The archway closed behind me like a gate.
The street beyond was narrow, hemmed in by buildings leaning so far inward their jagged edges almost touched. Faint green veins ran through their stone faces, pulsing like the slow heartbeat of something sleeping.
Somewhere nearby, water dripped—steady, deliberate.
The Nameless God said nothing. That silence was worse than its whispers.
I took another step.
The dripping stopped.
From above came a chittering—high, irregular, and sharp enough to set my teeth on edge. I scanned the bridges overhead, black stone spanning the gap like ribs. Long root-like shapes dangled from their undersides, swaying gently in the stale air.
One of them twitched.
It wasn't a root.
It bent at an unnatural angle, revealing pale chitin under the green light. More "roots" peeled away, and the thing they belonged to slid down the wall with liquid smoothness, landing in the street without a sound.
It was long—eel-bodied, spine-studded, its movements too graceful for its size. Its head split into three hinged sections, each lined with teeth that shifted as though breathing.
The Nameless God's voice finally cut through the stillness. It does not feed on the roots.
It lunged.
One moment it was coiled, the next it blurred forward, all limbs and teeth. I threw myself sideways; the street where I'd stood split open under its strike. The smell of damp rot and crushed insects hit me like a blow.
My blade flashed, green light rippling along its edge as I slashed at its flank. The strike bit, but the chitin was slick—my sword slid free with barely a scratch.
It struck again, limbs cracking the wall above my head. Stone dust stung my eyes.
I ducked under a whipping tail, drove my sword upward, and caught a seam between plates at its neck. The steel sank halfway before it twisted violently, almost ripping the hilt from my grip.
The thing shrieked—not in pain, but in amusement. Its teeth clattered like loose metal as it recoiled.
Then it was gone.
It moved so fast that the darkness simply swallowed it, the chittering echoing away into the higher streets.
The silence afterward was heavier than before, broken only by the faint pulse of the veins in the walls—a slow, steady throb, like the city itself had been watching.
And in the dark behind my eyes, Lira's face lingered—pale, afraid, framed by the light of a torch she never asked for.