The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

"Well, well," Vyrelda said, raising a brow. She looked more curious than sympathetic. "Look who survived."

The man's eyes fluttered open. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, and a deeper wound near his ribs caused him to shiver uncontrollably. "You… don't understand… what you've done…" he rasped, voice weak but laced with fury.

Cerys paused, lowering her blade just an inch. The quake overhead rumbled again, sending a scattering of pebbles across her boots. "What do you mean?"

He coughed, gripping his side as if trying to hold himself together. "The device… it wasn't just for amplification… it was…" He groaned, letting his head roll back, eyelids flickering. "A failsafe… to hold it back." Every word took visible effort.

Silence enveloped them—a silence filled with the echoes of stone grinding and the hiss of escaping air from deeper tunnels. Cerys felt her blood run cold, a chill creeping up her spine. Failsafe… to hold it back? That meant the monstrous Mistborn Entity. She exchanged a quick look with Vyrelda, whose mouth pressed into a tight line. They both understood what that implied.

"You're saying we just broke the only thing keeping that thing sealed?" Cerys asked, voice low. Adrenaline spiked again in her veins, overshadowing her aches. She thought of Mikhailis. Thought of how he might be facing that same entity in another corner of these collapsing catacombs.

The Technomancer didn't answer. He didn't need to. His silence confirmed the worst. A wave of guilt splashed through Cerys. They had come here to sabotage the device—to save the city from the Technomancers' meddling. But in their rush, had they just unleashed something far worse?

Vyrelda let out a long breath, a strange mixture of anger and regret flickering across her face. "Well, that's just brilliant," she muttered sarcastically, though an edge of fear undercut her tone. Her daggers twitched in her grip, as if she longed to take out her frustration on something.

A low, distant boom rumbled through the underground like a giant's footsteps, making the floor tremble. Dust drifted from the ceiling, and the ground beneath them shifted ominously. The catacombs were collapsing, and they had nowhere to hide.

Cerys exhaled, forcing her mind to focus on survival. A swirl of conflicting emotions churned in her gut—anger, guilt, confusion—but this wasn't the time to unravel them.

"We need to move," she said, grabbing Vyrelda's arm. If they paused to pity themselves or dwell on their potential mistake, they would die here. She refused to let that happen. "Now." Find more to read on My Virtual Library Empire

The Technomancer groaned again, barely conscious. Cerys caught the raw fear in his eyes. Part of her knightly code howled that she shouldn't leave him, that she should at least try to help. But she couldn't. She knew it. Vyrelda knew it. The entire catacomb was going to bury them if they didn't act. They had only a fleeting window to escape. Even if she tried to carry him, the extra burden might doom them both.

For a fraction of a heartbeat, Cerys hesitated, her gaze flicking from the battered Technomancer to Vyrelda.

He coughed, red spattering across his lips. "It's… unstoppable now…"

She steeled herself. There was no time for mercy, not now, no matter how it gnawed at her conscience. She stepped past him, ignoring the wrench of guilt in her chest. The catacombs roared as though in disapproval, and a section of the corridor behind them split open in a violent spray of gravel. Rancid air blasted into their faces, heavy with the stench of rot and old magic.

Another explosion rocked the ruins. The partial meltdown of that device must have triggered secondary blasts. Arcane energy crackled in the distance, sending pulses of violet light dancing along the corridor walls. The ground rolled like an earthquake had seized it. Rocks rained from above, and the entire structure seemed to tilt.

Cerys staggered, pressing a hand to the wall for balance. She breathed in short gasps, mindful of how easily the air might choke her if she inhaled too deeply. Each breath tasted of old tombs and regret.

Vyrelda moved at her side, jaw clenched in silent fury. She offered no quip, no smug remark—only a grim acceptance. Their best hope was to find higher ground or a stable passage leading away from the meltdown.

The catacombs screamed in protest once more. The floor vibrated, nearly buckling beneath their boots. From somewhere deep in the darkness, they felt it—a pulse of ancient power stirring, a heavy drumbeat in the gut that signaled something huge and terrible awakening. Cerys's heart pounded in response, fear gnawing at her insides.

She thought of Mikhailis. He might be lost somewhere down here with that insane fragment, illusions swirling around him. And if this rumored Mistborn Entity was being set loose because of their sabotage, time was not on their side. She bit her lip, determined not to let dread paralyze her. She had to keep going for all their sakes.

The walls trembled again, and the corridor partially caved in behind them, cutting off any return path. A massive chunk of stone crashed down, crushing a half-destroyed console. Sparks flew, and a brief flash of violet lit up the corridor.

"Faster," Vyrelda muttered, her usual sarcasm replaced by hollow urgency. She took the lead, stepping over broken floor tiles. The labyrinth twisted, offering branching hallways—most of them blocked by rubble or collapsed arches. Each step confirmed how dire the situation was; aftershocks never ceased, sending fractures racing along the walls.

Cerys forced her mind to remain calm, though each quake tested her composure. We can't panic now, she reminded herself. Focus on finding a stable exit. She might have lost the chance to fully sabotage the device—or maybe that final dagger strike had done enough. Right now, she had to survive.

Sparks of arcane residue danced in the corners of her vision, illusions flickering like ghostly images at the edges of the corridor. She half-expected robed phantoms to step out and attack, but none appeared. The illusions might be everywhere—or perhaps the meltdown had twisted them into something else. She pushed the thought aside, concentrating on each step.

Rounding a corner, they reached a large arch that had collapsed only partially, leaving a narrow crawlspace that might lead somewhere safer. Vyrelda stooped to check it, cursing under her breath at the dust clogging her lungs.

"We can't stand," she said, voice muffled. "We'll have to crawl."

Cerys's instincts screamed that crawling through a half-collapsed arch in the midst of an underground meltdown was suicidal. But they had no choice. She nodded, swallowing hard. "Lead the way."

They dropped down, scrambling through the gap. Chunks of debris shifted above them, and with every tremor, Cerys imagined the entire mass of rubble giving way, crushing them in an instant. That image pressed on her mind, but she pushed it back. Dwelling on it wouldn't help.

It felt like hours—though it was probably less than a minute—before they emerged into another corridor that angled sharply upward. The stone here was older, not etched with the Technomancer lines but with swirling patterns reminiscent of the catacombs' deeper wards.

Vyrelda exhaled a sigh of relief, then tensed as a fresh quake shuddered the ground. More dust rained down, and from somewhere behind them came a dull roar—another chamber collapsing.

"At least we're going in the right direction," Cerys remarked grimly, attempting a half-smile that didn't reach her eyes.

A ragged hush settled over them. The corridor stretched ahead, twisting out of sight, and she could sense the incline beneath her feet. A higher level might be their best chance at survival. But the catacombs had no reason to be kind—especially not now.

She recalled the Technomancer's words about a failsafe. What have we done? The guilt gnawed at her. If that device was truly preventing the worst outcome, they might have doomed the city by destroying it. The catacombs were screaming, and in the shadows, something stirred—perhaps the Mistborn Entity itself. They needed to find Mikhailis, or at least confirm he wasn't crushed under a thousand tons of stone.

Anger flared in her chest. Why does everything in this city revolve around secrets and unstoppable power? She was used to fighting bandits, even the occasional group of raiders, not illusions and ancient horrors.

Vyrelda limped slightly, her earlier confidence shaken. "If we find Mikhailis, maybe that fragment he grabbed will do something," she muttered. She didn't sound fully convinced, but it was better than no hope at all.

Cerys nodded, pushing herself onward. Another quake rattled the corridor. The catacombs moaned like a wounded beast, yet they kept moving. Step by step, their footsteps faded into the darkness, overshadowed by the crash of falling rubble and the distant echoes of an awakening force.

Mikhailis's group wasn't the only one running out of time.