Page 163 of Code Bound
Stevie flares brightly. “I don’t know. I kind of like it. The grime, like, really adds a nice touch.”
The poodle yips in agreement.
We walk for hours through tunnels I can’t pretend I’m remembering. Most of the way, we’d been able to keep our feet on the concrete, but when Havoc stops and gestures toward a tunnel with only water, I hesitate.
“Do you want to save the Bone Breaker or not?” Havoc grunts. “The Rat Kingdom is down this tunnel.” He pulls some large black boots from his inventory and switches out to those. When he sees me looking, he gestures to them. “Boots of Rubber. Keeps my feet dry.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair, would you?” I ask.
“No.”
No other explanation. Just no. Fucker.
“Fine,” I grumble, turning to pick up the poodle and cradling it under my arm. I don’t know if it can swim and I’m not leaving it behind. Carefully, I lower myself into the disgusting water after Havoc who happily steps in without a fuss thanks to his boots. Immediately, I can feel the debris and grossness floating in the water. It brushes against my legs before being rushed away. I shiver at the feeling of it, but I practically yelp when I feel something swim by me. That most definitely wasn’t trash. “What the fuck was that?”
I drag my hyena mask down over my face and let my senses spread. Immediately, I become aware there are multiple creatures floating around me, lingering, watching.
“Relax,” Havoc grunts. “They’ve fed recently. They won’t attack us.”
“What are they?”
“Sewer crocodiles,” he replies. “Lazier than the ones in the Verdant Nexus. These ones don’t have to fight for food. There’s plenty of it that comes down into the sewers.”
“You’re sure they won’t attack us?” I ask.
“The rat they feasted on earlier is over there,” he points.
Steve trails over to where he points and a mutilated body of a rat-like creature hangs half in and half out of the water. It smells rancid, and upon seeing it, I have to cover my mouth to keep the smell from turning my stomach.
“Let’s go,” Havoc says, completely unaffected. His eyes trace down to the poodle again. “Keep your creatures close. Something that small is still a tempting meal for the little ones.”
I suppose the legend has seen a lot since he’s been here, but to be so unaffected by such a brutal death? Dross isn’t any better. Death is everywhere, but it’s more of a slow, sickly death. Here, death is grotesque, brutal, and disgusting oftentimes. And Havoc doesn’t seem to react at all to it.
“Let me do the talking,” Havoc orders as we wade through the tunnel. “When we get to the Queen.”
“Why?” I grunt.
But he doesn’t answer. Instead, we exit the tunnel into a well-lit room. Immediately, a bunch of guards surround us and point sharp weapons at our faces. Havoc raises his hands and I follow his lead, shooting my own free hand into the air, but keeping my other arm firmly around my poodle.
“We request an audience with the Rat Queen,” he declares.
The guards hover for a moment before they tuck their weapons back to their sides and gesture for us to continue. We’re forced to wade through more water to reach what is clearly some sort of makeshift throne room.
My eyes immediately find Locke and widen, but I jerk my gaze away to avoid angering the queen who sits on a throne made entirely of garbage. She’s lounging across the throne, her head tipped back, as a different man runs his hands along her patchy fur, stroking along her chest. She cracks an eye open when we step out of the water and take up position in front of her. She raises her brow when the poodle under my arms yips and wags its tail.
“What do you want, Legend?” The queen asks when she trails her eyes over to Havoc. She shoves the man massaging her away and sits up, her eyes taking in our strange group.
“Good evening, Your Majesty,” he says, bowing his head just slightly. “You are currently in possession of a player that belongs to me. I would like to offer a trade to get him back.”
She laughs. “Oh?” She leans forward on her throne. “And which player is that?”
He gestures to Locke and my eyes trail over to him again.
His clothes are gone. Instead, he’s dressed in barely anything at all, a small metal and cloth cage for his privates and literally nothing else except for what looks like a collar around his neck. Connected from the collar to the throne is a chain, as if preventing him from running, something I notice isn’t on the other players lounging at her feet. He’s mostly clean, almost pristine despite the general grime of the sewers. There are a few scrapes on his knees where it looks like he was forced to them, but . . . most of his scars are old ones. He meets my eyes and there’s a haunted-ness to him that makes me bristle. Small puncture wounds pepper his shoulders and his ribs, and one long scratch cuts down his chest.
“What did you do to him?” I snarl, taking a step forward.
The rat guards around the room immediately tense, their weapons at the ready. Havoc’s hand wraps around my forearm and squeezes tight enough to hurt, stopping me.
