Ichor Cell-Chapter 30: When it rains, it pours

Alex ducked low, feeling the rush of air as the thing’s spines whistled past his head. They struck the wood behind him with a sharp, splintering thud, sinking deep enough to stick. He twisted aside, drove an elbow into its flank—and immediately regretted it. Pain lanced through his arm as a dozen spines bit into his skin, shredding muscle and lodging into the bone.
He tore himself free with a snarl, blood slicking his forearm.
The thing detached itself from the wall and hit the ground on all fours, claws scraping against the dirt floor. It hissed—a dry, rasping sound that made his teeth ache—and lunged again.
Alex stepped forward, met it halfway, and slammed a fist into its chest. The impact sent both of them reeling, the creature screeching as spines shattered against his arm. He felt each one punch into his flesh like nails through wet cloth.
Letting out a scream of pain, he stumbled back, his knuckles a mess of torn skin and dripping blood. Duran started forward at the sound, his hands gripping their new axe.
“Stay back!” He groaned, clutching the mutilated appendage close to his chest. “I can afford to fight it! You can’t!”
Grenil had already retreated behind the cart, placing his back to the wall and trying to make himself as small as possible. Duran hesitantly stepped back, protecting the old man.
The monster circled, its movements jerky and twitching. Alex’s eyes followed the motion, calculating distance, speed, angle—trying to find somewhere to hit that wouldn’t turn his hand into minced meat.
It didn’t give him time.
The thing darted forward with unnatural speed. Alex barely had time to twist aside; the creature grazed his ribs, leaving a dozen shallow cuts that immediately welled with blood. He grabbed its arm, meaning to slam it down, but the spines shredded his palm the moment he tightened his grip.
Pain. Always pain.
He gritted his teeth, forced his muscles to obey. His hand clenched anyway, dragging the creature off balance. It screeched, swinging blindly, and one of its spines slashed across his face, carving a burning line over his cheek.
“Damn it!” He hurled it into the wall. The impact cracked wood and bone alike, and for a moment, his eyes flared with hope.
Then it got up.
It twisted itself upright in a way that no normal skeleton should allow, limbs bending at strange angles, the sound of popping joints echoing down the tunnel.
Alex exhaled slowly. “Of course.”
It launched again.
This time, he didn’t dodge. He caught the motion with both arms, took the hit square to the chest, and let his weight carry them both to the ground. Spines drove into him like daggers, but his hands found its throat and squeezed.
“Grraaahhh!” He roared to drown out the pain, his chest getting more and more mutilated with every moment. For every muscle he reconnected and every stab he healed, two more were dealt back.
His fingers dug through the slick layer of spikes, their serrated edges slicing him to the bone. Fuelled by rage and desperation, He clenched with all his might, uncaring of the agony he was experiencing.
The more he tightened, the more his skin tore.
Blood spilled freely down his arms, mixing into the dirt. Its claws raked across his chest, ripping deep, but he didn’t let go.
Something heavy crashed into its back—Duran’s axe shattering the spines on its back. The creature jerked back in pain, tearing loose from Alex’s grip and taking a few fingers with it, leaving him lying there in agony.
The monster spun, launching a spine that whistled through the air. Duran swore and ducked behind the cart, the projectile embedding itself halfway through the wooden frame.
Wiping his brow, the ghoul readied himself then darted out, hefting his axe.
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It saw him and charged.
Duran sidestepped, swinging the blade in a wide arc. The impact was solid—a clean hit—but the spines protected it from injury once again. They exploded under the blow, sending shards flying in every direction as the creature snarled in fury.
Alex flooded his leg with mana, feeling the power saturate to its utmost, and delivered a kick with all his might. The blow landed on the creature’s back, right where the first axe strike had largely broken the spines.
The creature let out a brief whine of pain before a geyser of black blood erupted from its mouth and it shot into the wall like a cannonball, the spines working against it as it was embedded in the wood.
Duran charged, both hands on the axe, and swung with all the strength he could muster. A wet crunch followed—the blade sank deep into the thing’s neck.
Alex waited for another heartbeat, then two, but the creature didn’t move.
He collapsed to his knees, chest heaving, his blood pooling beneath him. The tunnel reeked of iron and a strange, sulphuric smell.
Duran still didn’t relax, cautiously prodding the corpse with the axe head, ready to leap back at the first sign of movement. “Is it dead?”
“If it isn’t, it’s doing a damn good impression.” Alex gasped, the agony spreading through his body unwilling to be ignored.
Having subsisted off of nothing but animals for the past several days, he was already running low on energy, and this fight had pushed him to the brink. He could feel the hunger growing with every second as his body worked to repair the dozens of holes perforating his body.
‘Fuck.’
He swore to himself.
‘Am I gonna have to ask Grenil to top me up? He still doesn’t know about my dietary restrictions, and this is
not
the way I want him to find out.’
He looked around desperately, searching for a solution.
‘Duran is a no go. He’s been dead for a while, and even if he wasn’t, he’s animated by me. No way I’m allowed to recycle energy like that.’
His gaze drifted to the creature’s remains. The floor beneath it glistened, dark and wet, the blood oozing out in thick streams that steamed faintly in the chill air. The smell hit him next—metallic, sharp, tinged with sulphur and rotten eggs.
He swallowed.
That smell… it was awful, but maybe…
Desperation muddled his thoughts; all he knew was that if he didn’t chose to do something he might regret soon, he would be forced
to do something he would
definitely
regret.
“Alex?” Grenil’s voice was hesitant. “You alright?”
“Fine,” he said with diffiulty, crawling toward the corpse.
He stopped beside it, staring at the black blood pooling from its wounds. It shimmered faintly under the dungeon’s glow, thicker than anything human. He hesitated—half expecting it to corrode the ground, or for the creature to suddenly wake up—but nothing happened.
Slowly, he reached down, dipped two fingers into the liquid, and brought them to his lips.
It was cold. Bitter. The taste almost made him gag—something between paint thinner and vomit—but the moment it slid down his throat, the reaction was immediate.
The hunger diminished ever so slightly.
Without hesitation, he grabbed the thing by the shoulder and stuck his mouth into its severed neck, drinking from it like a straw. The taste was horrific—acrid and heavy—but every swallow filled him with that same dizzying vitality. He drank until his vision sharpened, until his body thrummed with energy he didn’t know how to contain.
His wounds healed quicker and quicker, the gnawing emptiness that had been eating at his insides quieted, the burning strain in his muscles fading to a dull hum.
Mana pulsed faintly beneath his skin, sluggish at first, then stronger, like a dying fire coaxed back to life. The growth wasn’t as much as what he had gotten that first night, but still more than he would get from several regular soldiers. Enough to make him question whether he was meant to be eating monsters instead of humans in the first place.
He exhaled shakily, staring at the black smears on his arms. “That… actually worked.”
Grenil said nothing. He just stood there, face pale, eyes flicking between Alex and the creature’s corpse.
“I…” He hesitated, before deciding not to hide it. “Yeah, I need to drink blood to survive. It’s how I get my powers and why I never eat with you.”
The old shopkeeper relaxed, reassured that Alex hadn’t gone crazy. “You couldn’t have given me a warning or something?” He asked after a second.
“Sorry. I was really hungry.” Alex shrugged. He wiped his mouth, grimacing at the taste, then turned toward Duran to make a comment—only to stop.
The ghoul had collapsed to the ground where he stood.
“Duran?”
No response.
Alex frowned, picking himself up and hobbling over to the man’s form. The axe was still clutched in Duran’s hands, his body slumped forward beside the cart. For a moment, Alex thought he’d just passed out, but then he saw it—the glassy eyes, the utter stillness, the faintly sunken look that hadn’t been there before.
“Hey,” he said, crouching beside him. “Wake up.”
Nothing.
He shook him lightly. “Duran, come on. You don’t get to take a nap right now.”
Still nothing. No flicker of movement, no reaction at all.
Grenil’s voice came from behind him, low and uncertain. “What’s wrong?”
Alex didn’t answer. He just stared, a creeping unease curling in his stomach. Duran didn’t breathe—never had—but there was a difference between that and… this.
His hand tightened on the ghoul’s shoulder. “Don’t you dare.”
The silence pressed in, thick and heavy.
Then, from somewhere deeper in the tunnels, came a sound.
A distant scraping.
Followed by another.
Then a low, guttural shriek that made the pebbles under their feet tremble.
Alex’s head snapped up. Faint echoes bounced through the twisting corridors—the clicking of claws, the dry hiss of air forced through narrow throats. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Grenil froze. “Tell me that’s not—”
“It is.”
The tunnel around them pulsed once, like the dungeon itself was taking a breath.
“Fuck.” Alex cursed, the beginnings of panic setting in.