The Glitch in the Hero's Path

Chapter 13: The Descent

The sound of iron scraping against cobblestone echoed from the upper chamber.

Basra froze, holding his breath as the heavy, rhythmic thud of armored boots vibrated through the ceiling. Dust drifted down in pale sheets, speckling the shoulders of his worn leather coat.

The Duke’s patrol had found the crypt entrance.

“They’re earlier than I calculated,” the projection said, its translucent form flickering against the dark wall.

Basra glared at the phantom while keeping his voice to a harsh, muted whisper.

“You said this sector was off the standard patrol grid.”

“It was,” the echo replied smoothly, crossing its arms. “Three years ago. Clearly, the Duke has increased the municipal security budget since my baseline was recorded.”

Basra swore under his breath and dropped to one knee beside Levi.

The former soldier lay propped against the base of the sarcophagus, his head slumped sideways. His skin was feverish, and the faint, glowing red sigil beneath his collar pulsed with an erratic, sluggish rhythm.

“Can you hear me, Levi?” Basra whispered, shaking the man’s shoulder.

Levi groaned, his eyelids fluttering open just enough to reveal dull, unfocused eyes.

“Sector… four… hold the flank,” Levi mumbled, his voice cracked and raspy.

“Not quite,” Basra muttered, hooking his arm beneath Levi’s shoulder. “Up we go. We don’t have time for a battlefield nap.”

Levi’s legs were like lead, barely offering any support as Basra hoisted him upright.

Above them, the heavy iron gate of the crypt shrieked as a crowbar was wedged into the lock. A muffled shout carried down the shaft, followed by the deep, resonant bark of an imperial bloodhound.

“The main stairs are compromised,” the echo said, pointing a shimmering finger toward the far corner of the vault. “You need to go down. The lower drainage conduits run beneath the third sub-tier.”

Basra looked at the pitch-black corner where a collapsed slab of limestone leaned against the foundation.

“There’s no door there,” Basra said, struggling under Levi’s dead weight.

“There isn’t a door for citizens,” the echo clarified. “There is an overflow intake for the reservoir mechanics. Move the slab.”

Basra dragged Levi across the damp floor, his boots sliding in the slick layer of black moss.

Every step sent a sharp twinge of pain shooting through his lower back. Behind them, the iron gate above gave way with a deafening metallic snap that echoed through the stone chamber.

Torches flared at the top of the spiral stairs, casting jagged yellow beams against the crypt's vaulted arches.

“Basra, move,” the echo commanded, its voice sharpening with sudden urgency.

Basra propped Levi against a crumbling pillar and threw his weight against the fallen limestone slab.

The stone was heavy, coated in centuries of wet slime and dead lichen. It bit into his palms as he dug his heels into the gravel and shoved with everything he had.

The slab groaned, grinding against the floor before pivoting outward to reveal a dark, vertical shaft.

A blast of freezing, stagnant air rushed out of the hole, smelling strongly of copper, wet rust, and rot.

“Down there?” Basra asked, staring into the abyss. “It looks like a bottomless pit.”

“It’s thirty feet to the maintenance catwalk,” the projection answered, hovering over the opening. “There are iron rungs set into the masonry. Assuming the rust hasn’t eaten through them completely, you’ll survive the drop.”

“Reassuring,” Basra wheezed.

He turned back to Levi, who was staring blankly at the flickering torchlight descending the stairs.

“Levi, listen to me,” Basra said, grabbing the soldier by his coat lapels. “I need you to hold onto my neck. If you let go, we both break our spines on the floor below. Understand?”

Levi blinked slowly, his brow furrowing as if trying to decipher an ancient dialect.

“Understood… Captain,” Levi whispered weakly.

“Close enough,” Basra muttered.

He pulled Levi onto his back, looping the soldier’s limp arms over his shoulders and tying the sleeves of Levi’s jacket together around his own chest.

The weight nearly brought Basra to his knees, his thighs burning under the combined strain.

At the top of the chamber stairs, a hound barked violently, its claws clicking rapidly against the stone steps.

“First squad, fan out!” a harsh voice barked from the upper archway. “Check every sarcophagus! The Duke wants them alive if possible, in pieces if necessary!”

Basra didn’t wait for them to spot him.

He swung his legs over the edge of the shaft, his boots searching blindly in the dark until they struck cold iron.

The metal rung groaned beneath his weight, flaking off brittle layers of rust, but it held.

He gripped the top rung with his gloved hands and began the descent into the black throat of the catacombs.

Above him, the echo reached out and nudged the limestone slab with a subtle shimmer of kinetic force, sliding the stone back over the opening just as a torchbeam swept across the corner.

The darkness swallowed Basra whole.

The only light came from the faint, rhythmic glow of the echo drifting down beside him like a pale blue will-o'-the-wisp.

Each rung of the iron ladder was a gamble.

Water trickled down the slimy wall, soaking into Basra’s gloves and making every grip dangerously slick. Levi’s body swung heavily against his back with every movement, threatening to pull them both backward into the empty air.

“Five rungs left,” the echo whispered, floating upside down alongside them.

“Shut up,” Basra grunted through clenched teeth, sweat stinging his eyes despite the freezing air.

His boot slipped on a patch of greasy algae, and his heart leaped into his throat as his left hand lost its purchase.

Levi’s weight tore at his right shoulder, threatening to rip his fingers from the iron bar.

Basra slammed his chest against the wall, jamming his left boot into the narrow crevice between the stone blocks until the leather caught friction.

He hung there for three agonizing seconds, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

“That was sub-optimal,” the echo commented dryly.

“I said… shut up,” Basra hissed.

He found the next rung, stabilized his footing, and descended the remaining distance until his boots finally struck solid, flat iron.

The impact vibrated through his knees, and he immediately collapsed onto the grated catwalk, letting Levi roll off his back onto the metal floor.

Basra lay on his back, staring up at the distant, ceiling-high darkness, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath.

Above them, muffled thuds and shouts still echoed through the stone, but the sounds were distant, filtered through tons of earth and ancient rock.

“We lost them,” Basra breathed, wiping his brow with the back of a trembling hand.

“Temporarily,” the echo corrected, drifting down to stand at the edge of the catwalk. “The Duke’s guards know the upper crypts, but these drainage shafts connect directly to the old aqueduct bypass. Eventually, they will check the maintenance access.”

Basra forced himself to sit up, his muscles screaming in protest.

He reached out and checked Levi’s pulse at his neck.

It was racing, far too fast for a man who was barely conscious, and his skin radiated an unnatural heat.

“He’s getting worse,” Basra said, looking up at the phantom. “What is this sync actually doing to him?”

The echo stared down at Levi with an expression that bordered on detached curiosity.

“His neural framework wasn’t designed to host an active resonance bridge,” the echo explained. “His mind is treating the connection like a foreign pathogen. To stabilize him, the system is harvesting reference points from the nearest compatible source.”

“Which is me,” Basra said, his jaw tightening.

“Which is you,” the echo agreed. “If we don’t reach a stable grounding terminal in the Lower Ward, the feedback loop will burn out his central nervous system within twenty-four hours. And your own cognitive memory will suffer irreversible corruption.”

Basra looked at his left hand.

The faint red veins under his skin flickered once, like dying embers beneath grey ash, before fading back into the flesh.

“Then we keep moving,” Basra said.

He grabbed Levi by the belt and dragged him to a sitting position, propping him against the catwalk’s rusted safety railing.

The catwalk spanned a massive, vaulted subterranean chamber.

Far below, a wide channel of dark, sluggish water churned through a stone canal, carrying the city’s waste toward the outer river. Massive iron pipes, thick as ancient oak trunks, ran along the walls, secured by massive bronze brackets covered in green patina.

The air here was warmer than the crypt, thick with humidity and the metallic stench of the Duke’s automated drainage machinery.

“Which way leads to the surface?” Basra asked, looking down the narrow platform that stretched into the darkness in both directions.

The echo pointed toward the downstream flow of the canal.

“Follow the primary conduit. It leads to the sluice gates beneath the Lower Ward slums. From there, you can breach the storm grates into the alleyways.”

Basra nodded, pulling Levi’s arm over his shoulder once more.

They began walking along the rusted grating, their footsteps ringing out in hollow, metallic clangs that were masked by the roar of the rushing water below.

With every step, Basra felt an odd, dizzying sensation in the back of his mind.

Flashes of imagery that did not belong to him flickered across his vision: the smell of burning canvas, the roar of siege cannons, and the terrified scream of a young soldier pinned beneath a shattered wagon wheel.

He stumbled, his head throbbing violently as if a needle had been driven behind his left eye.

“What was that?” Basra gasped, catching himself against an iron pipe.

“Memory bleed,” the echo replied, walking effortlessly through the damp air beside him. “You’re accessing his active trauma files while his consciousness is suppressed. Try not to dwell on them. It accelerates the integration rate.”

“Easy for you to say,” Basra snarled, shaking his head to clear the phantom smoke from his eyes. “You’re just a bundle of light.”

“I am the record of your failures,” the echo replied softly, its pale eyes glowing faintly in the gloom. “And if you don’t hurry, you will join me in the archives.”

They reached the end of the catwalk where a massive iron valve wheel was set into the stone wall.

Beyond the wheel, a narrow stone tunnel branched off to the left, sloping sharply upward toward a faint, flickering amber glow in the distance.

The sound of street-level commotion drifted down the tunnel: the clatter of wooden cartwheels, the shouts of angry voices, and the barking of stray dogs.

They had reached the boundary of the Lower Ward.

Basra hauled Levi toward the mouth of the tunnel, but just as he stepped onto the stone incline, the amber light ahead was suddenly blocked out by two massive silhouettes.

The sharp clink of halberds echoed down the shaft.

“Hold there!” a voice bellowed from the top of the incline. “No one enters the street level during the lockdown! Identify yourselves!”

Basra froze, Levi’s weight sagging heavily against his ribs.

Behind them, back down the dark catwalk they had just traversed, the distant sound of hound bays echoed from the shaft they had escaped.

They were boxed in.

Basra shifted his grip on Levi, his hand slowly sliding toward the hilt of the short blade concealed beneath his coat.

“Echo,” Basra whispered without turning his head. “How many exits does this tunnel have?”

The projection flickered, its hollow eyes narrowing as it stared past the guards.

“Only one,” the echo said. “And they are already raising their crossbows.”