The Echo-Sleeper's warped cradle-song didn't just follow them into the vertical pipeline; it seemed to coat the walls, a heavy, multi-layered frequency that made the teeth rattle inside their skulls.
Trapped at the edge of the two-mile sheer drop, the group looked down into the void. The heavy iron ladder rungs were entirely useless, melted into slick, jagged streaks of ancient slag centuries ago. There was nowhere left to run, and the freezing vapor from the creature behind them was already creeping over the lip of the sub-vent.
"We have to jump," Lucien rasped, his fingers white where he gripped the stone disk map. "The thing behind us is right on our heels."
"Are you insane?" Varic coughed, spitting a speck of dark fluid onto the floorboards. "It's a two-mile drop, prince! We don't have wings. We'll turn into a layer of red paint before we hit the middle!"
