Boundless Evolution: The Summoning Beast

The first spark caught with a hiss, streaking across the oiled fuse like lightning finding its path. For an instant, all was still—then the world began to burn.

Fire raced outward from their position, leaping from one oil vein to the next in a perfect chain reaction.

Each streak of flame illuminated the tunnel for a heartbeat before vanishing around the bend, carrying the flames deeper into the cave from where they were.

The sound followed close behind—first a deep rumble, then a thunderclap that devoured everything.

The pressure wave rolled back toward them, a living storm of heat and debris. Bennet and Kieran braced themselves against the stone wall, the impact slamming through their bones.

The tunnels groaned as though the ridge itself cried out. Behind them, oil jars burst like cannon fire, spraying the walls with liquid flame.

The blaze moved with unnatural precision, guided by the path they'd planned—snaking through the corridors, consuming air, light, and men alike.

The resulting explosions sounded distant yet vast, like the breath of a collapsing world.

Dust filled the air so thick it turned the flames into halos, swirling in choking waves that clawed at their throats and eyes. Each breath burned, their lungs screaming for clean air.

Bennet coughed, pressing his sleeve to his mouth, shouting, "We can't stay here! It's going to choke us out!"

His words were swallowed by the roar, but Kieran understood, tugging at his arm. They pushed forward together, each step a battle through the storm of heat and grit, the need to move becoming not just instinct but survival itself.

As they moved, the haze thickened as shapes and outlines of objects vanished—walls, floor, even the path ahead—forcing them to rely on memory and instinct.

Just then, a blast from deeper ahead sent a rolling wave of heat down the corridor. The ground pitched beneath them, loose stones rattling as the ridge convulsed from the pressure.

Kieran turned, his expression grimly satisfied.

"The trail is working," he said between breaths, "It will reach them soon."

"Good," Bennet replied, his words barely audible over the rumble, "Let's hope that it doesn't stop."

Hearing that, Kieran let out a sly smile as he reached towards his waist, "I am glad you said that. Reassurance plan! Go!"

At that moment, Kieran pulled the final line of fuse from his belt and yanked it taut.

Almost immediately, a spark was born from pulling which was quickly caught by the line as the spark raced down like a serpent made of light.

It slithered through the darkness, weaving past the scattered debris, darting along every curve of the tunnel. Each stretch of oil ignited in turn, creating a trail of flickering gold that illuminated the walls with a heartbeat rhythm.

The spark vanished into the deeper corridor, leaving behind a humming silence so thick that even their breathing felt too loud.

Then, from far ahead, the first dull boom rolled back toward them—followed by another, louder still, as the second chain reaction erupted in full force. The shockwave rippled inward, heat and dust surging back toward them once again.

Bennet raised an arm, shielding his face as shards of rock skittered past. The air vibrated with fury but the two of them pushed onward through the haze until the tunnel widened into a broken ledge overlooking the entrance.

From that vantage point, they could see the devastation below—the collapsed tunnels, the twisted remnants of torches, and the faint glow of molten rock seeping between the stones- now forming a make-shift cavern.

Kieran exhaled, awe and weariness mingling in his breath.

"We did it," he murmured, his voice rough, "They won't crawl out of that."

Bennet didn't answer at once. His gaze swept over the ruin, his face caught between grim satisfaction and quiet regret.

Bennet exhaled through his nose, a faint, weary smirk tugging at his lips.

"Thank goodness for your reassurance plan, eh?" he said, his tone half‑admiring, half‑tired.

Kieran's answer came dry, carrying that familiar edge of dark humor, "Backup's just another word for survival. Clean enough for me."

The cave groaned as the debris and dust slowly began to settle, the echoes of the explosion fading into a strained silence.

Smoke and dust coiled in the air, twisting into serpentine trails that refused to dissipate. The heat lingered, rising in shimmering waves that distorted the light. Everything smelled of burnt oil, iron, and ash.

Bennet and Kieran crouched near the edge of their vantage point, the fractured ledge overlooking what was left of the tunnel below.

The now-become cavern was unrecognizable—a grand change from its previous appearance with pockets of flame still flickering here and there, licking at the dark.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Bennet wiped grime from his face, staring down at the destruction.

"They're gone," he said at last, his tone heavy, "Every last one."

Kieran nodded once, though his expression was distant.

"Maybe," he replied, "But don't assume yet. Men like their commander don't die easily."

The air thickened between them, filled with the faint pops of cooling stone. Bennet rested an arm on his knee, "Even if they're alive, they will not be able to catch up to us now."

Kieran offered a faint smirk, though his voice softened. "Yeah... at least not today."

He tapped the stone beside him, "We've got one exit, and it's still open. We should use it before this place decides otherwise."

They both rose carefully.

The ground underfoot still shifted, sending tiny rivulets of dust trickling down the incline. As they moved toward the fissure, a small tremor rolled through the ridge, making the broken ledge groan under their weight.

"Careful," Kieran muttered, "One wrong step and we join them down there."

Bennet glanced back one last time, his gaze lingering on the smoke-filled hollow.

They slipped into the narrow fissure, ducking beneath jagged rock. The air cooled immediately, thick with the scent of damp earth instead of fire.

Behind them, the ridge groaned again, louder this time—as though the land itself resented their escape.

Bennet slowed only once, glancing back at the faint glow from the chamber they'd left behind.

They had escaped death and the ridge was settling, but its distant groans carried like whispers of the buried.

But they pressed forward, following the faint incline and path-finding of Kieran until a glimmer of pale light broke through the dark. The fissure opened wider—rough edges giving way to open air that felt like freedom after the crushing weight of the tunnels.

Cold wind brushed their faces, carrying the earthy scent of rain and pine. When they finally stepped out, they found themselves in a small clearing nestled between the jagged arms of the ridge.

The clearing was quiet—eerily so.

The ground was uneven, carpeted with a thick layer of fallen leaves that muffled their steps. Dew clung to the moss and bark, gleaming faintly in the pale dusk. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped from the rocks in a slow, patient rhythm.

And beyond the clearing, a dense forest loomed—its trees tall, black silhouettes that reached high into the mist. The canopy above seemed to press down on them, swallowing what little light remained. Wisps of fog wound through the trunks, moving like breath between ribs.

After the endless dark of the tunnels, Bennet felt a rush of strange relief simply to stand under an open sky.

He tilted his head back, taking in the muted grey expanse streaked with violet where the last light bled through the clouds. The scent of wet earth grounded him—real, tangible.

"We made it," he murmured, his voice hoarse, almost lost to the sigh of the wind.

Kieran came up beside him, his eyes tracing the forest's edge.

"If this is safety," he said quietly, "it's got a poor way of showing it."

Bennet gave a tired smirk, "You always see ghosts before they're there."

Kieran's jaw tightened, "And that's why we're still standing."

For a while, neither spoke.

Even the forest seemed to listen. No rustling leaves, no insects—nothing but their own ragged breathing. The quiet was thick enough to hear their hearts beat.

Bennet unslung his canteen, took a long drink, and handed it to Kieran.

"We'll rest here a moment," he said, "Long enough to catch our breath."

Kieran drank but didn't relax. His eyes flicked from shadow to shadow, watching the mist creep closer to the clearing's edge.

"No birds," he muttered, "no wind, no bugs. The forest's dead."

Bennet frowned and looked up again. He hadn't noticed it before, but Kieran was right. The silence wasn't peace—it was absence. The kind that followed something terrible.

Then came the smell—a faint metallic tang carried on the air, sharp and unnatural, like iron and rain. The fog began to roll in thicker now, coiling low across the ground.

"Something's wrong," Bennet whispered, his instincts prickling. He rested a hand on his sword, thumb brushing the guard.

The forest held its breath.

And then came the voice—smooth, deliberate, almost casual: "Impressive work, you've done there."