10,000 Years Too Late

Through the ash-coated windows, they could see new figures arriving at the hospital's entrance. Different from the healers—these wore elaborate masks and carried censers burning with blue flame. Their robes bore the same symbol as the pendant: the sick man on his bed.

"Now or never," Riley said. "Whatever a Cleansing is, I don't think we want to be here for it."

They moved into the corridor, Riley leading with her imposing Zelion frame. The others fell in behind her, trying to match the purposeful stride of medical staff rushing past. Their borrowed bodies knew these halls, even if they didn't—muscle memory guiding them through the maze of identical corridors.

Every few steps, ash would drift in through vents or gather in corners, a constant reminder of what fueled this world. The purification bells continued their deep resonance, their sound seeming to vibrate in their bones.

"Left here," Shen murmured, his eyes fixed on his terminal's map. "Then two rights. The south wing entrance should be—"

He stopped abruptly. They all saw why.

The south wing's entrance was heavily guarded, but not by regular hospital security. These guards wore elaborate masks with multiple filters and tubes, their uniforms bearing that same omnipresent symbol of the sick man on his bed. Blue flames burned in censers at their belts.

"Cleansing Priests," Alexander whispered, the knowledge coming from his borrowed body's memories. "They're already here."

"Back up," Riley ordered quietly. "We'll find another—"

"You there!" One of the masked figures had noticed them. "Survivors, yes? The miraculous eight?" The voice behind the mask was surprisingly gentle, almost reverent.

They froze. Riley stepped forward, using her height to shield the others slightly. "Yes," she said carefully. "We were just..."

"Seeking your friend?" The priest's mask tilted slightly. "The Malara? Yes, we know of your connection. Come. We've been waiting."

The group exchanged quick glances. Their Axis terminals were flooding with warnings about elevated heart rates and stress responses in their borrowed bodies.

"Waiting?" Riley managed to keep her voice steady.

"Of course." The priest gestured toward the entrance. "Such a miracle must be properly documented. Studied. Understood. The Operating Theatre has many questions about your survival."

Behind the priest, they could see more masked figures emerging from the south wing's depths. The blue flames of their censers cast strange shadows on the walls.

"And if we decline?" Kayode asked, tension evident in his voice.

The priest's mask turned toward him. The gentle tone remained, but something harder lay beneath it now. "Decline? But you misunderstand. This isn't a request. The Operating Theatre requires your presence. All of you. For the good of Sveethlad."

The bells tolled again, closer now. The blue flames seemed to flare in response.

They were trapped between the approaching Cleansing and the waiting priests. 

Riley felt the others looking to her for direction. In this massive red body, she had become their default leader. But what was the right move? Force their way through? Submit and gather information? Try to run?

The masked figures at the south wing entrance weren't quite as organized as they first appeared. Looking closer, Riley noticed their uniforms seemed cobbled together, the religious symbols hastily added. Not official priests then - perhaps merely hospital staff adopting new customs.

"The Operating Theatre requires your presence," the masked figure repeated, but there was uncertainty in his voice now, as if he wasn't quite sure of his own authority.

Behind him, the other masked figures shifted uncomfortably. Their censers' blue flames flickered weakly - more show than substance. Riley's borrowed body's memories suggested these displays of religious authority were something new, not yet fully formed.

"A moment to gather ourselves?" Riley asked, her Zelion frame towering over the masked man. "We're still recovering from our ordeal."

The man hesitated. Clearly, he hadn't expected to be questioned. As he turned to consult with his colleagues, Shen whispered urgently, "Service tunnel, thirty feet back. Maintenance access. If we—"

A commotion erupted from the east wing - genuine screams this time, not just the controlled chaos from before. The masked figures turned toward the sound, their amateur discipline breaking. In that moment of distraction, Angela simply started walking away from the group, as if she had every right to be there. The others followed her lead, trying to match her casual confidence.

Nobody stopped them. The would-be priests were too focused on the growing disruption from the east wing, where the Ashblight containment was apparently failing.

As they rounded the corner, Kayode muttered, "What was that about? Those men, the censers..."

"Something weird is happening in this place," Alexander replied quietly. "Something new taking root. But we need to focus on finding Hayazaki first."

They found the service tunnel entrance where Shen had indicated. As Riley helped force the rusted door open, she caught fragments of conversation from passing hospital staff:

"...saying he's spreading into the outer districts now..." "...just stories, has to be..." "...but the burnings in the east sector..."

But there was no time to piece together what it meant. They had their own mysteries to solve first.

The tunnel gaped before them, dark and promising escape. Behind them, the hospital's ordered world continued to fray at the edges, as something new and uncertain tried to take its place. 

The deeper they ventured into the tunnel system, the more that steady pulse seemed to guide them. Its rhythm felt almost deliberate now, as if it were drawing them toward something. The pipes along the walls grew thicker, their contents visible through occasional transparent sections - fluids in strange colors that seemed to flow against gravity.

"Another shipment coming," Surya warned quietly. They pressed themselves into an alcove, watching as more workers passed by. These ones pushed carts laden with machinery - delicate instruments wrapped carefully in cloth.

"Did you see the markings on those crates?" Shen whispered once they'd passed. "Different from the last group. These aren't going to the Operating Theatre."

"So where are they going?" Kayode wondered.

A distant crash echoed through the tunnels, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Then screaming - not the controlled panic from upstairs, but real terror. The group exchanged glances.

"We should keep moving," Riley urged. But Angela held up her hand.

"Listen," she said.

Beyond the screaming, they could hear something else - a wet, dragging sound. Like something heavy being pulled across damp stone. And underneath it all, that steady pulse had grown stronger.

"Whatever's happening," Alexander said, "we need to find Hayazaki and get out of here. These tunnels feel like they're leading somewhere we don't want to go."

As if in response to his words, all the pipes around them shuddered at once. The strange fluids inside them surged, their colors shifting rapidly. The pulse quickened.

"This way," Angela said suddenly, pointing down a corridor they hadn't noticed before. The others hesitated, but there was something certain in her voice that made them follow.

The new tunnel was different from the others. Its walls were older, the construction more elaborate. Carved patterns emerged from beneath years of grime - delicate spirals and flowing scripts that none of them recognized. Their borrowed bodies, however, reacted to the sight with an instinctive reverence.

"These aren't maintenance tunnels," Shen realized, studying the carvings. "At least, they weren't originally. This is something else."

"Something older," Riley agreed. Her Zelion frame seemed to hum in response to whatever power still lingered in these ancient walls.

They followed the carved tunnel until it opened into a circular chamber. Here, the pulse was strongest - they could feel it in their teeth, in their bones. The chamber's center held a pool of what looked like mercury, its surface rippling in time with that omnipresent rhythm.

"What is this place?" Kayode breathed.

Before anyone could respond, they heard voices approaching - many voices, accompanied by the sound of wheels on stone and the clink of machinery.

"Hide," Riley ordered. But as they looked around the chamber, they realized there was nowhere to go. They were trapped in this ancient room with its mysterious pool and its steady, maddening pulse.

"We need to move," Riley urged, the sounds of approaching workers growing louder. "Now."

They hurried past the mysterious pool, forcing themselves to ignore its rhythmic pulse. Another tunnel opened on the far side of the chamber - older, cruder, sloping downward. Without discussion, they took it.

The new passage twisted sharply, the carved walls giving way to rough stone. Their footsteps echoed despite their attempts at quiet. Behind them, voices filled the chamber they'd left:

"...more specimens for processing..." "...incident in the east wing contained..." "...prepare for the next phase..."

They ran now, no longer worried about stealth. The tunnel branched repeatedly, but Angela seemed to know which turns to take, moving with strange certainty. The others followed, their borrowed bodies protesting the exertion.

"Wait," Shen gasped suddenly. "My terminal - it's picking up something. A familiar signature."

"No time," Kayode said, hearing the voices growing closer again.

But Shen insisted: "It's Hayazaki's signal. He's close, but not in the hospital. He's... below it somehow."

A shout from behind - they'd been spotted. The tunnel filled with the sound of pursuit.

"There!" Alexander pointed to a maintenance shaft, its rusty ladder descending into darkness.

They had seconds to decide. Above lay the hospital with its masks and censers, its religious zealots and medical mysteries. Below... who knew?

Riley went first, her Zelion frame making the ancient ladder creak. The others followed quickly, pulling the access hatch shut above them just as their pursuers reached it.

They descended into whatever waited below, hoping Shen's terminal was right about Hayazaki's location. The pulse that had guided them was stronger here, becoming something they felt rather than heard.

They were committed now. The only way out was down.