My Scumbag System-Chapter 386: The River of Bad Memories

The tunnel stretched ahead like the throat of something dead and patient. My arms felt like someone had dipped them in lava and then decided to add some extra lava for flavor. Every step sent fresh jolts of agony through my nerves, but I’d walked through worse. Probably. The memories were getting fuzzy around the edges.

Cel kept glancing at me like I was about to keel over and die. Which, fair. I probably looked like I was auditioning for a zombie movie.

"You’re doing that thing again," she said.

"What thing?"

"That thing where you pretend you’re not in excruciating pain."

I grinned at her. Probably looked deranged. "I’m not pretending. I am in excruciating pain. I’m just choosing to ignore it until my body gives up or we find somewhere safe. Whichever comes first."

"You’re insane."

"Yeah, well. Sanity is overrated when you’re stuck in a cosmic horror’s botanical hell garden."

The tunnel widened after another twenty minutes of stumbling through the dark. The silver knife I’d snagged earlier gave off just enough light to see by, which was great except for how it also illuminated exactly how screwed we were. The passage opened into a cavern that made the previous chambers look like broom closets.

We stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking a massive underground expanse. Below us, maybe a hundred feet down, a river cut through the darkness. Except calling it a river was like calling a hurricane a light breeze.

The water was black. Not dark blue or murky brown. Pure black, like someone had liquified the void between stars and decided to make it flow. The surface moved with lazy, hypnotic currents that caught the silver light from our knife and reflected it back in distorted patterns.

And the smell.

Gods, the smell.

"What is that?" Cel covered her nose with her hand, her face going pale.

I knew that smell. Every thug who’d ever dumped a body in Tokyo Bay knew that smell. It was the scent of things that used to be alive and had given up on the whole living thing. Decay. Rot. The sweet, cloying stench of organic matter breaking down into its component parts.

But underneath that, there was something else. Something that made my skin crawl and my hindbrain start screaming at me to run.

It smelled like memories.

I know that sounds insane. Memories don’t have a smell. Except here, in this place where the normal rules had taken a vacation and left a note saying they’d be back never, apparently memories did have a smell.

And it was wrong.

"That," I said, "is our next terrible decision."

Cel looked at me like I’d suggested we jump off the cliff and see if we could fly. "You want to go down there."

"Not want. Need. The path keeps going down." I pointed along the cliff face, where I could just barely make out a series of carved steps that descended toward the riverbank. "And I’d bet everything I own that whatever we’re looking for is on the other side."

"Everything you own currently amounts to a baseball bat and two broken arms."

"Exactly. So it’s a safe bet."

She laughed. Actually laughed, a sound that echoed through the cavern and came back to us distorted and strange. The river below seemed to respond, its surface rippling with patterns that had nothing to do with current or wind.

"You’re absolutely right," she said. "This is a terrible decision."

"Worst one all week."

"Then why are we doing it?"

I started toward the stairs. "Because all our good decisions are what got us stuck in this nightmare garden in the first place. Might as well try something new."

The descent took forever and also no time at all. The steps were uneven, carved into the cliff face by something that clearly didn’t understand human anatomy or safety regulations. Some were wide enough to sit on comfortably. Others were barely ledges that required us to shuffle sideways while clinging to the rock.

My arms screamed the entire way down. The burns had stopped bleeding, which was either good or very bad depending on whether you believed in signs of healing versus signs of nerve damage. I was choosing to believe in neither and just keep moving.

About halfway down, Cel slipped.

I grabbed her wrist with my ruined hand. Pain white hot and immediate shot through my arm, but I held on. She dangled over empty air for a second that stretched into a year, her periwinkle eyes wide with terror.

"I’ve got you," I said through gritted teeth.

"Your arms..."

"Are fine. Completely fine. Living their best life." I hauled her back up onto the step. "See? Good as new."

She stared at my hand where fresh blood seeped through the blistered skin. Then at my face. Then back at my hand.

"You’re bleeding."

"It’s decorative. Adds character."

"Satori."

"Cel."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Finally settled on, "Thank you."

"Don’t mention it. Seriously. If word gets out that I’m capable of basic human decency, my reputation is shot."

We reached the riverbank without further incidents of gravity attempting murder. The black water lapped at the shore with gentle, almost welcoming movements that immediately made me suspicious. In my experience, things in Gates that looked welcoming were usually trying to eat you in creative ways.

The river stretched in both directions, disappearing into darkness. On the opposite bank, maybe fifty yards away, I could see the continuation of the path. Stone steps led up another cliff face toward a distant glow that might have been our destination or might have been another trap disguised as hope.

Either way, we had to cross.

I knelt at the water’s edge, careful not to touch the surface. The smell intensified, crawling up my nostrils and trying to nest in my sinuses. Underneath the rot and the wrong memory scent, there was something else. Something almost sweet, like fruit left out too long in the sun.

"Can you freeze it?" I asked.

Cel shook her head, swaying slightly. "I have maybe one more ice bridge in me. After that, I’m empty."

I did the math. Fifty yards. Six people’s weight distributed across thin ice versus one person’s weight over the same distance. The numbers didn’t love us.

"Then you make yourself a bridge and cross. I’ll find another way."

"Absolutely not."

"Cel..."

"I said no." Her voice went hard, and frost gathered around her fingers despite her exhaustion. "We stay together. That’s the deal."

I wanted to argue. Point out the tactical stupidity of risking both of us when one could escape. Explain that her S-Rank potential and political value far exceeded my C-Rank trash heap status.

But the look in her eyes stopped me cold.

It was the same look Natalia got when she decided something was hers and the world could go screw itself if it disagreed. The look that said arguing was pointless because the decision had already been made and reality could bend or break for all she cared.

Hell. When had I started collecting stubborn women who refused to listen to basic survival logic?