10. Experiments

It was a nightmarish scene, somewhere between a surgeon’s practice and an abattoir, lit in unflinching detail by glowing white orbs.

Stone worktops - or altars - were littered with surgical tools, splattered in a dozen colours. The crusted red-brown streaks were the most concerning, but perhaps the least surprising. Tubes, like the ones they’d seen in the Colosseum workshop, crawled across the laboratory ceiling like overripe veins. In the centre of the room, they sagged down to enter a huge, vile husk, hanging like the room’s rotten heart. The mass was sheathed in leathery skin that sloughed off in parts, allowing a stinking yellow pus to seep out onto its spindly scaffolding.

Caela barely spared the incomprehensible carcass a glance as she took in the scene beyond. The entire rear half of the room was blocked off by floor-to-ceiling bars. At the sound of the party’s entry, several figures inside slowly rose, stretching plaintively with limbs that were scarred, emaciated and, too often, warped beyond recognition. It was Caela’s aching heart, rather than her eyes, that identified these shambling shapes as having once been people.

“Gods forsaken,” Valerios choked. For once, the mountainous paladin looked like a feather would knock him down. Rose and Freija were ashen-faced and trembling. Hellebore turned their face to the floor. Even the usually-oblivious Johannes was struck dumb.

Lux was different, however. Although he was also staring silently at the test subjects, eyes shiny and red-ringed, Caela saw his trembling fingers squeeze into a fist. He was angry.

He crossed the room like a stormfront rolling in, tossing aside tiny stools which shattered against the cluttered tables. The others trailed in his wake, still wordless with horror.

Lux reached the first cage. Closest to the door was a skeletal man whose bare skin was covered in thick mucus. The prisoner pulled himself towards the doors on two insectoid limbs in place of arms, dragging his sluglike lower half behind him. As Lux grabbed hold of the cage door, another creature - no, a woman - pawed at his arm with one of the wormy tentacles that made up her new body.

Lux yanked on the bars, heedless of the attention, then stepped back, unsheathing his sword. Golden radiance flowed down the blade like water, flicking off in droplets as he slashed at the cage. The occupants reared back, screeching. Lux kept hacking away until several bars fell, their cut ends red-hot.

“Who did this?” Lux barked at the cage’s occupants. He turned from one to the other, expression twisted in pity and rage. “Tell me! I’ll kill them. I’ll-”

“K-ill…”

The voice came from the slug-man at his feet.

“K-ill m-e…”

Lux’s rampage failed in his throat as he stared at the unfortunate creature.

“No…” he said, his voice suddenly small and doubtful. Unconsciously, he stepped back and tripped over a grasping tentacle.

“No, no, no!” he repeated, panic rising in his throat like bile as he shook his head violently.

“Lux...” It was Freija, her bubbly features deflated in sympathy. She laid a trembling hand on his shoulder, only for Lux to buck off her touch like a frightened horse. He wheeled on her, eyes sparkling.

“What?” he shouted, voice cracking. “We're not killing them. We can save them, just as soon as we find out who did this...” He looked around vainly, as if a culprit would deliver themselves on the spot.

Freija's big eyes were full of pity, her words like cold water on his feverish energy. “They're in pain, Lux. Listen to them.” Their debate was underscored by a terrible wheezing and whimpering from the handful of mutants. “Besides, look around. They weren't designed to live long.”

It was true. Now that Caela had mentally disentangled the body parts into individual prisoners, she realised that the four living captives were accompanied by at least as many dead ones, their corpses putrefying like beached whales.

Lux dragged his gaze back to the horrid scene, its plaintive victims. He shook, as if buffeted by an internal battle. “I- I can't...” he tried haltingly.

It fell to Valerios to stop Lux’s shaking with a heavy hand on the shoulder. The armoured warrior loomed over the boy, looking down at him with an expression Caela could not quite identify. They stayed like that for a moment, before Valerios gently pushed down the tip of Lux's sword.

“Of course you can't,” Valerios murmured, with the titanic softness of an avalanche. “Your sword is for saving, yes? Not execution. This terrible task is not for you, but for someone already soaked in the grim darkness of war.”

Lux wiped roughly at his red eyes. “Someone like you?” he sniffed, looking away in shame.

Valerios nodded, drawing a long blade from the armoury on his back. “Yes. I was born on the battlefield; the first sound I heard was the carrion-bird's cry. I will take on the responsibility.”

With ritualistic solemnity, Valerios stood above the slug-man, raising his sword like a stake. From somewhere, there came the sound of distant bells. The mutant looked up with leaking eyes, and croaked out a few final words.

“T-hank y-”

The blade fell, mercifully snuffing out a tormented life. The grim paladin pulled it free, and set to the next prisoner, and the next. His stoic expression did not falter, sword held ready in a grip of iron.

Behind him, the others could only flinch at each impact. From daring investigators to an impromptu mourning party in moments, their silence was broken only by the methodical sound of steel on flesh.

“Don’t...”

The cry came from the back of the cage. It was weak, but far more articulate than the other voices. Valerios had stepped towards a ragged figure, which had thrown up its thin arms in defence.

“Please,” the figure wept. “The others, they wanted an end to their pain, but I... I want to live. I want to see my mother again!”

The figure raised their head, and Caela stared in growing recognition at its writhing hair. That hair, she realised, was not a product of the lab. She'd met someone similar just a few days prior.

“You're a medusa,” she said wonderingly, her suspicions confirmed by the crusted, bloody bandage around the figure's eyes. She shooed Valerios away and extended a hand to the last living prisoner, who crawled on her hands and knees through the bodies.

“What's your name?” Caela asked kindly.

“Zora.”

“Nice to meet you, Zora. My name's Caela, and this is Lux, Rose, Valerios, Freija, Hellebore and Johannes. We're...”

She searched for the right words.

“...here to help.”

The medusa stayed slumped at her feet, looking as frail as a moth wing. Lux kneeled down besides Caela, injecting as much urgency into his voice as he could while staying gentle.

“Who did this to you?”

“They floated,” Zora muttered, “like they were drowned in mid-air. Hidden in a burial shroud. ‘Dernus’, the people in green chanted, when their master came through the door.” She gestured - not to the door the group had entered by, but one Caela had almost missed. It was narrow, made of a dull grey metal the same colour as the walls.

“Dehr Nuzh,” Johannes echoed, adding a guttural inflection to the word. “Gnomish. It would translate to something like… ‘cold-shaper’.”

Zora was still lost in her grim reverie. “Whoever they were… They barely spoke to their minions, but when they did...” She shuddered.

Caela shared a look with Lux. She was suddenly reminded of her first time exploring her treetop home, when she'd looked down from one sturdy branch and realised the dizzying drop that had always been present under her feet. She stood up, taking in the entire room with a fresh perspective.

“What is it?” Lux asked, rising to his feet beside her.

“Look at those tubes,” she said, tracing the path of the bulging pipes suspended from the ceiling. Her finger chased them around the room, through a mess of glassware, until they converged at a square shape covered by a sheet.

“Another box?”

She set her mouth in a line and nodded. “These are the same people as the Colosseum. We need to find out who they are. Hellebore, take a look at getting that door open. Bring Johannes in case there are any more traps, and Valerios in case there's something nasty behind it.” As the trio sprang into action, she turned to the others, feeling a rising tide in her chest.

“Rose, Freija, look after Zora. Do you have any medicine?”

Freija began digging around in her brightly-coloured bag. “Don't worry, honey,” she trilled at the medusa. “I've got just the stuff.”

Reassured, Caela turned to Lux. “We're covering the back exit. If anyone tries to come down that hatch, they'll meet us first. Okay?”

The direct orders seemed to bring him back onto firmer ground. He nodded, and clasped her hand.

“Let's go.”

They crept back to the ladder: sword and bow held ready, expecting an ambush at any moment. Nothing had moved yet, but the hairs on the back of Caela’s neck still prickled. Something was wrong here.

Caela scurried up the ladder to check for any changes upstairs, but found the door unmoving - bolted, or weighed down on the other side. She and Lux pushed as hard as they could, but the round portal was sealed shut.

“There’s no lock for Hellebore to pick,” Lux panted, face red from the exertion. “Maybe Valerios could shift it?” He didn’t sound like he believed it.

“I hope so,” Caela whispered. “Because if not…”

They stared at each other, wide-eyed. It was beginning to feel like the jaws of a trap were closing on them - without even knowing who had set it.

A sound behind them made them both jump. Johannes cleared his throat. “I have good news and bad news,” he announced. “The good news is that we have opened the door. As for the bad news…” He adjusted his glasses. “Well, it would be better if you saw for yourselves.”

They hurried back through the workshop, pausing briefly to check in on their rescuee. It seemed Freija’s ministrations were doing some good: Zora was already sitting up, looking far less frail. Her bony, bruised flesh was healing before their eyes as Freija gently administered a sweet-smelling unguent. Rose, warming to his role as medic’s assistant, was attempting to remove the wad of bandages that wrapped Zora’s face.

She weakly batted his hands away. “No, no. It’s alright…”

“Come on,” he insisted. “Your other wounds are practically healed up already. Let Doctor Freija take a look at it!”

“You don't understand, it's not...”

Her protests died as Rose peeled the last of the filthy bandages away - and immediately froze.

“Oh.”

Where Caela had expected to see the medusa's eyes - or even a pair of scarred sockets - there was instead grafted a fist-sized mass of the same horrid flesh adorning the room's strange heart. The skin around it was cracked and ridged, a painful red where the transplant was struggling to heal. It was an eye - though one that was neither human nor medusa.

“I knew it,” Zora said, her voice cracking in the awkward silence. “I'm an abomination. No wonder you thought I wanted to die like the rest.” She covered her face with her hands. “What am I saying? I can't go home. Not like this. Mother-”

As her cracked fingernails dug into her cheeks, Rose reached out to stop her, his brawler’s hands surprisingly gentle.

“Look at me,” he insisted, holding her in place to meet his eyes. “You're Vyne's girl, right?”

“How did you-”

He cut her off. “Your old lady's so worried about you, she’s tearing herself into little pieces. She’ll want you back whatever shape you're in. Don't you see? Just because something terrible happened to you, that doesn't mean you don't deserve love.”

Zora swallowed a sob, then burst into tears. Rose winced, clearly berating himself, until the frail medusa threw herself into his shirt, clutching it like a lifeline. He awkwardly patted her back, meeting Caela’s gaze over Zora’s head.

She gave him a smile she hoped was encouraging, though her heart was still full of unease. She had to be brave, for all of them. Following Lux, she joined Johannes beyond the now-unlocked door.

The room - which must have once been a dormitory, of sorts - was a murder scene. A handful of limp figures were sprawled across the floor, bunk beds, and desks. Their lime-green robes were spattered with drying red-brown. Valerios bent to lift the hood of one crumpled figure. The young gnome beneath it was very clearly past any of their help. Valerios let the fabric fall, his expression growing even more stormy.

Johannes stood primly amid the chaos. “I think we've found our man,” he observed dryly. An older gnome was slumped at the desk next to him, clad in dark robes - an exception to the uniform of garish green. A wicked black sword had been thrust through his heart, pinning him to his seat like a butterfly on a board. The gnome’s hand was pinned to a piece of notepaper  - and the desk beneath - by a dagger of the same tenebrous shade.

Hellebore prised the knife free, then dropped it almost at once with an uncharacteristic yelp, shaking their hand as if it had been burned.

“Freezing,” they explained, with irritated confusion. “Like an ice giant had one of its teeth knocked out.”

More cautiously, they retrieved the bloodstained note and handed it to Caela. “Blood’s still sticky. Can't have happened too long ago.”

Caela peered at the crumpled paper. Most of the letters were smeared and unrecognisable, and her Gnomish hadn’t improved, but one signature remained: Vozloc.

She sighed. Another dead end. “I guess that is bad news.”

Johannes coughed quietly. “Ah. That was not the bad news. This was.”

She followed his gaze to the end of the room, where there was another door, almost hidden in the wooden panelling. Periodically, a filamentous web of pinkish light pulsed in and out of existence, forming a familiar runic pattern.

“Our thief feels a breeze beyond. They believe it must be a rear exit of some kind. Unfortunately, there is some manner of arcane trap on the door that they are unable to disarm.”

“Remember the rug in the Mage’s Guild?” Hellebore muttered darkly. “Not trying that again.”

“And the hatch is shut,” Lux groaned, “so we have to go through the damn thing.”

“I feared that would be the case.” Johannes rolled up his sleeves. “No matter. I will disable the trap from a suitable distance. If the rest of you could…” He ushered the others backwards.

Having witnessed Johannes’ more volatile magic up close, none of them needed to be asked twice. They quickly cleared a space in front of Johannes, who held his orb aloft and intoned a few alien words. A faint distortion appeared around his fingertips, like a heat haze rising from his skin. He reached towards the doorway, some forty feet away, and gripped the air. The door handle rattled. Johannes twisted his grip. The handle turned.

As the door swung open, the pale rune flared into life. The pattern of sigils unfolded across the doorframe, the wooden panels of the walls, expanding in concentric patterns that spread to cover the entire room. They flashed - once, twice - then turned a vivid crimson.

“Oh, shit,” Hellebore cried. “The walls! On the wall-”

Their warning was scattered as the wooden panels lining the dormitory were ripped open by gouts of flame. The old linen and dusty parchment caught in an instant, turning the room into a burning hellscape.

A wave of heat washed over them. Valerios roared, raising his shield to block the maelstrom of sparks and burning paper that filled the air. Johannes pulled out a handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth, already coughing.

“It wasn’t just the door that they warded!” Hellebore hissed from somewhere in the smoke. “It was the whole room. This is a fucking deathtrap!”

Below the crackling fire, there came a terrible rumbling, like a giant heartbeat. As one, they turned and raced from the burning room, back into the workshop.

Here, the lights flashed white, then red. In the stroboscopic flicker, Caela scanned the scene, the hellish flames of the room behind them making everything shift and warp. It was only when Lux swung around, raising his sword in panicked defence, that she realised the motion in the corner of her eye wasn’t just a trick of the light.

She turned. Her eyes fell, with grim certainty, on the thing in the centre of the room.

The rotten husk shook and pulsated as the mechanical veins that fed it began to pump in floods of familiar pink ooze. The scaffolding that held it in place trembled as the vile bag inflated like a cancerous lung, revealing a crown of horns hidden in the folds of skin. Snail-like stalks sprouted from more mouldering wrinkles, each waving appendage tipped with a star-pupiled eyeball. All but one, which ended in a rough stump of scar tissue - and a grisly transplant. Disproportionate and uncanny, a pair of human-sized eyes had been roughly stitched to its end.

“Oh, Zora,” Freija breathed. “What did they do to you?”

The medusa wailed, pinned to the floor in utter terror and disgust.

Johannes' lined face was slack and disbelieving. “It's… not possible. A child’s tale. There was never proof that they existed…”

The monstrosity turned, grim and inevitable as a vulture’s downward spiral. The umbilical cords and mechanical supports that bound it were ripped away as it rose. Silent, it hung in the air like the dead god of that room. Slowly, its formless surface was broken by the opening of a gaping maw, and one massive, central eye.

Johannes sank to his knees, a thousand years frailer than before. He raised one shaking finger, voice trembling in terrified comprehension.

“Behold! Death!”

 11. Eye for an Eye >>