The water moved.
Not from us. Something else. I felt it before I saw it—a current flowing from the far end of the cavern, from a pool shrouded in shadow that we hadn’t checked.
My eyes snapped open.
The current was wrong. Not natural circulation. Something was displacing water, something large, moving through the connected pools beneath the surface.
“Out of the water,” I said, standing slowly. “Now.”
The tone in my voice killed all conversation. Sarnyx was out in seconds, thorns already extending. Vashael moved despite her exhaustion, hands going to her poison vials. Nimor became shadow. Eltrien stood, marks beginning to pulse.
“What is it?” Sarnyx asked quietly.
“Don’t know yet. But something’s—”
The water in the far pool erupted.
They moved fast, no questions. By the time the thing emerged from the far pool, we were all on dry stone, weapons ready.
It wasn’t a serpent. Not exactly. More like a worm—pale, eyeless, thick as a tree trunk and easily thirty feet long. Its skin glistened with slime, and its mouth was a circular horror of teeth arranged in rings, each one rotating independently.
“Root’s mercy,” Vashael breathed.
The creature’s head swayed, sensing us. No eyes, but it knew we were there—heat, maybe, or vibration. Its mouth opened wider, revealing more teeth spiraling down its throat.
“Auradelle sent it,” Peeble said. “He knows we’re here. He’s trying to slow us down.”
“Then he’s about to lose a pet,” I said, corruption already spreading down my arms.
The worm struck.
Fast—impossibly fast for something that size. It lunged at Sarnyx, mouth wide enough to swallow her whole. She rolled aside, thorns lashing out, but they barely scratched its hide.
Vashael threw poison vials that shattered against its skin. The creature didn’t even slow.
Nimor went shadow, trying to confuse it, but the thing tracked him anyway—heat sense, definitely. It swung its body like a club, and Nimor had to solidify and dive to avoid being crushed.
Eltrien’s marks blazed, trying to freeze it, but the creature shook off the magic like water.
“Its hide is too thick!” Vashael shouted. “We can’t cut through!”
The worm came at me, and I met it with corruption. My hands hit its face, and I pushed rot into its flesh. The creature screamed—a sound like grinding stone mixed with air escaping from deep underground. Its skin bubbled and blackened where I touched it, but it was huge, and corruption spread slowly through that much mass.
It reared back, and I saw Nimor’s eyes widen. “Kaelren, move!”
The worm’s body came down like a battering ram. I rolled, felt the impact shake the cavern floor, felt stones crack and spray.
“We need to hold it still!” Sarnyx shouted, already extending her thorns. “Pin it down!”
“With what?” Vashael demanded.
“With me!” Eltrien sprinted forward, and before anyone could stop him, he leaped onto the creature’s back. His hands grabbed slick flesh, and his marks flared, trying to burn through to something vital.
The worm thrashed, slamming against walls, trying to throw him off. Eltrien held on, legs wrapped around its body, marks blazing brighter.
“Rope!” he shouted. “Something to tie it!”
Sarnyx’s thorns extended, wrapping around the creature like living rope. Vashael added her own bindings, using torn cloth and leather straps. The worm’s thrashing slowed as we pinned sections of its body to the floor.
