Chapter 16: The Evolution Chamber (Patreon)

Terry followed Crunch out of the dungeons in a daze. His mind couldn’t seem to decide on exactly what to feel about the last thirty minutes, let alone the last seven days.

I was attacked by one of my heroes—scratch that, two of my heroes. My father abandoned me only a few days after my mom’s death without so much as a buck up champ. One of the Fairway’s strongest undead allies nearly killed me within our own city.

And my own grandfather used me as bait to smoke out a hostile super…

A sad laugh popped out, morphing into a full-blown giggle fit in the middle of the hallway.

Crunch paused, tilting his head.

“My prince?”

He tried to wave away the ghoul’s concern, but the pain in his chest spiked and he turned the motion in a clutching gesture at his left side. That sapped the humor out of an already humorless situation and he heaved for air, his hands pressed to his knees.

“I get doctor.”

‘No,’ he tried to say, but it came out as more of a croak. Instead, he clutched at Crunch’s wrist with a desperate energy. In that moment, his greatest fear was that the ghoul would leave him alone in this hallway and he’d slowly die of asphyxiation.

Crunch eyed him with about as much concern as the expressionless ghouls could, but the tightness in Terry’s chest eased enough for him to draw in a breath. After some careful experimentation, he found that he could breathe normally without too much pain. He stood upright slowly, holding at his rib as if he could somehow keep it from stabbing his lung again.

“Doctor,” Crunch insisted.

Terry shook his head. “I’m fine…I’m…just don’t tell any jokes until after we visit the Evolution Chamber.” Crunch stared blankly at him. “That was funny,” he complained. That blank stare somehow turned blanker. “Cause you don’t tell jokes…okay, nevermind.” The ghoul seemed less than put at ease, so Terry took a few steps down the hall to show him he was fine. “See? I’m fine. Let’s go. I don’t wanna miss it.”

Crunch reluctantly took the lead and Terry was happy to walk behind so the ghoul wouldn’t see his grimacing as the pain stabbed in his chest.

“We no miss,” Crunch said a moment later. “They wait for Crunch.”

Terry’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, I didn’t realize—”

He had been about to say, ‘I didn’t realize you were so important.’

“—didn’t realize that.”

Crunch didn’t reply and they continued their walk in silence. He was grateful for the ghoul’s directions because the trip into the dungeons had completely turned him around. He was even more confused when they didn’t head back out to one of the main junctions, but instead used some side tunnels. Despite living his entire life in the palace, trips into the Catacombs were typically associated with specific events—and always with one or both of his parents. While he had never considered himself an expert on the layout of the underground structure, he was surprised just how turned around he was.

Now as he followed Crunch, he studied the walls for signage but was surprised to note there was nothing. Even the electric lights embedded in the stone for human convenience seemed to be spread further out the deeper they went.

Had the air always been this stagnant? And what was that sound behind us?

He kept on Crunch’s hip, only a handspan separating the two of them.

After a few minutes, he spotted a familiar landmark and sighed, feeling his shoulders loosen as he finally figured out where they were. Something about not being able to orient himself this far under the earth had started to become claustrophobic and a little scary.

Okay, a lot scary.

They arrived outside the Evolution Chamber soon after and his stomach flipped as he realized everyone was actually standing around waiting. The hallway was lined with liches, ghouls, and the same two patches that seemed to always be posted outside the chamber.

But what drew his eye were the seven ghoul bodies stacked to the side like firewood before winter. To his human sensibilities, it felt incredibly crass. If they were human bodies, he would have been puking on the tunnel ground at the grotesque display. For some reason, the casual nature of the procession seemed to defuse the sanctity of the dead ghouls—but not necessarily in a bad way, like their deaths were cheapened. It felt more like…a shedding of snake’s skin.

No, he realized. Like, their lives and what they’d accomplished for the clan were what was important. Their bodies were just fuel to be repurposed toward the fire that kept their people thriving.

Or maybe I’m just projecting that human need to make death meaningful.

Whatever the case, the undead stirred at their arrival, shifting from their positions to begin picking up the seven dead ghouls. In that moment, a ripple seemed to pass through the gathered undead and Terry only recognized something was off when they turned as one to regard the figure passing from the other end of the hall. As one, each and every undead bowed their heads in deference—except the patches, who hadn’t even bowed for the Emperor.

A giant ghoul with a golden torc split the group of undead like a wedge hammered into wood. He towered over the others, at least as tall as Savage, with limbs just as thick and powerful. Each step seemed charged with energy and his toe-blades dug into the earth as if ready to pounce.

He felt himself lean away from the ghoul, only just stopping himself from taking a step backward. Just yesterday, he would have laughed at anyone suggesting his grandfather’s undead servants could possibly be a threat to him. Yet, there was something borne in the air upon the golden-torc ghoul’s arrival. Almost a flavor that he could taste, though not with his tongue.

It feels like the draugr…no, different somehow. Hate and anger, but not as intense. Disappointment, maybe?

Strangely, he was less interested in the emotions and more interested in his sudden increase in perception. Why could he feel the elder’s aura so powerfully when most of the time he couldn’t even register an undead’s aura? In fact, the only times he could remember being aware of aura at all were when the draugr weaponized its aura, now with the elder, and possibly the few times he had interacted with the patches.

Was it a matter of power levels? The draugr, elder ghoul, and the patches just being so strong that they could project an aura that I could perceive?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the looming presence of the elder as he stared first at Crunch, then at Terry. There was a human element to the elder’s gaze that the other ghouls didn’t share—a much more natural flick of the eyes when compared to the almost mechanical regard he was used to from Crunch and the others.

He would have thought that would put him more at ease in the elder’s presence, but for some reason, a shiver traced up his spine. Like looking into a tiger’s eyes and suddenly realizing that you were under the careful regard of a superlative killing machine.

The elder didn’t capitalize on his unease, turning away to face the patches that manned the Evolution Chamber’s entrance. Again, that feeling in the air expanded—though Terry couldn’t parse this particular flavor in the slightest. He didn’t have to wonder long, as the patches moved to pull the double doors open for the procession.

At his side, Crunch moved away, pulling his attention from what lay beyond the doors. He watched as his bodyguard went up to one of the ghouls carrying a body and reached out his arm as if to take the body himself. The ghoul in question paused, then transferred the weight to Crunch, who hoisted the limp ghoul corpse onto his shoulder with a flex of his legs.

He wondered if there was something symbolic about carrying the dead and filed the question away for later as Crunch strode back to his side.

The elder ghoul passed through the threshold first, followed closely by the liches in their dark robes. He tried to see what lay beyond, but the press of bodies created a wall that blocked his sight.

When the ghouls carrying the seven bodies—including Crunch—started forward, Terry shifted his weight indecisively. He glanced at the other ghouls in attendance not carrying the dead and wondered if he should enter with them.

He had just decided to wait when Crunch looked back and saw him hesitating.

“Prince follow.”

He let out a sigh of relief and rushed to match pace with the ghoul. It wasn’t that he felt unsafe with the other ghouls, but more so he had started to feel like an unwelcome interloper, a fraud crashing a funeral of someone he only pretended to know.

With Crunch encouraging him forward, it felt as if he had been vouched for and his unease settled a bit.

As they passed the threshold, his feet shifted from stone to a yielding surface that seemed to give like sand. A glance down confirmed that they were walking on what appeared to be black pebbles extending out to the left and right. The procession marched forward, spreading out to either side so that he caught his first proper glimpse of the chamber.

A black pebble beach stretched a hundred feet to either side and another hundred in front of them, abutting against a tar like substance that sloshed against the shore in undulating waves. It was thick like molasses and just as dark, reflecting the light from the doorway without revealing anything beneath its surface. Lining the beach were evenly spaced lanterns perched atop poles emitting a sickly green light that cast an unearthly glow across the black pebbles. Just beneath the lanterns, thin canoes waited and Terry felt his stomach roll over.

We’re getting on those canoes and paddling into this pitch black lake, aren’t we?

The crunch of undead feet and Terry’s tennis shoes echoed in the cavern as they marched toward the canoes. To distract from his racing heart, he scanned above, straining through the dark to determine the dimensions of the chamber. The walls to either side extended up and out of sight, the dim green light of the lanterns and the thin stream of yellow light from the doorway losing the battle against the thick shadows above. It was even worse across the tar lake, the blackness of its surface seeming to mingle with the darkness to create a maw on the horizon that ate the light.

A deep thud slammed into Terry’s senses, followed by another in quick succession. The light emanating from the hallway disappeared at the same time, enveloping the procession in a near-total darkness that was alleviated solely by the green lanterns now fifty feet away. An animal instinct screamed inside him to run toward the doors. An echoing sound began filling the chamber, heavy breaths like a panicked beast running from the hunter.

He spun to find the source of the sound, only to realize it was his own ragged breathing. None of the undead needed to breath. The realization that he was on the verge of a panic attack only made things worse and he glanced in the direction they had come, feeling like an absolute idiot for thinking he belonged here.

This place isn’t for me. I don’t belong here. Every second I stand here hyperventilating like a baby is just another humiliation piled on my shoulders. The doors are roughly that way. I’ll just head back and wait—

He flinched and whirled around as a deep voice came from right behind him.

“Do not be afraid, Prince Terry. This is our domain. You have our safe passage.”

The ghoul elder towered over him, a soft look in his eyes reflecting in the dim green light—almost sympathetic.

How had he moved so quietly?

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t…” He stopped the lie before it could materialize. Of course he had been afraid. Still was. How could he not be afraid of the dark after Tenebrous? “Thank you, I’m coming.”

The elder nodded, his steps light as he returned to the waiting procession. Realizing that everyone had stopped and was watching him, he hurried to follow, pulling up beside Crunch. They exchanged a glance but Terry looked away quickly, far too embarrassed and conscious of the eerie quiet to say anything.

The ghouls carrying the seven dead deposited them into seven separate canoes, then each picked up a pole with a green lantern. For a moment, Terry feared they were going to leave him and the rest on the beach in the dark, but then Crunch waved him toward the canoe he was standing in front of and Terry boarded gratefully. It rocked precariously as he shuffled past the dead ghoul, but it was still mostly beached, which stabilized it.

His relief was short lived as one of the lich followed behind him, taking a position beside him on the bench. He didn’t know what he had expected, but sharing a bench with one of the undead of the enigmatic lich caste had not been it. Before he could revisit his second thoughts, Crunch used the pole lantern to push them off the beach and into the lake. On either side of them, six more canoes were shoved off, leaving a handful of ghouls on the beachhead to watch.

As Crunch poled them forward, Terry squirmed on the bench beside the lich. They were a strange subset of the undead that he had both interacted with frequently and yet knew very little about. They always wore robes covering them head to toe, hiding everything about their appearance. Despite the secrecy, they were far and away the most eloquent of the undead and had no trouble speaking human languages—except for their sibilant lisps. As far as Terry was aware, their role among the undead were ritual—and in some cases, magical. But he had never heard of one being a physical threat.

The lich at his side cut through the silence like a dull knife and Terry flinched, nearly capsizing the boat.

“This chamber,” the lich hissed, “is the wealth of our clan, my prince.”

Its voice was soft, solemn, and Terry’s racing heart settled as he contemplated those words.

“How…how is that?” he asked, keeping his own voice barely above a whisper.

Even in the darkness, he spotted the ghoul elder poling away on the next canoe, his golden torc flashing in the green lantern light. The giant ghoul glanced over and for a moment, Terry wondered if he was breaking the sanctity of the chamber by asking stupid questions. But even in the eerie green lighting, the elder’s expression seemed curious more than anything.

The lich leaned over the side of the boat, trailing his hand through the black sludge before holding it up for Terry to see. “The lifeblood of our people.” His hand dipped below and came up with a tar-soaked bone long enough to be a femur. “The bones of our people.” He gently placed the bone back into the lake, but not before Terry caught a glimpse of his delicate, skeletal hands. Leaning forward, the lich pressed his hand against the dead ghoul’s head at their feet, his robe turning toward Terry. “The spirit of our people.”

“How does it work?”

“Ahhh, this black substance is the blood of the mother. It binds the spirit to the flesh—”

The boat shuddered to a stop and Terry looked around to see that all seven were stopped in a semi-circle around a point in the lake. Unlike the placid waves he’d noticed before, the spot they circled was bubbling like boiling oil.

“Another time, my prince,” the lich whispered.

He nodded absentmindedly, his eyes locked on that bubbling spot. He half expected something to leap out and latch onto the canoe. The boat shifted slightly, pulling his attention from the black pool to where Crunch was anchoring the lantern pole into a slot at the back. Across each canoe, the other ghouls were doing the same, while the liches began to rise to their feet.

He hesitated a moment, wondering if he should also stand, but decided against it. The image of tipping the canoe and Crunch reaching in to pull him out of this bubbling substance like a drowning kitten kept him seated.

When all the lanterns were anchored and everyone but Terry were on their feet, the singing began.