Reinhard and Mars had been moving silently through the sewers for a while now, descending further into the depths. The walls became more and more permeated with cw marks and blood, clear evidence of the brutal infighting within the Verminthar ranks. Mars led the way, vigint and focused, as they moved through the darkness until they reached a rge open space where several canals converged. It resembled a court gallery but far more sinister. In the center, there was a borehole, as wide as the tunnel they had entered from, plunging deep into the ground below.

  Reinhard marked the tunnel with IR paste as a precaution, in case a hasty retreat was needed. They moved slowly into the gallery, Reinhard scanning his surroundings with precision, Mars’ ears perked, alert to any dangerous sounds. As they neared the vertical crevice, they saw a spiral staircase winding downward, littered with the decaying bodies of Verminthar cnrats. Mars sat down in front of the staircase and indicated that the scent he had been following led down into the depths.

  Reinhard took a few photos of the dead cnrats, then readied his rifle. They started down the spiral staircase, each step echoing ominously. About halfway down, Reinhard detected movement through his thermal vision. There were two cnrats posted as guards at the bottom of the staircase, standing watch over one of the tunnels. They halted, and Reinhard deployed one of his drones, sending it quietly downward to scout the area. Its soft whirring was drowned out by the steady trickle of water into the crevice, its small camera feed transmitting back to Reinhard’s ATAK system.

  The drone reached the bottom and hovered opposite the tunnel entrance, confirming that no additional guards were posted further ahead. Reinhard lined up his shot, taking careful aim. He flicked the safety off, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger. The subsonic bullet hissed through the air, striking the first cnrat square in the head. Reinhard switched targets and fired again. The second guard dropped silently, both bodies falling with a quiet “thud” into the damp sewer floor.

  Reinhard gave a quick gnce at the drone feed, confirming the area was clear. He and Mars moved down the st of the stairs, carefully inspecting the fallen guards. Their crude weapons were of little note, but the ragged clothing they wore bore the unmistakable markings of Cn Netherscar.

  A chill ran down Reinhard’s spine. This is bad. These bastards specialize in Netherstone technology—votile, unpredictable, and deadly. He thought of the stories he had heard, of how just a small miscalcution with Netherstone could trigger a catastrophic explosion. Worse still, rge concentrations of the substance warped the environment, turning everything into a toxic wastend. He took a steadying breath, steeling his resolve. There was no turning back now. He gave Mars a quick nod, and they advanced toward the tunnel.

  As they moved, Reinhard sent the drone further ahead to continue scouting. The tunnel walls were lined with crude banners and discarded tools, the air thick with the stench of rot. They pressed on until the tunnel opened up at the top of another, much rger gallery. This new space was faintly illuminated by scattered fires, and the sight below made Reinhard’s stomach turn.

  Through the drone feed, he could see Verminthar sves and hulking Ratogres performing menial bor. The sves, gaunt and filthy, were digging tunnels, repairing broken tools, and sorting materials under the watchful eyes of their cruel overseers. The overseers barked orders and cracked whips, punishing the sves at any sign of slowing or disobedience. Some seemed to do it purely for amusement.

  Reinhard zoomed in on a tunnel off to the side, its entrance glowing faintly with the sickly green hue of Netherstone. From within, he could hear the faint cnging of metal, the sound of forges crafting some dark and sinister technology. His drone automatically highlighted threats—overseers, Ratogres, and sves alike—and began cataloging their movements.

  He gripped his rifle tightly. The air in the rge gallery was thick with heat, smoke, and tension. This was no mere outpost; it was a full-blown Verminthar nest. If they didn’t act quickly, the Verminthar would only strengthen their grip on the underground. It was time to destroy this foul operation.

  Reinhard quickly weighed his options. He didn't have enough ammunition to deal with all the Verminthar present, and explosives were too risky—they could set off the gathered Netherstone, leading to catastrophic results. A different approach was necessary. After a brief moment of contemption, a pn formed. He connected his rebreather to his gas mask and called over Mars, securing the rebreather onto his loyal companion as well.

  With that done, Reinhard prepared to use a weapon notorious in his old world, one banned by countless conventions but still used in the darkest corners of warfare: Noxshade gas. It was a marvel of chemical engineering, designed to target biological organisms while leaving everything else untouched. The odorless, invisible gas attacked the central nervous system, causing swift paralysis and death within seconds of exposure. Its density allowed it to settle low, making it ideal for enclosed spaces like the gallery they now faced. It would kill swiftly but leave the Netherstone—and their surroundings—undisturbed.

  Reinhard deployed his remaining three drones, strapping a canister of Noxshade gas to each. One drone remained in a high orbit, providing continuous overwatch of the gallery, while the other three took up positions midway down the passage, ready to release the gas. The drones’ cameras reyed real-time data back to Reinhard, ensuring they could adjust the pn if needed.With the push of a button, he deployed the gas. Noxshade descended like a silent, unseen wave upon the unsuspecting Verminthar. The heavy gas spread quickly, covering the entire gallery and seeping into the adjoining tunnels.

  The first to fall were the sves, colpsing one by one, followed by the confused and panicked overseers. The Ratogers, taller and more resilient, took longer to succumb but soon joined the others in lifeless silence. Within a minute, the once bustling nest was still, dominated by an eerie calm.

  Reinhard kept his gaze on the dispy, verifying the kill count. With Mars by his side, they moved silently. His next objective: the Netherstone-infested tunnel.

  They moved with purpose and care toward the tunnel. They found Verminthar Nethershots wielding crude Netherstone rifles, their gear was far above the rest. They wore proper armour and forged steel shortswords. They were an elite unit, only reserved to guard VIPs or those in the Verminthar strata that were far above the rest, like the likes of Warlocks, Nethersmiths or Warlords.

  They passed their lifeless bodies further into the tunnel that opened up into a rge workshop. Reinhard’s boots echoed softly against the cold, damp stone as he stepped into the dimly lit workshop. The air was thick, den with the metallic tang of burning metal and the suffocating scent of chemicals, a stench that hit him like a wall. He pulled his gas mask tighter, not sure if it was for protection or to steady his nerves. Mars, at his side, was unusually still, his body rigid with tension. The direwolf's senses, finely attuned to danger, were on high alert as they ventured deeper into the ominous space.

  The room was vast, its ceiling lost in shadows, but Reinhard could make out the outlines of rge, towering shelves, den with strange tools and components. The flickering light from a dozen half-dead fires cast eerie, irregur shadows that danced on the walls. Here, the familiar hiss of metal meeting metal was repced by the strange hum of something more unnatural. Netherstone. It resonated in the very air, its glow faintly pulsing from the corners, casting sickly green and violet lights across the cluttered workshop.

  Mars growled low, the sound reverberating against the stone walls. Reinhard held up a hand, motioning for silence. "Stay close, boy," he whispered, his voice a hoarse rasp beneath the mask.

  Ahead of them, a massive forge sat like the heart of the workshop. The furnace at its center crackled, its fmes unnaturally green, licking up the sides of a giant metal anvil. Reinhard's eyes narrowed. The fire wasn’t just heat—it was alive, infused with something far more dangerous than ordinary fme. Netherstone, no doubt. This was a pce of creation, but not the kind that would leave you unscathed.

  Mars’ ears perked. He crouched low, muscles coiled beneath his fur, sensing something out of pce. Reinhard scanned the room with meticulous care, his thermal vision flickering to life in the dim light. No heat signatures. Not yet, anyway. But the deeper they went into the workshop, the stronger the sense of being watched became. A nagging feeling crawled up Reinhard’s spine, making his hands twitch towards his rifle, his fingers brushing the cold metal.

  There was movement to his right, a shadow shifting near the far wall. Reinhard’s heart skipped a beat. He motioned to Mars, signaling him to stay put. Slowly, he advanced, careful not to make a sound.

  Strange, half-completed machines y scattered across the floor. Some still had jagged edges, their surfaces hot from the forge. In one corner, a cursed artifact glowed faintly. Part weapon. Part creature. Its surface cracked, pulsing with strange power. Reinhard felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The presence of the Netherstone here was overwhelming. This pce reeked of corruption.

  Then, as he moved further into the heart of the workshop, his fshlight caught something that made his stomach churn. In a small alcove, a grotesque figure hung from chains—its shape humanoid, but distorted, beyond recognition. Flesh stretched unnaturally tight across a twisted metal skeleton, greenish veins pulsing beneath the skin. It was motionless, but the faintest sound of bored breathing filled the space, a chilling reminder that it was still, in some way, alive. A failed experiment, perhaps—or worse, a perverse attempt to create something other than human. Reinhard fought the urge to look away. It was a grotesque reminder of the Nethersmith’s methods.

  Mars let out a sharp growl, his hackles raised. Reinhard froze. His pulse quickened, the hairs on his arms standing at attention. Something moved behind them. He spun around, rifle raised, but found only the shadows creeping along the walls.

  Suddenly, the hiss of metal echoed from the far side of the workshop. Reinhard’s instincts screamed at him to move, but it was too te. The sound grew louder, a heavy step on cold stone. Someone—or something—was coming. Reinhard’s fingers tightened around the rifle. Every instinct told him to engage, to take the threat down before it could strike, but he knew better. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake here. Not with the amount of votile Netherstone in the air, not with Mars at his side.

  A voice, guttural and harsh, filtered through the workshop’s dense air. Reinhard’s skin crawled. 'I know you’re here.' The voice rasped again, slower this time. 'The Nethersmith always knows…

  Mars snarled, low and vicious. Reinhard’s breath hitched, but he didn't let the panic rise. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain calm. His eyes darted around, searching for the source of the voice, but all he saw were the shifting shadows. The tension was unbearable. The Nethersmith was close, and Reinhard could feel the weight of every second stretching into eternity.

  His rifle clicked, and Mars’ low growl turned into a full-throated snarl. Reinhard tensed, waiting for the strike. The moment they’d been dreading was almost upon them.