What a place the tunnel known as Tunnel K is; empty, misty, dark. It’s hard to see in the chilling fog of this place—it might be even harder to exist here. Not because of any inherent danger, but simply because this tunnel is devoid of life; wrong, in a fundamental way, a way that makes the gutless flee in fear. This is not a burial ground, a place where many died and their bones were stacked high, not like Canis—it simply exists as a place where none should roam. None at all.

Crack-in-the-World finds this absolutely delightful.

Oh, it can hear its headmates trying to dissuade it from being in the front—feel their instinctive fear at the thought of it taking control, even if none of them, including itself, can think of a reason why it being at the helm of their body should be so frightful. There’s a part of it that revels in their fear—yes, yes! It wants to be the boogeyman in the dark! It wants to be scary!

And then, there’s a part of it that simply revels in being here; in the dimness of the tunnel, hanging upside-down from the top of it with its wings spread to feel the mist swirling around it. This place feels right—all the other places in the caves are bright, bright, much too bright, but this? This is wonderful.

It loves this tunnel, an empty, empty place for it to play.

And play it does; preparing to reach its magic internally before it remembers—something. Vague; taking a plague from something much larger than it and playing a much more volatile game, one with teeth and magic… but it doesn’t remember who those people are or why it was there in the first place. Maybe it was just a dream?

It discards the thought and focuses on what it wants to do, even as the others tense. It wants… heat. A hot disease; something that makes a gembound hot from the inside. Mercury—the new one, the one that was made of two before they woke up—would like that, right? He likes fire.

No, I don’t. What the fuck are you doing, Crack? he answers, his voice and his emotions tinged with a tremble of fear.

Fear is good! Fear is fun; it doesn’t give Mercury any response, only takes that as a reason to keep going, using its magic to reach and shape and form…

Almost, almost—the magic is hard, and Crack gets the feeling it hasn’t used it in a while as it plays with it. The mental strand of it almost slips from its grasp, microbes spilling into their body, but they keep control, and keep pulling and pulling until what it wants comes to life.

Someone—Caliante, it thinks—calls out in a tone bordering a scream, Stop it! Stop it!

It sways as the magic catches up to it; there’s fire beginning to boil in their bloodstream and suddenly it feels all too hot. A dizzy grin makes itself known on its face; yes, yes! Fear! Fun! It’s having so much fun right now!

"Caliante." "Mercury." "Crack." "Tarragon." "Ripple."