Killing one of the monsters in the deep was easy—or as easy as killing an aquatic nightmare at the first class advancement could ever be. Slaying this particular abomination had only been possible through a mix of experience, desperation, and synergy. Weeks of clashing with horrors, of running, of bleeding and surviving together, had forged their team into something lethal. Each member of the party knew their role by heart. They moved like gears in a well-oiled machine, compensating for each other's weaknesses with strength honed by necessity. Now, the creature lay dead and unmoving. Damon didn't know its name. He hadn't delivered the killing blow. He could have asked Sylvia to divine its identity, but she was conserving her strength—to find them a way out. It would be a waste to endanger their seer over something as petty as a monster's name. At least this grotesque thing would serve a purpose. It looked like a nightmare stitched together from the water's darkest depths—a monstrous fish with a mouth full of sword-like teeth. Its many white eyes gleamed wetly from a disturbingly human face, twisted and wrinkled like that of an ancient man. The body was slick, glistening with slime instead of scales. Damon's eyes drifted down to the creature's belly—there, grotesquely pressed into its flesh, were the vague shapes of human legs. Fused. Warped. Crushed into the body like broken bones into dough. A vile reminder that this beast was once human. The others stood around it in a heavy silence. He exhaled, turning to face them. Each wore light armor, as if careful not to burden the unstable island of wreckage beneath their feet. "We have to hurry and get it cut up and roasted before nightfall." They nodded slowly. From what he'd learned from Evangeline, nightfall still meant danger even in this underground caravan. No light was allowed after dark—not even here, beneath the city. Something out there did not permit it. Damon remembered the last time. The light. The rift. Those things that came crawling toward the light like moths to a pyre. Even underground, light was forbidden. Which meant when night came, the cold would follow. The air was already damp, clinging to their clothes and hair like mold. But at night, it would turn bone-chilling. Evangeline had told him what happened during the two days he'd been unconscious. They had huddled together, with him sandwiched between them like a dead weight. Her face had turned beet red when she admitted it. As for Xander—he had braved the cold, choosing to "act the gentleman." Damon almost clicked his tongue. Idiot. But now that he was awake, there was no way he could just wedge himself between the girls. And he'd rather freeze to death than huddle with Xander. So, they needed an alternative. First-class or not, they had survived. But if they didn't find a way to keep warm, they might not survive the next nights to follow. His eyes drifted back to the carcass. If this thing was warm-blooded… then gutting it and crawling inside was technically an option. Disgusting. Reeking. But it might keep them alive. He could already imagine the revolting stench. That was an emergency option—a last resort. They weren't that desperate. Not yet. He glanced at Sylvia standing beside him. "Hey. Is this thing warm-blooded?" She nodded with a visible shudder, her expression twisted in revulsion. "Think of something better…" He blinked, glancing at the elf girl—at the streaks of soot and blood on her pale, beautiful face, her armor clinging tightly to her form, stained and torn in places. "I didn't even tell you why I asked…" "You didn't need to… I thought of it two days ago," Sylvia replied dryly. 'No wonder she didn't use her skill to check.' He sighed, a thin smile playing on his lips. "You wanted to sleep inside a dead monster…" She looked at him calmly, her hair sticking to her face from the humidity. "No. We considered putting you there." Damon looked away, a distant, hollow smile stretching across his face. Turns out… sleeping between a warm huddle of beautiful girls wasn't the first option. He would've been buried in the guts of a hideous abomination. He frowned. "Wait… who stopped the idea? Was it you? Leona? Matia, maybe?" He was sure only one of those three would've volunteered to make such a sacrifice. It wasn't exactly considered proper for a man to share warmth with women in close quarters. Sylvia shook her head. "Evangeline hated the idea. She insisted. I didn't really mind anyway." Damon's gaze shifted toward Evangeline, who stood a little farther away, ever-vigilant. That girl had actually refused to let them stuff him into a monster's belly? How much had she changed after awakening? He narrowed his eyes. And Sylvia just casually admitted that she wouldn't have minded doing it? 'Where the hell is my reserved, bashful classmate?' Sylvia must have felt his gaze because she stiffened suddenly, realization dawning on her. Her pale skin flushed crimson beneath the damp strands of her white hair. "I-I… only if your life was in danger…" Damon nodded slowly, letting his gaze linger on her a moment longer. He couldn't help but remember the details he'd seen in her file. "Huh… I'm really starting to act my age, aren't I…" His muttering didn't escape Sylvia's ears. She tilted her head. "Hmm? Did you say something?" He shook his head lightly, smile thin and tired. "It's nothing. Just talking to myself, is all." Sylvia nodded and brushed some wet strands away from her eyes. The damp air was getting to all of them. Damon lifted his head. Time to get back to work. He couldn't tell what time of day it was down here. But Sylvia could divine something that simple. "Sylvia. How many hours before sunset?" She raised her hand, and a large tome appeared in the air before her. Her skill shimmered to life, light flickering off the pages. "We have exactly three hours until sunset… Is that enough time?" He shook his head grimly. "No amount of time will ever be enough in this cursed place." He clapped his hands, drawing the others' attention. "Alright. Break into two groups. Scavenge for anything useful in this ruin. The rest of you—on butchering duty." They were racing the clock now. Nightfall was coming.