CHAPTER 47: THE TUNNELS (3)

"There’s more I haven’t told you about the Sanguivores," Fizzwigg said as their footsteps echoed faintly through the tunnel. His torchlight wavered across the jagged stone walls, shadows bending and stretching. "These tunnels are crawling with them. Entire nests. Dozens... hundreds... maybe more."

Yennefer’s voice cut through the dark from the rear. "How many is more?"

Fizzwigg hesitated, his tone grim. "A thousand. Perhaps more than that."

Yennefer stopped in her tracks, her voice rising, sharp with disbelief. "A thousand? Did you just fucking say a thousand?"

"Yeah, a thousand," Fizzwigg admitted, then quickly added, "but relax, my lady. These creatures don’t attack blindly. They strike in swarms only when there’s a large gathering of prey. That’s one of the reasons neither the Orcs nor the Elves have ever dared to launch a full-scale invasion of Magodilin. March an army down here, and they’d be torn apart by Sanguivores long before reaching us."

Stephan raised a brow. "So that means...?"

Fizzwigg nodded, his voice steady. "With a small party like ours, we’ll likely only encounter a few at a time. And if fortune favors us...." he gave a half-grin, though his eyes betrayed the weight of his words, ".....perhaps none at all."

"I hope so," Yennefer muttered.

But Stephan wasn’t hoping to avoid the Sanguivores. If anything, a part of him longed to face them. I’d like to see what these blood-drinking beasts can do, he thought as he led the line. If they’re as dangerous as he claims... then they’ll be interesting prey. No... not prey.

His lips curled into a smile. They’ll be something worth cutting down with my new weapon.

The group pressed on until they reached the first branching tunnel.

"We take this path," Fizzwigg whispered. "From here on, we move in silence. I’ll guide you with whispers when we reach another divide."

They slipped away from the main passage and entered the side tunnel. The air shifted immediately, it was heavier, oppressive, as though the darkness itself had teeth. The stone walls seemed to breathe with the unseen presence of predators lurking just out of sight.

It wasn’t long before they came across the first signs of what hunted here: the remains of the Sanguivores’ victims.

It was dark, but the flickering light of Fizzwigg’s torch revealed bones scattered across the ground, skulls, ribcages, and limbs piled like discarded scraps. Some skeletons were whole, others shattered, but none looked human. They were far too large, their tusked skulls and thick-boned frames marking them as Orcs. Among them were smaller remains, brittle and twisted, likely belonging to gnomes....or worse.

"Are those your pals?" Stephan whispered, ignoring the rule of silence.

Fizzwigg shot him a glare and nodded sharply. "I told you not to talk!" he hissed.

"Sorry," Stephan muttered with a smirk.

They pressed on in silence, the tunnels winding endlessly, the air thick with damp stone and the faint metallic tang of old blood. Soon, they reached another divide where two tunnels yawned open like hungry mouths.

"We go left," Fizzwigg whispered. They followed, steps echoing faintly in the gloom.

They hadn’t gone far when Stephan froze mid-step. Something had caught his eye. His hand instinctively brushed the hilt of his blade, and for the first time, the others felt the shift in his demeanor, the warrior’s instinct sharpening like a drawn edge.

Stephan tilted the torch toward the tunnel wall. Slumped against the stone was a skeleton clad in what had once been white armor trimmed with gold. Time had dulled it, the plates now pale with dust and tarnish, cracked in places where bone jutted through. Beside it lay a long sword, its blade blackened with age but still gleaming faintly under the firelight.

The others halted, their eyes fixed on the eerie figure frozen in its final rest.

"Is this... a human?" Stephan asked, voice low.

"No, young sir," Fizzwigg said, shaking his head gravely. "That skeleton belongs to an Elf."

Stephan frowned, studying the skull, the hollow sockets staring back at him. "It looks human to me. How can you tell it’s an Elf?"

Fizzwigg stepped closer, his small hand brushing across the armor’s faded crest. "By the armor. Humans craft for war. Elves craft for pride. Only an Elf would march into the dark in white and gold, as if the shadows themselves would respect their vanity."

The gnome spat to the side. "Fools."

Fizzwigg stepped closer, crouching beside the skull. He pointed to the sides where the bone curved into a faint, elongated ridge. "Here....see this? The ears. Even in death, even when the flesh is gone, Elves leave their mark. Human skulls are smooth, rounded. But Elves... their ears grow longer, sharper, and the bone beneath stretches differently. That is how you know."

"Just like every last one of these dead creatures, this Elf thought they could make it into Magodilin..." Fizzwigg muttered, his voice tinged with disdain.

"It came in alone?" Stephan asked, glancing at the skeletal remains.

"Yes. Most likely," Fizzwigg replied. "A spy, perhaps. Or a scout. The Elves have been trying to find a way into Magodilin for centuries. But they can’t. None of them can." He turned away sharply. "Let’s move."

Stephan lingered a moment, his torchlight flickering over the pale armor and hollow sockets of the skull. "I hope I meet Elves soon," he murmured, almost to himself.

Then he tore his gaze away and followed the others deeper into the dark.They went through a dozen more tunnels without any trouble. Then the air changed. A foul stench crept in, sharp and heavy, clinging to the back of their throats. Something dead.

"What the hell is that smell?" Yennefer muttered, covering her nose.

"Something’s rotting ahead," Stephan said. His hand brushed the hilt of his blade. "Grief, keep Anna Mary close. If there’s trouble, you protect her first."

"Yes, Lord Stephan," Grief replied.

Fizzwigg slowed, his face tight. "Stay on your toes. Whatever’s dead up there might’ve been killed by a Sanguivore. If that’s the case..." He gave a grim shake of his head. "Could be an Orc. Could be worse."

They moved toward a curve in the tunnel, the stench of rot growing stronger with every step, thick enough to make the air feel rotten in their lungs.

Then the torchlight flickered across something slumped against the stone. Just like Fizzwigg had warned, it was an Orc...dead, ripped apart and brutalized by fangs and claws. Its chest was caved in, ribs snapped open like broken gates, and its skin hung loose and gray, shriveled where every vein had been emptied.

"It’s a fucking Orc," Stephan muttered, stopping beside it. His lips curled into something between a smirk and disgust. "And it’s a big one."

"Big with no brains," Fizzwigg said coldly. "Caught off guard, no doubt. Don’t drop your guard now....this is Sanguivore territory. If one fed here, others could still be near."

Yennefer edged closer despite the stench, crouching low. She stared at the carcass, her face pale in the torchlight. "Its body... it’s sucked dry. Not a drop of blood left."

Fizzwigg nodded, voice low. "That’s their mark. They don’t chew meat. Flesh rots. Blood is life. That’s all they crave."

"Think there could be more Orcs in this tunnel?" Stephan asked.

"If this one came with a group, they’re all dead by now," Fizzwigg replied. He kicked at the carcass without flinching. "Judging by the rot, this body’s been here for days. Nothing survives that long down here, except gnomes, powerful Orcs, or Elves."

Stephan smirked. "Suddenly gnomes are powerful?"

Fizzwigg shot him a glare but didn’t slow his pace. "We don’t live long because of strength. We live because we know the tunnels....what to touch, what to avoid, what paths to take. That’s survival."

He raised his chin, ignoring his own rule of silence. "Magodilin is impregnable. Nothing enters without us. Gnomes are the key."

"You’re that confident, huh?" Stephan asked.

Fizzwigg gave a short, sharp nod. "Confident because it’s true. No Orc. No Elf. Not one has breached Magodilin since the day it was carved into the rock."

"I can’t wait to see this great city of yours you brag about," Yennefer said.

Fizzwigg opened his mouth to reply, but Grief’s voice cut through the dark.

"Something’s wrong, Lord Stephan. We’re being watched."

The group froze. The air itself seemed to thicken, heavy with silence. Every instinct screamed of eyes, hungry, patient eyes, tracking their every move.

Then came the smell. Not just rot, but something fouler. The stench of old blood turned sour.

"T-this smell..." Fizzwigg stammered, his face beading with sweat. "It’s a hanging one. Definitely a hanging one."

Stephan’s gaze swept the shadows, blade half drawn. Then, cold wetness splashed against his neck. He touched it, lifted his hand into the torchlight. A slimy thread of saliva gleamed across his fingers.

Slowly, he raised the torch toward the ceiling.

Something clung there in the dark. For a moment, Stephan’s breath caught. "What the actual fuck is that thing?"

The Sanguivore hissed, a rattling screech that made the stone walls tremble.