"I've found a trapdoor leading downstair___what the heck happened here," the voice of younger cousin came from far above.

  "Fell through the floor," Banks said, lying on the dirt and wreckage that reluctantly cushioned his fall. He pushed himself up dusting off his cloak, before he paused. Countless bodies observed him through iris-less eyes, all hanging from the ceiling by white strings. "Seems like there was a party going on down below."

  "An actual party, or are you using sarcasm to downplay a horrific scene?" Jakk asked.

  "Pretty horrific scene actually," Banks admitted as he eyed up a body that had an arm and a leg hacked off. Despite that it wasn't dead or even dying. The stumps of the limbs were sealed with that white string. "Maybe don't let the kid come down here."

  "I'm an adult," younger cousin said, as he stepped into the room from a door on the far side. His eyes went wide as he took in the scene, but to his credit, he didn't lose his lunch. "What is this?"

  "Either cultshit or somebody doing severely unethical experiments," Banks said examining one of the bodies, that stared back with their messed up eyes. "I'd give it fifty-fifty either way right now." The body was clad in light, almost hospital scrubs, which did little to obscure the parts that should be obscured, or the various wounds on the body, and it was only the slight rise and fall of the chest that indicated that something still lived. He reached up and pressed against the chest only to jump back as a bunch of familiar looking black and orange fluid spouted from between the lips of the corpse, splattering onto the floor with a sickeningly wet sound.

  "What is that?" younger cousin asked, walking over looking a bit green.

  "Cultshit," Banks said as he bent down to examine the strings. They looked slightly different from the strings used by Trinorim, although to be fair hadn't got a good look at them during his brief meeting. "I was hoping it wasn't cultshit."

  "Are they still alive?" Jakk asked as he stepped through the door, followed by the final member of the crew.

  "For a given definition of alive," Banks said. "They may or may not have souls, right now."

  "I'm fairly certain that no souls equals dead," Jakk said, examining one of the bodies.

  "In most circumstances you'd be correct," Banks admitted. "But these situations are what are colloquially known to those in certain professions as 'fucking weird'. I can't predict shit in situations this weird. Just assume the situation is worse than you believe. Hey, younger cousin, what do you see when you look at these strings?"

  "I have a name," the young man said. "Do you even remember it?"

  "I have a disease which gives me bad memory," Banks stated casually, before wincing as he took out a pill from his jacket, taking the much delayed medicine. "I also don't really care enough to remember your name. Now tell me what you feel?"

  "Horror and disgust," he said. "Although I will admit that the strings are very well made, even beautiful."

  "Beautiful?" Jakk asked. "Yes I can see it. They are strangely shimmering."

  "They are...wonderful," the elderly woman said.

  "Reverence," Banks said knowingly.

  "What's that?" Jakk asked, giving him the set up.

  "Reverence is the impact that gods have on mortals," Banks stated. "It manifests as a feeling of awe, submission, and well reverence."

  "You saying a god is involved?" Jakk asked. "In this?"

  "I just called it cultshit," Banks responded. "Cults and gods go together like flies and shit."

  "Not a believer, huh," the elderly woman said as she approached the body next to him, starting an examination.

  "I BELIEVE they should fuck off and stop doing this kind of nonsense," Banks said gesturing at the many bodies strung up or collapsed under the rubble of his impromptu entrance. "Gods and cultists feeding off each other in the worst way. What's the standard procedure for this type of scene?"

  "Invade en masse, burn down everything that fights back, try to find the altar, come with a powerful priest of a respected religion," the elderly woman said.

  "Good advice," Banks said. "But unless you're really prepared to kick the anthill, it might be a good idea to stay away from the altar. Have there ever been any cases of these strings in the past? Any people being strung up?"

  "I would have to check the records," Jakk said. "Nothing comes to mind. Do you think this could be a recurring situation."

  "Fucked if I know," Banks said.

  "There should be an altar around here somewhere," the elderly lady pointed out. "Is there any door leading out, or is this pantry of bodies the only thing downstairs."

  To Bank's eye there wasn't four walls, all colored with a depressing white paint that had slowly faded to grey over too many years, torches long burnt out. Rafters of solid iron from which the strings hung in neat and tidy rows. In fact there was a surprising amount of iron, and yet no rust. He flicked a rhinestone into his hand before pinging it against the rafter, frowning as a loud clanging noise indicated that it hadn't speared straight through. That felt too well made to be dug under the house a the behest of a couple of rebels. In fact if he was too use his intuition, he would probably guess that the rebels discovered this, used it as a base and were strung up as a result. His eyes went to the floor and he slid his hands into his pockets as he started walking, placing a few fractions more force than strictly necessary until he halted.

  He slowly tapped his foot before moving it a few steps back and tapping it again. Two different sounds hit his ears and he slowly walked around measuring the dimensions of the floor. The rhinestone returned to his hand before he threw it at the floor and frowned as the sound of screeching metal assailed his ears. Kneeling down he noticed a small slot like one might use to insert coins into a vending machine, only much bigger. Above the slot was a stylized seal inscribed shallowly onto the floor, his translator helpfully informing him that the words mean 'flame'.

  "That's a sword key," younger cousin said, as he looked over Bank's shoulder. "Primitive tribes built them as a way to protect their greatest secrets. Swords would be forged into specific configurations to open certain locks known as sword locks. It was seen as a sign of prestige and status and therefore only the chief or the priests may own them."

  "Primitive tribes," Banks lamented looking at the younger cousin who was showing off his minor drops of knowledge proudly. It was slightly funny in a way. A person in the sixteenth century calling another person primitive. In his normal haunt at the third millennium or later this time period would be seen as rather barbaric. Not to mention that the tradition of sword keys as a whole descended from the short-lived Red-Eyed Kingdom whose smiths definitely surpassed the forging capabilities at this time. Even in the third millennium they were still discovering new facts about Red-Eyed forging techniques. "Well if it's so primitive then you must have a way to bypass it."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "Well I..." he started. "I'm not sure. Anybody know how to pick locks?"

  "It's not a lock," Banks said, sending a rhinestone into the floor, and whistling at the metal sound. "That's also not going anywhere. Unless you've brought shovels we're not getting through there."

  "Do we even need to," Jakk pointed out. "We came with the goal of investigating any rebels." He gestured at the hanging bodies. "Now these may or may not be the rebels. Either way, I think this is a situation where we should probably report back to base and let somebody else verify the identity rather than try to find a way to descend into the bowels of the earth."

  "That's probably pretty wise actually," Banks admitted, thinking of his own subterranean experiences. "Alright, let's head back to base. Maybe we can swing by that pastry shop on the way back."

  "Look out," the elderly woman said raising that war hammer, and Banks instinctively dodged to the left as the corpse that he had cut down previously lunged at him. It landed hard on all fours before it's limbs squirmed upright, before it was smashed with the war hammer. "There's more of them," she said gesturing at the remaining bodies on a string that were now frantically thrashing. She lifted the war hammer, only for the corpse to squirm upwards, even with it's chest crushed the thing ascended twitching like a puppet. Four rhinestones tore through it's limbs severing the arms and legs and causing it to collapse, madly twitching.

  "Retreat," Banks said as the strings began to snap, and more and more corpses fell to the floor. "Get out." He grabbed the back of younger cousin's shirt who seemed to be gearing up for a fight and dragged him back with him. A corpse lunged at his foot and he caught it under the chin, causing it's neck to break with a sickening snap. It barely slowed down at all as it streamed forward trying to grab him and no doubt perform unspeakable acts on his soon to be dead body.

  "The limbs," Jakk pointed out what he already knew as Banks landed a second kick on the chest of the body sending it flying back.

  "Just get back to the stairs," he said pushing younger cousin towards the stairs as he summoned more and more rhinestones, aiming towards the arms and legs of the bodies. Even deprived of their limbs they moved forward, squirming like worms.

  "There's too many of them," the elderly woman said as she reached the door, seemingly waiting for an invitation to pass him.

  "That's why we are leaving," Banks said. "Jakk hurry your ass up."

  "We can't let them get into the city," Jakk said. "Daved, run to the station and tell them we need some reinforcements."

  "You go also, Jakk," the elderly woman said as she brought down her hammer on the nearest crawling body, a crunching sound indicating that the very spine was shattered. She spoke a word, at that point, very much of the same dialect as the earlier 'flame' word, and it seemed to have similar effects as golden fire sprung up at that point causing the warped and deformed corpse to immolate. Me and the magician can hold them back.

  "But..." he started.

  "GO," Banks commanded as he stepped forward, rhinestones flying from his hands smashing and severing. "We won't be able to focus if we have to worry about protecting you as well."

  "Ever fought zombies before," the elder woman said hefting up that hammer as she knocked back a body clearing a space.

  "These aren't zombies," Banks stated firmly as the rhinestones plunged into the bodies again and again. "Zombies are generally even stronger than the body that they are formed from, with a trade off of lesser cognition. They can also be killed quite easily by destroying the head and even body and limb shots that are able to penetrate their hardened body are effective somewhat. These are like mounds of flesh controlled by..." he pushed his mana vision to the limit, regretting not visiting a mana optometrist or something. Finally he saw the thin outlines that seemed to stretch from within to a place far away. "...yes there are little white strings that are puppeteering them. We need fire or acid or something to destroy the bodies if we can't destroy the strings directly. Focusing his mana vision he aimed at the location of one of the strings and fired a rhinestone through it.

  A momentary relief swept through him as the nearly invisible string snapped, only for two more to replace it nearly instantly. Well, this was not going to be a victory. To his eyes there were countless strings moving the bodies around and more seemed to branch out from deep inside the bodies. Before his eyes a severed arm fused with a pile of fleshy parts, not reattaching but welding together to the greater whole, stitching muscle to muscle, bone to bone and skin to skin. A sea of flesh began to take shape as the original bodies were mulched down to form a sea of offal that groped desperately towards the two remaining guards.

  "Interesting, they are still somewhat alive," Banks noted, watching as he sliced through a heart and a pair of lungs, like the world's worst doctor, before the pair were sewn up poorly again.

  "That is interesting," the older woman said as she slammed down her war hammer again and again. "Any idea how to put them down permanently?"

  "Your hammer appears to be doing okay," Banks said as he grabbed an intestine that lashed towards him like a whip before slamming the flailing partial body into the wall. "Okay let me try something," he said taking a step back and channeling vast amounts of mana to his palm. "This should work now, I'm in much better condition." More and more mana gathered into his palm before he frowned as he realized that despite the recovery of a large amount of his mana core, despite the resurgence of his mana veins, he was just far too out of shape. His hand burnt like it was on fire as clogged veins failed blocking the flow, before something within his arm exploded and he felt the limb warp and swell.

  - 2 seconds

  "I've got nothing," he admitted candidly. "Looks like this might be bad, if the flesh was not so slow moving." He gestured towards the flood that was slowly building up. "Those two have gone for help. Hopefully, they've got something incendiary back at the base." A hand launched itself towards his face and he grabbed it out of mid-air air crushing the flesh and severing the strings before discarding it into the mess of flesh and watching as it was instantly absorbed into the sea.

  "That's right, not even the worst situation I've ever been in," the older woman said. "Have I ever told you about..."

  "Move," Banks cut her off, and she responded immediately darting forward and turning just in time to barely block a sword strike from behind. Stepping down the stairs, an unnatural silence seemed to emanate from the being. It was that statue that they had seen out front. The one that stood at the centerpiece of the defunct fountain. The eight foot tall figure was overlooked by him then, too focused on whatever lay beneath, when perhaps he should have been focused on what lay behind. Carved out of copper metal the knight-like being wielded a large claymore that dripped with a distressing amount of fresh blood.

  "Die," the elderly woman said, her face contorting with fury on seeing the blood drip from the weapon, her hammer lashing backwards to smash into the knight, only for the narrowness of the doorway and the stairs to inhibit her movement, turning the full swing into an awkward glancing blow.

  The sword lashed back in response slamming into the hexagon shaped magic around her body and drawing a thin cut before she slammed her fist into the metal of the being, with a large ding, like hitting a massive bell. It barely staggered before swinging the sword wildly, the unassuming blade smashing through reinforced walls like cardboard. The old woman managed to block the sword only for a clawed hand like a beast to slam into the chest of the woman sending her staggering back.

  "Just run," the old woman said, clutching her chest that had been torn into by the claws of the knight creature. "I'll try lock him down, if you can try get past him and get to the..." her words were cut off as a rhinestone slammed into the helmet of the beast sending it staggering back and deforming the headwear. It raised it's sword to lunge only for another rhinestone to slam into the crook of the elbow, shattering something and sending the sword clattering to the floor, another pair simultaneously landed on the knees causing them both to crack and the creature to stumble. It roared in pain and rage it's face splitting open into a jagged mouth as red energy began to gather, like a dragon's breath, before a rhinestone fired straight through the gathering energy and out the back of it's head.

  A second later the thing collapsed to the floor, completely destroyed.

  "I can't hold off these fleshy things myself," Banks said as he stepped past her and into the stairs. Something fundamentally solid like the knight statue was a lot easier to deal with than the squirming flesh for him at the moment. He grabbed the sword, bringing it to his face and admiring the craftsmanship. Silver in color with etched runes and a functional yet ununiform shape, this was definitely the key to the lock. As he exited the stairs the first thing that caught his eye were the bodies. Neither younger cousin nor Jakk escaped. Instead they were mercilessly killed a few steps from the doorway, the statue being incredibly stealthy for something made of metal. At least there death's were swift judging by the wounds, the knight likely only used one slash apiece.

  A slamming noise indicated that the elder woman had slammed the trapdoor shut. She was now looking at the pair of bodies, with a grim look.

  "We need to go to the station, get specialists," she said. "Maybe a priest from the Church of Light will put those things down."

  "Not strictly speaking unholy," Banks pointed out. "We mishandled that."

  "While reflection is good, I think now is the time for damage control," the elder woman said. "I'll go flag down a nearby..." She spoke, but Banks wasn't listening. Instead he was focusing on everything that went wrong. Mentally flipping a coin, he sighed tiredly...

  - 15 minutes