The use of microwave radiation to (drastically) increase the temperature of a substance through excitation of its constituent molecules had to be the most elegant way of heating something Brand had ever experienced. This remained true, even when he happened to be on the receiving end of it, as he just had, not that that made the experience any less awful.

For the seventh time, Brand's tail made contact with the tunnel floor, and for the seventh time, he hissed in pain, spurting out plumes of spores.

The abandoned subway tunnel's metal tracks were really freaking hot.

Dr. Rathpalla had led the group of wyrms—well, most of the group—to the safety of an old abandoned subway tunnel that had been previously hidden away within the walls of the garage's lower floors. They'd made it inside in just the nick of time. One of the Strangers' motherships had barbecued the entire WeElMed complex using the mother of all heat rays in an attempt to kill (or, at least, incapacitate) Mr. Pfefferman. The laser blast had pumped so much thermal energy into the ground that the ruined garage and the adjacent subway tunnels had effectively become concrete ovens as they slowly radiated the excess heat out into the environment.

Though the heat didn't exactly hurt his or anyone else's wyrm-body, it was still pretty damn uncomfortable, so Brand and the rest of the group had taken to hovering several inches off the ground while they were inside the tunnel. All the radiation, both thermal and not, was wreaking havoc with Brand's third pair of eyes, so he kept them closed. Otherwise, it was like some pretty intense psychotropic drugs were having their way with his mind; everything looked swirly and tie-dyed.

The tunnel was incredibly dark, which made it that much more disconcerting to Brand that could see in it pretty damn well. The faint golden glow of the other wyrms' eyes were the main sources of light, along with the miscellaneous bluish and greenish bioluminescence emanating from some of their horns, spines, and flanges, not to mention from the sprigs and pilaster-like trunks of &alon growing along the walls, floor, and ceiling.

That was another reason everyone was floating. Touching all of that fungus threatened to grow them large enough to block the tunnel, perhaps even collapse it on top of them.

Dr. Rathpalla had hypothesized that the Strangers wouldn't follow them through the dust clouds and into the tunnel, and, so far, the Strangers weren't doing anything to falsify it. From what little Brand could still hear-see of the combat situation rapidly ballooning topside, fleeing underground to avoid all that unpleasantness had, in fact, been the right move.

The tunnel shook every once in a while, which was often accompanied by a very peculiar sound. To Brand, it sounded like what the sky might sound like if it was screaming, as heard by a listener located several stories underground.

It reinforced Brand's desire to get the fuck out of there, ASAP—and he was not alone in wanting this.

It was nice to have so many other people agree with his opinions.

None of the wyrms present, nor any of the souls within them knew much of anything about these old subway tunnels. The general consensus was that the tunnel had to let out somewhere, which meant that their best bet was to keep following it in the hopes that it would let them out somewhere relatively safer.

There was just one problem with that hope: Larry was missing, and Dr. Rathpalla was loath to move on without him.

"Can we get moving, already?" Karl asked. The young time traveler hovered over the half-built—and, now, heat-charred—subway station platform lodged in the middle of the section of the tunnel where the group was currently waiting.

Dr. Rathpalla swam past two other wyrms, weaving his body over and under them and then pulled out far past them enough to look Karl in the eyes. "I'm sorry, kid," he said. "We're not going anywhere until everyone is accounted for."

In the minutes the group had spent lingering by the platform, Brand had discovered an interesting property of wyrm spore-generation. It turned out the spores' renowned acidity was actually optional. Though he'd have to get some kind of wyrm-cutting scalpel and do an autopsy or exploratory surgery to be sure, Brand was confident that he'd identified a muscle in his and the others' necks which was responsible for coating their spores in whatever secretions were responsible for their terrifying corrosive properties. This was very useful, because the acids involved were the kind of chemicals that really didn't like existing, and so seized on any bit of heat, flame, or sparks as an excuse to explode, and, considering how hot and cramped and structural and deeply underground the tunnel was, the acidity's explosive death wish was too risky to be entertained, as attested to by the many fresh cracks, gashes, and potholes in the walls and floor.

Brand further theorized that the variable acidity explained why the spores coming off from the sporestacks had suddenly stopped combusting in response to flame once the Strangers had arrived. The explosions were a terrifyingly effective way of breaking down barriers that prevented the spread of &alon's spores, but that advantage must have lost much of its appeal to her when her growths were being attacked by the Strangers' death rays.

Fortunately, for wyrms, the muscle thing was easy to notice once you had it pointed out to you. Thanks to Brand's perspicacious analysis, instead of the air exploding whenever someone spoke in this beasteaten heat, the acid-free spores just burst into flames, piling up in heaps of burning ashes.

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"Larry isn't here yet," Dr. Rathpalla said.

The psychiatrist bent his neck and looked down at the darkness of the tunnel behind him.

"Larry!?" he said, calling out the janitor's name.

"Maybe someone should go look for him?" Yuth suggested, tightening herself into a coil.

"He was right behind me," Dr. Rathpalla said, "I swear!"

Dr. Rathpalla was moving about fretfully, winding around and around mid-air.

"Calm down, Ibrahim," Yuth said, "I'm worried about him, too, but panicking won't help any of us."

"That's easy for you to say!" Dr. Rathpalla snapped.

"Are you alright?" Yuth asked.

Even Karl floated over in worry. "Dr. Rathpalla…?"

"No," Ibrahim replied, "you don't understand, he—"

—Then a mournful moan echoed through the tunnel. Cymatic patterns trembled through the accumulated ash.

Everyone glided through the darkness, toward the noise.

Larry slithered into view.

Dr. Rathpalla cried in relief. "Larry, there you are!" He pushed the others out of the way with his claws and swam over to Larry. "Out of the way, out of the way!"

For what it was worth, the janitor was exhausted, too tired to even float. He slithered along the ground, the bends of his body and tail swiping over the subway's rusted, red-hot metal tracks, seemingly indifferent to the scalding heat. Much of his body was giving off a faint glow, not enough to light up the tunnel, but more than enough to be both noticeable and really freaking weird.

Obviously, Brand was immediately intrigued. He floated toward Larry and Dr. Rathpalla. Ibrahim paid Dr. Nowston a brief glance before turning back to the janitor.

"Where were you?" he asked. "And why didn't you respond when we called your name?"

Larry started to croon a song in response, only for an explosion to burst at his snout, scattering smoldering spore-embers. Dr. Rathpalla didn't flinch, even as the explosions struck across his scales.

Larry pointed his claws at his snout, as if to blame it for his silence, and then Dr. Rathpalla shook his head and quickly explained Brand's discovery about the acidity control muscle.

Even so, Larry still had trouble speaking. His utterances came out crooked and timorous, yet crackling like firecrackers.

"S-Sorry," he said. "Didn't want to make… explosions."

"Can we go down the tunnel now?" Charles asked. "To where it's cooler?"

Dr. Rathpalla floated out of the way, making room for Larry to slither forward. The janitor was barely past the first third of the unfinished platform when Nurse Costran pointed to something on the ground behind him with a claw.

"What's that?" she asked.

Brand swam over to look, and then muttered in astonishment. "What the hell…?"

Larry appeared to be… melting?

Yes, that was it. Some sort of liquefaction process was playing out in the wyrm's body. His flanks were matted in streaks of fluid slowly dribbling onto the floor. A trail of the stuff formed behind him, like the slime of a slug.

Brand's first thought was gangrene. Wet gangrene, to be precise.

He brought his snout slightly closer.

The weeping tissue was covered in patchwork abrasions, with ulcers developing underneath. Unfortunately, not only was wyrm physiology an entirely unstudied topic, but gangrene didn't usually come with this much exudate. Also, gangrenous discharge was both foul smelling and highly purulent, while the fluid coming off of Larry's body was neither, and—to add a cherry on top—also had bizarre optical properties. It glowed faintly in a variety of odd wavelengths, including, but not limited to, visible light.

Brand hypothesized that this was probably important.

"Stop gawking at me!" Larry said.

His wyrmsong was messy; tremulous and slurred, as if intoxicated.

"In all my years," Yuth said, "this is the weirdest damn thing I've ever seen, and I'm including the past two weeks."

"I believe you, Nurse Costran," Dr. Rathpalla said. Weaving left and right, he swam out to the front of the group and then turned around to address everyone.

"Can we get going now, Dr. Rathpalla?" Karl asked.

The psychiatrist nodded. "Yes, just… c'mon, let's get moving."

Brand and Yuth nodded and followed along. Karl uncoiled and slid down onto the subway tracks, floating inches above the metal. He slithered after Dr. Rathpalla, as did the others—Larry notwithstanding.

"What aren't you telling us?" Yuth asked.

"Nothing that I won't tell you along the way," the psychiatrist replied.

"Well?" she asked.

"Something's happening to him, obviously," Dr. Rathpalla said. "I…"

"What is it, doc?" Larry asked.

Ibrahim glanced at him nervously. "I think you've been infected."

"Congratulations, doctor," Charles said, clapping his claws together from where he floated, belly up, along the ceiling. "Yes, I think we have been infected. I mean, how else do you explain how we've so suddenly become all long, dark, and handsome?"

Dr. Rathpalla shook his head. "I don't mean infected by the fungus. I'm talking about something else."

"S-Something else? What the fuck else could there be?" Charles replied.

"I don't know," Ibrahim replied, "but… I think it came with the cultists. Check your memories. The more recent they are, the better."

"Checking…" Brand said, as he did just that.

"If you look carefully, you should be able to see similar… liquefaction at work in the wyrm-trees' bodies."

"Shit!" Charles cursed. "Shit! I see it! Oh fuck, I see it! I see it!"

Brand did, too.

"I should have noticed it," he said, "I was just hyper-focused on the Strangers."

"Don't blame yourselves," Dr. Rathpalla continued. "Though not every wyrm-tree has been showing these symptoms, so far, other than Larry here, I haven't seen the liquefaction anywhere other than the wyrm-trees, and all of them were Verune's cultists. It's the only common factor in their case history.

"Other than being turned into a wyrm," Maryon added.

"But how did Larry get it?" Brand asked. "You are assuming it's communicable, right?"

That would definitely explain why Ibrahim was so antsy.

He nodded gravely. "Absolutely." Dr. Rathpalla looked up at the ceiling and narrowed his eyes. His thoughts were clearly weighing heavily on him. "The crazy thing is… Larry was showing symptoms while we were linked up to Letty, when we were looking for Jonan."

"What do you mean?" Brand asked.

Larry stared blankly at his claws. "I… I melted. My mental self… m-melted."

The wyrm's song sent tingles up Brand's back-spines. "How's that even possible?"

"Maybe our mental abilities are more intertwined with our physiology than we thought," Dr. Rathpalla said. "Whatever the reason, I think we should be open to the possibility that whatever this infection is, it's being spread when we physically link."

"One of the wyrms I… linked with is… m-melting, too," Larry added. "I saw it during the fight."

"Shit," Nurse Costran hissed, spewing a trail of spores.

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