Shivaja grins. "So, catacombs?"

"Catacombs," Sera says.

We move. Through the graveyard. And then — the city gates open.

The Hounds march out. Cheetah masks. Spiked maces. Behind them — figures in white robes. Staffs in their hands.

"The Inquisition," Corvin whispers. "Battle mages."

The Hounds see the dancing dead. See Shivaja. One of them points.

"Necromancer!" he yells.

The lead mage slams his staff into the dirt. A wave of white light shoots out. The dead skeletons turn to dust.

Shivaja's eyes go wide. "Oh. That's new."

"Run!" Garrick yells.

We run. Towards the catacombs. The dark opening in the ground.

But Shivaja doesn't run. He walks. Slow. Confident.

"We're not running," the cat says. "We're going home."

Sera grabs his collar. "They have mages! They'll turn you to dust!"

"Let them try. — Shivaja grins. — The catacombs are my kingdom. They don't know the tunnels. They don't know the traps. And they can't see in the dark. I can."

We move. Into the dark. Into the catacombs.

The smell hits us first. Rot. Old blood. Something sweet. Like rotten fruit. The walls are covered in glowing green moss. The floor is bones. Skulls. Ribcages.

"Bloody hell, — hic —" Bukh gags. "I've smelled some bad things. But this..."

"Welcome to my home," Shivaja says cheerfully. "The dead don't use toilets."

We hear them behind us. The Hounds. The mages. Their footsteps echoing. But they're slowing down. The mages are coughing. The Hounds are cursing.

"They can't see," Shivaja whispers. "They can't breathe. And they don't know about the bone traps."

He strums his lute. A single, sharp note.

Ahead of us, the bone floor shifts. A giant maw opens. Teeth. Made of femurs.

"Step where I step," the cat says. "Or become part of the floor."