Chapter 362: DASHA: No Light
The Underground, the realm where the light did not touch.
The Underground, where Jack the Ripper’s masks were sold like a commodity.
A different culture. A different smell. A different people.
Above were twisting tawny rocks and below was an enclave. A densely populated urban jungle that defied conventional city planning and architectural norms. Standing in its shadow for the first time, one might hardly believe that such a place existed. The walled city was a chaotic mosaic of concrete and steel, a tangle of buildings so tightly packed together that they seemed to meld into one another, forming a colossal, interconnected hive.
The buildings themselves were a patchwork of materials, cobbled together with little regard for aesthetics or safety. Rusted metal sheets, rotting wooden planks, and crumbling bricks formed a world that seemed to defy the laws of architecture. Everything had been constructed with little regard for safety or aesthetics, each new floor added haphazardly atop the last. It was as if the city had grown organically, layer upon layer, a living, breathing organism constantly adapting to the needs of its inhabitants. The upper floors leaned perilously, supported by makeshift pillars and beams, their balconies and rooftops bristling with satellite dishes and water tanks.
The narrow alleys were crammed with makeshift stalls selling everything from illicit potions to enchanted trinkets, their vendors shouting hoarsely to attract the attention of passersby.
Dasha Pang ignored all the voices that called for him. His walk was empty as it was intentional. Slow yet not touched. In a rush of people yet slipping through as if gliding across the ground.
No special gauntlets.
No armour.