Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst-Chapter 111: Sewage, Sweat, and Regret

Conversation had mostly died after the last fight—though it wasn’t so much because there was nothing to say, but because none of us could find the energy to say it. We trudged onward through ankle-deep muck and rising steam, each step took more effort than the last as our clothes plastered to our bodies with sweat and whatever else the sewer had coated us in. Every breath tasted like mildew and rot, and the air was so thick it felt like we were wading through it, not just walking, which only added to our dissatisfaction. It was one thing to trudge through a sewer, but it was another thing entirely to force your entire boy through it.

The deeper we went, the worse it got. The tunnels twisted and narrowed, guiding us farther down into the belly of some ancient, festering entity whose only purpose served to confuse and disorient us. The walls were slick with moisture, and the stone underfoot had long since been worn smooth by time and sewage, so much goddamn sewage.

I kept finding my eyes drawn upward, unable to help myself. After watching corpses peel out of the goddamn ceiling like some grotesque infestation, it was hard not to assume the next attack would come from above. Every dripping sound, every shift in the shadows felt like a warning, a whispered threat just out of sight.

Nythera followed behind me, quiet in that unsettling way people get when they’re trying to act fine but aren’t even close. Her staff was clenched in both hands, so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. She wasn’t trembling anymore, but there was a stiffness in her shoulders, a barely contained tension that told me her body was on full alert for the next eldritch horror to strike. She glanced behind us now and then, as if she expected something to come crawling after us out of the dark. She wasn’t wrong to be cautious and I picked less deliberate methods of doing the same thing.

Vance was uncharacteristically subdued as well. Usually, he’d be cracking jokes–likely at my expense, the coward–, tossing out some dumb comment to lighten the mood, but now? He muttered to himself, just low enough that I couldn’t make out the words. It could’ve been a mantra, it could’ve been nonsense. Maybe he didn’t even know. He hadn’t put away his sword since the last encounter, and the way his fingers twitched on the hilt every time we rounded a corner didn’t exactly scream "relaxed."

Even Ronan—stoic, emotionless, and barely human Ronan—had changed. He wasn’t just marching along as if nothing could touch him, he was behaving in a way that betrayed his mortality–as much of it as he believed he had. In truth, he was like me and could remove himself from his host and plant himself into a new vessel, thus giving himself eternal life. Hell, Vance and I would likely support his transition, even if it were to be into an undead monstrosity, so long as he survived. He was pausing at strange intervals, tilting his head toward the walls like he could hear something we couldn’t. His fingers occasionally traced what were likely invisible ancient glyphs along the stone, like they held some meaning only he could decipher. I didn’t interrupt him. Hell, I didn’t even ask. I already knew whatever he’d tell me wouldn’t make me feel better.

We passed through another stretch of tunnel, this one ending in a collapsed wall that looked fucked up even by our standards. The stone hadn’t just crumbled, it had melted. The edges were warped and bubbled like they had been blasted with a concentrated Ronan Special until it became molten slag and cooled in place. Whatever caused it had power and not the kind I was eager to encounter again.

Eventually, the tight corridor widened, leading us into what had probably once been some kind of maintenance chamber. Stone ledges circled a wide basin sunk into the floor—maybe for runoff, maybe for sacrifices, at this point I wouldn’t be surprised either way. Above us, rusted grates let in narrow shafts of light. Whether they led to the surface or were just another trick of this cursed place, I couldn’t say. The dungeon had a way of offering hope in the cruelest ways, only to rip it away when we reached for it.

I raised a hand and finally broke the silence. "Alright. We pause here. Five minutes. No sudden heroics."

Vance didn’t hesitate. He dropped onto the closest ledge with a grunt and a dramatic sigh, resting his sword across his knees as if it anchored him to the material plane. "Praise the gods. I think even my fatigue has fatigue." fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

Nythera was slower to sit, lowering herself carefully to the floor and leaning her back against the wall. Her hands were still trembling slightly as she uncapped her water skin and took a long sip. I noticed the way she exhaled afterward—shaky, uneven—but she didn’t complain, which was more than I could say myself. I mean, I didn’t complain either, but the second someone spoke up, I was ready to let my distraught nature loose on everyone.

I didn’t sit. Couldn’t. I paced along the edge of the chamber, keeping my eyes on the tunnel ahead. There was something in my chest—some sense, or maybe just plain old paranoia—that refused to let me relax. Every part of this dungeon was designed to trick you into thinking you’d earned a break, only to hit you with something twice as brutal when you let your guard down.

Ronan stood near the basin, staring into the water as though he could see beyond the reflection. His expression didn’t change—he rarely showed emotion to begin with—but something in his body language was off. His stance was too rigid, his fingers flexing slightly as he scanned the still surface.

I stepped over to him and lowered my voice. "What is it?"

He didn’t take his eyes off the water. "Something’s ahead. Not moving, not yet. But aware of us. Watching."

"Another ambush?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"No," he said, voice as calm as ever. "It’s not waiting to surprise us. It’s waiting to greet us."

That was... worse.

"Can we avoid it?"

He finally turned to look at me. "No. We’re already part of its game."

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Great. Just perfect.

When I glanced back at the others, Nythera had leaned her head against the stone behind her, eyes shut. She wasn’t asleep, not really, just giving her body a moment to pretend like things were normal. Vance was methodically dragging a whetstone along his blade. Whether the edge needed sharpening or not, I didn’t know. Maybe he just needed something familiar to hold onto.

Honestly, it felt like we weren’t ready for another fight. Of course, we would engage if we needed to, but we needed a break.

A slow churn twisted in my gut, a sour weight that settled right beneath my ribs. Whatever waited for us ahead wasn’t just another corpse dredged up from the rot. It wasn’t a twitchy ghoul or a mindless mass of flesh. Whatever it was, it sent Ronan on the defense, which in itself was enough to cause me panic. Besides that, it was patient, and willing to let us close the distance. That was the worst part. It wanted us to come to it. No chase. No dramatic entrance. Just a quiet invitation dressed in dread.

We didn’t get the full five minutes to rest. Maybe three, at best. Of course, the dungeon wasn’t exactly the generous type. It had the personality of a sadistic DM—the kind who hides behind a screen with a grin, waiting to say "You hear a noise" right before triggering a spike trap the size of a small carriage. Except this time, it didn’t go for theatrics.

There was no dramatic collapse. No horde of shrieking dead around the corner. Just a sound, or more of a feeling, really. It started as a low pulse, a throbbing hum that rolled through the tunnel. It wasn’t loud, honestly not even that threatening at first. But it vibrated through the soles of my boots and clawed its way up my spine until my teeth ached and my stomach clenched like I’d swallowed gravel and someone hit ’blend.’

I straightened, muscles tight, and felt my hands twitch instinctively toward my weapons. My daggers stirred in response, the blade humming faintly at my side as if it could sense what was coming. For once, I didn’t argue with it.

"Tell me someone else felt that," I said, voice low but sharp.

Nythera jerked upright, wide-eyed again. "That... that wasn’t just me, right?"

Before I could answer, Vance was already on his feet, blades drawn, every inch of him tense. "Nope. Definitely felt it. Hated it. Already regretting every decision that led me here."

Ronan didn’t say a word—he just turned toward the tunnel like a dog hearing something we couldn’t. There was something in his eyes—no, behind his eyes—that unnerved me more than I wanted to admit.

"We should move," he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The source of this c𝓸ntent is fr𝒆e(w)𝒆bnovel