NOVEL WEB Chapter 361: Between Ruin and Revelation
Mikhailis exhaled slowly, eyes flicking between the two paths before them. One led deeper into the ancient catacombs, where the Deep Sanctum supposedly held answers—or power—against the Mistborn Entity. The other led back toward the Technomancer stronghold, where their device, a potential disaster waiting to happen, remained unchecked. Either choice carried risk, and the urgency sat like a weight on his shoulders, pressing him to speak before hesitation could take hold.
He let his gaze sweep over his companions. Rhea stood close, arms crossed and jaw set, her protective instincts obvious in the stern line of her mouth. It was as though she expected trouble to leap out at them from every shadow, and if danger arrived, she'd place herself between him and any threat without a second thought. Lira's dark eyes were harder to read. She watched him carefully, calm and elegant as ever in her dust-streaked attire. Her long black ponytail fell in a graceful line down her back, and though her face betrayed little emotion, he sensed the tension hidden beneath her composed surface.
Cerys remained somewhat apart from the others, arms folded rigidly across her chest. Her expression was a calm mask, but the subtle tapping of her fingers on her gauntlet gave her away—she was impatient, unsettled by the unknown. For as long as Mikhailis had known her, the so-called Lone Wolf carried an air of detachment that kept others at arm's length, but even her stoicism had its limits. Standing beside her was Vyrelda, who leaned casually against the stone wall, the picture of dangerous ease. Though she seemed relaxed, there was a coiled tension in her stance, an edge that suggested she was one wrong word away from springing into action.
Mikhailis rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a long, pensive sigh. "Alright, folks. We've got two choices. Go deep, possibly unleash unspeakable horrors, but maybe get a power boost? Or storm the Technomancers and make sure they don't turn this whole city into a mist-infested hellhole."
He tried to sound casual, as though deciding between two minor errands, but the gravity of it all weighed on him. Whichever route they chose, something would be left undone, at least for a time—and that might be all the opportunity their enemies or the Mistborn Entity needed to gain the upper hand.
"Splitting up is the obvious choice," Cerys stated, cutting straight to the point. Her red hair, tied in a practical ponytail, glinted under the torchlight that flickered along the damp catacomb walls. "We don't have time to deal with both otherwise."
The immediate glare Rhea shot at Cerys spoke volumes about her feelings. Rhea's arms fell to her sides, and the tension in her posture only increased. "And what if something happens to him while we're not there?" She didn't bother hiding her worry. Mikhailis felt a strange twinge of warmth in his chest, recognizing her concern, but he tried not to let it show too plainly.
"I'm flattered, really," he said, flashing a grin that felt only half-forced. "But I'm perfectly capable of—"
"Capable of making everything worse?" Vyrelda interjected smoothly, her smirk revealing a hint of fangs in the uncertain glow. "That's your specialty, isn't it?"
Pressing a hand to his chest in feigned offense, Mikhailis let out a mock-hurt gasp. "You wound me, Vyrelda. I thought we were bonding." The joke came so naturally, but deep down, he was aware of just how serious the moment was. I can't let them sense my hesitation, or we'll stand around arguing until the catacombs bury us all.
Lira's voice, cool and precise, drew his gaze. "He's right, though. We need to act before either situation spirals further. I will follow wherever you decide." A calm statement, yet the tension beneath her words mirrored Mikhailis's own.
Rhea let out a huff but didn't argue. Her protective anger had softened into a reluctant acceptance. Mikhailis felt the runic key in his hand grow a fraction warmer, its own subtle pulse reminding him of the deeper mysteries below. The more time he spent in these claustrophobic tunnels, the more he felt the catacombs breathing around him, an ancient presence waiting for him to cross a threshold from which there would be no return.
He turned the key over in his palm, feeling each engraved line under his fingertips. We can't be in two places at once, he thought, so we must do the next best thing. Another sigh passed his lips, part resignation, part determination. "We're splitting up. I'm going to the Deep Sanctum. Rhea and Lira, you're with me."
He hoped his voice held more confidence than he actually felt. The idea of venturing deeper into this labyrinth of illusions and wards churned his stomach, but the possibility of uncovering a crucial power or knowledge spurred him on. At the same time, leaving the Technomancers unchecked stirred his sense of doom. The memory of that half-built device—glowing runes, coils of raw energy—flashed in his mind like a warning. If left alone, it could become unstoppable.
Cerys gave a curt nod. The movement was slight, but it was enough to show she understood. "That leaves me and Vyrelda to handle the Technomancers."
Vyrelda's smirk grew slightly. She didn't speak, but something in her posture said she relished a chance to confront the enemy. She's been waiting for payback, Mikhailis thought, recalling how the Technomancers had threatened them all with their arcane suppression. He wondered if her determination was fueled by revenge, righteousness, or maybe a blend of both. Sometimes, that line can be mighty thin.
"Try not to get yourselves killed," he offered, throwing a playful mock-salute in an attempt to ease the tension. A weird part of him wanted to believe everything might turn out fine if they could keep their spirits up.
"Try not to get lost in your own ego," Vyrelda shot back, her voice laced with dry amusement, before she turned with Cerys and disappeared into the gloom. Their footsteps echoed for a moment, then faded, leaving Mikhailis, Rhea, and Lira alone in the musty silence.
He closed his eyes, drawing in the stale catacomb air. It smelled of old stone and faint decay, like a tomb that had never quite forgotten its inhabitants. He felt Rhea's presence beside him, her protective aura practically radiating. Lira stood a short distance away, chin tilted upward in quiet poise, ready to do whatever was required of her. I'm lucky to have them both, he mused, though he was careful not to let that thought slip into words. Rhea might tease him for going soft, and Lira would calmly accept the praise with that polite smile. In the end, actions mattered more than speeches right now.
Glancing at each of them, he forced a reassuring grin. "Alright, ladies. Time to see what secrets the dead have left behind." The flippant tone belied the apprehension in his gut, but he held onto it like a shield. Humor had always been his way of diffusing terror, of pushing forward despite the fear gnawing at him. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, but it was the best he had.
He watched as Rhea rolled her shoulders, her knuckles whitening where she clutched her sword's hilt. She gave him a small nod of acknowledgment. "You lead. We'll cover your back." Her voice was firm, hinting at an underlying vow that she'd defend him no matter the cost.
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Lira met his eyes with a gentle calm that somehow made him stand a bit straighter. "I'm with you," she said, her face unreadable. Yet he thought he caught a flicker of warmth in her expression, a tiny sign of her unwavering devotion that she rarely revealed in front of others.
The corridor beckoned, dark and silent, but the catacombs were never truly quiet—there was always a distant drip of water, a shifting of rubble, the ghostly echo of illusions waiting to be triggered. The runic key in Mikhailis's hand glowed faintly, and he swore it pulsed like a heartbeat, as if urging them onward.
I can't waste another second. The catacombs had already proven they wouldn't wait. The collapsed sections they'd passed, the illusions they'd endured—none of that would hold back from intensifying if they stood there in indecision.
He inhaled once more, letting the damp, chilly air fill his lungs. A faint humor lit his eyes as he looked over his shoulder at Rhea and Lira. "Stay on your toes. If any monstrous undead bug the size of a horse scuttles our way, I expect you both to handle it without messing up your hair. Especially you, Lira," he teased, aiming to lighten the mood.
Rhea gave a snort of half-amusement, half-exasperation. Lira's mouth curved into a hint of a smile—almost imperceptible, but enough for him to notice. That small reaction reminded him that beneath her polite mask lay real feelings, ones he appreciated more than he could express. She deserved to see the surface again, to enjoy sunlight rather than these claustrophobic tunnels. They all did.
Outside, somewhere, the city of Luthadel continued under the watchful eyes of the Technomancers. People were locked down in fear, uncertain of what the next day would bring. Meanwhile, a monstrous entity churned in the depths, straining against the seal that had held it in place for centuries. Mikhailis carried the weight of that knowledge like a physical burden. If we fail down here, the consequences will be far worse than a few collapsed tunnels. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving the city to ruin. He had an obligation not just to these catacombs and the strange sense of destiny that followed him, but to Elowen, to Lira, and even to Serelith, that mischievous court magician who believed in him too.
Shaking off the moment of introspection, he fixed his grin more firmly in place. "Alright, ladies. Time to see what secrets the dead have left behind."