Eater Blade: Grinding in Apocalypse-Chapter 65: TESTING THE HOLES.

Savier crouched at the edge of one of the wider holes, peering into the black void like it might blink back at him.

"I’m telling you," he muttered, "this is the Digger’s game. It’s trying to screw with us."

Johnquis didn’t disagree. He stepped cautiously between the holes, boots skimming the edges. Each pit seemed perfectly circular...too perfect. The stone surrounding them was smooth, shaped. Not natural. Not random.

"It is the Digger’s game," Johnquis said. "Look around. This isn’t just architecture. It’s strategy. It’s misdirection."

Savier glanced up. "You mean like it’s trying to confuse us?"

Johnquis nodded. "Exactly. No normal nest looks like this. This isn’t made to house Eaters. It’s made to break down anyone stupid enough to come after the queen."

"Like a trap maze."

"A psychological one," Johnquis said. "Any team would get lost trying to figure out where to go. Which hole leads to the core? Which one leads to death? Some of these might double back. Others might collapse behind us. Hell, some probably don’t go anywhere. Just a slow fall and a quick splatter."

Savier blew out a sharp whistle. "Smart bastard."

"It knows what it’s doing. You don’t survive this long without learning how to defend your throne. Especially from us."

"Think it’s dealt with Eater Blades before?" Savier asked.

Johnquis stared into the dark of the nearest pit. "Without a doubt. And it didn’t just survive—it learned. Every fight taught it something. Now it’s using that against us. This nest’s been standing for seven years. Ever think about how many squads, how many Eater Blade duos came through here... and never made it out of these holes?"

Dancer had stayed silent, scanning the holes one by one. She crouched now at a particularly deep one, nostrils flaring faintly, claws flexing. Her golden eyes flicked side to side, concentrating hard.

"She’s trying to sniff it out," Johnquis said. "Follow the scent of the queen. Blood trail. Nest heat. Something."

Savier tilted his head. "Anything?"

Dancer shook her head slowly, barely a movement. Her jaw tightened. A small, sharp exhale through her nose.

Johnquis frowned. "She can’t trace it."

"Wait, really? She’s never been wrong before. You’re telling me her bloodhound nose isn’t picking up a damn thing?"

"She’s not broken," Johnquis said. "The Digger’s masking it."

"Masking it? How the hell do you mask a queen’s scent?"

"Same way it made these tunnels," Johnquis said grimly. "Precision. Layers. Minerals. Maybe it lined the floors with a scent-killer, or more likely, it’s cycling air through the chambers. No lingering heat, no blood, no pheromones."

Savier swore under his breath. "So we’re completely blind."

"Not blind," Johnquis said. "Just... in the dark."

Savier rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Shakespeare. So now what? We flip a coin and drop into the pit with the least ominous smell of death?"

Johnquis didn’t answer immediately. He paced between the holes, eyes narrowing at the symmetry, the cold quiet of the chamber.

"We test them," he said at last.

"Test?" Savier echoed.

"We drop something into each. See what reacts. Stone, metal, whatever. Watch for echo depth. Any difference."

Savier snorted. "That’s gonna take forever. There’s, like, fifty of these things."

Johnquis glanced sideways. "Got a better idea?"

Savier paused. Then stood and pointed a thumb at his own chest. "Yeah. We go in. Individually. Each of us takes a different hole, covers more ground. If one of us hits the real nest, we call the others in. Objective’s to locate and destroy the queen, right? This speeds that up."

"No," Johnquis said instantly. "Too dangerous."

"Aw, come on—"

"You splitting up is the fastest way to get killed. You’re reckless and loud, and you treat death like it’s a damn video game. You drop solo and the Digger sniffs you out first, you’re done."

Savier raised both hands. "Look, I know I joke a lot, but I can handle myself."

"Handling yourself is different than outsmarting something that’s been killing Blade teams longer than you’ve been alive as a Blade."

Dancer was now pacing slowly between holes, testing one or two with her claw. She paused beside one, sniffed again... and shook her head.

Savier crossed his arms. "You said it yourself. No scent. No activity. That means there’s no threat down there right now, right?"

Johnquis was quiet for a long beat.

"No threat yet," he said.

"But we’ve got no leads. We’re stuck. We can’t wait for the queen to send us an invitation. We either take a shot, or sit here looking pretty until something crawls out of one of these holes and rips our intestines out through our spines."

Dancer gave a sharp click of her claw against the stone—her way of saying: He’s got a point.

Johnquis let out a breath through his nose. Looked again at the holes. At the silence. At the lack of scent. Lack of heat. Lack of motion.

Too still.

If Dancer sensed nothing, it wasn’t because the Digger wasn’t home. It was because it had gone perfectly still. Hidden. Like a spider in a web, waiting. No threat right now. But a threat waiting to see who was dumb enough to move first.

Johnquis tightened his grip on his chain-blades.

"...Fine," he said. "We split. Three holes. One each."

Savier smiled. "Knew you’d see reason."

Johnquis glared. "This isn’t reason. It’s calculated risk. You test one tunnel. Nothing more. You don’t engage. You don’t play the hero. You spot anything moving? You haul ass back up, you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah," Savier said, already walking toward a hole. "I’ll be real responsible. Like, textbook caution."

Johnquis muttered, "That’s what I’m afraid of."

They each took a position, standing at the edge of different holes.

Savier leaned slightly over his. "So, if I scream, do you come rescue me, or do I get an ’I told you so’ while I die?"

"You get a silent nod of respect," Johnquis said, "and a new nickname on your tombstone. Maybe ’Sir Dumbass the Brave.’"

Savier chuckled. "Harsh."

And then, without another word—

They jumped.