The catacombs echoed with the sound of voices—whispers, growls, and the guttural mutterings of creatures lurking in the darkness. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and decay, but none of it seemed to bother Belial. He walked forward with an eager grin, his crimson eyes gleaming with something between excitement and amusement. Who would have ever thought his favorite game would come to life?
Every step he took sent a thrill through him as he recalled the bosses he would face, the events yet to unfold. He had triumphed over them all before—memorized their patterns, conquered their challenges with skill sharpened over countless hours. He had been good at it. No, he had been the best.
Yet, as his thoughts drifted further into the depths of nostalgia, the grin on his face slowly faded. His expression turned unreadable, his amusement cooling into something distant.
It left him feeling strangely aloof.
According to his memory, the catacomb stretched over twenty floors, each more harrowing than the last. He had only seen fragments of it before, glimpses through the game's limited perspective. Some horrors had never been fully revealed—creatures lurking in the shadows, left to speculation and theory. Back then, he never had to deal with them directly.
Here, though?
Now, he had no choice.
Or at least, he had to try his best not to. To waste too much energy on things that could be avoided would possibly lead to their death.
He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "What the hell, man," he muttered under his breath.
Belial's mind raced through the map he could recall, tracing their expected route. If he was right, the next zone they'd enter would be dense with methane, thick enough to choke the breath from his lungs if he wasn't careful. That meant limited fire use, sluggish movements, and an ever-present risk of suffocation.
The thought made his stomach tighten.
Xin crouched near the edge of the clearing, fingers brushing lightly over the soft petals of the luminescent blue flowers. The air around him was thick, not just with the scent of the blossoms but with something heavier, something that made the back of his throat itch. He exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing as he turned to Belial.
"They need these flowers to survive," Xin muttered, more to himself than to his companion.
Belial, who had been standing with his arms crossed, scoffed. "What makes you say that?"
Xin picked up one of the flowers, twirling it between his fingers. "At first, I thought it was a coincidence. The more of these flowers we saw, the more of those creatures were around. But it's not just correlation. It's cause and effect."
Belial arched a brow. "Go on."
Xin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Think about it. The volatile fiends are always lurking around these flowers. Even when they have no reason to be here—no prey, no disturbances—they linger. That means they're dependent on something in the environment. It has to be these flowers."
Belial frowned. "And what makes you so sure? Could just be a preferred habitat."
Xin shook his head. "It's more than that. When we got to the fiends it i noticed it didn't get aggressive , but not in a territorial way. And as you saw It went wild. Desperate. Like he was suffocating."
Belial blinked. "Suffocating?"
Xin nodded. "Which made me think—what if these flowers aren't just a food source or shelter? What if they're producing something these fiends need to breathe?"
Belial stared at him for a long moment, then glanced at the flowers surrounding them. They swayed slightly in the wind, their faint bioluminescence casting an eerie glow over the clearing. He clicked his tongue, acknowledging the logic.
"Alright. Let's say you're right. That means these things are more dependent on this ecosystem than we thought. So if we wipe out the flowers, we wipe them out too?"
Xin hesitated. "Maybe. But then something else clicked." He reached into his pack, pulling out a cloth he had used to cover his mouth during one of their previous fights with the fiends. He held it up for Belial to see. It was stained with an odd, yellowish tint. "When we were fighting them, I noticed their breath wasn't just foul. It was thick. Heavy. And when I pressed this cloth to my face after dodging one of their attacks, it clung to my skin like oil."
Belial took a step forward, inspecting the cloth. "What the hell is this?"
Xin took a deep breath. "Methane."
Belial's eyes widened slightly. "You're telling me these things exhale methane?"
Xin nodded. "I didn't realize it at first, but once I put the pieces together, it made sense. The flowers are producing something they need, and in return, the fiends release methane. It's a cycle."
Belial rubbed his temples. "Which means… what, exactly?"
Xin stood up, his gaze sweeping across the clearing. "Which means they aren't just lurking around these flowers for survival. They're part of the environment. And if that's the case, there must be a breeding ground."
Belial stiffened. "A breeding ground?"
Xin nodded. "Somewhere the flowers are at their densest. A place where the methane concentration is so high it might even be toxic to anything else. That's where they nest. That's where they multiply."
Belial took a second to absorb the information, then it clicked. His mind pieced together the implications—there was a horde of volatile fiends somewhere on the upper floor. He recalled that much. The information Xin had given him was good—perfect, even. It was almost as if Oracle had never left his side. But in truth, he had only ventured to that disgustingly horrid place.
They continued walking through the catacomb, their boots crunching softly against loose stone and brittle bones. The air was damp, thick with the scent of decay and something else—something far worse. The halls twisted and turned, and shadows danced along the walls from the faint glow of Belial's Bioluminescent flower fingers. His thoughts wandered, drifting back to what they had just fought.
Belial mulled over the best way to deal with them. Fire? No, too slow. Cutting them apart only stalled them if they were old enough to regenerate. The key had to be destroying whatever gave them life—if he could figure out what that was before it was too late.
A low, wet sound echoed through the catacomb, like flesh peeling from bone. Belial halted mid-step, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his weapon. His heart pounded, though not from fear—adrenaline surged, sharpening his senses. He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Xin. The younger warrior had already caught on, his grip shifting on his hammer.
Then, from the darkness ahead, four figures slithered into view.
Fleshy. Tall. Grotesque.
Volatile fiends.