In the deepest obscurity, Arthur was struggling against the same wall. His pickaxe had been keeping up the pace for nearly a whole day, but his body hadn't been able to keep up for a long time, and neither had his mind.
He had cut himself off from real life again, and given himself over to working on the tunnel. He was sinking, the walls were shrinking around him, and he was occasionally bumping his head against the ceiling of the tunnel he dug.
His body felt increasingly numb, but it was a pleasant sensation because it was the only one that didn't bring him back to hate or pain.
To top it all off, his head ached. He was dehydrated but satiated; he could no longer hear the sound of his pickaxe as he was so dedicated to the task.
At a moment when he was forgetting himself, he felt something on his back. A hand to be precise, but he hadn't had time to identify the threat as he had backed up against a wall in surprise. Two men with insect heads were looking at him.
