The air tasted like burnt copper and ozone.
"Move, Draak! It's coming back!" Rosalin's voice cracked through the comms, raw with static and panic. I didn't need her warning. The low-frequency hum vibrating through the soles of my boots told me everything. Above us, the sewer tunnel's arched ceiling wept sluggish, greasy water onto rusted pipes. Something slithered in the shadows ahead—a wet, heavy sound like meat dragging across wet concrete.
My flashlight beam cut through the gloom, catching the thing's flank. It wasn't natural. Patches of rotting skin peeled away from glistening polymer muscle fibers. One eye socket pulsed with a sickly green bioluminescence while the other wept viscous pus. It froze, head cocking toward the light with a series of wet clicks. I remembered Cairo's underground rumors: bio-engineered guardians, leftovers from a black-market lab meltdown last summer. Failures. Rabid.
Rosalin's breathing hitched in my earpiece. "Vents. Thirty meters. Don't let it touch you."
The creature lunged. Not fast—more like a collapsing building. I sidestepped, boots sinking into ankle-deep sludge. Its claw grazed my shoulder, tearing through synth-leather like paper. Hot, chemical pain bloomed instantly. The smell hit me next: spoiled meat and antiseptic. My stomach lurched. Behind me, Rosalin fired twice. The shots echoed like thunder in the cramped space. One bullet sparked off the creature's reinforced spine. The other vanished into its chest cavity with a wet thump. It didn't even stagger.
We ran. My lungs burned. The sludge tugged at my legs like tar. The creature's ragged breaths grew louder, closer. Ahead, a rusted grate marked the vent Rosalin mentioned. I wrenched it open just as claws scraped my spine. Something warm and wet soaked through my jacket. Blood? Not mine. The creature shrieked—a sound like grinding metal—as Rosalin slammed the grate shut behind us.
Darkness swallowed us whole. Only the dim emergency strips along the tunnel floor offered any light, casting long, dancing shadows. Rosalin leaned against the dripping wall, her face pale. "Xavier's relic better be worth this," she muttered, checking her leg brace. A slow drip of brackish water echoed somewhere ahead. And beneath it… laughter? Faint, distorted. Coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.
We pressed forward. The tunnel widened into a cavernous chamber choked with crumbling statues. Moonlight filtered through cracks high above, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. At the center stood Xavier Winatchee. He lounged against a limestone sarcophagus, polishing a small, jagged crystal that pulsed like a dying star. "Took you long enough," he drawled. A grin split his face. Too many teeth. "Now, about my price…"
Outside, sand hissed against stone. The storm had arrived.
Xavier tossed the relic—a raw shard of meteorite wrapped in copper wire—and I caught it mid-air. Its vibration crawled up my arm like hungry ants. "Price?" I demanded. Rosalin's shotgun hissed as she racked a shell. Xavier's smile widened. "The Coalition thinks I sold them faulty charms. Bit messy." Distant shouts echoed through the cavern's labyrinthine tunnels—heavy boots, Arabic curses. Close. Too close.
Rosalin cursed. "You led them here?"
Before Xavier could answer, a fragmentation grenade clattered onto the limestone beside us. Time dilated. My thumb brushed the relic's jagged edge—a reflex. The grenade *ricocheted* like a billiard ball off a statue's plinth, bouncing back into the dark archway it came from. Silence. Then—white heat. The explosion tore through stone, flinging shrapnel that embedded itself in the sarcophagus with wet *thunks*. Screams followed, guttural and wet. Blood misted the air, metallic and thick. The relic hummed in my palm.
Xavier stared, pallid. "You just killed General Hassan's favorite enforcer." Footsteps retreated in panic. Rosalin's knuckles whitened on her shotgun. "We're framed," she breathed.
The relic pulsed hotter. Above us, the cavern ceiling groaned. Dust rained down. Cracks spiderwebbed across ancient limestone. Xavier scrambled backward. "Stabilizers—the bio-lab meltdown weakened the foundations—"
Too late.
A section of ceiling collapsed. Not above me—above *Rosalin*. Instinct flung me forward. The relic's hum spiked. A sandstone pillar crashed diagonally, shielding me but catching her leg in its path. The sound—wet, splintering bone—echoed louder than the falling rock. She didn't scream. Just gasped, airless, eyes wide with shock.
I crawled through rubble. Her leg pinned beneath half a ton of stone. Blood pooled darkly, smelling of iron and damp earth. Her fingers trembled. "Draak," she whispered, "it hurts." Xavier watched from behind a toppled statue, expression unreadable. The relic cooled in my grip like dead ash. Luck wasn't a shield. It was shrapnel—spraying outward, carving collateral damage. Rosalin's pulse fluttered under my fingertips. Alive. But broken.
Sand whispered through new gaps in the ceiling. The General's men would regroup. Xavier's gaze locked onto the relic. "Partners?" he offered softly. "Or corpses?"
My jaw clenched. Rosalin's ragged breaths filled the dust-choked silence. Her eyes, glazed with pain, flickered to me. *Not corpses.* The relic lay heavy in my palm, inert stone now – deadweight mocking its lethal gift. Luck's collateral damage pooled crimson beneath Rosalin's pinned leg. "Get her free," I rasped. "Or you bleed with us."
Xavier sighed theatrically but moved, scrambling over fractured limestone. He produced a thin vial of bubbling blue gel from his coat. "Adhesive dissolver," he muttered, squeezing it onto the stone pinning Rosalin's thigh. It hissed violently, releasing acrid fumes that burned my nostrils and tasted like burnt almonds. Rosalin whimpered as the rock softened. Xavier braced against the pillar remnant. "Pull!"
Muscles screaming, I hauled Rosalin clear just as the dissolver ate through. Her cry tore through the chamber – sharp, guttural. Bone protruded below her knee, white against the ruin of synth-fabric and flesh. Shock trembled through her. Xavier swiftly wrapped her thigh with a pressure bandage from a hidden pouch. The blue gel's stench mingled with blood's thick iron tang. Outside, the sandstorm roared like a living beast battering the city above.
Xavier wiped gel-smeared hands on his trousers. "Catacombs beneath us lead to the Nile tunnels. Safer." His eyes flicked to the collapsed tunnel entrance choked with rubble. Muffled shouts echoed – Hassan's enforcers clearing debris. Close. Too close. Dragging Rosalin wasn't an option. Xavier scanned the chamber walls slick with damp moss. "There!" He pried loose a cracked limestone slab, revealing a crude lever, verdigrised bronze. He strained; ancient metal groaned. A section of the chamber floor shuddered, grinding sideways, exhaling centuries of stale, earthy decay. Below, utter blackness yawned. A damp, subterranean chill rose.
I slid down into the void, landing on slick stone. Xavier lowered Rosalin into my arms. Her weight sagged, limp. Her face pressed against my neck – cold sweat, pain, the faint scent of ozone lingering from the grenade blast. Her whisper was faint, trembling: "Draak... the relic..." Above, Xavier replaced the slab just as stone hammers struck the chamber entrance. The trapdoor sealed with a dusty thud. Silence swallowed us, punctuated only by dripping water and Rosalin's shallow breaths. The air tasted ancient, thick with river silt and forgotten tombs. Ahead, absolute darkness pressed in. But far, far below... a faint, rhythmic *thrum* vibrated through the stone floor. Like a giant's heartbeat. Deep. Hungry. Xavier lit a chem-stick. Its sickly green glow revealed wet walls carved with faded hieroglyphs – eyes of forgotten gods watching our descent into the underworld. The relic lay cold against my ribs. Luck had thrown us down here. Something else waited.