratch on his ore‑covered body."
He shook the ash from the cigarette, glancing at the pensive Mearin.
"Infected are not humans, Mearin. They're fucking monsters driven by ether, and nothing will change that. No matter how you feel about them — a monster will always remain a monster."
Merein remained silent, unmoving.
Tas turned and walked back toward the camp.