Loki’s heart was thudding; he didn’t really like the dark. Of course, he didn’t really like enclosed spaces, either, or creepy crawlies - and there were plenty of the latter in the former; he could hear them scuttling away from the torchlight. Shuddering, he paused to study the ice. There were more of those weird gouges; he lifted the torch and followed them with his eyes as they crisscrossed up the wall to the roof. It could not be an animal, he was certain; there was nothing big enough to have created those marks - it would have to be bigger than the largest Saurian!

A noise caught his attention; soft, but high of pitch - almost a purr but with a sinister edge to it. Something that a predator would make... now he was imagining things, it was probably just a flying-rodent or something harmless like that.

That made those marks?

“Okay, definitely no bulyrium crystals here yet,” he managed, walking back from the wall. Scun scampered on ahead, and Loki watched him vanish into the darkness. A low grunt of surprise came from the black, and he hesitated again.

“What’s the matter now?” Diablo asked angrily.

Loki ignored him. “Scun?” he called.

No reply.

“Scun? Scun!” His voice echoed a couple of times before being swallowed up.

“Hey, Scun, you okay?” Connac joined in, but also got no response. “Heck, what’s he done now, fallen down a hole and whacked his head?”

Loki took a few careful steps forward, and held up the torch; something wet reflected the light and he stumbled back quickly, gagging. Scun’s headless body lay on the ground only a few feet into the darkness, his neck shredded as though something had stretched it too far; blood ran in rivulets along the tunnel, trailing off into the black beyond to where whatever had done this had dropped the wide-mouthed head.

“I think,” he said, swallowing vomit. “We have trouble.”

A howl came echoing along the tunnel; high-pitched, drawn-out and bone-chilling, Loki listened to it and his already cold scales froze solid. Shivering, he almost dropped the torch but managed to grab it again in both hands; it was, as weak as the word seemed then, a terrifying sound, and now he felt the darkness creeping closer, ever closer.

“Cithrun maggar!” Queller whispered, the two spikes on his head that usually stuck up like pricked ears now swivelled to lie flat against his skull. “What is that? Did it get Scun?”

“No, Scun ripped his own head off and rolled it away,” Diablo sneered, but his eyes betrayed the worry - and was that fear? - that he felt inside.

Loki backed up against Connac.

“Diablo, sir, we have to get those bulyrium crystals!” Connac said quietly. “If you want, Loke, I’ll take the torch and lead.”

Loki pulled himself together. “No, Connac, no, I’ll be fine. I think. No, yes, I’ll be fine.” He shook his head, and then walked forwards, pointedly ignoring the mutilated corpse as he did so. The light from the torch seemed pathetically frail now, as if it could, and would go out at any time. The shadows it cast along the walls lengthened and became more threatening; Loki began to realise that this must be paranoia. A sparkling caught his eye and he turned, waving the torch around. From the walls sprouted large clusters of acicular hexagonal crystals of pale, pastel yellow bulyrium; it was a beautiful sight, but one much better admired when you were not being stalked by a hidden predator.

“Finally,” Diablo said gruffly, pushing his way past the others. “Let’s just collect these crystals and get out of here.”

“I’m with you, sir,” said Queller, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering. “And can we do this fast?”

Connac slipped the mining gear off his shoulder and unpacked swiftly, bringing out the tools needed to carve out the bulyrium without setting off a chain reaction that could easily explode the mountains to dust molecules. Loki held the container ready, and crystal by crystal was loaded in. But they would need much more than the one could carry; Scun had brought another container, but who would risk going back into the dark to get it? Eventually, Queller slung the laser off his back and looked around nervously.

“It’s only a few feet away? I can get there in five seconds, no trouble.”

“Quell, stay here,” Loki said. “We can’t risk your death as well!”

Diablo growled. “Queller, get the container. Now!”

“You...!” Loki bit his tongue to keep the words from tumbling out. All the hatred he felt for his older brother was on the verge of boiling over as Diablo put a life in danger for the sake of self-gain. Queller vanished into the dark.

Loki had waited three seconds before the howl came again, almost right beside him, and, flashing around, he caught a glimpse of two glittering eyes before the owner of them disappeared into the shadows. Queller appeared, running quickly, juggling the container and the laser.

“I got it!” he cried. “I got iteeeaaargh!” The sentence broke off in a scream as a hideous mix of lizard and feline sprang from the darkness behind him, shoving him onto the ground and clamping its jaws down on his shoulder.

“Queller!” Loki yelled. The creature jerked its head upwards, and a section of bodysuit and flesh came away in its jaws. The eyes focussed on him, and seemed to laugh derisively. Then it sprang forward, leaving the senseless Queller behind, and Loki flung up an arm which the jaws clamped over, fangs grating harmlessly along the metal gauntlet that covered it. The torch leapt from his other hand as he was thrown down onto the floor, and it plunged them all into darkness. The fast pounding of footsteps echoed away as he fought to keep the creature’s jaws from his face; he recognised them.

“Diablo!” he screamed. “Damn you, Diablo, you dastard!”

The weight of the creature was shoved roughly off him as Connac slammed into its side, and Loki rolled up onto his feet, scrabbling for the torch and his firelighters. The thing attacked him again, this time from behind, and he felt a searing pain down his back as its claws slashed through his scales; the flint stones flew out of his hand, smashing against the wall. Fire blew out of the small hole they made, and the creature shrieked, dodging away from the flame, snarling; Loki finally got a good look at it as it warily prowled the shadows. Five feet to the shoulder, it’s paws were massive with retractable claws more resembling that of a dragon than a feline-beast. Its coat was shaggy long wool, and on top of the feline head there were two backward pointing horns. A long scaly tail swept back and forth along the ice. Snarling, showing three sets of teeth, the creature stepped back a few paces, and its small eyes flickered toward the moaning form of Queller.

“Darthan, it’s going to go for Quell again!” Connac’s voice said from the side.

Loki moved crabwise, quietly and slowly, toward the prone Saurian, all the while keeping his eyes on the beast, which eyed him back. Connac hurried after him, and helped pick Queller up. He took his eyes away from the beast to look over the wounds; it was bad - Queller’s shoulder was a mess of blood and the claw marks over the rest of him were welling up, ready to pour. The fact that he-himself was also injured did not occur to Loki as he picked up the pinkish-grey Saurian and carried him to the light. He heard Connac hiss, and turned his head.

“It’s gone again, Loke!”

The feline-beast had, indeed, vanished; at that moment, Loki pretty much didn’t care. His older brother had also vanished, become a coward and fled the scene. He’d hoped something like that would happen, but had never counted on there being such a dangerous reason!

“Connac, what is it?”

“It’s a mathgamhrin, an Icelot. The only thing that could ever prey on Saurians.” He shook his head, his gaze nervously flickering from one point of darkness to another. “They were supposed to be extinct.”

“Well, I could have done without the re-discovery.” Loki pulled the laser and container from Queller’s weak hands. “Did you bring a Medikit?”

“No.” Connac looked guilty. “I never thought we’d need it.”

“We wouldn’t have if Diablo hadn’t sent Queller out into the dark by himself!”

“He wasn’t in the dark when it attacked.”

Loki sighed, “No, you’re right.”

The following, anxious silence was broken only by the predatorial purring sound, coming, it seemed, from every direction at once. Loki reached over and grabbed the torch stick, plunging the end into the small fire on the cold icy ground. A cold icy ground which was steadily melting. If the bulyrium got too warm it would explode, so he beat out the rest of the flames; then he stared hard at the pale yellow crystals as a wild plan began to form - hey, it might have been a long shot but it was better than trying to flee and becoming a running buffét.

“While we’re here we might as well get some more of the bulyrium,” he said, standing up with the container in hand.

“What? Are you mad...!”

“No, I have an idea and it’ll only work if we look as though we’re distracted.”

Warily, Connac snatched his equipment, and rose to his feet, turning to chip at the wall. Loki unscrewed the top of the container and watched the pale yellow crystals as they were dropped in. He snatched a good-sized one, roundish of shape, and held it in his other hand. Grinning very gently, he turned around as if to study the wall. The purring noise came again, but he ignored it, despite Connac’s agitation.

The Icelot attacked from the left, dashing across the ground it completely ignored Connac who could have defended himself but instead leapt straight past and landed heavily on Loki. Prepared though he was the suddenness of the attack and the heavy fall left him breathless, and it was just before the Icelot would have bitten off his head that he dropped the container and grabbed it by the throat. With a strangled squeal it tried to pull away but he dug his claws into the flesh, drawing a sticky yellow blood. It snarled at him, opening wide the mouth with three rows of teeth, and Loki shoved his hand inside, forcing the crystal of bulyrium down the Icelot’s throat. Then he kicked upwards, sending the beast flying away; it hit the opposite wall and bounced off it like a spring, landing again on all fours. With its eyes glowing a hot, hot orange it howled, and then ran forward, leaping at them again.

It exploded mid-leap, and bits of blood and flesh blew out, plastering themselves against the three Saurians. A disembodied paw landed a few inches from Loki’s face as he lost his grip on the now sticky wet floor and fell onto his back. He stared at it, feeling both relieved and a little sickened by what he’d just done. Connac slid down onto the ground beside him, but whether on purpose or by accident Loki wasn’t sure.

“All the geysers of Hell, Loki, what happened?”

“Bulyrium crystal becomes unstable when the temperature around it gets too hot, that why we have these cooling containers.” He patted the full canister. “The Icelot’s body temperature raised it far above maximum.”

“And the crystals do explode easily.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

There was a long silence as they looked around at the remains of the creature; there was no pride to be found in killing an animal, even one that was trying to kill you. It had probably been starving, just wanting a good supply of food. Not that he felt very much sorry for it at this point; he was going to become the food supply.

“Come on,” he said, screwing the lid back onto the container and forcing down the mechanical locks. “We’d better head back. I want to see my brother’s face when we walk in there,” he picked up the disembodied paw, “...carrying this.”

Connac carried an unconscious Queller in his arms while Loki had strapped the canister to his back and held the laser and the evidence in his own hands. A pair of very surprised Saurians guarding the door watched them approach with open mouths.

“Loki, Connac! Queller! Cithrun maggar, Diablo said you were all killed!”

“That’s the kind of thing he would say,” Loki grated, waving the claw in their faces. “To cover up his own cowardly tracks after he took the bulyrium and ran!”

The guards looked at each other, and then stepped away from the door.

“He’s in the Main Hall,” said one, adding, “Gloating.”

Loki pushed through, and then turned to Connac. “Get Queller down to the Infirmary immediately, he’s lost too much blood to be carted around any longer, he could die.”

Connac nodded. “I’ll be right back,” he said, heading up the somewhat sloping corridor to the Medi-room.

Loki watched him leave, and then made his way, casually, toward the Main Hall. It was filled with Saurians, most looking as though they should be at a funeral but it was obvious that there was going to be none. Peeping around the door, he wondered how he should make his entrance: stroll casually in, storm in like a surprise whirlwind, or stagger in with a big show of limping. He got to do none of them, because someone ruined the chance by shouting his name.

“Loki! Dartharn, it’s Loki!”

For a third time a deep silence fell - Loki was beginning to find there were different types of quiet: worried, relieved and, now, utterly shocked - every head turned toward the door. Sighing, he walked in. Diablo was up on his throne, and had gone considerably pale as their gazes met. Loki waved the claw and then threw it hard; it bounced off Diablo’s snout as he stormed up to his older brother.

“You left us there to die,” he stated, in a quiet voice but loud enough to be heard by everyone. “You left us there, took the bulyrium and ran.”

Diablo snarled, but there was nothing he could say. Loki noticed Connac come in, and had just turned around to ask how Queller was when his older brother suddenly rocketed out of the chair and slapped him to the ground. Loki hit the floor hard at the base of the throne, and Diablo jumped down to land with a heavy thud beside him, picking him up by the scruff.

“If you feel you can dethrone me, worm, you are sadly mistaken!”

“I don’t need to,” Loki grinned weakly. “I’d say your popularity has just gone down to a really negative number.”

“Let him go, Diablo!” Connac snarled. “Will you kill your brother like you almost had Queller killed?”

There was a shriek from the crowd, and a female Saurian - Queller’s mother in all probability - had to be held back from attacking the Overlord unarmed. Loki was dropped heavily onto the ground, and he stood up carefully.

“Scun is dead, Queller is in critical,” he said. “You ran, you fled, leaving us to the Icelot...” The very word sparked a ripple of shocked murmurs from the crowd. “I’d always thought a leader was supposed to care for his people.”

Diablo leant close.

“Let me tell you something, worthless maggot: I don’t care.”

He barely saw the primitive stone dagger in Diablo’s claw before it had sliced across his left eye. With a scream of pain he reeled backwards, clutching the bloodied wound with both claws. Diablo roared and launched forward, slapping him to the ground with a heavy blow of his tail; pain shot down Loki’s spine as he landed badly, and he twisted around, propping himself up on his elbows. He tried to rise but was kicked in the side and slid across the floor, rolling to a stop in the centre where he stumbled to his feet. Blood ran thickly down from his left eye, and the pain was so great it couldn’t properly be called merely pain. Diablo stood at the base of the throne, sneering at him.

“You think you would be a better choice? A Saurian must have strength, power and an ability to kill! You have none, none!”

The crowd seemed to vanish, moving back toward the walls. Loki carefully undid the canister from his back, and unscrewed the top; he carefully brought out a large crystal of bulyrium, which he held loosely in one hand to prevent its overheating.

“You know how I killed the Icelot?” he asked. “I shoved one of these down its throat, and, bada bing bada boom, that was one wide-spread creature.” Loki grinned, not sure what was prompting him to use verbal warfare. “Perhaps you shouldn’t open your mouth quite so far next time. I'm reknowned for a good aim.”

Diablo’s expression went from stunned to angry to volcanic just that quick, smoke billowing out of his nostrils; it looked as though he would fight and then, abruptly, he began laughing. Mocking, derisive laughter that ate away at the carefully laid fences around Loki’s hatred, threatening to let the stampede burst out.

“You’re trying to goad me! Into a fight with you? It wouldn’t even be worth my time. So take the ship! Take it, be the captain you want to be...” Sarcasm dripped like Icelot blood from the words. “I’ll find my own way out of Limbo, I don’t need you.”

Loki noticed that a few others had crowded around Diablo - his flunkeys, muddled-head Muerte, ginormous Uvalde and crafty Donovan; they would back him no matter what - as the Overlord headed for the doors. It suddenly hit him that Diable was giving up without a fight, or at least not much of one; but the project had been top on his older brother’s To Do list... something wasn’t right, it was totally unlike Diablo.

But Connac came over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, sir? What do we do?”

Loki stared at him, and then put a hand up to his left eye; it wasn’t hurting any more, probably wasn’t anything worse than a scratch across the eyelid. He hoped not, anyway.

“What do we do?” he answered. “We get the Hell out of Limbo.”