Mookie stands. He sees that they’re on a blasted stone shelf. It goes on and on, as far as he can see – except for the side that drops off into a faint fiery glow. Above is just empty space. Mookie has become accustomed, down in the Great Below, to having a roof of rock over his head, often so close that he had to stoop or even crawl. But here he can see no ceiling at all. Just endless dark. And little pinpricks of purple up the walls like violet eyes watching him.

He walks toward the edge of the shelf. Space seems to distort here. The edge seems close, but before long he realizes he’s been walking for several minutes. He turns. He can barely see the dim shape of Nora there. All around him are altars like the one the gobbo used. Many are home to unusual items: a scattering of coffee beans, an old Hershey bar, bits of broken colored glass, a six-pack of beer, a disemboweled rabbit, a chopped-up cankerpede.

And near the altars are small stone circles – campfires, Mookie realizes. Dead. Ash piled in the centers.

Nearby is his cleaver. Lying there, sheathed. Fallen through the hole.

He leaves it. What good will it do him now?

To the edge, then–

As he gets closer to the precipice, the shelf tilts downward and Mookie has to be careful not to lose his footing. He still feels weak and his broken arm dangles uselessly at his side. The pain isn’t a dagger stab so much as a tumultuous wave pounding against toothy rocks. If he falls, that arm won’t do much good to stop his descent.

And a descent here means sliding over the edge into… where?

It’s soon that he sees.

An abyss. Dark, but for the distant magma glow.

It’s enough light to see the shapes moving.

Massive shapes. Like giant worms turning, coiling together and then apart. Whispers rise up: Morquin, Hyor-Ka, Vithra–

He pulls away. The whispers grow quiet.

That way is not the way out. It’s an escape, perhaps – but a permanent one, too terrifying to conceive.

As he backs away from the cusp, a dread thought strikes him:

This is it.

This is the Ravenous Expanse.

His heart grows cold.

They’re at the bottom of the Great Below.

He cannot calculate how far down this is. Hundreds of miles. If “miles” mean anything here. They fell through a gate that may not have been a corporeal one.

They’re impossibly far from everything. From the city. From the light.

From medical attention.

Nora is going to die down here. In the dark. With a father she hates and ancient gods squirming in the light beneath them.

Mookie wants to weep. And fling himself into the abyss.

No. No.

He’s got to fight. He made it this far.

She’s not dead yet.

Neither is he.

“Nora. Sweetheart.”