The smell hit him first.
It wasn't just the stench of sewage; it was the heavy, cloying odor of chemical runoff mixed with something copper-sharp and rotting. It tasted like battery acid on the back of his tongue.
Aryan waded through the knee-deep sludge, his boots sinking into the thick, oily sediment with every step. The drainage pipe was cylindrical, rusted, and suffocatingly narrow. He couldn't stand straight; he had to hunch over, his broken ribs screaming in protest at the cramped posture.
Drip. Plop. Hiss.
Above him, condensation dripped from the metal ceiling, hissing faintly as it hit the toxic water. The only light came from the bioluminescent moss clinging to the rusted bolts, casting a sickly green glow over the filth.
[ SYSTEM ALERT ]
[ Environmental Hazard: Toxic Runoff ]
[ Effect: Slow Toxin Buildup (0.1% per minute) ]
[ Recommendation: Exit immediately. ]
Aryan swiped the notification away. Exit? There was no exit. Behind him lay the river and the beasts. Above him lay the guards and their extortion fees. The only way was forward, through the bowels of the fortress that rejected him.
He dragged his left leg. The sludge felt heavier than water, sticking to his clothes like tar.
'Disgusting.'
The voice in his head was no longer amused. It was dripping with regal contempt.
'I have burned civilizations. I have sat on thrones made of starlight. And now? Now I am wading through human excrement inside the mind of a scavenger.'
Aryan gritted his teeth, keeping his eyes on the dark water ahead. "You're free to leave anytime," he whispered, his voice echoing hollowly in the pipe.
'And go where?' The King sneered. 'You are the only vessel that hasn't cracked yet. Do not mistake my presence for loyalty, boy. I am here because the alternative is oblivion. But this... this is beneath us.'
"Survival is never beneath anyone," Aryan muttered. "Only the dead have dignity."
He pushed forward, the slime coating his shins. He tried to focus on the map in his head, estimating the distance to the central junction. If his calculations were right, this main pipe should lead directly under the Processing Sector—the area where they sorted loot and disposal.
Ideally, it would be unguarded. Nobody guarded the toilet.
Suddenly, Aryan stopped.
The water around his knees had stopped rippling.
The sludge wasn't moving with the current anymore. It was still. Too still.
And then, a bubble rose to the surface three meters ahead.
Bloop.
Then another.
Bloop. Bloop.
Aryan tightened his grip on the rock he still carried in his left hand. His machete was in his right.
"System," he whispered. "Scan."
[ SCANNING... ]
[ Entity Detected: Bio-signature concealed within waste. ]
[ Identification: Sewer Leech (Level 2) ]
Before the text could finish fading, the water exploded.
A grey, glistening mass launched itself from the sludge. It looked like a slug the size of a human arm, but its front end was a gaping maw of circular teeth, spinning like a drill.
Aryan threw himself to the side, splashing into the filthy water. The Leech missed his neck by an inch, slamming into the rusted pipe wall with a wet thud. It shrieked—a high-pitched sound like grinding metal—and coiled back, preparing to strike again.
But it wasn't alone.
From the water behind him, two more ripples surged.
Three of them.
'Kill them,' The King whispered, his voice sharpening with excitement. 'Use the Core. Release the energy. Burn them to ash.'
Aryan scrambled back, his back hitting the cold, slimy metal of the pipe. The first Leech lunged at his leg. Aryan swung his machete.
Clang!
The blade bounced off the Leech's rubbery hide. It wasn't hard, but it was incredibly tough, like hitting a tire with a stick.
The Leech latched onto his boot. Its teeth began to grind, chewing through the leather.
[Warning: Armor Integrity Critical ]
The second Leech shot out of the water and clamped onto his left forearm.
"Argh!"
Aryan cried out as the circular teeth dug into his flesh. It felt like a hot iron branding his skin. The Leech began to throb, sucking blood at an alarming rate.
'USE IT!' The King roared, the pressure in Aryan's skull spiking. 'One burst of Soul Load! Just a thought, and they die! Do it! Do not suffer like a dog!'
The temptation was overwhelming.
Aryan could feel the power sitting in his chest—that raw, volatile energy he had swallowed in the cave. It was right there. He just had to pull the trigger. He could vaporize these worms in a second.
But then he saw the red number in his vision.
[ Control Stability: 89% ]
If he used the King's power now, in anger, in desperation... that number would drop. And the voice in his head would get louder. The shadow would get closer.
He would be trading his mind for his life.
"No," Aryan hissed through the pain.
He dropped the rock. He grabbed the Leech attached to his arm with his bare hand. The creature was slimy, pulsating with his own blood.
He didn't pull it off. That would rip out chunks of flesh.
Instead, he jammed his thumb directly into the creature's eye-socket—a small, sensitive pit near the mouth.
The Leech shrieked, loosening its grip for a fraction of a second.
Aryan didn't hesitate. He took the machete and, instead of slashing the tough hide, he brought the blade down on his own arm, right where the mouth was connected.
He sliced through the Leech's mouthparts—and the top layer of his own skin.
[ Critical Pain Detected ]
Blood sprayed, mixing with the sewer water. But the Leech fell off, writhing in agony.
'You fool!' The King hissed. 'You chose pain over power? Logic dictates efficiency!'
"This is efficient," Aryan panted, adrenaline flooding his system. "The cost... is lower."
He kicked the writhing Leech away and turned to the one on his boot. He stomped on it with his other foot, pinning it down, and then stabbed the machete into its open mouth—the only soft spot.
Squish.
Green ichor exploded. One down.
The third Leech lunged for his face.
Aryan ducked, letting it sail over his shoulder. As it turned in the water to strike again, Aryan didn't wait. He lunged forward, tackling the slimy creature into the muck. He pinned it against the pipe wall with his forearm, ignoring the burning sludge entering his fresh wounds.
He jammed the machete handle into its mouth to keep it open, then punched straight down its throat with his other hand, crushing its internal organs.
It thrashed once. Twice. Then went limp.
Silence returned to the pipe, broken only by Aryan's ragged, wet breathing.
[ Combat Ended ]
[ Enemies Defeated: Sewer Leech (x3) ]
[ Experience: +15 ]
[ Health: 68% (Infection Risk High) ]
Aryan slumped against the wall, holding his bleeding arm. The pain was blinding. The bite mark was jagged, and the cut he had inflicted on himself was stinging from the toxic water.
But as he focused on the sharp, white-hot pain, he noticed something.
The King was quiet.
The overwhelming pressure in his skull had receded. The shadow behind him had stepped back.
[ System Update ]
[ Mental Status: Grounded ]
[ Control Stability: 89% (Stable) ]
He hadn't gained Stability, but he hadn't lost it either. By choosing physical suffering over the "easy" magical solution, he had denied The King a foothold.
'Stubborn,' The King muttered, his voice sounding distant, almost sulky. 'You fight like a rat. No elegance.'
"Rats survive," Aryan replied, tearing a strip from his already ruined shirt to bind his arm. "Kings get beheaded."
He stood up, his legs shaking. The infection risk was real. He needed to find the Black Market fast, or the fever would finish what the Leeches started.
He limped forward.
Ten minutes later, the texture of the pipe changed. The rust gave way to smoother concrete. The water became less sludgy, more watery.
And ahead, above him, was a metal grate.
Light—warm, yellow, electric light—filtered down through the bars.
And voices. Human voices.
"...shipment is late. The Guild Master is going to skin us."
"Relax. The swarm delayed the trucks. Just keep sorting the F-Rank gear. We need to melt it down for scrap."
Aryan stopped directly under the grate. He looked up. Through the slats, he could see boots. Heavy, clean combat boots walking on a metal floor. He could smell tobacco smoke and... grilled meat.
The smell of food made his stomach cramp violently.
He was directly under a storage room.
Aryan reached up. The grate was heavy, locked with a simple mechanical latch. No digital seal. They didn't expect anyone to come in from the shit-pipe.
He pushed. It didn't budge.
He took a deep breath, braced his back against the pipe wall, and pushed upward with his legs, channeling every ounce of his new Strength stat into his shoulders.
Creak...
The metal groaned. Rust showered down onto his face.
"Did you hear that?" a voice above asked.
"Hear what? Probably rats. Huge ones down there."
Aryan froze. He waited.
"Yeah. Rats. Pass me the bottle."
Aryan exhaled slowly. He pushed again, gentler this time. The latch clicked open.
He slid the grate to the side, just enough to squeeze through.
He pulled himself up, his muscles screaming, and rolled onto the cold, hard floor of the storage room. He lay there for a second, hidden behind a stack of crates labeled "CONFISCATED GOODS."
He was in.
He was covered in toxic waste, bleeding from three places, and smelling like death. But he was inside Outpost-9.
He looked at the crates.
[ Item Detected: Low-Grade Healing Salve ]
[ Item Detected: Clean Water Ration ]
Aryan's eyes narrowed.
He didn't just want to survive. He wanted to make them pay for the entrance fee.
He reached for the nearest crate.
[ Quest Update: INFILTRATION ]
[ Status: COMPLETE ]
[ Reward: Access Granted ]