Chapter 3: Through the Stone Sky
Section 1: A Moment to Breathe
The fire crackled softly in the center of their makeshift camp, casting long shadows across the uneven cavern walls. The scent of roasted chitin and smoke drifted into the cold, stale air. Though the cave remained as eerie as ever—ancient bones half-buried in moss, the occasional gust of wind groaning like a voice that forgot how to speak—there was a strange peace in the silence that followed Gary's departure.
Rex sat close to the flames, hugging his knees, warmth slowly working its way into his sore muscles. He watched the skinned remains of a massive insect-like creature roast on a spit made from bent swords and old rebar. Its greenish exoskeleton sizzled over the fire while thick, pungent oil dripped and spat into the flames.
Hugo stirred a pot nearby with practiced movements, humming softly in Spanish. The little slime had changed. At least, Rex had started to see him differently. In the chaos and absurdity of the last few hours, Hugo had seemed like a jester, a sidekick, a joke. But now, in the firelight, as he deftly carved pieces of giant ant flesh with glowing slime-tendrils, there was a calm power to him.
The dwarf, Grundle, sat across the fire, carefully hammering out a warped gear with the flat side of a stone. Sparks occasionally flew, catching in his beard, but he didn't flinch.
"This thing's been feeding on mana-rich ore," Hugo said, tossing a cut of the ant's leg onto a metal plate. "That's why it's so big. Makes the meat dense. Nutritious." He offered Rex a piece, slightly charred but steaming.
Rex hesitated. "Tastes like what?"
Hugo considered. "Burnt shrimp. With a hint of copper."
It wasn't the most appealing description, but hunger had dulled Rex's pride. He took the piece, bit into it, and found it surprisingly edible. Tough, yes—but it carried flavor. Real flavor. A kind of earthy bitterness that grew into something savory.
They ate in silence for a while, just the fire and the slow rhythm of chewing. Eventually, Rex broke the quiet.
"You're strong, aren't you?" he asked.
Hugo looked up from the pot. "¿Qué dices?"
"You… you caught that thing by yourself, didn't you?"
The slime shrugged. "It was big. Slow. Didn't know I could liquify its brain through the eye socket."
Rex stared at him, mid-bite.
"I didn't need to, but I was hungry and annoyed," Hugo added with a small smile. "Besides, it was trying to eat a mushroom that I claimed first. Territory dispute."
Rex looked into the fire, processing that.
"You joke a lot," he said after a moment. "But you're different when things get quiet."
"I joke to keep the quiet from swallowing me," Hugo replied simply. "There's too much of it here."
The answer hit harder than Rex expected. He looked toward the altar behind them. Its glow had faded, but the weight of the encounter lingered. That lazily terrifying god, the cold bureaucracy of being immortal, the feeling of being anchored to a world without choice—it was a lot. Too much, maybe.
"You regret coming here?" Rex asked, not sure why he did. Maybe he hoped someone else shared the feeling.
"I wasn't given a choice," Hugo said. "Slimes don't reincarnate. I was created in a puddle of mana and waste. Just… was. And then I wasn't. For a while. Then I was again."
"And you just… exist now."
"I exist with purpose now. You gave me that."
Rex frowned. "I didn't do anything."
"You listened."
A gust of wind passed through the cave then, carrying dust and ash with it. Grundle grunted, stood, and walked over to the fire with a hunk of bread he'd pulled from some hidden stash. "You two talk too much," he muttered. "Eat. Sleep. You've got hell to walk tomorrow."
"What's tomorrow?" Rex asked, already dreading the answer.
"Up," the dwarf said, pointing toward the ceiling.
Rex followed the gesture. High above them, between a tangle of broken stone pillars, was a hole. Small, round, and impossibly distant—like a star trapped in rock. Through it, the sky was visible. Faint starlight shimmered through the opening, so small it might've been a trick of the light, but it was there. A pinprick of the world above. Proof that this world, for all its madness, still had a sky.
"We climb?" Rex asked.
"Eventually," Grundle said, sitting back down with a grumble. "Not tomorrow. But someday soon. That's where the old path leads. The higher you go, the stranger it gets."
Rex leaned back on a cold slab of stone, using his ragged hoodie as a makeshift pillow. The stars in the sky hole above shimmered faintly, like they were winking at him—or watching. He didn't know which was worse.
He closed his eyes, still sore, still feeling phantom pain in the parts where that truck had crushed him. The image of his old world tried to flicker into his mind—flashing neon signs, the warmth of a crowded grocery store, the smell of cheap convenience food—but it felt distant. Like something from a dream already fading.
"Do you think I'll find something here?" he asked quietly.
Hugo turned his gaze to the fire. "Everyone who comes here does. Eventually."
"What if I don't want to?"
"Then you'll still find it. That's the cruel part."
Rex lay in silence. The crackling of the fire, the steady breath of the sleeping dwarf, and the faint chittering of unseen cave insects blended into a kind of lullaby. The pain in his body dulled with exhaustion, and the cold stone felt less cruel now, more like a truth he was slowly learning to accept.
Somewhere above, the stars continued to burn—quiet, distant, and uncaring.
He didn't know what lay ahead.
He didn't know what he was becoming.
But for the first time since dying, Rex allowed himself to rest.
Section 2: Climb from the Moon Cave
The sneeze echoed through the cave like a shotgun blast in a cathedral.
Rex stirred from his sleep with a groan, the cold stone beneath him doing no favors to his spine. The sky hole above still cast its pale morning light, a narrow beam of silver cutting through the darkness of the cave. It was faint, but enough to know the sun had risen somewhere far beyond this forgotten world of rock and monsters.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "What the hell was that?"
"¡Perdón!" Hugo said sheepishly, his gelatinous body trembling from the echo of his sneeze. "The cave air is too dry. Or too dusty. Or too cursed. One of those."
Grundle was already up, poking at the embers of the dying fire with a curved wrench. He grunted at Rex without looking. "You're up. Good. We move in ten."
Rex blinked, still groggy. "Move? Where?"
"Up," Hugo said, bouncing lightly in place. "Today's the day we try for the second floor. We're still two floors below the surface. But we'll get there."
"The Moon Cave," Grundle added. "That's where we are. Named by some elf who probably died naming it. Six floors deep. We're on the third. Surface is above one and two. If we're lucky, we'll reach floor two by nightfall."
Rex stretched, grimacing at the familiar ache in his bones. "And then civilization?"
"Eventually," Hugo said, "but one step at a time, amigo. First we survive today."
The campsite was quickly packed. Hugo snuffed out the fire with a squelch of his body, while Grundle fed a few small soulstones into Betsy's core. The truck rumbled to life, her headlights flickering awake like tired eyes.
They set off from the altar with cautious steps. The cave had changed since the night before. The shadows were still long, the air still heavy with dust and ancient silence, but the world somehow felt more awake. As if something in the dark was now aware of them.
"Moon Cave has layers," Grundle explained as they walked. "Old catacombs, monster tunnels, collapsed dungeons from some forgotten war. You'll find the bones of every era if you dig long enough."
"Sounds pleasant," Rex muttered, stepping over the remains of a cracked helmet embedded in the stone. "And what's on this floor?"
"Giant ants," Hugo said with a grin.
"Of course it is."
Their march took them down a crumbling path carved between towering stalagmites and jagged cliffs. Water trickled from unseen places, forming narrow rivers of glowing moss. The sound of dripping water and distant insect skittering became their constant companion.
Then they found the first one.
It burst from a hole in the wall, chitinous legs cracking stone, mandibles gnashing. Its body was armored in dark crimson plates, and its black eyes locked instantly onto Rex.
"Contact!" Grundle barked, diving behind a rock and pulling out a thick-barreled cannon that had no right being so compact.
Rex froze—but only for a moment.
Something within him clicked. Maybe it was the residue of yesterday's ritual, or the pain he now wore like skin, or simply the need to survive. But he moved. He drew the crude sword Hugo had given him—really just a reforged meat cleaver—and charged.
The ant lunged. Rex ducked under the jaws, barely avoiding the crushing bite, and slashed at its underbelly. Sparks flew, and the blade bounced off the hard shell.
"Go for the joints!" Hugo shouted, flinging himself onto the ant's back, his body morphing into a spike that pierced between the plates of armor.
The ant screeched, flailing. Grundle fired. A burst of purple flame exploded from his cannon, blasting one of the ant's legs clean off.
Rex saw his opening.
He drove the cleaver into the now-exposed side of the monster's head, twisting hard. There was resistance, then a crack, and the ant convulsed violently before collapsing.
Panting, Rex fell back, hands shaking.
He was covered in sticky ant ichor, his arms trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. But he was alive.
"You did good," Grundle said, stepping forward and jabbing the corpse with a wrench. "Didn't die. Always a plus."
"Feels like I did," Rex muttered.
"Better get used to it," Hugo said. "That was a scout. The tunnel ahead might have a whole nest."
The words had barely left him when the screeching began.
From the darkness ahead, three more ants emerged, each larger than the last, mandibles clacking, antennae twitching.
Rex didn't think. He just gripped his cleaver and ran to meet them.
The fight that followed was chaos.
Grundle used Betsy as mobile cover, firing bursts of mana-charged flame while dodging acid spit. Hugo darted between enemies, shifting shape constantly—blades, spikes, even a bizarre hammer-fist that launched one ant into the air. Rex focused on surviving, learning to read their movements, aiming for vulnerable joints and soft underbellies.
He took hits. Deep gashes. A bite that nearly tore his arm out of its socket. But he didn't fall.
Couldn't.
Pain screamed through his nerves, but something in him—something beyond willpower—refused to shut down.
Undying.
The name of his trait echoed in his mind with every strike he endured. It wasn't just about not dying. It was about enduring. Living in defiance of pain. Fighting in spite of certainty.
And then it was over.
The last ant collapsed with a shriek. Its broken limbs twitched once, then stilled.
Rex dropped to his knees, gasping. "Tell me that was the worst of it."
Grundle shrugged. "Probably not."
Hugo bounced over, offering a rag made of stitched moss. "You okay?"
Rex nodded, slowly. "Yeah. Just… sore."
"You fought well," Hugo said. "Better than yesterday."
"Better than dying again."
The rest of the walk was quieter. No more ambushes. Just the sound of footfalls and the occasional rumble of Betsy's engine echoing off the stone.
Eventually, they reached a broken staircase carved into the wall, spiraling upward into another cavern chamber. It was narrow and cracked, but it led up—toward the second floor.
They climbed in silence.
Rex looked back only once. The third floor of the Moon Cave faded behind them, swallowed by darkness and distance.
He had bled. He had killed. He had endured.
And he would keep climbing.