DINAMO

Chapter 32: Drainage

The sewers were exactly what I’d expected.

Dark. Damp. Overwhelmed by a stench so thick it soured the tongue, stripping away your appetite with every breath. Fortunately, I didn’t have to smell it, though the sight alone was enough. It was the total antithesis of the “peaceful” and “pleasant” city above.

The floor was a steady flow of foul waste that yielded under every step. Occasionally, I’d tread upon something soft and gelatinous; I chose not to wonder what it was. For that reason, I kept my eyes locked forward, pouring my concentration into the task at hand rather than looking down.

Conceptually, it was even more revolting.

I could literally see the filth. I’m not talking about spotting a stray piece of excrement; I mean that everywhere around me, I could see waste in its purest, most fundamental state. I could barely suppress the urge to gag. I had never found myself in a situation quite like this.

Luckily, my ability handled the physical side of things. As for my vision, I had to squint—sometimes closing my eyes entirely—just to endure the torment.

“Why did I get into this again?” I was starting to regret my decision.

I cranked up the permeability of my clothes just enough so that not even the odor could penetrate. I didn’t want a single atom of that filth clinging to me.

“I’m burning this suit afterward anyway.”

As for my sight, there was no remedy. I had to maintain a certain margin of vision to tail the group without being detected, however harrowing the view might be.

With the baby, I was even more cautious—obsessive, some might say. I truly would have preferred to leave her behind, but in this city, there was no place safer for her than with me.

I carried her in a sealed basket, wrapped in layers of fabric, without a single gap. It was, quite literally, a hermetic cocoon reinforced by every enhancement I could muster: sealing, hygiene, comfort, and whatever else felt necessary. I even tucked in some aromatic flowers I’d kept from one of my old “collections.” It wasn’t out of kindness; I just didn’t want her breathing this garbage.

The problem was that a sealed basket, a baby, and blackwater do not make for a graceful combination. It hindered my movement and threw me off balance, forcing me into a posture that was both awkward and impractical for combat. Truthfully, she was in the way.

Still, I preferred it this way.

“Only because you’re safer with me.”

The thought came automatically, and it annoyed me. It sounded like a pathetic excuse, however true it might be. I felt like a damn fool for bringing her down here. I didn’t want to expose her to unnecessary things; I wanted to keep her away from trouble. But there was no one I could trust to watch her. So here I was, wading through a tunnel of sh*t, chasing “kidnappers.”

Yeah. Brilliant plan.

“This better be worth it.” If not, I’d take it out on those guys—whether they were rebels, Good Samaritans, or whatever they called themselves.

I pressed on.

I couldn’t do much about the fact that my vision was filled with filth. I just had to endure it and try not to trip. After all, entering so soon after them was risky. They could have been waiting on the other side, huddling like rats with weapons. But, for better or worse, they weren’t.

In fact, they were far ahead, nearly slipping beyond my senses. Partly because it was hard to see—or rather, I didn’t want to see precisely—and partly because, since I couldn’t see the sewers from the outside, I couldn’t see the city from within. The “ceiling” of the drainage looked like a solid slab of heat and comfort. A soft, warm layer that nullified my readings of the surface. It was actually hard to look away from it.

Since I couldn’t see the city over my head, I had no choice but to construct a mental map as I moved. All while maintaining my enhancements, tracking those thugs, avoiding discovery, and complaining. God, I hate this world.

It was undeniably tedious.

Using the map forming in my mind, I summarized my route to pass the time. Twelve minutes ago, I’d entered through a side grate near a street not far from the inn, in the city’s northwest. If my memory served, we were nearing the city center, dangerously close to the fortress.

“Just what I needed.” I didn’t want to be near anything important, yet here I was, about to walk into trouble.

“It’s not too late to turn back,” I told myself. I knew it was a lost cause, but I said it anyway.

I adjusted my stealth and permeability—especially the latter. I dialed back my vision as much as possible without losing the group. I had a feeling things were about to get “interesting” very soon.

When I finally managed to close the gap, I could distinguish them better. There were four of them: three men and one woman.

I couldn’t make out their faces. There was some kind of concealment in their clothing—a weave that distorted the very concept of “shape” and “detail.” Even so, their posture gave them away: these were people accustomed to moving fast, slipping in and out, remaining unseen.

Not that I cared much for their faces. I was more interested in where they were going and what they planned to do with the unconscious guard they were dragging across the floor like a sack of potatoes. They didn’t seem concerned with his well-being; that was something, at least.

I moved closer until I could catch fragments of their conversation without focusing too hard. They communicated through their auras—a fast, effective method that’s difficult to intercept. Even for me, catching the signals was a struggle, mostly because I wasn’t fully committed to the task.

I only caught snatches.

“How much further?” one murmured, sounding bored.

“As long as it takes,” another spat. “And stop trying to take off that damn mask. How many times do I have to tell you this place smells worse than it looks? Are you moronic or what?”

The third let out a resigned sigh. “Please, can we just calm down? This isn’t a field trip.”

“Don’t worry, we’re close. Finally…” The woman cut in, her tone almost effusive. She seemed to have been excited throughout the entire journey. The others didn’t seem to share the sentiment.

I also noticed something else as I watched: gas masks. Each of them was wearing a variant, though they differed from mine. All four had their faces obscured by black filters, with valves exhaling thick, rhythmic breaths. Good models. Not the cheap street knock-offs. Mine was more sophisticated, but theirs weren’t bad.

I stroked my necklace for a moment, tempted to use mine, but it would be a shame to be discovered and have everything go to hell. Best not to tempt fate.

Then it hit me.

“My mask!” How had I overlooked something so vital? A chill ran through me instantly. If I was in a sewer, surrounded by the waste of an entire city, there was a high probability of fungal spores. And the mask I was currently wearing—no matter how high-quality—didn’t have an air filter.

My brain was already picturing my skin melting like ice in the sun. But I calmed down quickly. If there were even a hint of those damn fungi down here, I’d already be dead. Period.

But that didn’t mean it was smart to trust my luck. I increased my permeability a bit more. It wasn’t a foolproof solution, but it would work, even if it made me slightly less stealthy. Better that than turning into a puddle of acid.

Crisis averted, I forced myself to keep a cool head. I was still baffled by the total lack of fungi in this entire godforsaken city. That fact alone put it at the top of my list of cities, even if it was the only positive thing about it.

Jokes aside, the group slowed down. Their mental conversation grew heavier, more tense. I didn’t catch the exact words—their auras swallowed the content, and I didn’t want to strain my eyes—but I got the gist.

The prisoner.

“Are they deciding his fate?”

I doubted it. If they wanted him dead, he’d be gone by now. Besides, killing someone in the sewers would make a search incredibly difficult. Why bother in the first place? Why go through the trouble of coming down here? Unless they wanted to torture him. If that was the case, I was wasting my time following a bunch of psychos.

If so, they were going to compensate me for my lost time one way or another.

The discussion reached a breaking point. The woman flared her aura threateningly, as if to say, “I’m the one in charge!” Despite not being as strong as the other three, they yielded.

One of the men clicked his tongue in irritation, indecision still hanging in his hand. He activated his ability. His aura flared for an instant, violent, like a compressed flash of light. He muttered a few words—too fast for me to catch the name of the skill.

But what happened next was unmistakable and surreal.

The guard… turned into a bracelet.

A damn bracelet.

From my perspective, it looked even more impossible. I literally watched as the man was molded at a conceptual level like clay, shrinking into his own conceptual core until it stretched out to form a band. It was the first time I’d ever seen anything like it.

The bracelet dropped into the woman’s hand. She took it naturally, saying something to the man who had just “stowed” himself—it looked like a word of thanks. The third man snorted, as if this were routine yet still annoyed him. But I could sense the underlying worry; they were all concerned for her.

“I guess it’s not kidnap-and-torture then.”

I scoffed inwardly. Because, yes, it was still a kidnapping. Just without the “fun” part where they squeeze information out of the captive.

They didn’t take long to come to a full stop. They had arrived.

Before climbing up, the woman put on the bracelet, which seemed to fuse with her skin. Her core and the guard’s core touched for a moment, and then the guard’s core superimposed itself, masking hers.

Then I saw something even more interesting.

She… became the guard.

Her body shifted—posture, proportions, weight. Her aura rearranged itself as if the guard had always been there. From my perspective, the woman was gone. Well, mostly; I could still see the two conceptual cores. One was doing its best to hide the other, with a thin line on the guard’s arm representing the bracelet.

Truly, a remarkable ability.

The four of them climbed a maintenance ladder. A metal hatch opened above, letting in a sliver of light.

I waited. I wanted to give them enough time to get organized and do whatever it was they came to do. I made sure there wasn’t a fifth person hiding nearby with a nasty sense of humor, waiting for me to drop my guard.

Then, I moved.

I climbed carefully, holding the basket with one hand, the other ready in case I had to break something. The hatch gave way. Little more than fifteen minutes had passed since I’d entered this wretched situation, and finally, I was out. I hoped I’d never have to do that again.

Once outside, what greeted me wasn’t what I expected. It was a massive establishment, rather unrefined in appearance. A protection field—stronger than the one at the royal palace—blanketed it, making it difficult to see inside.

That alone was enough to make me uneasy.

But what chilled my blood was what I saw within. In the main hall, at a distance I wished was much greater, were those three.

Azup, Torcax, and Pollux.

Honestly, I’d hoped not to cross paths with a single Rank 8 during my entire trip. And to top it off, the Bishop was right there with them.

“Great.”

I hadn’t realized it while in the sewers, but I had been close to the very beings I wanted to avoid this entire time. And these “rebels” didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. Either they were suicidal, or they had a plan so stupid it was destined to blow up in their faces.

I froze. I hadn’t even finished closing the manhole cover, and I was already considering crawling back in.

The woman—now wearing the guard’s face—marched toward the hall as if she owned the place. The other three followed, trying to pass themselves off as lackeys.

And then the real question surfaced:

“Should I follow them?”

The answer was immediate, even if I hated it.

Yes.

Not just because I’d come this far and needed to know what the hell they were up to. I needed to know I hadn’t wasted my time in a filthy drain on one of the worst days of my life. Also—risky as it was—I was curious to see how much I’d closed the gap between myself and a Rank 8. The last time, nine years ago, all I could do was run. I was anxious to prove that this time would be different.

And, well, it wouldn’t hurt to know why this city was so screwed up. I had the nagging feeling that something beyond my control was unfolding behind the scenes, and my curiosity wouldn’t let me walk away.

And, strange as it felt, I wanted to know if I could help.

It was hard to admit. But I felt it all the same.

I secured the basket, tightened the seal, and amplified my stealth. As I moved through the shadows, I knew there was no way I was using the front door.

“Ugh, why do I have to get mixed up in this mess?”

I was rambling to myself while scouting for a way to break in…

…"

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