The air outside Boo's Den had shifted.
What was once a humid mix of incense, alchemical runoff, and Serath'Kai's stale breath now carried the iron-damp promise of something older, fouler—like the exhale of a tomb that had waited too long to be opened. The group stood in a loose formation, armor clinking, leather creaking, weapons being checked and re-checked with the quiet deliberation of soldiers who knew this wasn't just a hunt. It was a reckoning.
Boo emerged last.
She didn't so much walk as arrive, every step taut with purpose. The leather bodysuit she wore shimmered faintly, stitched from a shadowy weave none of them could name. It hugged her frame like a second skin, armor and seduction coiled together. Her twin sabers—Whisper and Promise—hung at her hips, curved and rune-etched, their ghostlight pulsing gently as if already tasting blood.
"You all look so grim," she said, voice warm with teeth. "First steps into a cursed garden should be taken with flair."
Talon spat. "I'll settle for making it out."
Mirell checked her vials. Cipher murmured code fragments under his breath. Nyxia adjusted her armor, the threads inside still humming with that low, almost affectionate pulse.
They descended into the catacombs single-file.
The air thickened immediately—colder, heavier. Moss carpeted the stone underfoot in veiny pinks and blacks. Fungal stalks arched like ribs from the walls, trembling faintly even in stillness.
Nyxia caught movement early—a soft glint of silver. A charm. Abandoned. Broken in half.
Someone else had come through here.
Hadn't left.
She picked it up and pocketed it without a word.
Loque scouted ahead, his spectral fur flickering like frost in moonlight. Every few steps, he paused, tail rigid. Watching. Listening. Boo, normally relaxed, walked with her sabers already drawn. Her fingers twitched as they brushed along a cluster of runes etched into the bone-lined wall.
One glowed faintly.
She stared a moment too long.
Then kept walking.
Perseus grunted as his shoulder scraped a low overhang. "I hate tight quarters."
"Then you'll love dying in one," Boo quipped.
Nyxia rolled her shoulders. "Focus. We're not even in deep yet."
But the catacombs changed quickly.
Walls became ribs. Roots pulsed. Shapes like vertebrae jutted from the stone. At a narrow turn, Talon stepped over something slick—and found half of a filtration mask, melted through the middle, as if dissolved by thought alone.
A silence fell.
Not just quiet—absence. Even their breathing seemed muffled.
Then they emerged into the chamber.
It was wide, circular. Lit from floor to ceiling by bioluminescent veins. And utterly still.
Until the Bloomed arrived.
They didn't step or charge. They emerged. Slithering from the walls, wriggling down from fungal stalks like puppets on strings. Their forms were almost elven—limbs too long, spines hunched, features cracked by growths of bark and bloom. Their eyes burned white, not with life, but with the echo of it.
They moved like memory. Disjointed. Repeating steps. Mimicking long-forgotten rituals—one dipped a hand into an invisible bowl, over and over. Another made the sign of a blessing that twisted into a choke.
Then they stopped.
The entire chamber held its breath.
And the spores hit.
Nyxia gasped—too late. The spores didn't float. They crawled, threading through the seams in her armor, rushing into her blood with heat and intent.
She was in the Temple again.
Ves'Sariel kissed her throat. "If we stay here, we'll rot. Let's run."
Nyxia staggered back, chest heaving. She felt it—her bow gone, her heart racing. "No," she whispered. "No…"
Perseus dropped to one knee, mouth slack. "I failed him," he breathed. "I prayed. Light ignored me."
Cipher's hands jerked.
He saw numbers. End states. Thousands of them. All ending in his death. A code cascade looped:Cipher.99.Termination.Confirmed."False logic," he muttered. "Error in root. But I—can't—debug—"
Talon turned cold.
Before him stood Solen—his mentor. The one he betrayed.
"You left me," the vision said. "Now leave yourself."
Talon hesitated. Long enough for a Bloomed to lash out.
A vine-wrapped limb cracked across his side, sending him sprawling into a pillar.
Mirell fell next—eyes wide as a familiar face rose from the spores. Her sister. Beautiful. Smiling.
"Come with me," the ghost whispered. "It's safe here."
Mirell reached—then screamed.
The face peeled back, revealing rot and blackened bone.
She threw a vial out of reflex—too early.
The toxin flared. Missed.
"SNAP OUT OF IT!" Nyxia shouted, yanking her bow free.
A Bloomed lunged. She ducked, rolled, came up firing.
The arrow caught it in the throat. It reeled—then kept moving. Vine-flesh sealed. It hissed.
"Fire! Burn them!"
Perseus slammed a rune into a support beam, yanking it down. The massive log crushed two Bloomed in a wet crunch.
Talon vaulted up the wall, rebounded off a fungal cap, landed behind another, and sliced it through the spine.
Mirell, bleeding from one eye, hissed and tossed another vial—this one blue. The mist ignited on contact.
Cipher shook himself free. "Thermal disruption—now!"
He flicked a glyph. The floor exploded beneath one Bloomed, swallowing it in fire.
Nyxia tore a glowing root from the ceiling and snapped it. The burst of light and static blinded three of them.
The combat turned.
The Bloomed howled—not with pain, but grief.
One remained.
Taller. More intact. Elegant armor still clung to its twisted form.
It looked at Boo.
And hummed.
"Rhelos," she breathed.
He didn't speak. Just took a step forward, hands open.
Then he moved—not like the others. He anticipated. He remembered her.
Their blades clashed.
She slashed high—he ducked. She twisted midair—he rolled, struck at her exposed side.
She bled.
"You know my rhythm," she growled. "But you forgot—"
She dropped her blade.
And headbutted him.
He reeled, disoriented.
"—I don't always dance."
They locked blades again. He lunged—and spoke.
"Bo…"
It was her name. Not a whisper. A plea.
She faltered.
He cut her arm—shallow, but enough.
She hissed in pain. Rage surged.
"No," she said. "You don't get to beg."
She twisted. Kicked his knee. Drove Whisper deep into his chest.
He gasped.
Then she drew her flintlock.
"Goodnight, brother."
The gun cracked.
He dropped.
The silence that followed wasn't peace.
Just the echo of something beautiful, broken.
Boo stood over him, sabers dripping, shoulders trembling. The ghostlight in her hilts pulsed slow and dim now.
Loque padded forward, nudged her hand.
She flinched.
Then curled her fingers into his fur.
"He was gentle," she whispered. "The only one who saw me. Not the killer. Not the liar. Just…"
She trailed off.
Nyxia came beside her. Quiet. Present.
"I hated sailing," Boo continued. "He'd sneak out with me. We'd sit beneath the pier. He'd hum lullabies."
She smiled bitterly. "Said he'd make a path for me. So I wouldn't have to be what they made me."
Nyxia said nothing. Let her have the moment.
Boo exhaled. "And now?"
Nyxia knelt. "Now we keep going."
Boo stood. Drew in a slow, shaky breath.
"I'm going to kill her twice," she said. "Once for him. Once for me."
Behind them, the Vault pulsed.
Louder.
Closer.
Waiting.