Chapter 91 – Back Together.

“When do we start the ritual?”

“Patience, we will begin once the high priest arrives!”

“But…”

“Hush young one, I know that you are eager but we must not question the high priest, we must assemble as many offerings as we can before the deadline!”

“I… I understand…”

Two men spoke to each other, ignoring the moans of discomfort coming from the nearby cells. A lone creature hid behind a pile of rubble, watching them converse in words she didn’t understand. Her insect-like eyes and antennae peeked out slightly, fixed on the iron helmet one of the men held.

“( ⚆ – ⚆ ) …”

“It would be better to bring Rusty’s head back to his body, but perhaps it might be better to wait it out…”

A black orb of faint light talked to the ant that was there, its voice sounding unnervingly calm, as though Aburdon was savoring the craziness of it all. Gleam, however, felt no such enjoyment. Her gaze darted between Rusty’s helmet and the ominous figures before her. She was well aware of her limits; her mana reserves were practically depleted, and in her current state, any spell-casting would likely draw attention. But waiting too long could spell disaster for Rusty.

“ ( ` ω ´ ) …”

She chittered softly, her antennae quivering with frustration. She wanted to charge forward, snatch the helmet, and scurry off, but she knew she’d have no way to escape undetected.

“Hold your ground, my dear Gleam, let those fools chat away and your mana recharge, Rusty will be fine. Remember, at any time he can access one of his loadouts, oh but I suppose you weren’t there when he attained that skill?”

Aburdon murmured as he tried to keep Gleam from doing something stupid. In his mind, she was still just a child and children were prone to emotional outbursts. It was best if she remained hidden and only moved when a chance presented itself.

“They’ll leave it unattended eventually. These kinds of rituals are often theatrical. You’ll have your chance and if not, then there are probably ways to shift their attention…”

His spherical form turned toward one of the holding cells. Most of the people inside were half-dead, but a few looked like they might cause trouble for the guards. If they managed to set these captives free, the ensuing chaos could provide enough distraction to slip past unnoticed. However, this approach was risky – they lacked crucial information about their enemies. Dozens of guards could potentially arrive to block their escape. For now, it seemed wiser to remain hidden and find a way to sneak out without raising an alarm.

Gleam’s antennae twitched in agreement as they decided to wait. Hidden behind the rubble, her gaze stayed fixed on Rusty’s helmet. She watched as the two men eventually ended their conversation and moved into a different corridor, which she cautiously followed. She stuck to the shadows, though her body reflected a bit of the torchlight here and there. Luckily, only a few prisoners noticed her movements, and their shouts and questions went ignored by the guards.

In the next chamber, Gleam spotted a raised altar smeared with dried blood and littered with body parts from humans and other beings. The man with a particular fondness for Rusty’s helmet set it aside on a table near the altar. The two men then turned to face a grotesque amalgamation of body parts sewn together in a twisted form. They began chanting in a language Gleam couldn’t understand, but she sensed this might be her chance to snatch Rusty’s helmet and make a quick escape while they were distracted.

“Blood and guts… This is truly a cult of some evil god, Could it be the Lord of Torture and Despair Skuldar? Those do seem like his runes…”

Commented Aburdon while Gleam’s mandibles clicked impatiently, signaling her increased feeling of dread at the sight of the bloodied patchwork. She could feel her mana trickling back at a frustratingly slow pace, each precious drop of magical energy like a lifeline she could barely grasp. Her gaze never left Rusty’s helmet as it lay, unattended and tantalizingly close, on the table by the altar. The dark, throaty murmurs of the cultists filled the chamber, their voices blending with an unsettling echo that seemed to rattle the walls. Every instinct in her tiny body screamed to move now – grab the helmet and flee before things escalated further.

“Patience little one, let your mana come back and then we strike, the time is almost there.”

Luckily, Aburdon was there to dissuade her from rushing in. Instead, she took a few steps back, retreating from the chamber. She waited for a few minutes as the men continued their strange chanting, until she had enough MP to cast the silencing spell once again. It was now or never. She let the veil of soundlessness envelop her body once more and slipped back into the gory chamber.

With her silencing spell activated, Gleam approached the table, every move measured to avoid detection. Rusty’s helmet sat within reach now, its dull sheen reflecting the flickering torchlight around the room. The chanting of the cultists grew louder, their voices rising in a rhythmic, ominous crescendo. Aburdon’s spectral form floated beside her, urging her to stay calm and focused as she crept toward the helmet.

“Careful, Gleam… They’re distracted, but if they sense us, it’s over.”

“ ( • ̀ω •́ ) “

Gleam’s mandibles clicked softly in recognition. The sound around her was gone but her body was still visible. Her shiny silvery exoskeleton needed to avoid all the lights as it could reflect the light and alert the guards to her position. This was not an easy feat but she was determined to save her friend. Her small ant legs skittered forward, going up the walls and even on top of the ceiling as she moved cloer and closer to the table where Rusty was. But then, as fate would have it, one of the cultists paused in their chanting, his gaze shifting just as a faint glint of light bounced off Gleam’s carapace. His eyes widened.

“What was that?”

He hissed, narrowing his gaze as he instantly turned around and scanned the room with his eyes.

“ ( ˶° ㅁ ° ) !! “

Gleam froze while on the ceiling. Some wind entered the chamber and blew on the torch making the light hit her body. She quickly skittered into a darkened corner but could not move anymore. The cultist took a cautious step forward as he attempted to see if there was an intruder there.

The author’s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“It’s probably nothing, come, brother, we must not stop the chants, or the high priest will punish us.”

“It was probably nothing, you are right as always…”

The cultist hesitated, casting one last glance around the dimly lit chamber before turning back to the ritual. Gleam remained perfectly still, her mandibles tightly clenched as her body pressed flat against the ceiling’s dark crevices. She watched, breath held, as the men resumed their chant. The rhythmic sounds filled the room again, echoing through the stone chamber and this was her cue to move.

She seized this narrow window of distraction, slipping silently down the wall until she was positioned directly above the table where Rusty’s helmet lay. With the help of her sound-concealing spell, she dropped down, her face now level with that of her long-lost friend. She hadn’t existed in this world for very long and had nearly lost hope while captive among these strange humanoid creatures. But now that her dear friend had returned for her, she was determined to repay him by rescuing him when he needed it most.

“Gleam, what are you doing here!?”

“ ( •̀ – •́ ) “

“You came to save me?”

Gleam nodded, extending her small, dexterous legs to brush against Rusty’s cold surface. The helmet felt heavier than she remembered and looked slightly different, but she didn’t care. Even with the added weight, it was manageable. She grasped him firmly with her forelimbs, lifting him into the air before scurrying off the table in a hurry. Holding her breath, she zigzagged through the shadows, carefully dodging patches of torchlight as she made her way out.

“Hold steady, little one. We don’t want to make any hasty moves now that we’re so close.”