Their faces instantly fell into absolute shock. I could see the sudden, cold wave of panic wash over every single one of them. In a claustrophobic, dark death trap beneath tons of collapsed stone, their primary anchor… their strongest fighter and tactical leader… had just been rendered completely deaf.
Aisha's eyes went wide, and she started speaking frantically, her lips moving at a mile a minute as tears welled up at the corners of her eyes. I just stared back, my face entirely blank under my hood. I couldn't understand a single syllable.
Realizing that panic wouldn't dig us out of this hole, I stepped forward to manage their physical condition first.
I approached Chris, kneeling beside his leg, and pressed my palm over the ugly shrapnel wound in his calf to cast Pain Manipulation. His tense posture immediately relaxed as the localized anesthesia took effect. Moving quickly, I pressed my hand to Hugh's scorched face, deadening the raw agony of his blistering skin, and then numbed the deep laceration on James's wrist.
Hugh's lips moved silently in what looked like a rough, gruff "Thank you," though I could only guess from his subtle nod.
Once their pain was managed, Chris caught my attention. He waved his hands to draw my gaze, pointing urgently to his chest. He closed his eyes, dramatically flared his nostrils, and took a huge, exaggerated gasp, opening his mouth wide as if imitating someone desperately trying to breathe.
What is he doing? Is the air inside the dome foul? Did someone fart in this tiny space?
I took a subtle sniff of the air around us. Nothing. Just the faint metallic tang of spilled blood and ozone from the fire spell.
Chris saw my confused expression and tried again. This time, he grabbed his own throat, bugged his eyes out, and slumped his shoulders, mimicking a person gasping and choking for their very last breath of oxygen.
The realization hit me instantly.
We were six people… five conscious survivors plus the feverish, mutated Lukreia… crammed tightly inside a five-foot dome of solid, crystallized blood, completely buried under tons of dense rubble. The seal was completely airtight. There were no ventilation gaps. Every breath we took was rapidly consuming the finite pocket of oxygen trapped inside with us.
"Limited air," I said, my voice sounding flat and muffled in my own skull.
Chris nodded vigorously, pointing a finger straight at me to confirm my hypothesis.
The moment I said "limited air," panic rippled through the small chamber. Everyone started gesturing and shouting at once. Their lips blurred in a frenzy of silent debate, but to me, the interior of the dome remained an eerie, suffocating tomb of total silence.
I ignored their panic and forced my mind to analyze the spatial reality of our tomb.
If I simply collapsed the blood dome, the sheer weight of the collapsed Town Hall would instantly crush us into a bloody paste. The building had three full floors constructed of thick stone, reinforced concrete, and heavy oak timber… we were easily sitting beneath hundreds of tons of rubble. Because we were on the first floor when the dynamite detonated, the depth of debris above our heads was massive, like being buried at the foot of a collapsed mountain.
We can't dig straight up.
Breaking the vertical arch of the dome would cause a localized cave-in, dropping tons of masonry directly onto our heads. But digging horizontally? That was entirely viable. The Town Hall's ground floor was a mixture of standard stone blocks and wooden framework. I could use my Blood Manipulation to forge high-density, sharp pickaxes out of hardened crimson crystal, hand them off to the group, and have us slowly tunnel sideways through the structural gaps until we reached the outer perimeter.
Furthermore, my structural assessment brought a spark of genuine hope: the fact that my blood dome hadn't shattered meant the localized mass resting directly on top of us wasn't infinite. Based on structural physics, if the main central spire or a major support pillar had landed flat on the dome, the kinetic force would have obliterated my crystal shell instantly. The dome was holding firm, which meant we were likely buried under a loose, arching pile of lighter debris… a hollow pocket created by falling structural beams. The weight above us wasn't a solid mountain; it was a vaulted collapse.
There's a catch, though.
The moment we break through the outer edge of this rubble, we won't be stepping out into safety. The deafening detonation of the dynamite carriage, combined with the catastrophic structural collapse of the entire Town Hall, would have acted like a massive acoustic beacon for miles around. Every single bone-thrall and winged skeletal zombie in Lulu City is guaranteed to be surrounding the ruins right now, waiting like starving vultures. The second we dig our way out into the open air, we will be walking straight into an ambush.
I reached out and tapped Chris firmly on the shoulder to get his attention.
"Chris, I'll create an opening. I'm going to forge pickaxes out of my blood so we can dig a horizontal tunnel sideways. Do not make any noise."
Chris stared back at me, his brow furrowed in absolute, deep confusion.
I paused, realizing the glaring problem. Because my eardrums were completely destroyed, I had no auditory feedback. I couldn't hear the pitch, volume, or modulation of my own voice. What sounded like a clear, tactical plan in my head had likely come out of my mouth as slurred, muffled, unintelligible gibberish.
James and Hugh were staring at me with the exact same lost, bewildered expressions.
Right. Speech is useless when you can't hear yourself speak.
Resigning myself to the situation, I shifted tactics to charades.
I pointed at my own chest, then brought my left hand up and made a sharp, sudden *slicing* motion across my shoulder to mimic drawing blood. Next, I brought both hands together in front of my face, mimicked gripping the handle of a heavy tool, and made three sharp, exaggerated swinging motions against the side wall of the crystal dome… imitating someone swinging a pickaxe into stone.
Finally, I pressed my left index finger firmly over my lips, puffed out my cheeks, and shook my head side-to-side with a stern, glaring look, explicitly communicating: Quiet.
Chris's eyes lit up with instant recognition. He looked at the side wall of the dome, then back to me, giving a firm, resolute nod. He turned to James, Hugh, and Aisha, repeating the pickaxe motion and pressing his finger to his lips to make sure everyone understood the assignment.
Message delivered. It was time to start digging our way out of the grave.
I focused my magic, raising my left hand to channel my blood, but a sudden wave of lightheadedness washed over me. I had lost far too much blood between sealing the wall, healing my wrist, and forging this massive shelter. I couldn't afford to drain my body any further.
Reaching out, I pressed my palm directly against the interior of the blood dome. Channeling my Blood Manipulation, I siphoned a portion of the hardened crimson crystal back into my own veins. The walls of our shelter thinned slightly, but I kept the structural dense enough to maintain its high durability while recovering just enough vital blood to work with.
With my magic replenished, I reshaped a small section on the side of the dome, creating a narrow archway leading directly into the compacted rubble. Using the reclaimed blood, I forged three pickaxes made of hardened, crystallized blood… lightweight, razor-sharp, and remarkably durable.
Since Hugh was recovering from severe facial burns and James had a deep laceration on his wrist, I kept them on light duty to manage the bound, feverish Lukreia. I handed the first two blood-pickaxes to Chris and Aisha, keeping the third for myself.
I took the lead, stepping up to the stone and timber barrier, and swung my blood-pickaxe into the loose masonry.
CLACK!
The sharp crystal edge bit smoothly into the compacted concrete and wood. I immediately turned to the group, pressing my finger to my lips with a stern glare: Shush.
Chris and Aisha fell into line right behind me. Neither of them had a single day of mining experience in their lives, but they put every ounce of effort into their swings, clearing the dislodged stones and tossing them back into the dome. Aisha kept her small flame hovering over her shoulder, casting a dim orange light down the cramped, dusty tunnel as James, Hugh, and the squirming Lukreia crawled close behind us.
It was painstaking, exhausting work. For thirty minutes, we slowly carved a tight, horizontal crawlspace through the suffocating mountain of crushed stone, dust filling our lungs with every breath.
Suddenly, a hand patted my back firmly.
I spun around. Aisha was leaning forward, her mouth moving frantically as she tried to tell me something. She caught my blank stare, froze, and facepalmed… she had completely forgotten I was deaf. Realizing her mistake, her eyes widened in panic, and she rapidly pressed her index finger over her lips, shaking her head with an expression of pure dread.
She had heard something outside. The monsters were right on top of us.
I turned back to the front of the tunnel, carefully raising my blood-pickaxe to dislodge one final, stubborn slab of granite embedded in the ceiling.
CRACK.
The heavy slab shifted, sliding free and dropping onto the tunnel floor. A narrow beam of blinding, searing light pierced through the fresh gap, striking the bare skin of my hand.
FSHHH!
A sharp, familiar agony flared across my knuckles as my vampiric flesh instantly began to scorch and smoke under the harsh UV rays. I yanked my arm back into the shadows, wincing as the skin blackened.
"Sunlight"