Sprawling all around the divers was one of the infamous “floor bosses”: a wall-mandrake on floor 3. It was an amalgamation of slimes so coherent with the cavern’s stone walls that they were one and the same. Stalactites loosened into tentacles yet remained hard, cracks were mouths, and the soul gem was impossible to target because the boss had hidden it beneath thick layers and among a sea of identical jewels.

Thirty massive stalactite-tentacles stabbed from ceiling into floor, so dense they were practically a forest—difficult to dodge, and not everyone had dodged them. Nyx’s left shoulder and arm, already armorless, were torn open. Ethel’s back was open and burning.

They happened to be within arm’s reach of each other.

“I don’t think I can make it as far as I did the last time,” whispered Ethel, surprisingly calmly.

The room was rattling. All Nyx could think was an irritated, Why would she tell me that NOW of all times?

Then both of their minds turned to the real issue: whether to stabilize themselves in the quaking room or just get aggressive. Nyx fell away from the stalactites, threw one hand on the ground and the other on their hilt. Ethel fell forward and hugged a stalactite, not by choice.

Nyx took their sword in hand, verved it with light, and cut through the stone masses—but was interrupted by a quake of a different caliber. Somewhere beyond their line of sight, a deep fissure had sliced through the room where it mattered: its soul. The rest of the party had done their job.

Hairline cracks of blinding white magic, either Dulcen’s or Linzy’s, forked through the wall-mandrake, eventually spreading to every corner, pillar, and pebble—fracturing everything.

The rocks beneath their feet became dust, and the slimy component of that became clogging smoke. The divers shared seconds of freefall, seconds of clawing out their gas masks, face scarves and goggles. Moments of making eye contact and, without saying anything, sharing congratulations.

Landing in a big pile of dead debris in a big, big, distressingly big, warehouse-sized chamber reminded them that when wall-mandrakes were killed, they half-crumbled and half-evaporated...meaning that a significant portion of the walls had also half-crumbled and half-evaporated. Once upon a time, this space had been claustrophobic...but now they found themselves in the center of a perfectly smooth cube.

Nobody bothered dusting themselves off. It wouldn’t work anyway.

Nyx alone could see through the clouds. Everyone was getting up, double-checking their equipment, sparing no time...but someone hadn’t gotten up. Who was it again?

Once enough steam had dissipated and Ragnorre’s lantern had been fired up again, Ethel pulled off her mask and said, “Good job, everyone.”

“I found something!” said Ragnorre, and out of the dust heap she pulled out a corpse.

For a while, nobody made a sound. Nobody even made a move. They simply looked on as she revealed Catamaug and, with a song and a smile, set his body in a sitting position against one wall. His head hung down no matter how many times Ragnorre reset its position.

“...Right in the chest,” said Lark, eventually.

“It’s just gone,” said Linzy, mouth open.

“Can’t heal that,” said Dulcen.

Lark stared at him. He looked away and scratched his neck.

Nyx coughed. “Ragnorre,” they said, though they had been trying to avoid speaking to her this entire time, “while I am sure we all appreciate the care you’re putting into our fellow diver’s resting place, he can have his funeral above the surface.”

“I just thought he needed a hat,” said Ragnorre. A small boulder was now perched on his head.

Already the party was running on empty. Ragnorre seemed to still be at max capacity, and like any semireliable motor, she kept humming at annoying intervals. Ethel and Linzy were visibly wilting. Nyx fancied themself somewhere in between the wilting party members and the true professionals. Hue and Lark, to be fair, didn’t have to do much other than duck around enemy fire and ration their magic. Dulcen liked to take on more than he could chew, which, while it worked out well most of the time, was only getting riskier the more exhausted he became. Soon he might get an injury that Lark couldn’t heal.

And now there was the morale.

Morale was a constant problem anyway, down here, and one that, for some reason, Ragnorre’s chanting could not assuage.

But now they had the visual proof that this dungeon could kill and that they were weakened.

Nyx shot a look at Ethel—Ethel accepted it and came closer.

Nyx whispered, “Want to go back?”

Ethel hesitated.

“I might even escort you.”

“I-I keep thinking the ways you’ve changed won’t bother me,” said Ethel. “Please. I’ve never been a professional warrior. I might not be crying on the floor, but...give me some time to be traumatized.”

Oh yeah. The fear and burden of death, and all that. Nyx mentally kicked themself for missing it.

Nyx lowered their voice to a close whisper. “Can I tell you one more cold and factual thing before we give each other space?”

Ethel nodded.

“If you press on a bit further, you’ll see that waterfall again.”

“...Things like that do look sweeter after a tragedy,” said Ethel, and then she turned away.

There wasn’t much time to spare. They healed, ate rations, and made a group decision.

“Raise your hand,” Lark announced, “if you would like to keep on going.”

Seven hands went up, almost simultaneous. At the end, Linzy added his—seeing that he basically had no choice, unless he wanted to brave the trip back without a healer.

“Then we’re going down to floor 4,” said the medic. And soon they did.