Chapter 152. You’re Trashier Than Me!!
The underground was pure darkness.
Not the comforting kind that flickers gently with the hum of old wires and the occasional sputter of malfunctioning holograms — no, this was oppressive. Suffocating. A void so absolute it made the air feel heavier in your lungs.
The floor beneath our feet wasn’t metal or tile — it was jagged, uneven, like the carved-out belly of a long-forgotten cave. It felt... wrong. Like we had stepped into something not meant to be found.
Art’s voice broke the silence, his usual theatrical tone lowered but still laced with that familiar dramatic flair. "Isn’t this too dark? Like—what kind of psychological torment was going on here? Is this some twisted jail cell or the waiting room of hell?"
I muttered, my voice flat, but my words stumbled like my mind was still clawing through repressed memories. "I don’t know... I don’t want to know. This place... it’s reminding me of the cellar at Everhart Valley..."
Art’s entire body jerked toward me, his voice urgent, almost pleading. "Brother—please. I’m begging you. Do not get into your maniac mode. We are sneaking, remember? Stealth mission, no raging, no destroying walls with unknown curses written in blood. Save the crazy for later."
I exhaled sharply, pressing my fingers to my temples like I could squeeze the images out of my skull. "Alright... alright. I hear you. I’ll behave. No promises if this place starts whispering shit, though. This whole setup reeks."
He groaned with exaggerated suffering. "Fiiine. At least you’re honest about it... can’t ask for more."
From there, we fell into silence. No witty banter, no jokes. Just the sound of our footsteps echoing faintly through the hollow, haunted air. The deeper we went, the colder it felt — and not temperature-wise, more like the kind of cold that slithers up your spine and whispers, turn back.
Eventually, we reached a dead end.
Not a wall — no. A door.