The air in the sewers was thick with the stench of decay and damp stone, the only sound the rhythmic drip of condensation. Jack's boots splashed through the shallow muck as he adjusted his top hat, his sharp eyes darting toward Henry.
"Do you really loathe them that much?" Jack asked, his voice echoing off the curved walls. "The Heroes, I mean. Why the deep-seated hatred?"
Henry let out a heavy sigh, his breath visible in the chilled air. "I don't hate them. That's just a stupid rumor started by people who don't know me."
Jack let out a bark of laughter, the sound sharp and jarring in the tunnel. "Come on, Henry. You're many things, but a good liar isn't one of them."
Henry's brow furrowed. He stopped for a moment, his hand resting on the hilt of a blade that wasn't yet visible. "Why the fuck would I hate them for what they are? If they can do half the things I've done, then maybe I'd respect them. What I hate is the sentiment—the fact that runts with zero accomplishments, who haven't bled for a single inch of ground, are hailed as the 'Future Gods' of this continent just because some 'Hero Marks' appeared on their skin."
Jack's smirk widened. He spun his Tommy gun with practiced ease. "I suppose it is a bit of a slap in the face. You awakened at sixteen, joined the army, and were promoted to Colonel in two years. A child soldier turned war hero." He paused, his tone dropping the playfulness for a split second. "When are you going to tell me why you threw that career away to join the Academy?"
Henry didn't answer. He simply clicked his tongue, the sound sharp as a whip.
"Fine, keep your secrets," Jack laughed, stepping over a pile of refuse. "But everyone knows you reached the—"
A piercing, collective squeal cut him off. It started as a ripple in the darkness ahead, then intensified into a cacophony of scratching claws and chattering teeth.
In a blur of motion, a black katana materialized in Henry's hand, the blade forged from solidified shadow. Jack didn't miss a beat; he hoisted his Tommy gun to his shoulder, his finger twitching on the trigger.
The darkness at the end of the tunnel broke. A tide of fur and red eyes—a living carpet of rats—surged toward them. Jack pulled the trigger, the muzzle flashes illuminating the sewer in violent bursts. The rat-tat-tat was deafening, but for every three rats he shredded, ten more leaped over the carcasses of their kin.
Henry sighed, the sound barely audible over the gunfire. "This trigger-happy bitch." He glanced at his friend. "It's a horde, Jack. What makes you think a Tommy gun is going to do anything but make them angry?"
Jack stopped firing, the barrels of his gun smoking. He shrugged, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. "Look, this current body is stuck in the Glimpse Stage of my Path. My Gravitas is thin, Henry. I can't exactly rewrite the laws of physics down here."
"Then step back," Henry muttered.
He took a single step forward. As his boot hit the muck, it didn't splash. Instead, a thick, oily Black Ichor began to seep from the soles of his shoes. It spread with unnatural speed, racing across the surface of the water and climbing the mossy walls like a living ink stain.
The first wave of the horde hit the Ichor. Immediately, their frenzied movement ceased. It wasn't just a liquid; it was a hungry, viscous void. The rats didn't just stop; they sank. The Ichor rose up like grasping hands, pulling the screeching vermin into the depths of the shadows. Within seconds, the tunnel ahead was silent, the only remnant of the swarm being the slow, bubbling ripples of the black ink as it digested the threat.
Henry stood in the center of the darkness, his pale skin ghostly against the black void beneath him. He looked back at Jack.
"Let's Keep moving," Henry said coldly. "The King is still waiting."
The deeper they delved, the more the air felt like a physical weight. The smell of the sewers had shifted from mere filth to a pungent, saccharine rot—the unmistakable scent of a mutation.
They rounded a bend and stopped. In the center of a massive junction, hunched over a pile of twitching carcasses, sat the Rat King. It was a ten-foot-tall nightmare of knotted fur, tangled tails, and pulsating black veins. It didn't have a face so much as a jagged hole filled with rows of needle-like teeth, currently busy grinding the bones of its own kind.
Henry shifted his grip on the black katana, his Ichor still swirling at his feet. "Change of plans," he muttered, his voice low. "That isn't a Rat King. It's an Abomination that's finished eating its subjects."
Jack let out a sharp, jagged whistle. "Well, isn't that just a delightful upgrade? Alright, you mangy mutt, let's see how you like lead for dinner!"
Jack's Tommy gun roared to life. The muzzle flashes were blinding in the gloom, and the enchanted bullets whistled through the air. The creature didn't just move; it blurred. With a screech that rattled the pipes, it scrambled up the mossy wall, its claws digging deep into the stone. The few bullets that connected tore through its hide, but the wounds hissed and sealed shut with a sickly, wet sound before the blood could even hit the floor.
"Rapid regeneration," Henry hissed. "Jack, keep its eyes busy!"
The creature lunged. It was a falling mountain of oil and fur, aiming a cavernous bite at the space they occupied. Henry and Jack split with practiced precision, diving to opposite sides of the walkway as the monster's jaws snapped shut on the stone, pulverizing it.
The Abomination didn't waste a second. It pivoted on its hind legs, its massive, elongated arm sweeping through the air with the force of a battering ram. The claws—black as obsidian and dripping with venom—came whistling toward Henry's head.
Henry didn't dodge. He planted his feet, his Ichor rising up to coat his boots and anchor him to the ground. He brought the black katana up in a vertical guard, the shadow-metal humming with a dark, resonant power.
CLANG.
The impact sent a shockwave through the water, spraying filth in every direction. Henry's knees buckled slightly under the sheer weight of the strike, but the blade held. Sparks flew as the creature's claws ground against the steel, its red eyes staring inches away from Henry's pale, focused face.