The Molt

"We can't fight that thing," Elara said, gesturing to the endless expanse of the entity.

"We don't have to kill it," Silas said. He looked at the massive pipes running along the ceiling—the methane ventilation system for the city’s waste. "We just have to make it scream."

He pulled out his gun.

"The methane lines," Silas said. "If we rupture them, the spark will ignite the entire cavern."

"We'll die," Elara said.

"We're already dead," Silas said. He looked at Nora one last time. "This is hell, Elara. We're just the tour guides."

Elara looked at him, then smiled—a sharp, dangerous smile. "Hell needs fire."

They moved to the central junction of the pipes. Silas helped Elara climb the fleshy ridges of the wall. She used her good arm to jam her EMP device into the electronic regulator valve.

"It’s going to overload the pressure," she said. "We have maybe two minutes."

"Go," Silas ordered. "Find the maintenance ladder. I'll hold them off."

"Them?"

Silas pointed to the shadows. The Huskers—the fully formed guardians of the Broodmother—were detaching themselves from the walls. They dropped to the floor with wet thuds, unfurling leathery wings.

"Go!" Silas roared.

Elara scrambled up the ladder.

Silas stood his ground. He held the truncheon in one hand and the pistol in the other.

The first Husker charged, screeching. Silas fired. The bullet sparked off the scales.

"Come on, you ugly bastards!" Silas screamed.

He swung the truncheon, cracking the Husker’s jaw. Another lunged, its claws tearing through his trench coat, raking his arm.

Silas didn't feel the pain. He felt the heat.

Above him, the pipes began to whine. The pressure gauge turned red.

Elara reached the top of the shaft. "Silas! Now!"

Silas kicked the Husker away. He looked at the massive, pulsating heart of the Broodmother in the center of the cavern.

He raised his gun and fired at the glowing red regulator valve.

*BOOM.*

The methane ignited.

A wave of blue fire rolled across the ceiling. The Broodmother screamed.

It wasn't a sound. It was a psychic shockwave. It hit Silas like a hammer, dropping him to his knees. Every window in Ouroboros shattered. Every infected citizen in the city froze and screamed in unison.

The floor began to crack. The entity thrashed, tearing the foundations of the Ministry apart.

Silas grabbed the bottom rung of the ladder. He climbed, the fire licking at his boots, the screams of the damned echoing in his skull.