The impact was brutal.
Freezing water engulfed Elias like an invisible claw, dragging him into the depths of darkness. The small makeshift raft carrying Morrow tumbled violently, sinking and surfacing as the subterranean current raged.
Grimm swam close, fighting the powerful waves. Ash, a little ahead, disappeared and reappeared through the shadows.
Elias gritted his teeth, forcing his hardened body to endure.The current was too strong to fight.He had to surrender to it — for now.
Clutching Morrow's bindings tightly, he let the current carry them.
Minutes, or perhaps hours, slipped away without meaning.In this endless tunnel of water and stone, time lost all sense.
When the current finally eased, Elias surfaced, gasping, near a slippery rocky bank.He pulled the raft with great effort, muscles screaming in protest.
Grimm reached the shore first, shaking the water from his thick coat. Ash appeared soon after, coughing and panting but alive.
Amazingly, Morrow still breathed, though unconscious.
Elias crawled onto the shore, dragging Morrow and the raft to relative safety.
The cavern they emerged into was vast, lit only by thin beams of light seeping through cracks in the stone ceiling.The air was cold and heavy, the ground covered with slime and gravel. The sound of rushing water echoed hypnotically against the walls.
The smell was one of ancient rot and dampness.
Elias allowed himself a few seconds to catch his breath, pressing a hand against the cold, wet stone.The chill seeped through his soaked clothes, draining his strength further.
He looked at Grimm and Ash.
"Good work, boys," he muttered, his voice rough.
But the silence was shattered.
A new sound filled the cavern.A rhythm.Dry boots striking stone.
They had been followed.
Elias moved quickly.
Instinct took over.In swift motions, he unbound Morrow and tucked him against a natural wall, hidden from direct view.
He whistled softly to Grimm and Ash.
The dogs took their positions silently, their sharp eyes locked onto the darkness from where the sound was coming.
Elias drew the survival knife strapped to his thigh.
Firing gunshots here would be suicide — the echoes would betray his position immediately.
They had to become ghosts.
He moved along the edge of the cavern, using every shadow as cover.Years of training guided his every step.
As he crept forward, his sharp eyes scanned everything — cracks, piles of debris, even ancient bones littering the floor.Every detail could become a weapon — or a deathtrap.
This was survival.Not by strength, but by patience.
Shadows emerged from the right passage.
Armed men. At least four.
Their faces were hard to distinguish, but the pattern was clear:tattered New Order uniforms patched with the markings of traitorous factions.
Mercenary hunters.
They weren't here for mercy.They were here for blood — his, or Morrow's.It made no difference.
Elias slid behind a rock formation, waiting.
Timing was everything.
As the first hunter passed, distracted, Elias struck.
In one fluid, silent motion, he grabbed the man, muffled his mouth, and drove the knife deep under his ribcage.The death was silent.
The body crumpled without a sound.
Grimm, always coordinated, lunged at the second man.A precise leap. A muffled growl. A heavy thud against the stone.
Ash stayed close to Morrow, tense and ready to defend if needed.
The two remaining mercenaries realized something was wrong — but too late.
One reached for his pistol, but Elias was already upon him, knocking the weapon aside before slashing his throat with deadly precision.
Grimm tackled the last man, pinning him to the ground with brutal force.
In less than sixty seconds, the fight was over.
Corpses lay still.Blood pooled across the cold, damp floor.
Elias wiped his blade on one of the fallen uniforms.
He drew a deep, controlled breath.
Glancing at Grimm and Ash, he muttered:
"Just like the old days."
But the momentary calm shattered almost immediately.
A new sound rumbled through the cavern.
Different.
Mechanical.Vibrant.
Then came the blinding light.
A powerful spotlight, piercing from the far end of the cavern.
Elias dropped low, shielding his eyes.
This wasn't a simple patrol.These weren't ordinary scavengers.
Engines roared underground.Several.
The ground trembled under their weight.
These were no makeshift survivor vehicles.These were attack bikes, armored for underground warfare, reinforced with salvaged steel plates.
And leading them — a giant of a man.
Armed with an electric spear and clad in scavenged armor: layers of scrap metal, worn leather, and reinforced rubber.
Painted across his chest: a symbol Elias instantly recognized.
A serpent slashing through a broken circle.
The Fallen.
Fanatics.
End-of-the-world cultists who believed salvation could only be found through complete annihilation.
And now, they were here.
Elias assessed swiftly:
At least twenty men. Armed. Organized.
Too many to fight head-on.
Worse — he had an unconscious scientist to protect.
Options raced through his mind.
Escape routes.Cover positions.Sacrifices.
Each choice carried death close behind.
He touched Grimm's shoulder, signaling toward one of the darker flanks of the cavern.
It wasn't a safe route.
But standing still meant certain death.
Grimm understood immediately. Ash tensed, ready to move.
The giant leader of the Fallen raised his electric spear high.
A guttural war cry echoed through the cavern, shaking dust from the ceilings.
Elias inhaled deeply, tasting iron at the back of his throat.
Today, survival would be an art.And death would walk close at his side.
It wasn't the end.
Not yet.
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