Chrysalis Chapter 1767 - The Deep Tunnels

The contrast between the fifth layer I spotted above and this tunnel I'm navigating now? This passage shows a far more progressed form of that identical affliction.

It's beyond words in its repulsiveness, utterly saturated with corrupted mana, the atmosphere itself feels moist against my shell. A simple flick of my antennae coats them in viscous slime, snaring drifting globs of illness right out of the air. My whole body prickles with a caustic sting that my accumulated healing thankfully overpowers.

The tunnel walls themselves, all meaty with periodic bands of sturdy cartilage, quiver and shake beneath the infection's burden. Masses of tissue simply peel from the ceiling, while wriggling worms and parasites scatter to safety before the debris even splats on the ground.

Sight is severely limited, airborne mold spores mixing with countless dangling threads of phlegm, rendering vision hazy and every movement a sensation of succumbing to illness step by step.

What I'm saying is, it's horrific. Utterly horrific. No spot in the entire Dungeon can possibly top this nightmare, though I won't voice that too boldly lest Gandalf overhears. Tempting fate won't cut it here. Should something worse lurk, I refuse to encounter it. Heck, I don't even want to think about it.

Picture pneumonia catching the flu. Imagine an infection wedding an infestation and spawning offspring.

Overcome by revulsion, I creep ahead, shuddering every other step. The floor under my legs squelches softly and soggily. Each footfall brings tiny bites and gentle prods from countless critters seeking entry into my exoskeleton.

Yet again, the superiority of my outer carapace proves itself. The mere thought of exposing my tender innards here sends chills of terror through me. No way!

I've scarcely advanced ten paces when attacks rain down once more. Not from Krath this round, but local beasts apparently deem themselves worthy foes. Projectiles of spikes, acid, and dubious foul sludge launch from all sides. Leaping aside, I dodge most, quickly pinpointing the attackers. Concealed in dense mold on ceiling and walls lurk car-sized lumps of drenched flesh. Sightless, yet sporting grotesque circular maws brimming with drooling fangs as thick as human arms, they unleash their assaults via assorted tubular limbs.

If I had to speculate, the Krath bred these guardians here to defend the passage from invaders, twisting the fifth's terrors to serve their purposes, true to their nature.

Eager to press on, I ignite Dragon’s Breath, discovering even its scorching flames struggle in this drenched environment. With added oomph poured into the spell—mana squeezed tight and amplified—I finally succeed. Minutes later, I've incinerated the surrounding sentinels, only to spin and scorch my own shell when their gunk begins sprouting there.

I hate this place.

Push onward is my only option, though. I hold the flames primed for action, deploying them often. Constantly, in fact.

No matter their stealthy attempts, I detect the Krath nearby, wriggling via their parallel web of fissures beside the primary tunnel. This hellscape repels even them from open exposure.

Currently, they're merely tailing me, striving to monitor closely—which prompts me to play my hand tight. Fortunately, they've packed the area with defenses: beasts undaunted by my tier eight aura, eager for combat. This fuels my regeneration smoothly. With Everflowing Well recharged, I channel mana to restart it. Better overprepared than not.

Deeper in, more Krath signatures emerge. Nearby buzzes in the gravity field, faint beyond detection for most, yet I pick them out. Dozens encircle me now, yet none strike. Do they plot something grander? Or await my exhaustion from the poisons, forcing retreat?

Hah! My Pure Core repels every speck of corrupted mana, while healing mends all ambient harm effortlessly. Still, advancement crawls. I position legs with precision, dodging the omnipresent sludge.

Ten more cautious minutes pass before I halt, senses alert to shifting surroundings. Visibility caps at a hundred meters here, so mana sense and antennae guide me—and mana now blares alerts.

A massive presence stirs ahead. Not racing, but substantial without doubt.

I retreat slightly, dropping low. Lessons learned: underestimate nothing below; these fiends are vicious, and this screams another Krath ploy.

They've likely drawn this beast to study my fight and expose flaws. Sneaky, devious pests, those Krath.

Craving spectacle? They'll get one.