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Chapter Text

     The Chasm was much more unnerving up close than Anton had previously thought. Of course, he’d heard the stories and been briefed on the location prior to his mission - but hearing about it second-hand and seeing it in person were two completely different things. 

     The rocks jutting out from the landscape made him feel impossibly small; the towering stones cast long shadows, plunging the spaces beneath in darkness and reaching towards the group like snaking vines. Anton shivered, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around himself. Today was the day they would enter the Chasm; he tried not to think too hard about what that would entail. He glanced around at his comrades. Aside from the Ninth Company, a few dozen Millelith soldiers had also been gathered, set on joining them into the depths below. Anton wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that, but he supposed it didn’t really matter as long as they helped them do their job. Despite having bonded in some way with the men from Liyue, most of the Fatui, Anton included, were still somewhat wary of them.

     “Antoha, would you quit worrying? I can feel your nerves from here,” hissed the all too familiar voice of Temur. The pyroslinger leaned against one of the many large rock formations surrounding the area, his gun resting at his side.

     “I am not worrying, Temur; I am merely going over the things we might encounter down there,” said Anton, his loftiness merely a front.

     “I’m so convinced,” Temur replied sarcastically, “Look, there’s 64 of us in the Ninth Company, and we’ve got a few dozen Millelith too; we’ll be fine. Besides, we’re just replacing the Eighth Company, and in a few months, we’ll be relieved by the Tenth.”

     Despite Temur’s words, Anton couldn’t help the sense of dread that pooled in his stomach. It hung there like a rock as he swallowed his nerves as best he could. Katarina stood nearby, stress cleaning her lantern with her brother at her side. This operation was the biggest Anton had ever been on, and the stress of that weighed down on him. They would be helping the people of Liyue by combating the powerful, near-abyssal forces of the Chasm, taking the place of the Eighth company so they could recover.

     The Eighth had been down there for a while now, and the evidence of exhaustion was stark against their pale faces as they came up to the surface. Many squinted or averted their gaze, as if the weak sunlight filtering through the clouds was too painful. Anton took a calming breath as the signal to enter was given. As he passed by, a member of the Eighth grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop.

     “Be careful down there, comrade. Trust nothing but yourself, and you might make it out.”

     And then he was gone, led to the medical tent for treatment. Anton didn’t know what for. He watched them go until Danila shouted at him to hurry up.

     During the descent into the Chasm, Anton had time to think. He had no idea what kinds of things the Eighth saw; all he knew was that their numbers dropped from 68 men to just 45. The thought sent chills down his spine; the Eighth had only traversed the area surrounding the entrance, and they’d lost that many? How many would they lose as they got deeper? His concern must have been evident on his face because someone nudged him gently. He glanced down at the young Millelith soldier beside him. He had short but messy black hair and sharp blue eyes that reminded Anton vaguely of sapphires. His face was round, jaw somewhat sharp, and in the low light, he appeared almost to glow; he looked ethereal. Yanbo. 

     Before entering the Chasm, the Fatui sent the 9th to bond with the Millelith they would be working with as a way to increase productivity. Anton and Yanbo had become fast friends, spending nights talking about their homes and interests, sometimes over firewater.

     “Overthinking it won’t help, Antoha,” said the man, amusement clear in his tone.

     “I know, I know,” Anton responded, somewhat transfixed. “Still, I can’t really help it.”

     “We’ll be fine,” Yanbo reassured him, “focusing on the here and now instead of something that hasn’t happened yet will save us unnecessary fear.”

     Anton blinked. “Huh, that’s not bad advice.”

     Yanbo recoiled in fake shock, placing a hand over his heart. “Why, I’m wounded that you would think so poorly of me.” Grinning up at Anton, he added, “I’ll have you know I give great advice!”

     Anton laughed, and Yanbo smiled good-naturedly.

     “How do you like Liyue? Never asked you when we were above ground,” he commented as they loaded onto a platform, descending further into the Chasm.

     “Very different from the Motherland,” Anton replied, “Liyue is very warm in contrast to the frigid cold of my home.”

     Yanbo chuckled, and that brought a smile to Anton’s face. He had a lovely laugh. He backtracked quickly at that thought. Why did he think someone’s laugh was nice? He mentally shook his head to clear his thoughts.

     They had a clear-cut mission - enter the Chasm, explore deeper than the Eighth Company had, and test the Mokosh device on the strange crystal in the heart of the Chasm. It seemed so simple on paper, but something always went wrong, be it human error or unpredictable circumstances. 

     The platform hit the ground with a dull thunk, and the group disembarked. The platform rose back up to collect the next group as Anton glanced around. The path wrapped around the walls, the middle completely hollowed out. Jagged rocks jutted out from every surface at random intervals, making it difficult to find an even foothold. Anton glanced down and spotted the plethora of tools, crates, and people in the area below. The air was thicker somehow, and he found it hard to breathe. Even something as harmless as the air was already trying to restrict them. Anton knew this mission was going to be hell. 

     They walked a small distance from the first platform, descending a flight of stairs to board the next; Anton had to stand at the very edge to prevent his head from hitting the ropes. The wood creaked beneath their feet, and Anton feared the ropes would snap. Thankfully, it didn’t, and they came to a rest on the uneven ground. The group headed to the left and followed the path to the camp. Already, Millieth and Fatui alike bustled around, preparing for the Ninth’s descent into the deepest parts of Chasm. Anton moved off to one side and waited for his crew to arrive. It took a few trips, the larger agents being sent down first, followed by the rest. The platforms could only hold so much weight, so it took a good hour for everyone to get down to the bottom. Once all members of the Ninth company had arrived, their commanding officer gave them a rundown of their tasks. Go down, map the area, fight off anything down there, and test the Mokosh device. In retrospect, it seemed like a massive task for a battalion of only 64. Anton shifted minutely, licking his suddenly dry lips. They would go deeper than any company before them, so Anton had no idea what to expect. The open tunnel in front of them was daunting, like a gaping maw ready to devour them. He couldn’t even see the end of it.

     “Good luck,” called Yanbo, as he stood off to the side with a smaller group of Millelith, “Come back in one piece; we’ll drink some firewater together,”

     “Thanks, I’d like that,” responded Anton, with a small smile.

     Yanbo waved goodbye as Anton turned to join his group into the shadowy depths.

     The tunnel was well lit, but everything beyond their path was still so dark that the lamps they had could only illuminate a small area. The wood-boarded floor creaked ominously beneath their boots. The light finally illuminated a wide wooden bridge, stretching for a short way before vanishing into the darkness.

     “We don’t know if this will hold all our weight, sir,” one of the pyroslingers voiced, uncertainty clear in his tone.

     “Split into your squads,” ordered the CO, “Two at a time. When you get to the other side, flash your light.”

     Wordlessly, the agents split off into their groups. Anton stood with Temur, Danila, and Radomir, silently waiting to be called up. The longer they waited, the more Anton’s nerves grew; unease took up residence in his stomach. Anton took a deep breath as his group was called forward. The wood creaked as they walked across the bridge. Against his better judgment, Anton glanced downwards over the ropes; the ground wasn’t even visible. It was like they were walking over an ocean of shadows. He shuddered as a cold, harsh breeze blew across them, but they made it with no problems. 

     It took another hour for everyone to cross the bridge, moving slowly and in small groups for fear of the already fragile boards giving out beneath them. When they emerged from the tunnel, Anton got his first glimpse at the deeper parts of the mines. It was almost entirely plunged in complete darkness, tiny lights dotting the pitch-black landscape. Some areas were brightly illuminated, allowing Anton to gaze at the landscape of the Chasm, which looked like it would be a nightmare to traverse. Anton sighed to himself. This was going to be fun .

     The first few days of the expedition passed without incident. It was the same repetitive schedule; wake up, eat, pack up camp, walk deeper into the Chasm, set up camp, eat, sleep, rinse and repeat. The next morning (was it morning? It was hard to tell the time when they were this far underground), they had a few encounters with some hilichurls (they lunged out of the darkness, and the pyro agent who had been closest let out a yelp of surprise, blade jerking out and cutting the hillichurl’s head clean in half). They were easy to defeat and caused no significant injuries; in fact, it actually boosted morale as the others certainly got a good laugh at the expense of the very embarrassed pyro agent. Perhaps it was a sign that the mission would be simple and straightforward; everything was going much better than expected. (Maybe he shouldn’t have thought that. Maybe this was Celestia’s punishment for his hubris. Perhaps if he had never thought that, everything would have been okay.)

     Things started going downhill on day 11. It was Marka, a pyro slinger, who first swore he saw something moving in the shadows. Upon investigation, they found nothing but a dull wall, a faint imprint in the dirt, the only hint something had been there. Without concrete evidence, they pushed onwards through the darkness. Anton kept close to his squad, trying not to let his anxiety show. Something flicked to his left, and he jerked, gauntlets raised, ready for a fight; but his light shone on empty ground, and he lowered his fists with a sigh. Temur had taken to teasing him for being so jumpy. (Like he was any better - Anton could see his fingers tighten over the trigger of his gun each time he spotted any movement just out of their range of sight or a sound was heard that they couldn’t immediately identify.)

     Something danced around them for the entire day cycle, flickering in the shadows like a candle in the breeze. Every agent was on high alert, gripping their weapons so tightly their knuckles were white. Anton took a deep breath to try and calm himself, but it did nothing to soothe the anxiety and fear pooling in his stomach. At some point during their journey, a cicin mage at the very back of the group yelped and whirled around, swearing she felt a hot breath on her neck. Again, nothing was there but empty space.

     Soon, exhaustion weighed on the 9th company, and they set up camp beside a small stream. Thankfully, Anton didn’t have the patrol shift this time, so he could get more sleep; he was out almost instantly.

     Anton was jolted awake by a yell. He jerked up, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes. His turned to see Marka staring hard into the darkness.

     “What is it?” called the CO.

     “I can see whoever was tailing us; they’re right there!” Marka replied, pointing.

     Anton looked, and saw nothing but shadows.

     Marka darted away, ignoring the CO’s commands to stay back, and vanished into the dark.

     Anton tried not to think about how it almost looked like the shadows swallowed Marka. Despite the open cave they were in, the sound of Marka’s footsteps disappeared almost immediately - but then, he’d always been good at sneaking around. It’s what made him so good at scaring his unwitting coworkers whenever he got bored.

     Having all been awoken, the 9th made themselves busy preparing food and taking down the camp. An hour later, Marka still did not return.

     “Sir,” called one of the agents, “Should we go after him?”

     “We’ll give him some more time,” replied the CO, shaking his head. “Might just be another one of his stupid pranks. He’ll be properly disciplined upon his return.”

     Anton couldn’t shake off the worry he felt; it sent chills up his spine. He took a swig from his canteen and tried not to think about Marka.

     Another hour passed, and still, there was no sign of the young pyroslinger. The CO sighed deeply in disappointment, declaring that although this was most likely a harmless prank, they should look for him so they could continue with their mission. Anton stood with his squad as the CO pointed out which directions they should split up in when suddenly -

     Three shots fired in rapid succession. Marka.

     Everyone went silent - no sound but the wind whistling above them and the water flowing in the stream.

     They waited. One minute passed, then three. Nothing more was heard.

     “...Okay. Change of plans. We stick together and head for where the shots came from.” The CO sounded grim; everyone knew of Marka’s mischievous personality, but even he wouldn’t fire shots where they weren’t necessary - that was the first rule the Fatui drilled into the heads of every agent. The only explanation was that he had run into enemies.

     The entire company headed out towards the direction of the shots, all eyes and ears peeled for any sign of Marka. Anton swore he heard the pattering of feet and glanced around wildly, but saw nothing. 

     They searched every inch of the cave for the rest of the day cycle. The CO split everyone into groups to explore different areas; one squad found his gun leaning against the cave wall as if he’d simply put it down for a second, but beyond that, there was no sign of the pyroslinger. It was like he had never existed at all. The only indication he had ever even fired the gun was the soft, warm glow of pyro that lit the weapon.

     Eventually, the CO commanded them to stop and set up camp. The search would resume the next day, and if there was still no sign of Marka, they were to treat him as MIA and possibly a deserter - though looking around, it didn’t seem like anyone could believe that he would ever do such a thing.

     As morning rolled around on day 13 of the expedition, the 9th Company broke camp, neatly packing away tents, bedrolls, and supplies, preparing for one last day of searching.

     Anton was stacking tent poles into piles for more accessible transportation when they heard it.

     The screams, loud and anguished, as if in great agony, in a voice that was almost certainly Marka’s. Anton’s blood ran cold as the screams were quickly replaced with pleas - for help, for mercy, for someone, anyone , to save him from whatever hell he was experiencing. The agents around him rose, eyes flitting through the dark. Their CO called out into the darkness.

     “Marka? Where are you?”

     The only response was more pleas. Whispered begs for help, for someone to save him. 

     “Split up into squads, six groups of 8, 1 group of 7,” ordered the CO quickly, “Leave no stone unturned,”

     “Yessir!” the men said, snapping to attention.

     Anton joined up with Katarina, Nikolay, and five other agents. The groups split off into separate directions, the only sign of each the small lamp they carried. The oppressive darkness all too quickly swallowed the light from these lamps. 

     Anton shone his light around, searching desperately for any sign of Marka. Katarina clutched her lantern; her cicins fluttered close by, sensing her nervousness. One chirped to her and gently nudged her cheek with its body. 

     “What do you think we’ll find?” asked Katarina, glancing around

     “Hopefully, Marka alive,” said Anton

     “If he isn’t?”

     “Then we send his body back up so he can at least be buried in Snezhnaya.”

     “And if we don’t find a body?”

     “Then we find some way to mourn him.”

     Four hours later, they had found nothing, not even a shred of clothing. Hoping the others had more luck, Anton and his group returned to the campsite. Upon arrival, they noted that all squads of eight had returned, but the team of seven had not.

     “Did you find anything?” asked the CO, glancing at Anton

     “No, sir, not even a scrap of clothing.”

     “Dammit,” he hissed, “we’ll wait for the last squad and move on.”

     “Yessir,” replied the agents.

     Anton chewed his lip, concerned for the safety of that final group; after all, Danila had gone with them. His worry grew as more time passed with no sign of their return. He seemed to be worried a lot these past few weeks. Maybe Temur’s teasing about him being the “mom-agent” held some truth. Anton busied himself in cleaning his weapons. Something told him he would need them.

     Too long. It had been too long. The CO ordered they make camp and would wait until the next day before also listing those men as MIA and potential deserters. Anton hated the thought of that. Danila would never desert, which meant something had happened. Had they been attacked? Gotten lost? This section of the Chasm had yet to be mapped, so that option was quite likely. Anton didn’t know which was true, but he hoped the group returned soon. 

     The next day came, and the squad did not return. The empty spot they should have filled sent chills down Anton’s spine. With a sigh that betrayed the pain he felt, their CO listed the squad MIA.

     “Due to the circumstances, they should not be treated as deserters,” he said. “Most likely they got held up by the creatures that live down here or by the complicated labyrinth. Everyone else, be wary as we continue.”

     Temur and Radomir joined him silently. The trio pressed together, huddled together in a corner.

     “What do you think happened?” whispered Radomir.

     “Maybe whatever got Marka, got Danila and his squad,” hissed Temur

     “What got Marka is what we should be asking,” murmured Anton, “Marka’s a prankster, but even he knows where to draw the line,”

     “Yeah, this is extreme, even for him,” said Radomir, “That means he either got really lost or ran into some monster.”

     “But what?” questioned Temur, “No one knows what even attacked him.”

     “We don’t know for sure that he was attacked,” Anton pointed out. “The Chasm’s layout is confusing; hopefully, they just got lost.”

     Radomir sighed. “For Danila’s sake, I hope that’s true.”

     Anton’s squad was one of those assigned to keep watch that night; he, Temur, Radomir, and a few other members of the expedition sat around the lamps in the middle of the camp, eyes and ears peeled for any anomalies in the cave around them. It was quiet; there wasn’t much to discuss beyond theories of what happened to the eight missing agents. That seemed to be all anyone wanted to talk about. Theories ranged from desertion to having fallen so deep into the Chasm they slipped into the Abyss.

     Sometime during the night (about 4 am, according to the timepieces that each agent was issued), a distant rumbling sound was heard. Temur and a few others went off to investigate, returning to report that the sound had originated from a rockslide demolishing the only bridge back up to the surface. This, of course, sent Anton into a spiral of anxious thoughts; it was all he could think about for the rest of the night.

     When they informed the CO later that morning, he waved off their concern, declaring that they would continue their mission; after all, there were plenty of Millelith soldiers in the upper levels of the mines.

     “The Millelith above will certainly have heard the commotion themselves and will begin working on repairing the exit,” he said confidently. “We should focus on our mission.”

     There was a loud chorus of “Yessir”’s as everyone returned to packing up.

     “Hey Anton, you doing alright?” questioned Nikolay. “You don’t look too good.”

     “I’ll be fine when we find them,” said Anton.

     “What if we don’t?” asked Temur.

     “I don’t know; we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he replied, confidence merely a façade.

     Anton, of course, was still quite worried - what if the Millelith hadn’t heard? Their camp was fairly close to where they had first descended - Marka’s disappearance had forced them to double back quite a distance and had they been any further down, they almost certainly wouldn’t have heard a thing. What if no one noticed? They would have no way to escape, no one to save them -

     No. Remember Yanbo’s advice - overthinking will do no good. Anton took a deep breath to calm himself - they would be fine. The Millelith were on the surface; they did daily patrols, they would notice the destroyed bridge and would immediately set to work fixing it. No point thinking about the what-ifs if they were outrageously untrue, right? He needed to focus on his job; he couldn’t afford to worry about something he couldn’t do anything about.

     Anton returned to packing up camp and preparing for the next few days of travel with that reassuring thought in mind. It was a long way down, and Anton was anything but ready. Maybe if the agents had waited a mere few hours, things would have gone differently; perhaps tragedy wouldn’t have struck as violently as it did, but maybe’s wouldn’t bring them back.

Day 12 Of The Expedition

Millelith Chasm Outpost

     12 days had passed since the 9th entered the Chasm. Yanbo’s job was the same each day; guard the outpost to prevent thefts and manage the supplies sent to the Fatui. It was quite dull, the only thing to do was chat with the other Millelith. That was the daily routine, until a soldier came hurrying across the Chasm to them, out of breath.

     “We have a situation!” he exclaimed

     “What happened?” questioned Yanbo

     “The Fatui released Osial onto the harbour!” exclaimed the guard, “We’ve been ordered by the Tianquan to detain and hold every Fatui in Liyue until further notice.”

     “Understood!” exclaimed the Millelith, straightening up to attention

     “What about the ones who went deeper?” asked Yanbo, gazing into the mine entrance

     “Leave them,” said the captain, “they won’t be back for another two months. Come on; we’ve got Fatui to round up.”

     Reluctantly, Yanbo picked up his spear and followed them out of the Chasm.

     There were very few Fatui outside the Chasm itself, and the ones they did find fled rather quickly. The captain suggested raiding their medical tents, but some Millelith shot that idea down, saying they would be just as bad as them if they attacked a field hospital. 

     Yanbo now stood back in the Chasm, having been ordered to transfer the supplies up. A slight pang filled Yanbo’s chest. These agents weren’t the ones who attacked Liyue. They were helping them. Yanbo didn’t understand why these agents were being punished for the actions of their comrades. If his comrades broke the law, he wouldn’t be punished for something that he didn’t do. So why should they? It didn’t make sense. Yanbo gazed at the crate of rations. It was a small amount, something that wouldn’t be missed, and Yanbo had an idea. Yanbo pulled out a sheet of paper and a quill and began to write:

       Dear Anton Melnikov…

     Yanbo left the note on the table, using a stone to hold it down. He glanced once more at the entrance to the deeper parts of the Chasm. He hoped they would be okay. 

     “We were supposed to drink firewater together again,” he whispered.

     Why did it feel like his heart was in a million pieces? Yanbo turned and walked back to the lift, trying to ignore how this whole ordeal made him feel. 

     He arrived just as the Tianquan did. Confusion filled his features, and he made his way over to his captain. 

     “Why is the Tianquan here?” asked Yanbo

     “To seal the Chasm,” his captain replied.

     “Seal it? What about the Fatui that are still down there?”

     “Who cares? They tried to drown Liyue,” was the only reply he received.

     The Tianquan finished her work, and the seal slammed down over the chasm.

     But they had nothing to do with it… was Yanbo’s only thought.

     Meanwhile, deep in the mine entrance, a thundering crash shook the entire tunnel. Rubble rained onto the fragile bridge, taking it down in an instant. After a few seconds, everything stilled, and the bridge was in total ruin. The Fatui agents were trapped on the other side. 

Chapter Text

     They’d been down there for 14 days now. Two long weeks. It was clear the toll those days had taken on the Company; they were already down eight agents.

     Temur gripped his weapon, glaring into the darkness around him. No, the men were just missing. They were alive, just lost. Danila was with them. Temur hoped he was okay.

     Their CO called for a break, and Temur slumped onto a rock with a soft huff. Radomir sat down next to him, and Temur found himself leaning against the other man. 

     “Everything all right?” questioned the hydrogunner

     “Not really,” said Temur, “I mean, it’s been two weeks, we’ve lost contact with eight people, and this mission has already gone to hell. What’s next? The Mokosh Device breaks?”

     “Don’t jinx us!” Radomir hissed.

     There was a rustle of cloth as their CO, an older man named Issak, lowered himself to the ground near them. He pulled his mask down and rubbed his eyes before running a hand through his greying hair. 

     “Sir?” questioned Temur.

     “This mission is certainly turning out to be quite the adventure, hm?” the man said.

     Issak was an agent previously assigned to the Harbinger Capitano. Rumors abounded that he applied to switch to Signora’s command to spy for the captain. 

     “Was it anything like your travels in the Navy, sir?” one young Cicin Mage asked him, leaning forward in interest.

     “No. Even the seas were kinder than this hellscape,” the man gestured vaguely around them before reaching into his coat and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “Anyone got a light?”

     Temur wordlessly pulled out his lighter (a handcrafted gift from his father) and offered it up.

     “Anyone want a smoke?” Issak asked.

     A few agents accepted, and Temur lit their cigarettes as well.

     An important thing to note is that Snezhnayan cigarettes are made to be scentless. This allows soldiers to smoke freely without worrying about the smell drawing in beasts or monsters. In the low light of the lanterns, the smoke trails lazily coiled upwards before vanishing into the void around them. Temur watched, slightly dazed, as the smoke drifted away into the dark.

     They packed up quickly after their rest and made their way down the winding path. All was well until a young anemoboxer misstepped, staggering to the side and falling over the path's edge. Panicked, Temur shone his light over where the boxer had dropped. They weren’t too high up, but something pitch-black bubbled below. The men watched in horror as the boxer began to sink. He struggled helplessly against the substance before shooting a glance up. Anton dropped onto his stomach and reached for the agent, but he couldn’t reach far enough.

     “I need your hammer,” Anton yelled to an electro vanguard, who quickly passed it over before steadying Anton.

     The boxer reached up and grabbed the hammer, but even with Anton and two other larger agents, they couldn’t pull him back up. He only sank deeper, and Anton began to slip. Their CO grabbed his wrist.

     “Anton, let go,” he ordered.

     “I can still get him!” Anton cried.

     “Antoha, let go,” said Temur, reaching to tug on the other man’s clothing lightly

     The boxer down below smiled weakly and let go of the hammer. Anton yelled, but the man just continued to smile.

     “Can’t take you down with me,” he said quietly.

     The puddle greedily devoured him. His face twisted into a look of pure agony, but the mud drowned out his cries as it filled his lungs.

     And just like that, he was gone.

     Temur glanced down at the muck as Anton growled in anger. The other agents pulled him up, and the Electro Vanguard solemnly took his hammer back.

     The remaining Fatui stood still, quiet. No one quite knew what to do. 

     Temur glanced up at their CO, whose gaze was stern but sad as he turned to face the path forward.

     “Let’s move,” said the older man. “We can mourn our losses later.”

     Temur tugged gently at Anton’s arm as the man wordlessly rose up off the ground. 

     “Hey, you alright, Antoha?” whispered Temur softly.

     Anton didn’t respond as he pushed past the smaller agent. Temur watched him go silently. A hand on his shoulder jolted the man out of his thoughts, and he glanced up at Radomir.

     “Give him time,” Radomir murmured.

     “Stay alert, everyone,” Issak ordered, “and watch your step. Let’s not lose anyone else like that.”

     “First, we have things in the shadows following us, and now murderous mud?” Temur grumbled under his breath, “At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if the flora is alive and tries to eat us.”

     “Don’t jinx it, Temur,” growled Nikolay harshly as the young child of snow fell into step beside him.

     “I think it’s safe to say we’re already forsaken, Nikolay,” mused Temur before he hurried forward to join Radomir and Anton.

     According to their watches, it was getting late above ground. The effects were evident in the men as they sluggishly pushed forward. The CO finally called for a stop, and the crew set up camp. 

     Temur sat down on a rock, polishing his gun in silence. His thoughts wandered to the events of the past few days. The death of the Anemoboxer, the missing agents, the things that lurked deep in the chasm. Temur stood and walked over to where the rest of his squad was settling down for the night. He plopped down with a huff, placed his gun next to him, and lay down on the hard ground, staring up into the void. Another presence joined him as Anton settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. 

     It was then that the screams started. From somewhere deep in the void, the voices of their missing comrades filtered through, one at a time. They begged for help, filled with agony and despair. Temur shot up, scrambling to grab his weapon as his eyes frantically scoured the darkness for any sign of movement; he found none. Around him, the other members of the ninth snapped to attention, panicked whispers drowned out by the shrieks of their lost comrades.

     “Should we investigate, sir?” asked a geochanter.

     “No, stay here,” ordered the CO, “I’m not losing more men to these gods-forsaken caves. We can search together later.”

     Temur felt Anton shift closer to him, hands twitching as he prepared to bring forth his anemo shield if need be. 

     “Hey, Temur, Antoha,” murmured Radomir, moving to stand on Temur’s other side, “None of those voices are Danila’s.”

     “You sure?” hissed Anton.

     “Positive,” said Radomir, “Maybe we can only hear the voices of the dead.”

     A brief silence fell between them as another scream sounded - this one Marka’s, almost identical to those heard after he first disappeared.

     “But that would mean the others-” Temur didn’t finish the sentence.

     The trio stood there, pressed together in the low light, and gazed into a void that glared back.

     The screams went on for hours. As they finally stopped, Temur groaned and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep and looking around, it didn’t seem like anyone else had either.

     The sound of intense arguing soon reached his ears; it seemed some of the agents were quarreling with the CO about their next steps. 

     “The mission above all else,” Temur heard Isaak say. “I want to look for the missing as much as you do, but we have orders to follow.”

     The agents relented, eyes downcast. They finally seemed to accept the answer, and Temur watched them with sympathy. He closed his eyes and prayed to the Tsaritsa. Prayed that somewhere in this hellscape, Danila was still alive.

     The agents of the 9th were sluggish. The lack of sleep, the voices of their lost comrades, and the oppressing darkness weighed them down. Temur, head foggy from the lack of sleep, suddenly tripped and went crashing to the ground, gun skidding away and gently hitting the agent in front of him. 

     Temur tried to rise, but his arms shook so violently that he couldn’t keep himself up. Large, gentle hands hauled him up with ease, and Temur gave his thanks to Anton.

     Temur’s fall was loud enough to alert the CO up ahead, and the group doubled back. Though Isaak didn’t say a word, it was clear what he and the remaining agents were thinking - they couldn’t continue at this pace, with everyone as exhausted as they were.

     Temur felt something bump into his ankle and glanced down. A small mushroom bobbed around at his feet. Temur jerked back violently in surprise and fell into Nikolay, who steadied him as he gazed warily at the mushroom. Every agent took a step back, giving the tiny thing some space. Given everything that had happened so far, a mushroom could probably kill them. 

     Tiny eyes blinked up at Temur, Nikolay, and the two agents behind them. Then the mushroom skittered away, releasing a cloud of foul-smelling purple mist as it did so. The fog cleared fast, leaving four blinking agents stunned into silence.

     “Are you four okay?” asked Isaak, approaching slowly.

     “I - I think so,” Temur replied, checking over himself as the other agents did the same.

     Anton hurried over to Temur, concern written all over his face. 

     “Do you feel anything?” he asked.

     Before Temur could respond, blinding white-hot agony erupted through his entire body, and he dropped like a stone. The pain pulsed through his veins like he was burning alive from the inside out. He felt pressure on his mouth and, through the foggy haze of pure agony, realized it was a hand. He must have been screaming. Was he screaming? He couldn’t tell. Nothing made sense, his body burned, and his head filled with fog. It was like nothing he had ever felt before.

     His vision blurred, and through flickers of color, he could just barely make out Anton. His face felt itchy as something rolled down it. Was he crying? Sudden pain ripped through him, different from the hot coals fueling the burning of his body.

     Warm and sticky. On his skin. Dripping. From where? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t know. It hurt, oh gods it hurt what was that thing? Why did it burn make it stopsomeoneplEASEMAKEITSTOP-

     His vision went dark, and yet he was still awake. He didn’t even have the strength to pray for death.

     When Temur dropped with a cry of pain, Anton had felt his blood go cold. He had caught Temur, confused at first as the other man writhed in his arms. When he started screaming, Anton was quick to silence him, muffling the sound with his hand. Similar cries followed from the other men who’d been exposed to the cloud, and other agents rushed to silence them. Isaak hurried over, crouching down. 

     “We need to hide,” snapped Isaak, “We’ve given away our position.”

     The agents moved quickly, picking up their incapacitated comrades and hurrying forward. Isaak ushered them into a deep indent in the wall, and the men worked quickly, setting up camp and lighting up the area. Anton lowered Temur to the ground, hand still covering his mouth. Anton took note of the fact that Temur, who hated showing any sign of vulnerability, was openly weeping as soft, muffled cries of pain escaped from behind Anton’s hand. At the very least, he was no longer screaming.

     “Radomir, can you do anything?” hissed Anton.

     “I can’t heal poison, only physical wounds,” responded the hydromancer, looking pained.

     Temur’s hands shot up, sudden and violent, as he began to tear at his throat with vigor. Blood seeped down as Temur broke the skin, and Radomir let out a yell and lunged forward, catching both of Temur’s wrists with a hand and fighting to pull them away from his neck. For someone so small, Temur was surprisingly strong.

     No, that wasn’t right. Had he…always had this much strength?

     Using his free hand, Radomir fumbled with his equipment for a second, calling up a bubble to surround Temur’s neck. The gentle glow of hydro bathed the underside of Temur’s chin in a hazy blue as the skin slowly stitched itself back together. Once the wound had healed, Radomir carefully maneuvered Temur’s hands back down, an unreadable look on his face. 

     “Sir, what should we do?” Damian, one of the youngest agents, asked, his voice soft and uncertain as he glanced around in barely concealed panic at the writhing forms of his comrades.

     Every remaining agent turned to face their CO, who was standing silently near the entrance of the cave.

     “Gag the wounded and give them painkillers; they’ll attract unwanted attention if they continue like this. Bind them too, so they can’t hurt themselves. Our best bet is to wait it out.”

     The agents let out mutters of disapproval, but no one protested very hard. 

     “You need a hand?” a Cryo Cicin Mage crouched down beside Anton, cicins fluttering around her head anxiously.

     “That would be great, uh…”

     “Violetta.”

     “Right. Thanks, Violetta.” Somewhere in Anton’s mind, he faintly remembered Temur ranting about someone named Violetta when he’d had too much fire-water.

     With her help, Temur was safely restrained. Anton’s body ached, and he groaned as he leaned against the rock wall. He closed his eyes as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. Though he was tired, Anton couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the memories of the screams they’d heard the night before, or perhaps he was worried if he fell asleep, even for a moment, Temur would stop breathing. 

     “Anton, you need to rest,” said Violetta, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

     “You sure?” he asked, cracking open an eye to glance at her.

     “I was able to sleep last night, but I know for a fact you did not,” she replied kindly. “Leave this to me, comrade.”

     “Alright,” said Anton, “Just, wake me up if anything happens.”

     Violetta nodded, and Anton stood back up, staggering slightly as his vision spun and his head pounded.

     “Sweet Tsaritsa,” he groaned.

     Radomir was already asleep when Anton arrived, and Anton wasted no time falling into his sleeping bag.

     Sleep never came. Anton lay awake, gazing into the dimly lit ceiling above him. Soft shadows danced lazily across the ceiling, entrapping Anton in their erratic movements. Anton flipped onto his side, huffing in annoyance. He knew that if someone was too afraid or worked up, they could have a hard time falling asleep, but it had been almost three hours for Celestia’s sake. He wanted to sleep, and not being able to was driving him crazy. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, biting back a groan of frustration.

     A loud whining, blipping noise ripped through the silence, and all functional agents shot up from sleep or dropped whatever they were doing. The sound echoed through the Chasm, the walls lighting up with a strange ring pattern in phosphorus blue. The patterns spread along the walls, getting closer and closer to where the agents were hiding. It stopped just short of them, the haunting blue glow illuminating the outside of the cave entrance. Then, the blue glow peeled off the walls, creating small, luminous orbs that floated in the air. It was beautiful, but it was a cold beauty that sent a shiver through your entire body, like seeing the regal Tsaritsa upon her icy throne. Anton was faintly reminded of an old story his mother used to tell him, about the ghost lights that led travellers astray at night.

     Something very, very large shot through the dark, its massive, thick body just barely visible in the low blue glow. Then, like someone blowing out a candle, the lights went out. It wasn’t fast, but it wasn’t slow either - each light went out, one orb at a time as dark, monstrous creatures danced overhead, just beyond the reach of any light source strong enough to reveal them in their entirety. Not an agent breathed or moved or did anything that might alert the creatures above of their presence. Anton couldn’t hold back his shudder of terror as loud fluttering sounds filled the cave. The winged monster, or monsters, Anton wasn’t sure it was just one, only left when the last light had vanished. At least, Anton hoped they were gone. There was no way to tell, and Anton feared flashing their lanterns upwards to check would alert the creature or creatures that they were there. 

     The 9th stayed still for a long, long time, silence broken only by the muffled cries of their poisoned comrades. An hour went by, then two, and finally, the agents began to move again. 

     “What in the name of the Tsaritsa was that,” someone croaked from Anton’s left.

     “I really don’t want to find out,” said another.

     “This mission was a mistake,” someone else muttered, “If there’s shit like that down here, why the hell didn’t they send a harbinger?”

     “They didn’t know what was down here,” Issak called from his sentry post near the entrance. “We’re the first to go this deep. Only exploring the surface of the Chasm was always going to yield very little. Even Liyuenese miners haven’t ventured this far yet, and we’re not even halfway down.”

     He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, then added, “Sofya, what notes do you have so far?”

     A young woman, maybe 20 or 21, shot up straight from where she sat on her sleeping bag and pulled a thick notebook out of her pack.

     “I’ve recorded the small mushroom creatures, as well as all the strange fauna wildlife we’ve come across. Shall I add these…things to my notes?”

     “Yes. There’s not much to say, but better something than nothing.”

     “Alright,” she pulled out a pencil and began to write furiously.

     Anton watched her for a moment. Sofya was focused entirely on her work, and Anton found the scratching of pencil on paper to be reassuring. 

     Suddenly, Sofya’s head shot up, startling Anton.

     “The flapping noise we heard was definitely wings, right?” asked Sofya, glancing around at the others.

     “I mean, we can’t be for certain, but most likely.” said Anton, “I kind of saw something when the lights were still up in the air.”

     Sofya was suddenly right in front of him, eyes shining behind her mask.

     “What did you see?” she demanded

     “N-Nothing solid, just a large black mass shooting through the air,” replied Anton, shifting back slightly, hands raised in front of him to shield himself from the overexcited researcher.

     “Nothing else?” she asked

     “Sorry, Sofya, nothing else.”

     The girl sighed, deflating slightly.

     “Well, it’s better than nothing,” she remarked before scurrying off to continue her work.

     Anton watched her for a few moments before he decided it was time to return to Temur. The younger man lay on the cot, face ashen and covered in sweat. Soft whimpers of pain escaped through the gag, and there were noticeable tear tracks on his face. His heart twisted, and he moved to Temur’s side. He pulled out a cloth from his pack and went to wipe his face. Temur grunted weakly and shifted, trying to get away. Anton gently grasped Temur’s face and held it steady. Once he finished cleaning his face, Anton pressed his hand against Temur’s forehead, then jerked his hand back with a hiss.

     “What’s wrong?” Radomir asked, crouching beside Anton.

     “He’s burning up, can you get something to help?”

     “Yeah, I’m on it.”

     “I’ll go with you!” Violetta hopped up from where she sat at Temur’s side.

     Anton felt a little bad that he hadn’t noticed her there, but in his defense, she was quiet and blended in quite well.

     Violetta followed Radomir as Anton turned his attention back to Temur. Temur’s breathing was heavy and laboured, as if it took every bit of his strength to breathe. Anton silently took his friend’s hand. At his touch, Temur’s eyes fluttered open. He let out a soft, muffled sob of pain, and Anton gave his hand a gentle squeeze. By then, Violetta and Radomir had returned with a bucket of cold water and a towel. Radomir drenched the towel and squeezed out the excess water before draping it over Temur’s forehead; almost immediately, one of Violetta’s cicins fluttered over and settled itself onto it. Despite all this, the flush on his face only lessened slightly.

     “That should do for now,” Radomir said softly.

     “Hey, Dan-” Anton cut himself off, realizing his mistake a second too late.

     The two beside him sombered up. Anton’s gaze dropped to the floor as his gut twisted uncomfortably. Radomir placed a hand on Anton’s shoulder.

     “Danila’s tough. We’ll find him,” said the larger man reassuringly. “Getting lost underground isn’t the worst that’s happened to him. He was one of Il Dottore’s, remember?”

     “Yeah, I know,” responded Anton, voice melancholy.

     Somehow, he doubted the mad doctor’s experiments could be much worse than this.

     Anton sat beside the cooking pot as Nikolay described, in crude detail, this idea he had for getting information out of an abyss mage. Anton had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. It felt good to laugh again. The cryogunner Zhenka (Zenoch? No, it was Zhenka), stretched from where he sat beside Katarina. He had been adding on to whatever Nikolay said, and even told a few stories of his own.

     “I’ve got to get to my patrol shift; you all enjoy your conversation. And to think that it was just getting good,” Zhenka sighed dramatically.

     Zhenka was a very chatty person. He was rather sweet so long as you never made an enemy of him. He smiled warmly from behind his mask and waved to the group as he headed off to report in. 

     Thinking back, Anton wished Zhenka had just stayed with them. That he told him to sit back down and tell them more about the Snezhnayan Honey Cake his mom used to make or the stupid trick he did as a teen that left him with a chipped tooth.

     Instead, Anton waved goodbye and turned back to the conversation without a response. Instead, Zhenka disappeared to patrol the opening at the back of the cave.

     Nikolay had switched topics. They were now talking about Lord 11th. Anton had no idea what brought up Tartaglia, but he was happy to voice his desire to serve under him.

     “If I make it out of this abyss-scape, I am 100% asking for a transfer,” Nikolay muttered.

     “Agreed,” said Anton, “No disrespect to the other harbingers, of course, but we’d probably survive longer under the 11th than we would with them.”

     The others laughed at that, and Anton couldn’t help but smile. It felt good to be at peace. For there to be nothing but laughter and smiles. 

     Until his thoughts wandered to Temur, lying restrained and in agony on his cot, or to Danila, lost in the Chasm, if he wasn’t already dead. Anton closed his eyes and tried not to think about whatever horrors lay waiting for them in the void that stretched before them. 

     Anton opened his eyes and stood up. 

     “Where are you going?” asked Yuliana, a mirror maiden.

     “I’m going to check up on Temur.”

     “Okay, bye, Anton!” called the cheerful voice of Yuliana’s 19-year-old little brother, Damian. “Let us know if his condition changes.”

     “Of course,” said Anton, smiling at the young boy, “Actually, you want to help me feed Temur? It’ll be quite difficult if he resists, and I could use the extra hand.”

     Damian shot up, a smile on his lips.

     “Of course!” he said, grabbing a bowl of soup before carefully making his way to Anton’s side.

     Anton smiled and led the boy to where Temur rested.

     Upon arrival, Anton was relieved to see Temur’s fever had gone down slightly. Violetta stood up, smiling warmly at Anton.

     “Go get something to eat; we’ll take over here,” Anton said politely.

     “Thank you,” she replied, gently scooping her cicin off Temur’s forehead. As she moved to leave, she ruffled Damian’s hair, causing the boy to huff in annoyance. She laughed, heading to the cooking pot and joining the others around the small fire. 

     Anton knelt beside Temur and carefully lifted his head up, gently removing the gag and glancing over at Damian.

     “Should I put the bowl to his mouth or spoon feed him?” questioned the boy, looking a little lost.

     “Might be easier to bring the bowl to him,” mused Anton.

     “Are you close with him?” asked Damian, as he placed the bowl to Temur’s lips.

     “He’s like a brother to me, so you can imagine how hard this is. Watching him like this. In so much pain, and I can’t even do anything,” Anton replied, using his free hand to gently peel the wet hair from Temur’s forehead.

     “I don’t know what I would do if that happened to Yuliana,” Damian said softly, casting a glance towards his sister.

     Anton, noting the change in the younger man’s demeanor, placed a hand on top of his head. “Thank you for the help,” he said and Damian relaxed, brightening up again.

     A soft groan interrupted the tender moment and both glanced down at Temur. His eyes were open, but he didn’t seem to see them.

     “Temur?” asked Anton, but all he got was a soft whimper

     Anton sighed softly and re-did the gag. While he did that, Damian watched him quietly.

     “How long have you, Radomir, Danila and Temur been a squad for?” Damian asked, slightly tilting his head to the side.

     “Hm, almost eight years now. Radomir and I met in basic training when we bunked together, Danila was assigned to our squad after volunteering as a test subject for Il Dottore, and Temur joined up with us after he completed his basic training,” said Anton, smiling fondly at the memories. “You know, you kinda remind me of Temur.”

     “That’s good, I hope?” said Damian.

     “Oh yeah,” said Anton, laughing, “Always smiling and trying to lighten the mood in shitty times.”

     “I will do my best to live up to someone as great as Temur,” said Damian, saluting with mock seriousness.

     Anton laughed, a large smile stretching across his face. Damian looked pleased with himself.

     “We should head back to the others,” said Anton softly, spotting the approaching form of Violetta. “You’ll be fine here, Violetta?”

     “Yes, thank you for taking over,” said the mage gratefully.

     “Of course,” said Anton, as he stood up. “Come on, kid.”

     Damian scrambled up and hurried to Anton’s side, empty bowl in his arms. Anton placed a hand on Damian’s head, a small smile gracing his lips. 

     “Oh, has anyone ever told you about the time Zhenka gave us, as he called it, a ‘once in a lifetime’ singing performance while absolutely wasted?”

     “No, but please, tell me more,” said Anton.

     “Okay, so, you know how Zhenka loves to sing, right? Well, we were joking around about how he should’ve been a singer and this man, mind you he’s already downed like three entire bottles of firewater on his own, stands up, takes an empty bottle, and puts it to his lips and just starts singing, not sure what is was called but it was some Inazuman song I think. The funniest thing was that, even though he was drunk, he held a tune. This man can fucking sing even while drunk,” Damian said, hands moving animatedly as he told his story. “Like, sure, some of the words were slurred, but he still did so well that none of us could even laugh about it. His singing was so enchanting. Of course, that only solidified our belief that he should’ve been a singer instead of a foot soldier, but he wanted to serve the motherland, and really, who can blame him? I mean, serving our country is the highest honour-”

     Anton smiled as Damian rambled on and on about random stories that didn’t seem to be connected at all. It felt good to have conversations like this. He was glad that, even in this hellscape, someone could bring joy to everyone involved. It was no wonder everyone took a shine to Damian — he was like a ray of sunshine in a deep and dark cavern. A breath of fresh air.

     Anton glanced out into the expanse of darkness just beyond the cave they were hiding in, and for once, in the glow of the fire and Damian’s animated storytelling, he didn’t feel afraid.