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The Deep

Chapter 2: Intoxication Summary: Despite heavy losses, the Ninth pushes deeper into the Chasm, in the name of the glorious mission assigned to them by Her Majesty. However, the dominoes have begun to fall, and it's only a matter of time before it all comes crashing down. A/N: This is an au, and many of the creatures mentioned in the fic are not canon.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39010932/chapters/101653458

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They’d been down there for 14 days now. Two long weeks. It was clear the toll those days had taken on the Company; they were already down eight agents.

Temur gripped his weapon, glaring into the darkness around him. No, the men were just missing. They were alive, just lost. Danila was with them. Temur hoped he was okay.

Their CO called for a break, and Temur slumped onto a rock with a soft huff. Radomir sat down next to him, and Temur found himself leaning against the other man.

“Everything all right?” questioned the hydrogunner

“Not really,” said Temur, “I mean, it’s been two weeks, we’ve lost contact with eight people, and this mission has already gone to hell. What’s next? The Mokosh Device breaks?”

“Don’t jinx us!” Radomir hissed.

There was a rustle of cloth as their CO, an older man named Issak, lowered himself to the ground near them. He pulled his mask down and rubbed his eyes before running a hand through his greying hair.

“Sir?” questioned Temur.

“This mission is certainly turning out to be quite the adventure, hm?” the man said.

Issak was an agent previously assigned to the Harbinger Capitano. Rumors abounded that he applied to switch to Signora’s command to spy for the captain.

“Was it anything like your travels in the Navy, sir?” one young Cicin Mage asked him, leaning forward in interest.

“No. Even the seas were kinder than this hellscape,” the man gestured vaguely around them before reaching into his coat and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “Anyone got a light?”

Temur wordlessly pulled out his lighter (a handcrafted gift from his father) and offered it up.

“Anyone want a smoke?” Issak asked.

A few agents accepted, and Temur lit their cigarettes as well.

An important thing to note is that Snezhnayan cigarettes are made to be scentless. This allows soldiers to smoke freely without worrying about the smell drawing in beasts or monsters. In the low light of the lanterns, the smoke trails lazily coiled upwards before vanishing into the void around them. Temur watched, slightly dazed, as the smoke drifted away into the dark.

They packed up quickly after their rest and made their way down the winding path. All was well until a young anemoboxer misstepped, staggering to the side and falling over the path's edge. Panicked, Temur shone his light over where the boxer had dropped. They weren’t too high up, but something pitch-black bubbled below. The men watched in horror as the boxer began to sink. He struggled helplessly against the substance before shooting a glance up. Anton dropped onto his stomach and reached for the agent, but he couldn’t reach far enough.

“I need your hammer,” Anton yelled to an electro vanguard, who quickly passed it over before steadying Anton.

The boxer reached up and grabbed the hammer, but even with Anton and two other larger agents, they couldn’t pull him back up. He only sank deeper, and Anton began to slip. Their CO grabbed his wrist.

“Anton, let go,” he ordered.

“I can still get him!” Anton cried.

“Antoha, let go,” said Temur, reaching to tug on the other man’s clothing lightly

The boxer down below smiled weakly and let go of the hammer. Anton yelled, but the man just continued to smile.

“Can’t take you down with me,” he said quietly.

The puddle greedily devoured him. His face twisted into a look of pure agony, but the mud drowned out his cries as it filled his lungs.

And just like that, he was gone.

Temur glanced down at the muck as Anton growled in anger. The other agents pulled him up, and the Electro Vanguard solemnly took his hammer back.

The remaining Fatui stood still, quiet. No one quite knew what to do.

Temur glanced up at their CO, whose gaze was stern but sad as he turned to face the path forward.

“Let’s move,” said the older man. “We can mourn our losses later.”

Temur tugged gently at Anton’s arm as the man wordlessly rose up off the ground.

“Hey, you alright, Antoha?” whispered Temur softly.

Anton didn’t respond as he pushed past the smaller agent. Temur watched him go silently. A hand on his shoulder jolted the man out of his thoughts, and he glanced up at Radomir.

“Give him time,” Radomir murmured.

“Stay alert, everyone,” Issak ordered, “and watch your step. Let’s not lose anyone else like that.”

“First, we have things in the shadows following us, and now murderous mud?” Temur grumbled under his breath, “At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if the flora is alive and tries to eat us.”

“Don’t jinx it, Temur,” growled Nikolay harshly as the young child of snow fell into step beside him.

“I think it’s safe to say we’re already forsaken, Nikolay,” mused Temur before he hurried forward to join Radomir and Anton.

According to their watches, it was getting late above ground. The effects were evident in the men as they sluggishly pushed forward. The CO finally called for a stop, and the crew set up camp.

Temur sat down on a rock, polishing his gun in silence. His thoughts wandered to the events of the past few days. The death of the Anemoboxer, the missing agents, the things that lurked deep in the chasm. Temur stood and walked over to where the rest of his squad was settling down for the night. He plopped down with a huff, placed his gun next to him, and lay down on the hard ground, staring up into the void. Another presence joined him as Anton settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.

It was then that the screams started. From somewhere deep in the void, the voices of their missing comrades filtered through, one at a time. They begged for help, filled with agony and despair. Temur shot up, scrambling to grab his weapon as his eyes frantically scoured the darkness for any sign of movement; he found none. Around him, the other members of the ninth snapped to attention, panicked whispers drowned out by the shrieks of their lost comrades.

“Should we investigate, sir?” asked a geochanter.

“No, stay here,” ordered the CO, “I’m not losing more men to these gods-forsaken caves. We can search together later.”

Temur felt Anton shift closer to him, hands twitching as he prepared to bring forth his anemo shield if need be.

“Hey, Temur, Antoha,” murmured Radomir, moving to stand on Temur’s other side, “None of those voices are Danila’s.”

“You sure?” hissed Anton.

“Positive,” said Radomir, “Maybe we can only hear the voices of the dead.”

A brief silence fell between them as another scream sounded - this one Marka’s, almost identical to those heard after he first disappeared.

“But that would mean the others-” Temur didn’t finish the sentence.

The trio stood there, pressed together in the low light, and gazed into a void that glared back.

The screams went on for hours. As they finally stopped, Temur groaned and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep and looking around, it didn’t seem like anyone else had either.

The sound of intense arguing soon reached his ears; it seemed some of the agents were quarreling with the CO about their next steps.

“The mission above all else,” Temur heard Isaak say. “I want to look for the missing as much as you do, but we have orders to follow.”

The agents relented, eyes downcast. They finally seemed to accept the answer, and Temur watched them with sympathy. He closed his eyes and prayed to the Tsaritsa. Prayed that somewhere in this hellscape, Danila was still alive.

The agents of the 9th were sluggish. The lack of sleep, the voices of their lost comrades, and the oppressing darkness weighed them down. Temur, head foggy from the lack of sleep, suddenly tripped and went crashing to the ground, gun skidding away and gently hitting the agent in front of him.

Temur tried to rise, but his arms shook so violently that he couldn’t keep himself up. Large, gentle hands hauled him up with ease, and Temur gave his thanks to Anton.

Temur’s fall was loud enough to alert the CO up ahead, and the group doubled back. Though Isaak didn’t say a word, it was clear what he and the remaining agents were thinking - they couldn’t continue at this pace, with everyone as exhausted as they were.

Temur felt something bump into his ankle and glanced down. A small mushroom bobbed around at his feet. Temur jerked back violently in surprise and fell into Nikolay, who steadied him as he gazed warily at the mushroom. Every agent took a step back, giving the tiny thing some space. Given everything that had happened so far, a mushroom could probably kill them.

Tiny eyes blinked up at Temur, Nikolay, and the two agents behind them. Then the mushroom skittered away, releasing a cloud of foul-smelling purple mist as it did so. The fog cleared fast, leaving four blinking agents stunned into silence.

“Are you four okay?” asked Isaak, approaching slowly.

“I - I think so,” Temur replied, checking over himself as the other agents did the same.

Anton hurried over to Temur, concern written all over his face.

“Do you feel anything?” he asked.

Before Temur could respond, blinding white-hot agony erupted through his entire body, and he dropped like a stone. The pain pulsed through his veins like he was burning alive from the inside out. He felt pressure on his mouth and, through the foggy haze of pure agony, realized it was a hand. He must have been screaming. Was he screaming? He couldn’t tell. Nothing made sense, his body burned, and his head filled with fog. It was like nothing he had ever felt before.

His vision blurred, and through flickers of color, he could just barely make out Anton. His face felt itchy as something rolled down it. Was he crying? Sudden pain ripped through him, different from the hot coals fueling the burning of his body.

Warm and sticky. On his skin. Dripping. From where? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t know. It hurt, oh gods it hurt what was that thing? Why did it burn make it stopsomeoneplEASEMAKEITSTOP-

His vision went dark, and yet he was still awake. He didn’t even have the strength to pray for death.

When Temur dropped with a cry of pain, Anton had felt his blood go cold. He had caught Temur, confused at first as the other man writhed in his arms. When he started screaming, Anton was quick to silence him, muffling the sound with his hand. Similar cries followed from the other men who’d been exposed to the cloud, and other agents rushed to silence them. Isaak hurried over, crouching down.

“We need to hide,” snapped Isaak, “We’ve given away our position.”

The agents moved quickly, picking up their incapacitated comrades and hurrying forward. Isaak ushered them into a deep indent in the wall, and the men worked quickly, setting up camp and lighting up the area. Anton lowered Temur to the ground, hand still covering his mouth. Anton took note of the fact that Temur, who hated showing any sign of vulnerability, was openly weeping as soft, muffled cries of pain escaped from behind Anton’s hand. At the very least, he was no longer screaming.

“Radomir, can you do anything?” hissed Anton.

“I can’t heal poison, only physical wounds,” responded the hydromancer, looking pained.

Temur’s hands shot up, sudden and violent, as he began to tear at his throat with vigor. Blood seeped down as Temur broke the skin, and Radomir let out a yell and lunged forward, catching both of Temur’s wrists with a hand and fighting to pull them away from his neck. For someone so small, Temur was surprisingly strong.

No, that wasn’t right. Had he…always had this much strength?

Using his free hand, Radomir fumbled with his equipment for a second, calling up a bubble to surround Temur’s neck. The gentle glow of hydro bathed the underside of Temur’s chin in a hazy blue as the skin slowly stitched itself back together. Once the wound had healed, Radomir carefully maneuvered Temur’s hands back down, an unreadable look on his face.

“Sir, what should we do?” Damian, one of the youngest agents, asked, his voice soft and uncertain as he glanced around in barely concealed panic at the writhing forms of his comrades.

Every remaining agent turned to face their CO, who was standing silently near the entrance of the cave.

“Gag the wounded and give them painkillers; they’ll attract unwanted attention if they continue like this. Bind them too, so they can’t hurt themselves. Our best bet is to wait it out.”

The agents let out mutters of disapproval, but no one protested very hard.

“You need a hand?” a Cryo Cicin Mage crouched down beside Anton, cicins fluttering around her head anxiously.

“That would be great, uh…”

“Violetta.”

“Right. Thanks, Violetta.” Somewhere in Anton’s mind, he faintly remembered Temur ranting about someone named Violetta when he’d had too much fire-water.

With her help, Temur was safely restrained. Anton’s body ached, and he groaned as he leaned against the rock wall. He closed his eyes as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. Though he was tired, Anton couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the memories of the screams they’d heard the night before, or perhaps he was worried if he fell asleep, even for a moment, Temur would stop breathing.

“Anton, you need to rest,” said Violetta, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“You sure?” he asked, cracking open an eye to glance at her.

“I was able to sleep last night, but I know for a fact you did not,” she replied kindly. “Leave this to me, comrade.”

“Alright,” said Anton, “Just, wake me up if anything happens.”

Violetta nodded, and Anton stood back up, staggering slightly as his vision spun and his head pounded.

“Sweet Tsaritsa,” he groaned.

Radomir was already asleep when Anton arrived, and Anton wasted no time falling into his sleeping bag.

Sleep never came. Anton lay awake, gazing into the dimly lit ceiling above him. Soft shadows danced lazily across the ceiling, entrapping Anton in their erratic movements. Anton flipped onto his side, huffing in annoyance. He knew that if someone was too afraid or worked up, they could have a hard time falling asleep, but it had been almost three hours for Celestia’s sake. He wanted to sleep, and not being able to was driving him crazy. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, biting back a groan of frustration.

A loud whining, blipping noise ripped through the silence, and all functional agents shot up from sleep or dropped whatever they were doing. The sound echoed through the Chasm, the walls lighting up with a strange ring pattern in phosphorus blue. The patterns spread along the walls, getting closer and closer to where the agents were hiding. It stopped just short of them, the haunting blue glow illuminating the outside of the cave entrance. Then, the blue glow peeled off the walls, creating small, luminous orbs that floated in the air. It was beautiful, but it was a cold beauty that sent a shiver through your entire body, like seeing the regal Tsaritsa upon her icy throne. Anton was faintly reminded of an old story his mother used to tell him, about the ghost lights that led travellers astray at night.

Something very, very large shot through the dark, its massive, thick body just barely visible in the low blue glow. Then, like someone blowing out a candle, the lights went out. It wasn’t fast, but it wasn’t slow either - each light went out, one orb at a time as dark, monstrous creatures danced overhead, just beyond the reach of any light source strong enough to reveal them in their entirety. Not an agent breathed or moved or did anything that might alert the creatures above of their presence. Anton couldn’t hold back his shudder of terror as loud fluttering sounds filled the cave. The winged monster, or monsters, Anton wasn’t sure it was just one, only left when the last light had vanished. At least, Anton hoped they were gone. There was no way to tell, and Anton feared flashing their lanterns upwards to check would alert the creature or creatures that they were there.

The 9th stayed still for a long, long time, silence broken only by the muffled cries of their poisoned comrades. An hour went by, then two, and finally, the agents began to move again.

“What in the name of the Tsaritsa was that,” someone croaked from Anton’s left.

“I really don’t want to find out,” said another.

“This mission was a mistake,” someone else muttered, “If there’s shit like that down here, why the hell didn’t they send a harbinger?”

“They didn’t know what was down here,” Issak called from his sentry post near the entrance. “We’re the first to go this deep. Only exploring the surface of the Chasm was always going to yield very little. Even Liyuenese miners haven’t ventured this far yet, and we’re not even halfway down.”

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, then added, “Sofya, what notes do you have so far?”

A young woman, maybe 20 or 21, shot up straight from where she sat on her sleeping bag and pulled a thick notebook out of her pack.

“I’ve recorded the small mushroom creatures, as well as all the strange fauna wildlife we’ve come across. Shall I add these…things to my notes?”

“Yes. There’s not much to say, but better something than nothing.”

“Alright,” she pulled out a pencil and began to write furiously.

Anton watched her for a moment. Sofya was focused entirely on her work, and Anton found the scratching of pencil on paper to be reassuring.

Suddenly, Sofya’s head shot up, startling Anton.

“The flapping noise we heard was definitely wings, right?” asked Sofya, glancing around at the others.

“I mean, we can’t be for certain, but most likely.” said Anton, “I kind of saw something when the lights were still up in the air.”

Sofya was suddenly right in front of him, eyes shining behind her mask.

“What did you see?” she demanded

“N-Nothing solid, just a large black mass shooting through the air,” replied Anton, shifting back slightly, hands raised in front of him to shield himself from the overexcited researcher.

“Nothing else?” she asked

“Sorry, Sofya, nothing else.”

The girl sighed, deflating slightly.

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” she remarked before scurrying off to continue her work.

Anton watched her for a few moments before he decided it was time to return to Temur. The younger man lay on the cot, face ashen and covered in sweat. Soft whimpers of pain escaped through the gag, and there were noticeable tear tracks on his face. His heart twisted, and he moved to Temur’s side. He pulled out a cloth from his pack and went to wipe his face. Temur grunted weakly and shifted, trying to get away. Anton gently grasped Temur’s face and held it steady. Once he finished cleaning his face, Anton pressed his hand against Temur’s forehead, then jerked his hand back with a hiss.

“What’s wrong?” Radomir asked, crouching beside Anton.

“He’s burning up, can you get something to help?”

“Yeah, I’m on it.”

“I’ll go with you!” Violetta hopped up from where she sat at Temur’s side.

Anton felt a little bad that he hadn’t noticed her there, but in his defense, she was quiet and blended in quite well.

Violetta followed Radomir as Anton turned his attention back to Temur. Temur’s breathing was heavy and laboured, as if it took every bit of his strength to breathe. Anton silently took his friend’s hand. At his touch, Temur’s eyes fluttered open. He let out a soft, muffled sob of pain, and Anton gave his hand a gentle squeeze. By then, Violetta and Radomir had returned with a bucket of cold water and a towel. Radomir drenched the towel and squeezed out the excess water before draping it over Temur’s forehead; almost immediately, one of Violetta’s cicins fluttered over and settled itself onto it. Despite all this, the flush on his face only lessened slightly.

“That should do for now,” Radomir said softly.

“Hey, Dan-” Anton cut himself off, realizing his mistake a second too late.

The two beside him sombered up. Anton’s gaze dropped to the floor as his gut twisted uncomfortably. Radomir placed a hand on Anton’s shoulder.

“Danila’s tough. We’ll find him,” said the larger man reassuringly. “Getting lost underground isn’t the worst that’s happened to him. He was one of Il Dottore’s, remember?”

“Yeah, I know,” responded Anton, voice melancholy.

Somehow, he doubted the mad doctor’s experiments could be much worse than this.

Anton sat beside the cooking pot as Nikolay described, in crude detail, this idea he had for getting information out of an abyss mage. Anton had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. It felt good to laugh again. The cryogunner Zhenka (Zenoch? No, it was Zhenka), stretched from where he sat beside Katarina. He had been adding on to whatever Nikolay said, and even told a few stories of his own.

“I’ve got to get to my patrol shift; you all enjoy your conversation. And to think that it was just getting good,” Zhenka sighed dramatically.

Zhenka was a very chatty person. He was rather sweet so long as you never made an enemy of him. He smiled warmly from behind his mask and waved to the group as he headed off to report in.

Thinking back, Anton wished Zhenka had just stayed with them. That he told him to sit back down and tell them more about the Snezhnayan Honey Cake his mom used to make or the stupid trick he did as a teen that left him with a chipped tooth.

Instead, Anton waved goodbye and turned back to the conversation without a response. Instead, Zhenka disappeared to patrol the opening at the back of the cave.

Nikolay had switched topics. They were now talking about Lord 11th. Anton had no idea what brought up Tartaglia, but he was happy to voice his desire to serve under him.

“If I make it out of this abyss-scape, I am 100% asking for a transfer,” Nikolay muttered.

“Agreed,” said Anton, “No disrespect to the other harbingers, of course, but we’d probably survive longer under the 11th than we would with them.”

The others laughed at that, and Anton couldn’t help but smile. It felt good to be at peace. For there to be nothing but laughter and smiles.

Until his thoughts wandered to Temur, lying restrained and in agony on his cot, or to Danila, lost in the Chasm, if he wasn’t already dead. Anton closed his eyes and tried not to think about whatever horrors lay waiting for them in the void that stretched before them.

Anton opened his eyes and stood up.

“Where are you going?” asked Yuliana, a mirror maiden.

“I’m going to check up on Temur.”

“Okay, bye, Anton!” called the cheerful voice of Yuliana’s 19-year-old little brother, Damian. “Let us know if his condition changes.”

“Of course,” said Anton, smiling at the young boy, “Actually, you want to help me feed Temur? It’ll be quite difficult if he resists, and I could use the extra hand.”

Damian shot up, a smile on his lips.

“Of course!” he said, grabbing a bowl of soup before carefully making his way to Anton’s side.

Anton smiled and led the boy to where Temur rested.

Upon arrival, Anton was relieved to see Temur’s fever had gone down slightly. Violetta stood up, smiling warmly at Anton.

“Go get something to eat; we’ll take over here,” Anton said politely.

“Thank you,” she replied, gently scooping her cicin off Temur’s forehead. As she moved to leave, she ruffled Damian’s hair, causing the boy to huff in annoyance. She laughed, heading to the cooking pot and joining the others around the small fire.

Anton knelt beside Temur and carefully lifted his head up, gently removing the gag and glancing over at Damian.

“Should I put the bowl to his mouth or spoon feed him?” questioned the boy, looking a little lost.

“Might be easier to bring the bowl to him,” mused Anton.

“Are you close with him?” asked Damian, as he placed the bowl to Temur’s lips.

“He’s like a brother to me, so you can imagine how hard this is. Watching him like this. In so much pain, and I can’t even do anything,” Anton replied, using his free hand to gently peel the wet hair from Temur’s forehead.

“I don’t know what I would do if that happened to Yuliana,” Damian said softly, casting a glance towards his sister.

Anton, noting the change in the younger man’s demeanor, placed a hand on top of his head. “Thank you for the help,” he said and Damian relaxed, brightening up again.

A soft groan interrupted the tender moment and both glanced down at Temur. His eyes were open, but he didn’t seem to see them.

“Temur?” asked Anton, but all he got was a soft whimper

Anton sighed softly and re-did the gag. While he did that, Damian watched him quietly.

“How long have you, Radomir, Danila and Temur been a squad for?” Damian asked, slightly tilting his head to the side.

“Hm, almost eight years now. Radomir and I met in basic training when we bunked together, Danila was assigned to our squad after volunteering as a test subject for Il Dottore, and Temur joined up with us after he completed his basic training,” said Anton, smiling fondly at the memories. “You know, you kinda remind me of Temur.”

“That’s good, I hope?” said Damian.

“Oh yeah,” said Anton, laughing, “Always smiling and trying to lighten the mood in shitty times.”

“I will do my best to live up to someone as great as Temur,” said Damian, saluting with mock seriousness.

Anton laughed, a large smile stretching across his face. Damian looked pleased with himself.

“We should head back to the others,” said Anton softly, spotting the approaching form of Violetta. “You’ll be fine here, Violetta?”

“Yes, thank you for taking over,” said the mage gratefully.

“Of course,” said Anton, as he stood up. “Come on, kid.”

Damian scrambled up and hurried to Anton’s side, empty bowl in his arms. Anton placed a hand on Damian’s head, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Oh, has anyone ever told you about the time Zhenka gave us, as he called it, a ‘once in a lifetime’ singing performance while absolutely wasted?”

“No, but please, tell me more,” said Anton.

“Okay, so, you know how Zhenka loves to sing, right? Well, we were joking around about how he should’ve been a singer and this man, mind you he’s already downed like three entire bottles of firewater on his own, stands up, takes an empty bottle, and puts it to his lips and just starts singing, not sure what is was called but it was some Inazuman song I think. The funniest thing was that, even though he was drunk, he held a tune. This man can fucking sing even while drunk,” Damian said, hands moving animatedly as he told his story. “Like, sure, some of the words were slurred, but he still did so well that none of us could even laugh about it. His singing was so enchanting. Of course, that only solidified our belief that he should’ve been a singer instead of a foot soldier, but he wanted to serve the motherland, and really, who can blame him? I mean, serving our country is the highest honour-”

Anton smiled as Damian rambled on and on about random stories that didn’t seem to be connected at all. It felt good to have conversations like this. He was glad that, even in this hellscape, someone could bring joy to everyone involved. It was no wonder everyone took a shine to Damian — he was like a ray of sunshine in a deep and dark cavern. A breath of fresh air.

Anton glanced out into the expanse of darkness just beyond the cave they were hiding in, and for once, in the glow of the fire and Damian’s animated storytelling, he didn’t feel afraid.

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