Slumrat Rising

Truth watched the squad of workers going into the tunnels on the scrying mirrors arranged on the supervisor’s desk. The supervisor wasn’t keeping a close eye. This operation happened several times a day, every day. Not much to see after the eightieth or ninetieth time. Trut was watching eagerly. He didn’t know anything about what was going on out there.

As they marched through the gate, he spotted one bump into another, shorter, one. The shorter one violently recoiled and the body language got very hostile very fast. The taller one looked defensive. They kept moving through- the airlock did not encourage dawdling. The leader’s body language likewise didn’t need translating. Head on a swivel, sharp hand movements directing the crew.

The view through the mirrors was boring, to Truth’s surprise. Mostly dark tunnels. Just… dark tunnels. Piping running through them, bundles of pipes, each as thick as his wrist. As he kept watching, he saw the images in the mirrors change. They were following the crew. The enchantments were smart enough to trigger when something moved in their range. He felt his lips move in a sort of half-smile. Even now, he was proud of those Starbrite Quality talismans.

The crew kept moving their heads, trying to look around. The stiff suits didn’t bend much, that way. They had to turn their torso from side to side to see around them. Light enchantments built into the sealed head covers lit up the black rock of the tunnels.

He could see wisps of gas lighting up in sharp yellows in the beams of light. Nothing as human as steam or woodsmoke. This was poison, the rocky breath of the planet. Not fit for human lungs. There was a temperature readout on the bottom of one mirror. Lower than he thought it would be. Much lower. Barely over forty. Why were they complaining that it was always hot?

They walked steadily through the dark tunnel. Twist, twist, trying to watch every which way. Truth watched the number at the bottom of the mirror steadily tick up. Forty five. Fifty. Sixty. Seventy. Still frigid compared to what he expected. You could die of hypothermia in sixty degree water.

There was a junction of two tubes. The squad paused and looked carefully down each. Very carefully. There looked like there was some kind of argument. Hands waved, fingers jabbed. The leader got their attention. They checked the sensors and valves at the junction, then pressed on down the left hand tunnel. Every few steps, someone at the back of the group would twist back, checking the other tunnel. Checking the way they came.

Seveny. Ninety. One hundred twenty. Now they were solidly in “Dead in a real hurry” temperatures. Touching something that hot was a comparatively minor matter. Being out in it without heat protection for any length of time was something else entirely. The phrase “Boiled in your own juices” was evocative but, strictly speaking, incorrect. This was a dry heat. You would bake.

There were more valves here, and more monitoring talismans. The squad slowed down its place, carefully working through the job. People kept stopping and looking up and around. Eventually the leader stopped everyone, assigned someone to be lookout, and the rest got back to work. Even with one fewer pair of hands, the work visibly sped up. Truth nodded slightly. That was a good leader right there. He hoped they made it back ok.

One sixty. Two hundred. Two fifty. Three hundred. The numbers ticked up, and with them, the amount of poisonous gas floating through the air. Was it flammable? He had no idea. There probably wasn’t enough oxygen down there for it to burn, but he really had no idea. It was hot enough for paper to burn, he would guess. The black basalt tubes were even in width, but there were little stalactite looking things hanging down. Drips. Drips of stone that dried after running like wax.

The squad hunched in on itself. Shoulders came up and tightened. Hands and bodies kept tight to the body. Another cluster of talismans and valves. A lookout was assigned, they all got to work. A few minutes in, everyone stopped and turned to look down the tunnel. Their bodies rigid. Not moving. Truth could hear the thunder of his heartbeat as they waited. The throbbing rumble punctuating the seconds.

The leader waved them back to work. It was… nothing. Nothing for now. The lookout stared fixedly down the tunnel. He could imagine them staring, not even daring to breathe. The work got done. Just… slowly. A tool slipped. There was some angry body language, but the problem got fixed. A yellow tag was hung on the valve. Good for now, but monitor and expect to replace it soon.

Five hundred degrees in the tunnel now. Death would be ugly, but not too lingering. Twice as hot as a kitchen oven. The gasses swirled around. There must be almost no oxygen. Must be. Otherwise those gasses would have exploded already, surely. Brilliant, sickly yellow. Like a surgeon’s notes from cleaning out an infection. “The discharged puss was straw colored.” Deeper and deeper into the volcano. The maintenance squad marched into the swirling poison mists.

Where are all the demons? Truth wondered. This place should be lousy with earth and fire demons. Even if Starbrite cleared them out periodically, they should be swarming through here. But there weren't any. And, sure, there were banishments and wards, all very standard talismans built into what Truth assumed were heat and corrosion resistant materials. Not nearly as many as he would have expected.

The crew had been jumpy before. They were scared now. The headlights whipped around the tunnel, creating insane shadows as the drips from the ceiling jumped in and out of sharp relief. They would stop suddenly and freeze up, all looking in one direction. Is it noisy down there? I have no idea what it could sound like. Is there a breeze? That poison fog is spreading somehow, right? But not very fast.

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Someone tripped. Strong arms caught them before they hit the ground. Everyone gathered around the person, heads bent over them. There was an urgent pat down, checking them over. Were there any tears? Did any of the enchantments break? Are you okay? Are you hurt? No? All’s well? Then do everyone a favor and WATCH YOUR FEET!

Truth could practically hear them. No such thing as a safe fall down here. Not when the temperature had already reached six hundred hundred degrees air temperature. Who knew how hot the rock was. Hotter? He didn’t know. From the look of things, it might well be.

The pipes were insulated now. He didn’t know what with- brilliantly shiny, but flexible as cloth. They bounced the light of the headlamps in glaring beams at mad angles across the halls. The devices hanging from them were more complex. Truth no longer recognized most of them. Their functions were mysterious. Muffled and hidden under heat protection. Like the workers maintaining them.

Truth could see the hands creeping up. Squeezing on heavy tools. They were waiting to get hit. Either by something coming down the tunnels or by some feckless crewmate. Each thinking that they would get the job done and get home safe. Even if they were the only one to do so.

Were the rocks starting to glow red? Was it his imagination? They were tagging more things now. Truth would bet that they could have repaired them, but they were past being able to really focus. Any even slightly complicated problem would be tagged for replacement, and moved past. Or just considered good enough, and left as is.

Deeper and deeper now. The rocks were definitely red. A dull, angry sort of red. The color of an ember waiting for a breath of air to rouse it into furious life. Seven hundred degrees. They were barely pretending to check the valves and talismans now. Looking quickly, heads twitching around. Lights bouncing madly.

Truth watched the leader’s hand jerk towards something on his belt. Truth couldn’t see what. Some kind of emergency alarm talisman? A stun weapon? A charm that would provide a bubble of cool air? The leader controlled his impulse. They pressed on deeper. The sickly yellow mists blinding them more than a few meters out. Trapped in the burning dark, blinded by the poison mists.

The headlights seemed to fade in the tunnels now. The mists were picking up the red from the rock. Cherry red, now. Bright and deep. The red of a burning kiss, and afterward, nothing tasted sweet ever again. The yellow mists were now the orange of forest-fire skies. The temperature was ticking up faster and faster. Eight hundred degrees. Eight fifty.

They passed a cluster of valves and talismans sealed in heat-proof boxes. They barely glanced at them. A few tags were tossed out, and he could hear the yells to get a move on all the way up here. Their body language was screaming.

Nine hundred degrees. The rock had shifted from the red of real cherries to maraschino. An artificial, sickly sweet cherry. The headlights didn’t do anything now, but they didn’t switch them off. Were there some kind of light filters in the head covers? There must be, or all you would see is the red. Red rocks that dripped down from the red ceiling, stopping well before they reached the red floor.

Someone dropped a tool. They reached for it. Someone grabbed their shoulder and yanked them upright. Then thumped them hard on the shoulder. A hand pointed down the tunnel. Jabbed down the tunnel. Forget it. It’s gone. We need to go.

Nine fifty. The rock was creeping quickly to orange now. Racing up the gradient. They weren’t even tossing tags on the valves now. Not running. You couldn’t run in those suits. Not without falling down, and then you were dead. Walking as fast as they could.

Truth could feel the sweat running down them. Pooling in their gauntlets and boots. They would feel like they couldn’t breathe. Didn’t matter what the enchantments said they were doing. It was too hot. They were trapped in the orange light of a fire. Buried alive in a crematorium. They couldn’t breathe. The only way out is through.

The rock turned brilliant orange, the color of fall leaves, then brighter, the yellow of early fall, then the bright yellow of buttercups. One thousand degrees and rising. One thousand one hundred. Hot enough to forge steel. The headlights did nothing, now.

They almost ran down a split in the tunnel, not even bothering to listen for danger. They knew there was danger. It was all around them. It was their idiot teammates. It was the damn bastards trying to blow up the mountain. Trying to kill them for doing their jobs.

The mirrors were almost blinding now, the bright yellow light pouring out of them. The supervisor barely glanced away from his spreadsheets. He had seen it all before. Truth staired, fixated. They had made their way to a large cavern. He couldn’t see the back wall of it- a hundred meters away or more? The roof stretched tens of meters high. It wasn’t that the poison mists had vanished. They were just blown away, not allowed to linger long above the lake of lava.

This is where the pipes ended, plunging into the molten basalt. There were ritual emplacements around the edge of the lake. Dozens of pylons with glowing orange traceries of birds and demons. Twisted spikes nailed into the ground in a grand matrix. Devices who’s name and nature were beyond his meager understanding. He didn’t care. He barely gave them a glance.

Someone slipped, knocked one of the maintenance crew into one of the pipes. They leapt away, their suit scorched. Torn? The injured worker yanked a long wrench from their toolbelt and smashed it into their comrade’s skull. The not-yet-dead man fell back, knocking over the ritual station. Alarms started blaring on the supervisor’s desk. The squad leader was jabbing away at some alarm gem, then yanking a wrist thick fetish from a sheath. Ready to restore order. He jumped into the fray. Truth barely gave him a second look.

In the middle of the lake of lava a phoenix had been crucified on hundreds of iron pipes. It’s blood endlessly flowing down, melting the rock. The Phoenix watched the workers fighting on the shore of its blood. Two dead. More might yet die. The ancient demon tilted its head back and screamed. The lava shuddered and surged. More ritual stations exploded. More alarms blared. The supervisor was bashing his own alarm talismans now.

The crucified phoenix screamed and strained at the pipes piercing through it. The phoenix screamed, and Truth felt the whole mountain scream with it.

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