The Hollow Knight pulls itself forward by its hands, and I take a step back before checking whether anybody else is doing the same. Its gauntlets scrape through the dried blood, catching in the joints between the floor tiles. Each time it drags itself closer, the broken edge of its breastplate lifts enough for me to see what hangs underneath.
I try looking at the helmet instead. That doesn't help much. The blue lights behind its visor are pointed toward us, and although I can't tell which of us it's watching, I keep getting the uncomfortable impression that it knows I'm the easiest one to reach once somebody moves aside.
The smell is worse than the sight. Rust, damp stone, and spoiled meat fill the corridor, and pulling my cloak over my nose only gives me something else to associate with it. I've watched enough horror to think I ought to handle this better, but there's a considerable difference between seeing a dead body move on a screen and having to stand in the air around it. Nobody ever has to pause a movie because they can taste what's crawling toward them.
More metal scrapes against stone farther down the passage.
Three shapes emerge into the light.
HOLLOW KNIGHT
LEVEL 431
HOLLOW KNIGHT
LEVEL 446
HOLLOW KNIGHT
LEVEL 422
These have legs. One carries a two-handed sword with half the blade missing. Another drags a flanged mace, its head catching against the floor as though lifting it properly is more effort than the knight cares to make. The last appears unarmed until it turns and the light catches the steel claws extending from its right gauntlet.
Jane draws an arrow but doesn't fire.
“Well, there's four,” Mark says.
He rolls his newly healed shoulder and tightens his grip inside the kite shield. I watch that movement more closely than I mean to. There isn't any hesitation in the joint now. Celeste has fixed it, and he's already preparing to put it between himself and another thing that could break it.
“We backing out?”
Zachariah studies the corridor instead of answering.
It's perhaps fifteen feet across from wall to wall, with square pillars narrowing it at regular intervals. There are gaps where somebody could stand out of the way, but getting from one to another would mean crossing behind the people fighting. The ceiling is much lower than in the golem chamber. Jing has already lowered his spear so the head won't strike it.
I look behind us. The route back is clear.
Zachariah takes two measured steps backward, drawing the rest of us with him while the knights continue their slow approach.
“We can funnel them here.”
“Or we can leave,” Jane says. “We've got an eighty-two-thousand-gold drop on top of the contract. That's already a fantastic bonus.”
“Jane.”
“No, listen to me for once. I'm not saying this because I'm scared of four mobs. We don't know how fast anything respawns behind us, how deep this place goes, or whether these things call more when we start hitting them. And the mages could refuse payment if they find out we've been looting the place.”
“They won't find out.”
“How do you know?”
“Who's telling them?”
Jane looks at him.
Behind her, Alluoah clears his throat. “Not me.”
“Definitely not me,” Mark adds.
Nobody asks whether I agree, which is probably fortunate because I don't know what I'd say. I want to believe I'd tell the truth if somebody asked directly, but I also want the payment, and I haven't yet worked out a version of the truth that includes everything we've done without giving the mages an excellent reason to keep their money.
At least Jane is still arguing. As long as she's doing that, I can stand behind her and privately agree without having to explain which part of the situation bothers me most.
“You people are fucking children.”
“Children with an eighty-two-thousand-gold gauntlet,” Mark says.
She presses her fingers against the bridge of her nose.
The half-knight drags itself past a broken sword on the floor. I remember where the sword was when the conversation started, and move back another step.
Zachariah glances toward Celeste.
“Mana?”
“Eighty-seven percent. Mark's arm wasn't expensive.”
“Mark?”
“Full health.”
“Jing?”
“Good.”
Zachariah settles beside the next pair of pillars.
“We kill these four. Then we can leave.”
“You said that about the golem.”
“And now we're reassessing.”
“No, you're moving the fucking finish line.”
The Level 446 knight suddenly lifts its broken sword and runs.
“Positions!”
Everyone moves before Zachariah finishes shouting. Mark falls back to his left while Jing brings the spear level. Jane retreats toward a pillar on our side of the corridor, and Sorin takes the opposite wall, leaving the middle clear.
I move into the recess behind Jane. Celeste stays near enough that I could pass her something without having to cross the passage, which makes this seem like the right place to be. I bring my buckler forward and check the strap beside my sword hilt.
Celeste glances at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You need something?”
I shake my head.
I'd been looking at the blood on her cuff. Some of it is there because I held Mark's sleeve out of the way while she fixed him, and I'd almost asked whether she needed anything ready this time. Apparently I need to wait until someone has already started speaking to me before deciding I have nothing to say.
“Stay clear of my hands,” she tells me, turning back.
I shift half a step away.
The knight's sword crashes against Zachariah's shield. After the golem, the impact seems almost ordinary. He barely moves, then drives forward hard enough to shove the knight into the one following it.
“That's more fucking reasonable.”
The clawed knight comes around his right side.
“Right!” Jing calls.
Mark steps across behind Zachariah and intercepts it. Steel claws rake down the kite shield, peeling three bright grooves through its surface.
“Oh, you fucking cunt.”
He swings his mace low and catches the knight's knee. The joint bends sideways with a crunch and a puff of black dust, but the creature doesn't fall. It throws its weight against the shield and keeps clawing.
Mark braces, boots sliding through the old blood.
“Any time, guys!”
Alluoah slips around its exposed side. One blade cuts a strap beneath the arm. The second goes into the gap before the loosened plate can settle.
Black fluid spills down its ribs.
The smell reaches us almost immediately.
I gag and press my lips together, swallowing against the urge to do it again.
“Don't breathe through your mouth,” Celeste says.
“I can taste it.”
“Yeah. That's worse.”
She raises one hand toward Zachariah, gold gathering around her fingers. She doesn't even sound distracted. I suppose it would be difficult to do her job if every unpleasant injury required a moment to prepare herself, but I'd appreciate knowing whether she ever needed one when she started.
“Undead dungeons,” she adds, as though I've asked.
I nod, although she isn't looking at me.
The sword knight hammers at Zachariah's shield while the mace bearer tries to get around its shoulder. He keeps shifting so they obstruct each other. Every time one finds enough room to swing, the other has to move, and Jing uses those brief openings to drive his spear toward their knees.
Jane steps out from the pillar and fires.
For a few seconds, I lose sight of the floor beyond her. There are legs, shields, the flash of Alluoah's blades, and too many moving shadows to separate.
Then I see a gauntlet close around the base of the next pillar.
The crawler is behind Zachariah.
It pulls itself into the narrow strip along the wall, lower than the shields and much faster than it was a moment ago. Jing is facing the two standing knights. Jane is drawing again.
“Jane.”
My voice disappears beneath a blow against Zachariah's armor.
The crawler reaches past the pillar.
“Jane! Behind you!”
She turns as its hand closes around her ankle.
The knight yanks.
Jane screams and hits the floor. Her bow skitters into the recess beside me, and the corpse drags itself onto her before she can pull her leg free.
My sword catches briefly against the pack strap as I draw it. I wrench it clear and run.
There are only a few feet between us, but the weight behind my shoulders makes them feel much longer. Mark's spare shield bangs against my back. Jane has one forearm wedged beneath the corpse's breastplate, keeping it away from her throat.
The knight raises its free gauntlet.
There's a gap beneath the helmet.
I stab into it.
The blade goes in perhaps three inches before stopping so abruptly that my wrist folds against the grip. I push anyway, because Jane is still underneath it and I don't know what else to do.
The helmet turns.
Blue light fills the visor directly in front of my face.
LEVEL 439
I pull the sword free as its arm comes around.
I don't try to block. My buckler wouldn't stop that hand, and there isn't time to get properly out of the way, so I drop.
My sore knee hits the stone.
The gauntlet smashes into the pillar above my hood. Chips strike my cheek, and I duck lower while Jane plants her free boot against the knight's side and kicks.
Its damaged body tips off her.
She scrambles backward, grabs the shoulder strap of my pack, and pulls.
“Move, Bekah!”
I push off the floor and stumble after her, holding my sword away from us. Behind me, something scrapes hard against the stone.
Jing's spear punches through the visor.
The blue light flares around the point. He braces, twists the shaft, and drives the knight's head sideways.
Its arms jerk once.
Then the light goes out.
Jane stops pulling when we're behind the pillar. I lean against its inner face, trying to get the pack settled instead of letting it drag me backward. My sword is still in my hand. There's something black along the edge.
Jane looks at the dead crawler, then at me.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Scratches run across one side of her face. One has started bleeding near her cheekbone, and I find myself looking at it instead of meeting her eyes.
I want to say I should've shouted louder. I also don't particularly want to tell her that the reason I had to stab the thing was partly that I'd tried warning her as though I was asking whether she had a minute.
She reaches past me for her bow, checks the string, and touches my shoulder.
It's only a quick squeeze before she steps back into the corridor, but I stay still for a moment after her hand is gone.
I'm not confused about what it means. She's grateful, we're both alive, and there's still a fight happening. It doesn't mean she's suddenly going to invite me to spend all my free time with her, or that we've become closer in the last ten seconds than we were on the mountain. I know that. I just wish knowing it made me less pleased.
Most days outside the game pass without anybody touching me at all. That's partly because I spend most of those days alone, which I arrange quite successfully for someone who occasionally gets upset about it. I have practical reasons for staying home. I also leave messages unanswered because I can't decide what to say, and I've never once needed protective clothing to reply to a fucking message.
Jane fires again.
I move farther into the recess so she'll have room to step back, and finally put my sword away. It takes two attempts to find the sheath.
The other knights become easier to follow now that I know where all of them are.
The clawed one is still trying to push through Mark, dragging its damaged leg each time he gives ground. Alluoah cuts into the exposed joint beneath its arm again. When it turns toward him, Mark drives the shield forward and pins it long enough for the next blade to find the gap below its helmet.
It collapses against the shield.
Mark shoves it off and steps over the arm.
“Claws down.”
Zachariah has the remaining two in front of him. The broken sword keeps striking his shield while the mace bearer tries to reach around it, but there's less room for either of them now. Jing's spear forces one leg backward. Mark attacks the other from the side.
Jane and Sorin wait for gaps instead of firing continuously. Every time Zachariah turns a knight, one of them has a shot.
I keep watching the floor.
Twice, a piece of armor moves and I reach toward my sword before realizing someone has kicked it. I'd rather do that than miss another hand finding its way along the wall. From here, I can see how the crawler got past without deciding that everyone else forgot it existed. A shield moves, somebody steps into a line of sight, and a thing that was safely in front of the party is suddenly somewhere nobody is looking.
The two standing knights are exactly where Zachariah wants them.
That doesn't make their weapons less frightening. It just means the person they're hitting can afford to be hit, at least for now. Each time one tries to turn away, he strikes it, crowds it, or shoves it back into the space he controls.
The Level 446 knight drives the broken end of its sword into his chest.
I flinch before the metal finishes shrieking against mythril.
Zachariah looks down.
“Really?”
He catches the blade in one gauntlet. The knight pulls, its shoulders jerking, but he holds it in place and raises his own sword.
The bastard sword comes down between its neck and shoulder.
Armor splits. Zachariah keeps driving the blade until the body begins to fold around it, then plants one boot against the breastplate and kicks it away.
The knight falls in pieces.
Black fluid splashes across his boots.
The mace bearer lasts only a few more blows. With nothing beside it to distract them, Mark and Jing take its legs out, and the ranged attacks find the openings its fall exposes.
Its visor goes dark against the floor.
For a moment, everyone keeps their weapons ready.
Then Mark coughs.
“Jesus fucking Christ. Can we turn smell off?”
“No,” Alluoah says.
“Why not?”
“Full sensory package.”
“I bought it for food and tits. Nobody mentioned corpse stink.”
Celeste looks at him.
“What?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing. That's just the most honest thing you've said all week.”
He laughs, and some of the others join him. I manage a smile while looking down the corridor. There's no more scraping, but I keep expecting to hear it beneath the conversation.
Jing withdraws his spear from the crawler and wipes it against a relatively clean piece of its clothing. I check my own blade properly before sheathing it again. The point hasn't bent. There's no obvious damage beyond what the item window confirms is ordinary wear.
My cheek stings when I touch it.
I leave it alone.
We search the bodies, although nobody seems as enthusiastic about this part as they were about moving stones aside in the golem chamber. Mark lifts a piece of armor with the head of his mace. Alluoah works around the worst of the fluid. Jane recovers the arrows she can and leaves the broken ones where they are.
The loot isn't another Epic windfall. Some gold, two Rare materials, and an Uncommon sword get added to the shared list. Nobody wants to use the sword.
Then Zachariah finds a black-metal key.
He turns it over, opens its item window, and waits. Nothing seems to happen.
“Any description?” Jane asks.
“Nothing useful.”
He puts it away and starts farther down the cleared section of passage.
After three steps, he stops.
“What the fuck?”
He checks his inventory, takes the key out again, and looks back at me.
“Oi, Bekah. Carry this. It weighs a ton for some reason.”
I take it with both hands.
It's longer than I expected, with a thick shaft and teeth that look almost crude compared with the runes on the gauntlet. The weight is worse. It pulls my hands down before I brace my elbows against my sides.
I open the item window. There's no listed use, no helpful explanation, and nothing that justifies how much of my capacity disappears when I store it.
CARRY CAPACITY: 89%
“That's a heavy-ass key,” I mumble.
“Yeah.”
Zachariah turns away.
For a moment, I consider calling him back. I've just had to run with all this on me, and the difference between reaching Jane and arriving too late wasn't particularly comfortable. I could point that out without making it a complaint about the rest of the expedition.
But the key belongs to the group. It isn't Mark's stool. We found it on something we all fought, and carrying it is part of the job I agreed to do. I'd have to explain why this item is different from everything else I've accepted, and the answer would mostly be that I'm starting to wish I'd agreed to less.
I close the inventory.
Jane watches the exchange, then looks at Zachariah.
“We reassessing now?”
“Yeah.”
He removes his helmet and sets his shield against the wall. Without the helmet, his face seems oddly ordinary after watching him hold off two Level 400 enemies. Short blond hair sticks to his forehead. His nose is crooked, his jaw is broad, and the beard around it is trimmed close enough that it doesn't interfere with any of his armor.
He wipes his forehead with the back of a gauntlet.
I step closer with the others. This time, I don't stay quite so far behind.
“We know the mobs are four hundred plus,” he says. “Higher than I'd like, but manageable. Loot table's good. And the mages either lied or left something out, because we haven't seen a single demon.”
“That doesn't mean there aren't any,” Jane says.
“No. But constructs and undead guarding a dungeon somebody's paying thirty grand to locate? There's something here.”
“There's an expensive glove here. We found it. We can take it home.”
Mark sits on a broken piece of masonry and rests his mace across his knees.
“I hate agreeing with him, but I do.”
Jane turns toward him.
“Listen,” he says before she can answer. “I'm not saying we go until we wipe. I've got a kid, remember? Apparently she's not a dog. I'd actually like to log in tomorrow.”
Nobody laughs much. Mark runs his thumb along the leather grip of the mace.
“But we've handled everything so far. And if one more room has loot like that golem…”
He looks down at his hands before finishing.
“That could be another month I don't have to panic about finding work.”
I know he wants more money. He's been perfectly open about that since we left the mountain. It's still different hearing him describe what the money would let him stop doing.
I try to imagine a month without checking my account every time a payment reminder arrives. Not a better apartment or new equipment, just being able to dismiss the notification because the money is already there. That's a much smaller thing to want, and somehow it makes the argument harder to resist.
Jane doesn't immediately answer.
Alluoah leans against a pillar.
“I don't need it that badly,” he says. “I'm not saying that to be a dick. My job's fine. Most of this is hobby money for me. But if Mark wants to push another room, I'll push another room.”
Mark nods once without looking up.
I hadn't realized how close they were until that moment. They've spent most of the trip making fun of each other, and I've been listening as though the jokes are the relationship. Apparently there's enough underneath them that Alluoah will risk tomorrow's session because Mark is worried about his house.
I'd like to have someone say something like that for me.
The thought makes me glance toward Jane before I can stop myself. She's already done more objecting than anybody else, and I don't know why I need the concern to be specifically about me before I'm satisfied with it.
“Well?” she asks Celeste.
“I've hardly used anything. Nobody's died.” Celeste looks toward the crawler. “Bekah nearly got her head removed, but that's mostly because the crawler got through and none of you saw it.”
Several faces turn toward me.
I wish she'd finished one sentence earlier.
Zachariah's eyes settle on my cheek.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
The answer comes out quietly enough that I almost repeat it. I don't, because he's heard me, and repeating it would only keep everyone looking.
I could tell him I don't want another fight like that. It would even be a reasonable time to say it, while my part in the last one is still being discussed. Instead, I stand a little straighter beneath the pack and try not to touch the scratches on my face.
I've spent enough of my life having people decide whether something is too much for me. At home, there's usually an actual reason to be careful. Here, I'd like to manage one useful thing without having the next conversation become an assessment of whether I'm fit to continue.
I am fit to continue.
That isn't quite what Jane is asking, but it's the question I can answer without feeling worse.
Zachariah watches me another moment, then turns back to her.
“Next room. If the difficulty spikes, we're done.”
Jane lets out a small, humorless laugh.
“You swear?”
“Yeah.”
She holds his gaze long enough that Mark stops moving his thumb against the mace.
“One room,” she says finally.
Zachariah nods.
Nobody celebrates. He puts his helmet under one arm, retrieves his shield, and begins checking the passage ahead while the others get ready to move.
I wait beside Jane as she adjusts her quiver. For a moment, it feels possible to say something privately. I could ask whether she actually believes him, or say that I'd rather leave, and she might listen without making everyone turn around.
Then she looks down at me.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
I follow close enough that she doesn't have to wait.
The dungeon changes as we descend. The cracked masonry becomes larger, darker blocks, fitted so closely that the seams nearly disappear beneath the light. The blood thins out behind us, and eventually there are no more broken weapons or pieces of armor on the floor.
That ought to be an improvement.
I keep looking at the clean stone anyway.
I'd rather know what made the mess above than find another stretch of corridor that gives me nothing to judge. Here, the floor is dry, the pillars are intact, and the edges of the steps haven't been worn down nearly as much. It feels less abandoned, although I can't explain that without making it sound as though somebody has been sweeping.
The air gets warmer.
At first, I'm grateful. My clothes have been cold since the stream, and the warmth reaches my legs before I notice it anywhere else. Then it keeps increasing. Damp fabric clings behind my knees. Sweat gathers beneath the padding at my neck, and I loosen my cloak without taking it off.
The key has made walking worse. I can still keep up, but each step down requires more care because the pack wants to continue after I've stopped. I use the wall at the next turn, pressing my glove against a fitted block.
The stone is warm too.
Ahead, the others are quieter. Mark stops halfway through a comment when Zachariah raises a hand, and we listen until we're satisfied that the sound is only water somewhere behind us.
Our footsteps don't echo as much anymore. I can hear the equipment on my own back more clearly than I can hear Jing walking several paces ahead. It makes keeping him in sight feel important, even though there's nowhere for him to go except along the same passage.
The metallic taste returns beneath the fading smell of the knights. I check my lip with my tongue, wondering whether I've bitten it.
I haven't.
The passage levels out.
Then the walls end.
Everyone stops.
A bridge stretches across the darkness ahead, wide enough for four people to walk abreast but without anything along its edges to stop someone taking one step too many. Our light reaches the black stone beneath it and little else. I look up, searching for the ceiling, then down before deciding that neither direction is doing anything useful for me.
I can't see the bottom.
There might be water down there. There might be rocks. The darkness doesn't give me enough information to choose which possibility I'd prefer.
A hot draft rises from the chasm and lifts the loose edge of my cloak. Sulfur catches in my nose, followed by an animal smell that seems almost fresh after the corpses. I move nearer the passage wall, keeping both feet on the broad landing before the bridge.
Across the span stands an enormous doorway.
At first, I only make out the arch and the closed doors. Then the light catches the carvings above them, and the shapes resolve into open mouths, teeth, and three snarling canine heads.
Jane lowers her bow slightly.
“So much for one room.”
Nobody answers.
A roar comes from the other side.
The stone beneath my boots trembles. I catch the wall, and dust trickles from a joint above the entrance.
Another roar follows, different enough that I can hear it isn't an echo.
Then a third.
Zachariah slowly puts his helmet back on.
Across the bridge, something heavy scratches against the stone beyond the doors.