The Smiling Sword Chapter 4: Chapter 4: We Make Some Bad Friends

Read chapter 4 of The Smiling Sword by IchorX on NovelPedia.

We Make Some Bad Friends The pit keeps breathing like its pissed that we got away. Neo and I lie on the stone for a few moments longer, not celebrating, not talking, just indulging in our… freedom. Freedom, at least from the pit. My chest still feels wrong and dense, like there's a furnace behind my ribs. Neo's breathing is shallow and shaky, like he's afraid the air might charge him rent. Eventually, I roll over onto my side, and push myself slowly to my feet, glancing around at my surroundings. It's simple - a short passage lit with a dimly glowing chrona torch, blocked by a stout wooden door with no lock. "Huh." I wander slowly towards the door as Neo stays lying down, and notice a small bag fixed to a hook next to it. Oh? Could this be… a reward? I snatch it off the hook and tear it open. What greets me is the most welcome sight I've seen for a whole week. "Neo," I say, trying to contain my drool, "there's food." Holding back rabid urges, we spread the contents of the pouch before us. Two small, hard loaves of bread, q flask of water, a roll of bandages. "Shit," Neo says hoarsely. "Gimme." No arguing here. We scarf down the bread and water instantly - it tastes heavenly, like the best food I've ever had. Afterwards, we improvise wrapping the bandages around the worst of our injuries, talk a little bit more, than make the decision to venture outside the door. "We could get killed instantly," Neo swallows. "You sure about this?" "There's only one road ahead," I say, and kick the door off its hinges. The wood splinters and falls back, light spilling through. The corridor in front of us stretches forever in both directions. Rock, but not natural rock. This is carved and chiselled, built by someone. Dim torches line the walls, their flames tinted blue by natural chrona, throwing an eerie glow over hundreds of identical doors. Hundreds. I'm assuming each door also hides a pit just like ours, and two people there too. Neo pushes himself upright, wincing. “So there were other pits.” “Yeah,” I mutter. “Lucky us.” "We're 007 and 008, right?" Neo asks. "That was what the voice said." "So… that means at least three pairs made it out before us." I frown, realising. "Less than I thought." "I'm sure it's because no one's as brash as you to dunk venom like that." "Maybe." Then I freeze and put out a hand to stop Neo. Footsteps… not ours. They're not frantic or desperate, but lazy. Like whoever’s walking is just strolling casually down their road. Two silhouettes drift toward us down the corridor. As they come into the torchlight, my brain instantly sorts them into categories. The first is a wall with legs. Huge. Thick arms. Thick neck. The kind of build that looks like it was designed to pick up other humans and use them as weapons. His face is a permanent scowl like he spends his spare time face planting on the sidewalk. The second is slimmer, dancer-like, but his posture is… wrong. Relaxed, but unnerving. Like the world has never successfully threatened him. He smiles. Only his mouth. His eyes don’t. One is warm brown. The other is pale yellow, almost glowing in the torchlight. Mismatched. Unsettling. The kind of gaze that makes my skin feel like it’s being inspected. “Hello,” he says, as they approach and stop in front of us. He extends a hand. I take it, because I’m stupid and also because my pride refuses to flinch first. His grip is strong, rough and covered in dried blood from the climb. “You can call me Sword,” I say, forcing my voice not to crack. “I think we’re the fourth group to get up here.” “My designation’s Neo,” Neo adds, nodding stiffly. The mismatched-eyed guy tilts his head. “Numbers?” “007 and 008,” I say. “You?” His smile doesn’t change, but something behind his eyes sharpens. “I’m 001,” he says. Then he nudges the brick wall beside him with a thumb. “This is 002.” Neo freezes like he’s been unplugged. The first. Which means he didn’t just climb out b