Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of Earth AnA SAlinAS Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of earth Ana Salinas Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of Earth Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of Earth Ana Salinas Ana Salinas An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of Earth T he sun was still lazily stretching its limbs over the Icelandic plateau when Professor Archibald Thistlebaum kicked over his third compass in a fit of scholarly rage. “This is the fourth time, Blenkinsop!” he bellowed at his long-suffering assistant, a twig-shaped man whose moustache trembled like a scared squirrel. “The blasted contraption insists North is that way, where last week, it was over there ! What devilry of magnetism is this?” “Perhaps it’s the colossal iron deposits under our feet, sir,” Blenkinsop offered helpfully, poking at a rock that appeared to hum. Ana Salinas “Nonsense! Earth’s core may be molten, magnet- ic and wholly malevolent, but she is still predictable ! Like my aunt Mildred, horrifying, but honest.” The rest of the expedition party was equally un- helpful. Dr. Minerva Quartz, geologist and resident realist, was examining the mouth of the newly dis- covered tunnel with furrowed brows. She looked up. “This is absurd,” she said flatly. “You’re suggesting we follow a network of clearly unstable tunnels, like- ly sealed since the Devonian period, straight into the Earth’s interior, armed with only canteens, a packet of salted nuts, and Thistlebaum’s idiotic optimism?” “I packed sandwiches too!” Thistlebaum protested. “Three sandwiches, one of which you already sat on!” she snapped back. “Ah, but the warmth enhances the flavour of the pickle...” “Enough!” barked Captain Rourke, a man whose moustache fought wars independently of his face. “We’re wasting time. The seismic readings are clear. Something’s moving down there. Either it’s tectonic... or it has very big feet.” Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of Earth A hush fell over the group. Then the ground quivered. Just slightly, like a cat stretching under a rug. Dust trickled down from the rocks above. “...Well,” said Blenkinsop faintly, “that’s... encour- aging.” * * * * * * The descent began with all the grace of a giraffe on a unicycle. They were barely an hour into the tunnels when the walls began to sweat, a humid, meaty kind of damp that smelled like prehistoric soup. The air thickened. Blenkinsop sneezed so hard his torch flew from his hand and cracked open on the stone floor. “I’ll just... grope forward bravely in the dark, shall I?” he muttered, patting the walls like a blindfolded goat. “Cheer up, lad!” said Thistlebaum, whacking him on the back and nearly dislodging a vertebra. “We’re possibly the first humans to tread here in millions of years! We are making history !” “Yes, and dying in the process,” Minerva added, wiping what she suspected might be fungus off her Ana Salinas boot. “You didn’t lick that cave lichen earlier, did you?” “It smelt of citrus!” Thistlebaum defended. It was Blenkinsop who found the first fossilized egg, nearly tripping over it. The shell shimmered faintly like opal, pulsing softly with a heat that was not quite natural. “I don’t think this is fossilized , sir,” he said, staring at it in awe. “I think it’s incubating .” The egg blinked They ran. * * * * * * Several hours and two sandwiches later, they stum- bled into a chamber so vast it had weather systems. Storm clouds grumbled across the ceiling, and a bio- luminescent forest of towering mushrooms hissed when touched. “By Newton’s beard...” gasped Thistlebaum. “An ecosystem sealed away since... since...!” “Since long before tea was invented,” Minerva whispered, horrified. Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of Earth Then something screamed. Not an animal. Not a bird. It sounded like the Earth clearing its throat. They turned as one. From the far side of the cavern, parting the foliage like a curtain of celery, emerged a creature that looked like a dinosaur had committed treason against natu- ral design. It had six eyes, too many elbows, and feet the size of steamer trunks. “Don’t move!” hissed Rourke. “It can smell fear.” “Oh no,” said Blenkinsop. “Then we’re doomed .” The creature sniffed, snorted, and strangely looked... confused. Then it did something unexpect- ed. It spoke “Gnaaaaaaaaarh!” Thistlebaum turned pale. “Great Uranus. That’s Proto-Velocian. I studied it in my brief foray into Imaginary Languages.” “What does it mean?” Minerva asked. He gulped. “It means: Intruders. Prepare the throne. ” * * * * * * Ana Salinas What followed was a riot of noise, running, and unfortunate trousers. They fled blindly into a sec- ond chamber, one lined with statues. Or... what they thought were statues. Then one opened its eyes “You’re not supposed to be here,” it said calmly. It was humanoid, tall, skin like volcanic stone. Dozens more moved behind it, emerging from the rock walls like termites from a log. “We are the Vorelians,” the being continued, “the last children of Earth’s first empire.” Thistlebaum, too shocked to be awed, said the only thing his brain could produce: “Do you... like sandwiches?” * * * * * * It was only when the tunnel behind them collapsed not due to decay, but because something vast and still following them was crushing through the rock that they realized they’d never get back the way they came. A distant rumble rolled through the chamber. The air grew warmer. A light red, flickering, molten — filled the cracks in the wall. Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of Earth From the shadows, a Vorelian priest turned to the explorers. “You have awakened the Core Warden. It does not sleep again.” Thistlebaum gulped. “Does it... eat people?” “Only on days that end in ‘Y’.” Blenkinsop whimpered. Minerva stared at the wall of molten light growing closer. “We need to find another way out. Now. ” The Core Warden roared. It sounded like the world being torn in two. They ran. Behind them, the Earth howled. And deep below, something ancient was coming up. The earth was screaming. That is to say, the tunnel behind them had collapsed in a series of thunderous groans, hissing vents, and the unmistakable bellow of something older than de- Ana Salinas mocracy and twice as bad-tempered. The Core War- den, somewhere between a god and a geological inci- dent—was barreling upward, shaking tectonic plates like maracas. Professor Thistlebaum, once merely eccentric, now firmly mad, gripped his last sandwich with white-knuckled fervor. “I shall eat this only in the event of certain death,” he vowed. “You said that three times already,” Blenkinsop shouted, ducking as a chunk of glowing obsidian flew past his ear. “And you nibbled the corner!” “Just testing the integrity of the rye!” Ahead of them, Captain Rourke was hewing a path through the ancient stone doors of the Vorelian chamber with an axe and unfiltered rage. His mous- tache was vibrating like a seismograph. “The surface has to be close!” he roared. “How close?” Minerva shouted back. He swung again. “I smell pine sap and regret, we’re either near a forest or I’m having another stroke!” Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of Earth * * * * * * They burst through the door. And stopped. They were in a vast, hollowed sphere. A chamber so vast it might’ve once been a moon’s core, now in- verted and alive. Glowing fungi clung to the walls, dripping bioluminescent nectar into vast geothermal rivers. A city, no, a cathedral of basalt towers stood in the center, each spire humming like a tuning fork. The Vorelians were gathered there, arms raised. Chanting. “I think they’re calling the Warden here ,” Minerva said. “Of course they are,” said Blenkinsop. “Why should anything be simple now ?” A shadow passed over them. Then came the Warden. * * * * * * It crashed through the far wall like a divine ham- mer, eyes like molten suns, limbs forged of obsidi- Ana Salinas an and fire. It roared and the Vorelians knelt . They weren’t summoning it to attack They were welcoming their god “They think it’s going to... cleanse us,” Minerva muttered, aghast. “Cleanse?” Thistlebaum asked hopefully. “Like a spa cleanse? A bit of exfoliation?” Blenkinsop coughed. “More like a digestive cleanse, sir. We’re the toxins. ” The Warden raised one steaming claw. Heat surged. The air itself rippled like fabric in a storm. Rocks melted. Time, arguably, bent slightly to the left. Then Thistlebaum did something incredibly stu- pid. He stepped forward and waved the last sandwich in the air like a holy relic. “WE COME IN PEACE!” he bellowed. “AND PICKLE!” * * * * * * Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of Earth Time stopped. The Warden... paused. The entire chamber fell silent. The Vorelians turned, confused. The Warden sniffed Then, impossibly, it lowered its claw The sandwich sizzled slightly in the heat but re- mained whole. “I think,” whispered Minerva, “you just offered the Core Warden lunch.” “I always bring a peace offering,” Thistlebaum said smugly. “It’s Rule 7 in my Etiquette for Unstable Sub- terranean Deities .” “You wrote that!” “Yes, and I rarely cite myself, but this seems justi- fied.” * * * * * * Suddenly ...crack. Ana Salinas The ground split. A chasm opened behind them. A pillar of steam shot upward. A tunnel, natural or divine opened above. Faint light poured down. Sunlight. “OUT! NOW!” Rourke shouted. They ran. All of them. The tunnel shook. The War- den remained, chewing delicately on the sandwich, looking vaguely confused and slightly... appeased. As they climbed, clawed, crawled upward through the final stone throat of the planet, the tremors eased. The Core Warden’s roar became a hum. The tunnel brightened. Then... Daylight They exploded from the earth like champagne from a shaken bottle, landing face-first in a mossy clearing surrounded by pine trees. They lay there, panting, smoking slightly, until a passing hiker stared at them and dropped his granola bar in shock. “...You alright?” he asked. Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of Earth “Depends,” Thistlebaum wheezed. “What year is it?” “2025.” “Splendid! Still time to update my will.” * * * * * * Later, back at the university (and after several long baths and one awkward press conference involving a melted compass), Professor Thistlebaum sipped tea with the serenity of a man who’d once outrun a lava demon. “It all comes down to proper sandwich etiquette,” he said wisely. Minerva, now sporting a medal and a slight twitch, muttered, “Next time you go into the Earth’s core, do us all a favor, stay there. ” Blenkinsop, now a published author, smiled gently. “I wrote a poem about the experience. It’s called ‘The Obsidian Belly of Panic.’ Want to hear it?” “No,” they both replied. But deep below the crust, far beneath the moss and sanity and granola hikers... Ana Salinas The Core Warden opened a second eye. And burped THE END. Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of Earth Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of Earth Ana Salinas Ovi eBook Publishing 2025 Ovi magazine Design: Thanos Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Ana Salinas AnA SAlinAS Plunge into the Boiling Bowels of earth Ana Salinas , a desk worker trapped in a cubicle, dreams of escaping to the moon in a hot air balloon, much like Phileas Fogg, though she suspects Jules Verne may have exaggerated the comfort of those Victorian contraptions.