Just as he was standing there, contemplating whether he should continue the hunt or return…since it had been quite a long time since he went out, especially including that sweet time with Zeyra… the bedrock beneath his feet suddenly began to vibrate.
Unlike before it was not some gentle tremor.
It was a dense, pulsing shudder that rattled through the roots of the stalagmites and caused the bioluminescent azure fungi on the ceiling to drop tiny, glowing spores like falling stars.
Down in the abyssal sinkhole, the dying death-rattle of an elite warrior had not gone unheard.
Sol stood at the mouth of the arched tunnel, his right hand resting casually on the leather-wrapped hilt of the Dreadwing blade.
His neon-crimson eyes narrowed, piercing the damp, red-tinged gloom as he listened to the gathering storm below.
Unlike beasts, above the ground, the colony's response was not the chaotic, frantic scatter of mindless insects.
