HELL'S ARCHITECT

Chapter 08. Underground Labyrinth

The smell down here was no longer the scent of ozone, magic, or portal radiation. It was a much more honest smell. The smell of humanity. The odor of waste that had fermented for five years in the darkness, mixed with mud, old blood, and death that was never buried.

Elios landed with a wet splash in ankle-deep water. Blackish-green fluid splattered onto his shins. He shook his boots, but the sludge only clung tighter to the soles.

Above them, the giant drainage pipe opening, which served as their entrance from the crater wall, now looked small, like an embarrassing pinhole. The light from outside was just a pale dot, almost meaningless.

“Welcome to the Sector 4 VIP Lounge,” Elios muttered, switching on the tactical flashlight on his left shoulder.

The white light sliced through the darkness, revealing curved brick walls overgrown with greenish bioluminescent fungi. The structure of the old sewer was like the esophagus of a giant creature rotting from the inside.

Vera followed down with a grapple. She landed almost silently, but her knee slipped, and sewage splashed the bottom of her armor. The stench immediately penetrated her helmet filter. She let out a low growl, suppressing nausea, her face instantly tightening. Her clear visor was filled with red notifications.

“Air toxicity levels are four hundred percent above the lethal threshold,” she reported stiffly. “Methane is high. Do not ignite an open flame. One spark and we will become a stupid statistic.”

“Relax,” Elios replied while checking his Shotgun. He deactivated the incendiary rounds and replaced them with standard buckshot. “I still want to die in one piece.”

They walked down the cylindrical corridor. Sewage flowed slowly in the center, thick and pitch-black like oil. Occasionally, large bubbles surfaced, popping with a disgusting *plop* and releasing acidic yellow vapor.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Vera asked. Her voice echoed, too clean for such a filthy place.

“A trail,” Elios answered. “Portals can’t be opened just by wishing. They require logistics. People. An entrance satellites can’t see.”

“And you’re sure the answer is in the sewer?”

“If you want to hide from God and His cameras,” Elios smirked wryly, “you go to the place humans least want to visit.”

They walked deeper. The corridor branched. Some tunnels had collapsed, others were supported by emergency steel beams. Everything looked old, but not dead.

Elios suddenly stopped and clenched his fist.

Vera nearly ran into him. “What is it?”

Elios crouched and shone his flashlight on the ground at the edge of the sewage flow. Clearly imprinted there was a shoe print.

“Look,” Elios commanded.

Vera scanned. “Footprint. Large size, perhaps an Ogre or an underground Troll?”

“No,” Elios cut in sharply. “Look at the heel. Zig-zag pattern. And this…,” he pointed to the faint logo in the center of the sole, “the characteristic mark of a standard military combat boot. Magnum-7 type.”

Vera froze. Her tablet chimed.

MATCH FOUND: STANDARD ISSUE COMBAT BOOT – SANCTUM VERITATIS

“That… could be an old remnant,” she said quickly. “Evacuation teams—”

“The mud is still wet,” Elios touched the edge of the print. “It’s fresh. Two hours, maximum.”

He stood up, his face hardening.

“Your holy friends come and go here often. They aren’t guarding Sector 4 to keep people out. They’re guarding Sector 4 to keep what’s inside from getting out… or to keep anyone from seeing what they’re doing inside.”

“That is a serious accusation, Elios,” Vera said defensively, but her eyes glanced at the print again. Her hand trembled slightly. “Without proof?”

“This print is proof,” Elios replied. “I made a mistake by staying here.”

Vera looked at him. “A mistake?”

“I should have destroyed this print,” Elios said coldly. “Now anyone coming after us will know the route.”

The sound came from the darkness ahead of them. The sound of claws dragging on the stone wall. Not one, but many. Elios immediately turned off his flashlight.

“Kill all lights,” he whispered.

Total darkness swallowed them. A thick, oppressive darkness that made their hearts pound harder.

Splash… splash…

Dragging footsteps. Wet breathing. The stench of rotting flesh permeated the air.

Ghouls.

Carrion-eating undead. They weren't slow zombies. They were mutants created from humans exposed to portal radiation for too long. Their skin was pale, their eyes completely blind from living in the dark, but their hearing was overly sensitive, able to hear a rat’s heartbeat from ten meters away.

Elios held his breath. Vera trembled behind him. Her heartbeat was audible, too clear.

SCREECH!

A high-pitched scream broke the silence.

“FLASHLIGHT!” Elios yelled.

The light flared. Hell stared back.

The Ghouls shrieked in pain. They clawed at their own faces, stumbling backward, their voices turning into panicked howls. Light was not sight for them, but torture.

BLAM!

Elios fired without aiming. His Shotgun boomed in the narrow corridor. The sound was deafening. The first Ghoul’s head shattered like a rotten watermelon, spraying black blood onto the wall.

“Back up! Backs to the wall!”

Two more Ghouls dropped from the ceiling. Vera fired, the energy beam scorching one’s shoulder. But the creature kept attacking.

The Ghoul pounced on Vera, knocking her into the sewage. Black water seeped into the gaps of her armor. Vera screamed, panicked, half-submerged, and her pistol slipped away.

“Get off me!” Vera yelled.

Elios was busy with the other two Ghouls. He smashed one creature’s jaw until it broke, kicked the other, but Vera…

Vera was wrestling in the filthy water. Her pistol was gone. The Ghoul was on top of her, its saliva dripping onto Vera’s visor. The Ghoul opened its jaws wide, ready to tear at Vera’s neck, whose protection was beginning to crack.

“Help!” Vera screamed, her voice breaking. It was no longer the voice of an agent, but the voice of a human terrified of death.

Elios had a window to run. Vera was just an overseer and a burden. If she died, Elios was free.

‘Let her,’ his dark side whispered. ‘She’s a symbol of the church you hate.’

But then Elios saw Vera’s eyes behind the cracked visor. The same fear as the waitress at the party. The same pain as Lyra when she was trapped under the building.

“Damn it.”

To save his ammunition, Elios chose to draw the Combat Knife from his waist. With a fluid, spinning motion, he threw the knife.

ZING.

The knife flew, spinning perfectly to embed itself in the Ghoul’s temple.

Silence for a moment.

Elios finished off the rest brutally. The Shotgun fired once more. The last neck was crushed under his heel.

Only breathing remained.

Elios extended a hand. Vera looked at him for a long time, then accepted it.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Elios replied. “I hate the administration of death.”

Vera almost laughed, “A reasonable excuse.”

An hour later, the corridor opened into a large chamber. A main channel intersection.

And standing there was something that shouldn't exist.

A titanium door five meters high and four meters wide. The emblem of the One Eye and Three Swords was engraved in the center.

“Look at the hinges,” Elios whispered, shining his flashlight on the side of the door.

Fresh lubricant oil still gleamed on the giant hinges. No dust, no rust whatsoever.

“This door was just opened,” Elios said softly.

Vera was pale. “This is not on the city infrastructure map.”

Vera stared at the door, her face pale. “This… this is not on the city infrastructure map. What facility is this?”

“A facility they don’t want people like me to find,” Elios replied. He walked toward the control panel next to the door. The panel was sophisticated, using a DNA scanner.

“Can you hack this?” Elios asked.

Vera stepped forward, looking at the panel. Her fingers danced over her tablet, connecting a data cable to the door panel port.

“The encryption… It’s ancient. It’s the Genesis code. The basic code used during the founding of the Order,” Vera muttered, her eyes quickly reading the data stream. “This isn’t a warehouse, Elios.”

CLANG.

The door opened.

Sterile white light blinded their eyes. Cold air smelling of antiseptic and old blood flowed out.

“A laboratory,” Vera whispered.

Elios cocked his Shotgun.

“Let’s see,” he said. “What God is cooking in His underground kitchen.”