Free Trollhunters by Guillermo del Toro, Daniel Kraus

unrecognizable language, and the howling mug of a troll.
    “Put this on,” he said.
    ARRRGH!!! took one look at the medallion, turned its awful face to the ceiling, and let loose with a tyrannosaurus roar. Its horns struck a patch of fluorescents, and sparks spilled upon the
metal man like molten rain. Whether ARRRGH!!!’s cry was one of rage or elation, I couldn’t tell. What I could tell was that both characters were distracted.
    I bolted for the nearest corridor, passing the metal man so closely I could have swiped the medallion had I wanted to, which I did not. They all noticed: I heard a jangle of bike chains, an
apelike snort, and the moist slurp of multitudinous feet scrambling across the cave.
    “Prrrruuummfffffllllarrrrggg!”
    Blinky’s cry rattled my bones as I dove into the passageway. I collided against a cold wall. There were no lamps. I pressed one hand to the wall and kept moving. The tunnel crooked left; I
managed not to flatten my face. It crooked right; I lost contact with the wall and spent a few seconds floundering in the eclipse. Drifting from behind were ominous sounds of pursuit.
    Instantly, I was lost.
    “Stop! Don’t go any farther!”
    The man of metal was closing in. I took the darkness at a suicidal sprint. Then I noticed a light. It was dim, but I picked up my pace until I found myself hurtling through a hall so narrow that
I could feel the walls press at both of my shoulders. There was a glow here just bright enough to allow me to avoid crashing into the tunnel’s dead end. What a sad, dark place this was to
die.
    Something wet ran down my cheek, and I looked up to see that the light came through a drain pipe just wide enough for me to crawl through. The idea of wedging my body inside was the worst thing
I’d ever considered, but at least ARRRGH!!! and Blinky, both of whom were getting closer, would be too large to follow. I gripped the edge of the pipe and hauled myself into it.
    Sewage filled the bottom few inches, and the fecal stink had me gagging. The metal man would hear; the only option was to crawl farther. Using my elbows and knees I inched through the morass. My
head bumped along the pipe’s ridges and sewage soaked through my clothes, but I kept moving—the light was growing brighter.
    The end of the pipe took a dramatic downward slant. I peered over the edge and could see nothing but mud. But there were light sources down there, potentially hundreds, flickering in restless
patterns. There was noise, too, not the industrial drone of the sewers but voices, shouts, laughter, the clunking of wood, the ringing of metal, the rattle of what sounded like coins.
    I had no other choice. I wiggled myself forward. For a terrible second I thought I was stuck and entertained a fantasy of being drowned in sewage over a period of weeks, but then I pushed off
with my feet and shot out the end of the pipe.
    For two seconds I was airborne. Then I landed in a soft pile that, given its placement beneath a sewer pipe, I shouldn’t have been surprised to learn was not, in fact, mud. I sat up and
glopped the muck from my face in handfuls. Finally I gave up and sat there, panting and reeking. It took a minute for me to appreciate that I could see quite well by the torchlight. It took even
longer to appreciate the sound of a bustling marketplace. I had not looked up from my lap yet. I wondered if I should. The lights and the sounds seemed so familiar, so
ordinary
, until I
remembered that I was somewhere deep underground and nothing down here was ordinary.
    I looked.

It was an entire city of trolls. The landscape of narrow pathways and askew structures stretched for a good mile before dropping into darkness. Sloppy, mud-packed dwellings
were everywhere but largely empty, having voided their troll contents so that they might take part in the clamorous bazaar. Smoke rose from food stands, where small skinned corpses of what I hoped
were squirrel and rabbit roasted on spits. Other