Chapter 4
"Eth—Ethan, can you hear me?"
Someone was calling my name.
The voice felt far away, distorted, like hearing it underwater.
"How bad is he?" Asked another voice, deep, rough, filled with tension.
"Bad," a woman's voice responded coolly. "His skill is fighting, but it won't last. His skull's cracked. Brain's bleeding."
"Can you fix him?" the deeper voice pressed, urgent.
"I can…" she hesitated, her tone reluctant. "But should we? He's another liability. We've already lost over half our number."
"Do it," the deeper voice said firmly. "He just took out an A-rank undead alone. Luck or not, the kid survived what many others didn't."
A pause hung in the air. Then a sigh.
"Understood."
Warmth surged into the back of my skull, spreading gently, washing away the pain like a wave of sunlight banishing ice.
Then, the darkness returned, and I slipped away again.
When I opened my eyes again, the flickering glow of torches lit the stone ceiling above.
For a moment, I didn't move, my body feeling heavy, sluggish. Expecting pain, I carefully shifted an arm, then my legs, but felt nothing. No pain, no wounds, no broken bones. Nothing but the dull ache of exhaustion.
Slowly, I sat up.
We were still inside the cavern, though now it felt eerily quiet. The fight was long over, but signs of its violence were everywhere.
My stomach churned.
In a corner, bodies had been piled. Hunters I'd seen alive just hours ago, now lifeless heaps covered in blood and dirt. Far stronger hunters than I was, reduced to nothing more than corpses.
I tore my gaze away, swallowing down the nausea.
Down the cavern, our exit tunnel was blocked by a pile of collapsed stone and rubble. Had it caved in naturally during the battle or had it been sealed deliberately to prevent more undead from pouring through? Either way, it didn't matter. We were trapped.
Nearby, a group of surviving hunters argued.
"How the hell did they get behind us?" one snapped, pacing angrily. "Alpha Team was supposed to clear the path!"
"Doesn't matter how!" Darren shouted back, voice shaking with frustration. "They're here, we're stuck, what the hell do we do now?"
John stood silently at the center of the argument, massive arms crossed, his eyes hard and unreadable. Till flanked him, battered but alert, still gripping his heavy shield. The healer, the woman who'd clearly saved my life, stood a little apart, eyes flat and distant, her expression unreadable.
I forced myself slowly to my feet, waiting for dizziness to hit but none came.
"You good?"
I glanced over to find Alex watching me, his face unusually serious.
"Better than I should be," I muttered quietly, still testing my limbs in disbelief.
Alex nodded once, sharply. "Good. Because we're moving forward. Do me a favor, try not to die again."
I chuckled dryly, tightening my grip on the chipped dagger.
John finally stepped forward, silencing the arguments around him instantly. "The path back is blocked. We have only one choice. Move forward and reconnect with Alpha Team."
A heavy silence filled the cavern, broken only by the crackling of torches and the distant drip of water.
"What if Alpha Team's already dead?" someone muttered bitterly.
John's jaw tightened, his voice cold, resolute. "Then we finish their job."
Silence again. No objections. Because really, there were none to give.
Alex shifted uneasily beside me, adjusting the heavy pack on his shoulder. "So, we're just gonna march straight into whatever tore Alpha Team apart and hope it doesn't do the same to us?"
John fixed him with an icy stare. "We stay alert, move as one unit, and strike without hesitation. It's our only chance. Judging from those undead, I'd say this rift is rapidly rising to S-Rank. We need to close it no matter what. If it ruptures, millions of lives could be lost."
Then, without another word, he turned and began walking into the tunnel ahead, his shield raised.
One by one, we followed, stepping forward into darkness, uncertainty, and a grim determination not to become another body piled in the corner.
The deeper we went, the worse it got.
The air grew heavy, pressing against my skin like something alive, something hostile. Every breath felt thicker, harder, as if the darkness itself resisted our presence.
And the smell…
Rot. Blood. Death.
It clung to us, seeped into our clothing, settled at the back of my throat like poison. I forced myself to breathe through my mouth, fighting back waves of nausea.
The silence was oppressive, broken only by the scuff of boots on stone and our shallow breathing. It had been quiet too long, the darkness too deep. My instincts screamed warnings louder with each step.
We were being watched.
I glanced back sharply.
Nothing but shadows.
Eight weary figures trudging forward in silence. But I knew the others felt it too. Alex kept rolling his shoulders, muscles tense, eyes darting into the darkness like he expected something to lunge out. Till's grip tightened on his shield, knuckles turning white from the strain. Even John—steady, unshakable John—couldn't hide the wary glances toward the corners of the tunnel.
Then came the noises.
Quiet at first.
A soft scrape.
A faint shuffle.
The sound of something dragging itself across the stone.
Bert cursed softly, voice tight with tension. "Tell me I'm not the only one hearing that."
"You're not," Till muttered grimly.
John kept his pace steady, eyes fixed straight ahead. "Stay close. Keep moving."
But the sounds didn't fade, they grew louder. A low, rhythmic clicking echoed down the tunnel, drifting toward us from somewhere deep behind.
Click-click-click…
My pulse quickened, adrenaline surging painfully through my veins. I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying desperately to ignore the overpowering stench. It wasn't just the stale scent of old death anymore. This was fresh. Something was following us. Something close.
We kept moving until John finally called for rest in a small clearing, barely wide enough for us to sit down. Not that any of us intended to sleep.
Darren volunteered for first watch, shield at his side. The healer sat beside him, quietly sharpening a small blade.
I settled against my pack, dagger clutched tightly in one hand. My body was utterly exhausted, but my mind refused to slow down. The feeling of unseen eyes watching us never faded. If anything, it intensified. The silence grew deeper, thicker, filled with a tension that set my teeth on edge.
I forced my eyes closed, whispering silent reassurances I didn't believe.
I woke to silence.
Not the peaceful quiet of sleeping bodies, the kind of unnatural stillness that felt utterly wrong. My eyes snapped open, heart already racing. Something was different. Something was missing.
I sat up slowly, blinking through the lingering haze of sleep.
The air was still.
Too still.
Then I saw Till's face.
Pale. Eyes wide with silent horror. Fixed on something just behind me.
Slowly, my head turned.
My heart stopped.
Darren was dead.
He sat slumped forward, eyes vacant, mouth slightly open. Blood trickled from between his lips, pooling silently onto his armor. His sword still lay across his lap, as though death had taken him before he could even lift it.
Beside him lay the healer.
Her throat wasn't slit. It wasn't cut. It was just… gone. A dark, ragged hole, where flesh and veins should have been.
No scream. No struggle. Nothing.
Just silence and death.
An icy weight crushed my chest. My breath caught, choking me. My fingers tightened reflexively around my dagger, desperate for something solid to hold onto. Something had killed them both, right next to us and none of us had heard a damn thing.
John stood slowly, face an unreadable mask. His gaze moved methodically between the bodies, taking in every horrific detail. He knelt carefully beside Darren's lifeless form, inspecting the brutal wounds.
"This wasn't a clean kill," John said quietly. His voice was cold, almost clinical, but his jaw was locked tight, muscles twitching beneath his skin. "Too messy. They were ripped apart."
"Undead?" Till asked, voice tight and strained.
John shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing further. "Not regular undead. Likely a lurker.. they're fast, silent, built for ambushes. Killed them before they even realized it was there."
Alex glanced uneasily back the way we'd come. "Maybe we should turn around. Dig our way back through the rubble—"
"No," Bert interrupted sharply, cutting through the growing tension. "We collapsed the tunnel for a reason. If we reopen it, those things behind us will flood right in."
John stood slowly, eyes fixed on the shadows ahead. "Bert's right. Going back isn't an option. Forward is the only way."
Nobody argued. Because he was right. No one wanted to face more of those undead.
"Let's keep going." John gestured.
We followed silently, stepping carefully around Darren and the healer, their bodies still warm, blood still dripping slowly onto the stone floor.
As we moved deeper, the silence deepened, I couldn't stop glancing back, half-expecting something to emerge from the shadows behind us.
Nothing moved.
But the feeling of being watched only grew stronger.
The tunnel twisted downward endlessly, narrowing into tight, suffocating passages. We squeezed through, hearts pounding, waiting for an attack that never came. With every step, I expected claws to tear into my back, jaws to clamp around my throat. But nothing happened.
Then, abruptly, the passage opened up, and we stepped into a large cavern.
My body froze.
Corpses littered the cavern floor, broken weapons scattered around them like shattered toys. I recognized their gear, their insignias…
Alpha Team.
All of them dead.
Bile burned at the back of my throat. Alpha Team were elite, experienced hunters, all of them A-Rank. Now they lay butchered, bodies sprawled in broken heaps.
John moved forward cautiously, examining the nearest body. "They fought," he said quietly, running his hand over the ruined armor. "Formed a circle, tried to hold their ground."
He straightened slowly, eyes cold and distant. "They were overwhelmed. Likely numbers. From some of the marks maybe a lurker."
Till's voice was barely a whisper. "If Alpha Team couldn't handle this, what hope do we have? We are just the mining crew."
John didn't answer at first. His gaze moved slowly around the cavern, taking in every corpse, every broken weapon, every sign of the brutal slaughter.
When he finally spoke, his voice held a razor edge. "We keep moving. Staying here is certain death. We have to push to the end. No matter what."
He stepped through the carnage without another word.
We followed silently behind, carefully avoiding the bodies of the dead, each step dragging us deeper into the darkness—toward whatever nightmare had likely killed Alpha Team and waited patiently to kill us next.
Chapter 5
Everything was silent.
We moved carefully, footsteps echoing faintly off damp stone walls. Every sound felt too loud, like a beacon that would draw whatever lurked unseen toward us.
John sent one of the remaining hunters ahead to scout, a wiry man whose name I didn't catch. He moved with practiced caution, eyes sweeping methodically across every shadowed crevice.
Then, without warning, something burst from the darkness.
A blur of motion, too fast to track clearly. The scout barely managed a strangled gasp before claws ripped through his throat. Blood sprayed across the cavern floor as he fell, dead before he hit the stone.
Just as swiftly, the dark shape vanished again.
No one dared move.
John raised a clenched fist, signaling a halt. My heart hammered painfully in my chest, blood roaring in my ears. The ragged breathing of my companions filled the silence like an alarm bell.
"Close formation, now," John growled quietly. His voice was controlled, but beneath it simmered a lethal tension. "Don't let anything separate us."
We tightened ranks instantly. Alex shifted closer, weapon in hand, muscles coiled. Bert fell in beside him, eyes darting anxiously toward every dancing shadow.
"What the hell was that?" Till whispered, voice barely audible.
"Same thing that killed Darren and the healer," John replied, grimly quiet. "An undead lurker. It's hunting us."
Cold sweat dripped down my spine. We weren't just in danger, we were prey. Trapped underground, stalked by something faster, stronger, and far more ruthless than I could handle.
John didn't give us time to panic.
"Keep moving," he ordered, voice razor-sharp. "Don't hesitate. We need to get out."
We pressed forward, nerves frayed. My knuckles whitened painfully around my dagger as we edged deeper into the darkness.
Then the tunnel narrowed abruptly. Walls pressed in from both sides, slick with moisture. I stepped carefully, trailing just behind Alex. His shoulders were tense, his breathing measured.
My foot landed on something loose beneath the dirt.
Click.
Before I could react, the ground beneath Alex and me fell away.
We dropped sharply, violently. Stone scraped against my skin as air slammed from my lungs, agony jolting through my ribs and I crashed to the cavern floor below. I lay stunned for a moment, breathless, before forcing myself upright.
"You alright?" Alex asked, voice strained as he pulled himself up beside me.
I coughed sharply, pushing myself onto shaky legs. "What the hell was that."
Alex nodded grimly, gaze shifting upward. "We're cut off."
Above us, the hole we fell through had sealed shut seamlessly, leaving only smooth, featureless stone.
My pulse quickened. We were separated from the group, trapped in an unknown passageway, surrounded by darkness.
Alex rose swiftly, helping me up while scanning the shadows. "Stay close," he murmured quietly. "We need to find another way back."
The cave around us was cold, damp and oppressive. Dripping water echoed distantly, punctuating the silence with rhythmic taps. Shadows seemed to ripple and twist, whispering threats I couldn't quite hear.
The sensation of unseen eyes watching me returned, crawling along my skin, refusing to fade.
Alex moved deliberately, his B-ranker confidence visible in each cautious step. Yet even he couldn't hide the subtle tension stiffening his muscles.
I gripped my dagger tighter and followed, desperately trying to ignore the whispering fear at the edges of my mind.
Clicking echoed through the cavern behind us, sharp, relentless, rapidly closing in.
"Run!" Alex shouted, already surging forward, his heavy footsteps splashing through the shallow puddles littering the cavern floor.
I didn't need to be told twice.
My heart hammered painfully as I ran. Glancing back, I caught sight of two distorted shapes racing after us. They moved with jerky, unsettling speed, crawling low along the stone floor, limbs twisting unnaturally. Something disturbingly human clung to their movements.
Then, with a sickening clarity, I recognized them.
"Oh, god…" My breath hitched, fear and nausea rising simultaneously. "Those are… Alpha Team."
Alex's expression darkened as he looked back. He cursed under his breath, eyes flashing with dread. "Keep moving! We can't fight them here!"
We bolted forward, scrambling over slick stones, our ragged breaths loud in the oppressive silence. The clicking intensified behind us, echoing harshly off cavern walls.
Ahead, the tunnel forked sharply. Without hesitating, Alex grabbed my arm and yanked me down the left path.
"This way!"
We sprinted blindly, driven by adrenaline and terror. But the clicking remained relentless, always at our heels, closing the gap.
We rounded another corner and suddenly skidded to a stop.
A dead end.
Sheer rock faced us on three sides, looming tall and unyielding. My stomach dropped.
"Shit," Alex hissed, eyes frantically scanning our surroundings. "There has to be—"
He spotted it first, pointing toward a narrow crevice partially concealed by shadows to the left.
"There! Quick!"
I didn't hesitate, squeezing myself into the gap sideways. The stone scraped sharply against my skin, tight and suffocating but it was our only chance.
Alex followed closely, grunting as he forced his larger body into the narrow space. For one moment, it seemed he might just make it.
Then he halted, breathing sharply. "Dammit I can't fit. Ethan, pull me!"
"Shit!" Panic surged. I twisted awkwardly, desperately grabbing his arm. "You're almost through—just pull!"
Behind Alex, the undead closed in. Their warped forms now clearly visible, torn faces twisted grotesquely, eyes vacant yet somehow filled with malevolent hunger.
"Ethan, help!" Alex yelled desperately, struggling to free himself.
"I got you, pull with me!" I shouted back, pulling with all my strength.
It wasn't enough.
An undead lunged forward, jagged claws sinking deep into Alex's shoulder. He screamed, face contorted in pain as they tore him from my grip, dragging him violently out of the crevice.
"Alex!"
I shoved myself backward through the gap, ignoring stone scraping against my ribs.
Alex fought wildly, blade flashing, blood splattering the cavern walls. But the undead were relentless, overwhelming him, tearing and biting with sickening ferocity.
I forced myself fully out of the crevice just as Alex's eyes locked onto mine, blood dripping from his lips, his expression filled with pain and regret.
"Ethan—" he choked out.
Before I could reach him, before I could lift my dagger, one undead sank its teeth viciously into Alex's throat. The other ripped violently into his arm, tearing flesh from bone.
Alex collapsed heavily to the cavern floor, pinned beneath the undead. His eyes met mine again, barely holding consciousness, whispering a single broken word.
"Sorry."
My gaze caught a soft blue glow in his bloodied hand, a mana grenade. My heart froze.
The cavern erupted in blinding white-blue light.
The explosion hurled me backward, my body slamming violently into the stone wall. A sharp burst of pain shot through my skull and darkness flooded my vision instantly.
I woke slowly.
Pain radiated through my entire body. My ears rang harshly, vision blurred as I pushed myself upright, breath coming in ragged gasps.
Slowly, painfully, I moved toward the carnage ahead.
Alex lay motionless, surrounded by the shredded remains of the two undead. Blood pooled thickly around his ruined form, half his face frozen in determination, the other half… gone.
My throat tightened painfully, eyes burning as I stumbled to his side.
"Alex…" My voice cracked.
"I'm sorry—I should've…" I whispered hoarsely, my chest tight.
My voice broke. Tears blurred my vision, but I swallowed them back, forcing down the grief enough to say what mattered.
"I won't waste this. I promise. I'll make it home."
For a long moment, I knelt quietly, grieving in silence. Finally, I forced myself back onto shaky legs.
Every step felt agonizing as I limped away down the darkened tunnel, gripping my dagger with knuckles white and trembling.
Chapter 6
I limped through the darkness, every step sending waves of pain through my battered body. My mind was a haze, numb from exhaustion and grief. Alex's death replayed endlessly in my head, each haunting detail etched deep into memory.
But I kept moving.
The tunnels seemed endless, an oppressive maze of stone and shadow. My dagger felt heavier with every passing step, the blade slick with sweat and dried blood.
Eventually, the narrow path opened into a wider space. Ahead stood a massive door carved from dark, unfamiliar stone. Strange markings spiraled across its surface, faintly glowing under some unknown enchantment.
Hesitantly, I stepped closer, heart hammering. The moment I crossed the threshold, there was a sudden, grinding noise behind me.
I spun around, dread seizing my chest.
The stone door had sealed shut.
"No," I whispered, lunging toward it. My palms slammed against the smooth stone, frantically searching for cracks, handles, anything. "Dammit, no!"
Nothing budged.
I slumped against the cold surface, breathing heavily. After a moment, I turned slowly, taking in the rest of the room.
Walls surrounded me. Strange scriptures covered every surface, carved deeply into the stone. Lines of alien symbols I'd never seen before, glowing softly with an unsettling pale-blue hue.
"What is this?" I murmured, stepping forward cautiously.
I ran a finger across one of the carvings, half-expecting something to happen, but the symbols remained unchanged. They felt wrong beneath my fingertips—cold, almost vibrating with subtle energy.
My throat tightened.
In the center of the room stood a statue.
It was human-like, carved from smooth, blackened stone, but wrong in ways subtle and overt. Its features were sharp, too defined, each angle and curve unnaturally precise. Twin horns protruded from its forehead, curving gracefully back over its skull. Its eyes were open, set with polished gems that caught and reflected the faint light, giving an unsettling impression of life.
Its pupils were vertical slits, like those of a cat—predatory, indifferent, and cold.
In its outstretched hand rested an empty stone bowl, as though awaiting some grim offering. The bowl's interior was stained dark, the stone worn and cracked with age. I stepped closer, unease prickling down my spine.
As soon as I moved, the runes etched around the room flared to life. Soft glows pulsed outward, rippling along the walls. With each step, I felt the air grow heavy, as though unseen chains settled onto my shoulders. My breaths came shorter, my heart beating faster, louder, echoing in my ears.
I gritted my teeth, forcing another step closer, muscles straining beneath the growing pressure. My skill stirred quietly in my chest, pulsing faintly on the edge of activating but not yet triggered.
My eyes landed on the statue's chest. Words were carved there, cut deeply and roughly into its skin-like surface. Each letter harsh, purposeful, and ancient.
Through death comes life. Through life comes death.
As soon as I finished reading the scripture, a rune flared on my left, pulsing in slow, deliberate rhythm. The grinding of stone filled the chamber as a hidden passage yawned open, and from its darkness stumbled an undead.
I stiffened, dagger gripped tightly, adrenaline pushing through bone-deep exhaustion.
But this undead… was familiar. A small, rotten goblin. Its sagging, mottled skin hung loosely from brittle bones, clinging in patches like decayed cloth. Milky eyes stared vacantly at me, its crude wooden club dragging lazily along the stone floor.
I stepped back, heart thundering. I'd faced undead goblins before. But here, in my weakened state, even the weakest enemy could kill me.
The runes along the walls brightened, casting shadows across the goblin's twisted face. A new sensation washed over me: an invisible force, tugging at something vital within. It felt as though my very essence was being drained, pulled away slowly, painfully. My knees threatened to buckle under the invisible weight, but my skill surged, Last Stand desperately counteracting the unnatural pull.
The goblin lunged forward with a speed that seemed impossible for its decaying limbs. I dodged backward, narrowly avoiding the club's heavy swing, feeling its rough edge slice the air just inches from my chest. Every movement felt heavier, slower than it should've been. The runes' invisible drain intensified with every passing second, forcing my skill to burn hotter.
I slashed wildly with my dagger, slicing deep into its side, but the goblin barely flinched. It swung again, catching my shoulder, sending shockwaves of pain through my body. We fought desperately, back and forth, each moment draining more strength from my already battered frame.
But I refused to fall.
With a final surge of strength born from desperation, I lunged forward, sinking my blade deep into its throat. Black blood sprayed my face, and the goblin collapsed, twitching briefly before falling still.
The runes dimmed slightly, their oppressive pull weakening and the feeling of rejuvenation entered my body. But it wasn't enough. My legs trembled beneath me, and darkness edged my vision. I staggered backward, praying the trial was over.
But it wasn't.
On another wall, the rune blazed to life, brighter and fiercer than the last. Stone scraped, and a much larger chamber opened.
From the shadows stepped a monstrous undead, it was humanoid but distinctly reptilian, towering over me with rippling, decayed muscles beneath cracked, rotted scales. Its eyes were pale and lifeless, jaws lined with jagged teeth. Razor-sharp claws flexed in anticipation.
The runes blazed brighter, their pull redoubling with merciless intensity. My body screamed in agony as that invisible force tore at me once more. If not for Last Stand fighting tirelessly to sustain me, I would've collapsed immediately.
The reptilian charged forward without hesitation, a massive claw swiping toward my chest. I threw myself sideways, barely evading its blow, my shoulder slamming into the cold stone floor. Pain exploded through my side, my breath escaping in ragged gasps.
Scrambling upright, I narrowly dodged a crushing blow from its heavy tail, feeling the rush of air as it sailed past my head. My dagger flashed desperately, slicing at the creature's leg but my blade glanced off its thick scales, doing nothing but annoy it.
I retreated, heart hammering wildly. Each second was agony, every heartbeat a fight against unconsciousness. The draining runes sucked strength from my being, countered only by Last Stand's burning resilience.
The reptilian lunged again, relentless, striking faster, harder. Its claw caught my side, shredding skin and sending fresh blood splattering onto the stone. My vision blurred, the world was fading in and out, but desperation forced me to keep moving.
Summoning strength I shouldn't have, I charged forward, sliding under another blow, driving my dagger upward into the soft underside of its jaw. The blade sank deep, slicing through bone, flesh, and sinew.
The undead convulsed violently, gurgling sickly, then fell, lifeless, at my feet.
The runes finally dimmed, their oppressive pull retreating, leaving me broken and shuddering. My skill's strength ebbed as I collapsed beside the reptilian corpse, blood pooling beneath me. More energy suffused me, mending wounds and keeping me awake.
As I stared down at the lifeless reptilian undead, my vision wavered, exhaustion creeping through every fiber of my being. But before I could fully catch my breath, movement caught my eye.
The blackened blood of the undead slowly trickled along unseen grooves in the stone floor, winding its way toward the statue. As if guided by invisible hands, the blood climbed upward, defying gravity, filling the empty stone bowl clenched in the figure's outstretched hands.
A sense of dread pooled within my stomach.
My respite didn't last. On the final wall, yet another rune flared to life, its cruel glow brighter and more intense than the others. Once more the draining force surged through me, wrenching painfully at my core, my life force ebbing dangerously. Last Stand flared desperately, pushing back the exhaustion, forcing my battered body upright when all I wanted was to collapse.
From the newly opened chamber staggered another undead. This time, another goblin, small and twisted, a crude blade gripped in skeletal fingers. It hissed silently, jaw unhinging grotesquely.
Every instinct screamed at me to collapse, to surrender. But thoughts of Elise flashed through my mind, her desperate face pleading with me not to leave. With trembling fingers, I tightened my grip on my blood-slick dagger, muscles screaming in protest.
"Come on then!" I shouted.
One more fight, I promised silently, stumbling forward. I can do this one more time.
The goblin lunged, blade flashing. I dodged clumsily, barely avoiding the strike. Pain and fatigue made every movement sluggish, but desperation drove me. Last Stand burned in my veins, an inferno fueled by sheer willpower alone.
I drove my dagger into its chest, wrenching the blade free as the goblin collapsed, its blackened blood again trickling toward the statue's bowl.
One more, I promised myself again, gasping for breath as another rune ignited.
And again.
And again.
Each undead pushed me closer to the brink, each fight blurred into the next, every moment pure agony. But still, I fought, driven by desperation and the image of Elise's tear-stained face, determined not to let her down.
Time lost all meaning as I fought, trapped in an endless cycle of violence. One undead fell only for another to take its place—goblins, reptilians, wolves; the monsters blurred together, each fight robbing me of another fragment of myself and each kill healing me slowly. My skill burned continuously, raging like a desperate flame, barely staving off the oppressive force of the runes.
The chamber floor was slick with blood, both mine and theirs, painting the stones a grotesque crimson. My breaths came in ragged gasps, every muscle screamed in agony, every heartbeat felt like a hammer striking against my ribs. I was fighting not just undead but an endless despair, a grim understanding that this trial was designed to be unwinnable.
I'd realized the bitter truth a while ago. The bowl could never be filled. The blood drained slowly through an almost invisible crack, eternally unsatisfied. This place was a cruel joke meant to break me down, to see just how far I'd go before snapping.
But I refused. Not because I believed in victory, but because surrender wasn't an option. Elise waited for me somewhere out there, her tearful face etched in my mind. I'd promised her, I'd promised myself, I would always come home.
Another undead fell, a shadow wolf this time, its body dissolving into lifeless ruin at my feet. I staggered, dagger slipping from numb fingers, crashing onto the blood-slicked stone. My knees buckled, and I collapsed, utterly drained. My skill sputtered weakly within me, finally extinguished after hours of relentless battle.
My body was a ruin, broken and shredded. Bite marks, gashes, bruises—I was a tapestry of violence. Yet, somehow, I felt nothing. No pain. No relief. Just emptiness.
"Get up," I whispered hoarsely, my own voice sounding distant, alien. "Get…up…"
But my body no longer listened.
Through half-lidded eyes, I saw the runes begin to fade, their cruel glow diminishing until the room plunged into near-darkness. Somewhere in the haze, I heard the grinding of stone. Was it the entrance finally reopening, or just another undead sent to finish the job?
I couldn't tell. I couldn't even turn my head to look. It didn't matter.
With the last fragments of my consciousness slipping away, I finally gave in to exhaustion. The darkness claimed me, and I embraced it.
Chapter 7
I woke covered in dried blood, my body aching as if I'd been trampled beneath a stampede. The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint, flickering glow of dying runes. Across the chamber, the grinding stone had revealed an open doorway. Relief surged through me, but it was short-lived. The tunnel ahead was cloaked in darkness, silent and foreboding. The path home still lay beyond my reach.
My eyes drifted downward. On the bloodied floor lay my dagger or rather, what was left of it. The blade had shattered at some point during the endless battles, leaving only a jagged shard attached to the hilt. My chest tightened painfully at the sight. It had been the last gift my father gave me before he died, a memory of him etched in metal. Now it was broken, just like everything else.
Gingerly, I picked up the ruined blade, running a finger over the fragmented edge. With a heavy sigh, I slipped it back into its sheath, hidden beneath the torn remains of my jacket.
Slowly, painfully, I forced myself upright, muscles protesting every small movement. Wounds crisscrossed my skin, my torn clothes barely hanging on. But I didn't have the luxury of resting. One step after another, I dragged myself toward the waiting darkness.
I left the chamber of dread behind, refusing to look back at the horned statue, still holding its eternal, bleeding offering.
I stumbled through the darkness, each painful step echoing softly against cold stone walls. My only companion was my thoughts, which admittedly wasn't doing wonders for my mental state. Memories of Alex's final moments replayed relentlessly in my head, alongside visions of the other hunters who'd met gruesome ends inside this cursed place.
But I wouldn't break. Couldn't. I'd already come too far.
Still, the feeling of unseen eyes returned, prickling along the back of my neck, crawling over my skin. My hand drifted instinctively to the shattered dagger beneath my torn jacket.
Then, ahead of me, a faint sound echoed—a quiet scrape of footsteps.
My pulse spiked. I quickly pressed myself against the rough stone wall, breath caught painfully in my chest. Sweat trickled down my face, stinging the fresh cuts and scratches. My trembling fingers tightened around the broken hilt, heart pounding louder with each passing moment.
The footsteps grew louder, closer. My muscles coiled, body tensed like a spring. I held still, barely daring to breathe.
Then the figure stepped around the corner, cloaked in shadows. Instinct took over. With a cry, I lunged forward, driving the shattered blade toward whatever vulnerable spot I could find.
A hand shot out like lightning, seizing my wrist in an iron grip. Pain shot through my arm, muscles screaming. My weapon froze mere inches from a man's throat.
"Ethan?" came a familiar, gruff voice. "Is that you?"
My blood ran cold as recognition struck me. Slowly, the shadows shifted, revealing John's stern face, his eyes wide with shock. And in front of him stood Bert, his gaze locked nervously on the blade hovering near his neck.
I swallowed hard, adrenaline flooding away, leaving only shaking limbs and dizzy relief.
"John," I gasped, "Thank god."
John stared at me, eyes darkening. "What happened to you, boy? Where's Alex?"
I took a deep breath, my grip tightening on the broken dagger, knuckles whitening around the hilt. "He's…he's dead," I whispered, the words tasting bitter and unreal. Saying it made it true, and I wasn't ready to accept that yet.
John's jaw tightened, and he glanced away for a moment, gathering himself. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy. "We lost Till, too. The lurker got him—but Till went down fighting. Managed to injure it pretty badly before it retreated."
Bert shifted uneasily, glancing into the darkness as if expecting an attack at any moment.
John continued quietly, "Now it's just the three of us left. You, me, and Bert."
John's eyes narrowed as he stared into the darkness ahead, his jaw tight with grim determination.
"I think the boss room is just ahead," he finally said, voice low and weary. "Clearing this dungeon is our only shot at getting out alive."
I glanced nervously back down the tunnel behind us. Memories of endless undead clawing their way toward me, Alex's final moments, and that damned lurker prowling the shadows all flashed vividly through my mind.
"I don't know," I muttered. "Maybe we'd have better odds going back. Digging through the stones, trying to escape the way we came."
John paused, expression faltering. He exhaled deeply, clearly weighing the thought. "You're probably right. Even if we reach the boss, it'll probably kill us all. Whatever rift this is, it's definitely not A Rank anymore. I've never been in anything like it."
Silence fell heavily, but Bert quickly stepped forward, shaking his head.
"No way, man," he said, "Everything we barely survived, the undead, that damn lurker, they're all still back there. If we turn around now, we'll definitely die. But going forward… at least there's still a chance."
John sighed again, his resolve visibly hardening as he looked up, shoulders squared.
"Bert's right. We've already lost too much to turn back now. Forward is the only way."
He strode forward with newfound determination, Bert quickly following. My chest tightened as I hesitated, but finally, I forced myself forward, legs aching with each step.
We walked in tense silence, nerves frayed and minds weary. The oppressive darkness pressed in from all sides, feeling somehow thicker, heavier than ever.
Finally, Bert moved beside me, his voice unusually gentle. "Hey, Ethan. I'm sorry about Alex. You two seemed close."
A lump formed in my throat. Talking about Alex hurt.
"Yeah, thanks man."
"How did you meet again? Going for the hunters license right?" He questioned.
"Yeah we met when we both got our hunter licenses," I began quietly. "Training partners, both barely scraping through the exams. Alex was a lot stronger than me but he never let that slow him down."
Bert smiled faintly, urging me to continue.
I exhaled slowly, lost in memory. "We'd been friends a few months when Alex invited me out to dinner. Said he wanted me to meet someone special." I chuckled bitterly, the memory still sharp. "Turns out, his girlfriend was actually my ex."
Bert raised his eyebrows, and couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "Damn, seriously?"
"Yeah," I sighed, a small, pained smile tugging at my lips. "Talk about awkward. But Alex just laughed it off, said the world was too small anyway. Somehow, we got past it. Stayed friends even after he ranked up to B and moved on to tougher jobs."
Bert glanced sideways, his voice lowering. "Sounds like a good guy."
"Yeah," I whispered, feeling the weight of loss all over again. "He was."
We finally stepped into the cavern ahead, tension coiling thickly through my body.
But the cavern was empty.
Stone walls curved around us, bare of runes or undead. Shadows stretched ominously, yet nothing stirred.
"Something's wrong," John muttered warily, eyes narrowed as he slowly scanned the empty chamber.
We fanned out cautiously, exploring each corner and crevice, finding nothing. Unease gnawed at my gut. Boss rooms were never empty.
Bert moved over toward John, a strange expression crossing his face. He placed a consoling arm on John's shoulder, leaning in slightly. "So…what now, boss? Maybe Ethan was right after all. Maybe we really should turn back."
John hesitated, conflicted. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he nodded slowly. "Yeah. Looks like we—"
His voice cut off suddenly with a wet, choking gurgle.
My heart froze.
I spun around just in time to see blood erupt from John's throat, his eyes wide with shock. He stumbled, clutching desperately at his torn neck before crumpling lifelessly to the cavern floor.
Bert stood over him, his smile a twisted mockery of the friendly grin he'd worn moments earlier. Crimson stained his fingers, dripping steadily down his hand as he stared at John's corpse.
Slowly, Bert turned toward me, that horrible smile widening.
"Well, Ethan," he whispered darkly, stepping closer, "Looks like it's just us now."
His body began to shift. Bones cracked loudly, echoing through the empty cavern as his form twisted, limbs elongating unnaturally. His skin darkened, hardening like obsidian, as muscles rippled beneath, expanding impossibly. The smile widened, stretching grotesquely as his human features melted away.
Two dark, curved horns erupted violently from his skull, pushing outward with a sickening sound reminiscent of grinding stone. His eyes shifted, pupils thinning into vertical slits, cold and predatory, exactly like the statue from that cursed chamber.
Chapter 8
Despite myself, fear coiled deep in my chest, suffocating and cold.
"What are you?" I whispered, barely audible, my grip tightening around the useless remains of my dagger.
The thing that had worn Bert's face smiled, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. Its pupils, vertical slits, like a predator's, studied me with amused detachment.
I took a step back.
The thing took one forward.
"Hasn't this been fun?" it said, voice smooth, almost playful. "Watching you and your little group struggle, clawing for survival? Truly, you entertained me." It spread its arms wide, as if presenting the cavern itself. "If you haven't figured it out yet… I'm disappointed, Ethan. I thought you had more potential."
Its tone darkened, the amusement slipping away like a mask peeled back.
"This is my domain," it said, voice turning rougher, edged with something primal. "My rift. My prison."
The cavern trembled.
Cracks raced across the walls, jagged and spreading. Loose stone broke free, shattering against the floor.
I flinched, steadying my stance, but the thing—Bert, or what had once been Bert—stood still, unfazed, watching me.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the fury faded.
Its smile widened,
"But you…" It chuckled, taking another slow step forward. "You were different. Someone as weak as you dared to enter my domain? I had to see it for myself. And what did I find?" It tilted its head. "A mere bug, managing to kill one of my thralls. Fascinating."
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stand my ground.
"You killed them…"
The thing laughed, a sharp, grating sound that scraped against my skull.
"Of course I did." It gestured loosely, claws flicking through the air. "I killed all of them. That healer, those two shield-bearers. And, of course, John."
The casual way it said his name sent a fresh wave of fury through me.
John had been the strongest of us. The one who should have made it.
The thing's grin sharpened, as if it sensed my thoughts.
"He was the only troublesome one," it admitted. "But even he could be broken. I simply needed to wear him down… chip away at his resolve…"
Its clawed fingers traced absently through the air.
"And at his lowest," it mused, almost thoughtful, "all it took was one good swipe. He really was quite stupid."
I watched, frozen, as it lifted its bloodstained hand, lazily flicking crimson droplets onto the stone.
That was John's blood.
The realization hit harder than the demon's strike ever could.
"Your world will be very interesting," it continued, stepping forward, deliberate, unhurried.
I forced myself to lift my dagger, a useless gesture, but the only one I had.
The creature chuckled. "Still resisting? Even now?" It shook its head, feigning disappointment. "I don't need to take you like the others. You're different. Special."
Its voice dropped lower, smooth, persuasive. "Why not stand by my side instead? I can give you what you want, Ethan. Strength. Power. No more running, no more losing."
I said nothing, jaw locked tight.
The thing's grin stretched wider.
"Think about it," it pressed, voice almost gentle now. "That challenge I gave you? It made you stronger. I felt it. You felt it. That's what I offer, Ethan. Strength beyond anything you could have imagined."
I clenched my fists, ignoring the shaking.
It took another step forward.
"Join me," it whispered. "You don't have to become a mindless thrall like the others. You can be more."
A sharp breath rattled through my lungs.
I met its gaze, dark eyes locking onto its slitted ones.
For the first time since this nightmare began, my fear faded.
I exhaled slowly.
"You…" My voice was hoarse, barely more than a breath. "You're a monster."
Something flickered across its face.
"I'd never join you," I continued, forcing steel into my voice. "And even if I can't stop you… someone else will."
The amusement finally drained from its expression.
"There are people out there," I said, gripping my broken dagger, stepping back deeper into the cavern, "who might as well be gods."
I squared my stance, ignoring the tremors wracking my body.
"To them… you're nothing."
Silence.
The demon's grin vanished.
Its slitted pupils dilated.
Then it lunged.
Before I can react, something slams into my shoulder with the force of a battering ram.
Bones cracked.
My entire body launched backward, weightless for an instant before I crash onto the stone floor, pain burst through my nerves like wildfire. My vision blurred and my ears rang. I barely register the sound of approaching footsteps.
Then, an iron grip closes around my torso, hoisting me up like a ragdoll.
The world twists violently.
I don't even register the impact before I'm already airborne again, my body whipped down into the cold, unyielding stone. My skull bounces, the impact rattling through every nerve in my body. A sharp, wet crack echoes in my ears.
My mind swims.
Something strong clamps around my throat and lifts me, my feet barely scraping against the ground before I'm slammed down once more, stone splintering beneath the sheer force.
Darkness claws at the edges of my vision.
My skill ignites, a dying fire desperately trying to flare back to life. The pain dulls slightly. Strength floods my body in short bursts.
A heavy boot slams into my ribs.
The sound comes first, the sickening crunch of bone giving way. A moment later, the pain catches up, white-hot agony tearing through my torso as I'm sent rolling across the ground, struggling for breath.
My lungs refuse to expand.
Something's wrong.
I cough, choking, feeling warm liquid trickle down my chin. Blood. My own. Probably from burst organs.
My skill flares stronger, as I get closer and closer to death. My ribs shift, the edges scraping against one another as Last Stand tries to mend the damage, I push the pain aside. It's nothing compared to that challenge room.
I refuse to stay down.
With what strength last stand provides, I claw at the ground, dragging myself forward inch by inch. My arms tremble violently as I push, fighting the weight of my own body. My vision swims, red spots blooming at the edges of my sight.
Still, I move.
Knees scraping against stone, hands pressing down hard enough to bruise, I force myself upright. It's a slow, painful motion—muscles screaming, ribs grinding against themselves but I make it.
Barely.
I kneel, shaking, struggling to hold myself up.
A shadow falls over me.
The monster watches, expression unreadable. Amusement? Annoyance? It's impossible to tell.
"You're still getting up?" it muses, voice carrying an almost curious edge. "You really would make a good demon."
I don't answer. I can't. My breaths come in ragged gasps, each one agony. My fingers twitch against the cold stone, searching.
It takes another step forward.
I tighten my grip on my broken dagger.
The demon approaches, its steps slow, deliberate.
I swing wildly from my knees, the broken remains of my dagger flashing through the dim light. It doesn't even bother dodging. A lazy swipe knocks my arm aside, sending the weapon clattering against the stone. Then it backhands me, the force whipping my head to the side. My skull rings from the impact. More blood fills my mouth, thick and coppery, but that barely registers anymore.
I spit it out at its body in defiance.
A single tear slips down my cheek, unbidden. Not from fear. Not from pain.
Elise.
She's waiting for me. I promised her I'd come back.
The demon's foot slams into my chest, driving me onto my back. A sharp, wet snap echoes in my ears as another rib gives way. My body is broken. Ribs shattered, organs ruptured, muscles torn.
I'm already dead. But that's where my skill thrives.
Last Stand flares to life, burning through my veins, pumping stolen strength into ruined limbs. The pain doesn't fade, but it dulls, buried beneath a raw, desperate energy. My vision sharpens. My breath steadies, ragged but controlled. My muscles, screaming in protest, lock back into place.
For a moment, I just lay there, staring up at the cavern ceiling.
I let myself imagine my bed—small, old, uncomfortable. Elise complaining about school, sprawled across the couch, flipping through channels. The smell of cheap instant ramen filling the air.
Home.
I grit my teeth and plant my hands against the stone.
The demon watches, amusement flickering in its too-sharp eyes.
I push myself up.
Agony lances through me, my body fighting against the movement, but I ignore it. My arms shake. My legs barely hold. My breath comes in short, pained gasps.
But I stand.
The demon tilts its head, studying me like a curious predator.
And then it grins.
A wet thud echoes through the cavern.
I look down.
Blood spills from my lips, thick and hot, pooling on the stone floor beneath me. The demon's arm is buried deep in my gut, its claws piercing clean through. My body locks up, nerves firing wildly in confusion and agony. I try to breathe, but all I get is a wet, rattling gasp.
Slowly, I lift my gaze.
The demon is still smiling.
It rips its hand free.
The pain is blinding, white-hot. I collapse onto my knees, my own blood soaking into the stone, warmth draining from my body. My vision swims, edges blurring. Last Stand surges, burning through me, fighting to keep me upright, to keep me alive. But even it is faltering.
I'm dying.
The demon's voice slithers into my ears.
"If only you had knelt from the start." Its tone is almost amused, but there's something else beneath it. Something cold. "I could have made you strong. Now you die like a bug, broken and bleeding at my feet."
My mind unravels.
Memories flicker like a dying flame.
Mom and Dad, watching over me, smiles warm and soft. Holding my hand, taking me to the park. The day El was born, her tiny fingers wrapping around mine for the first time. Her wide eyes staring up at me, filled with so much trust.
Dad leaving for a rift and never coming back.
Mom getting sick.
Her frail hand gripping mine, whispering through labored breaths, It's your turn now. Take care of your sister.
A sob threatens to break free, but I choke it down with blood.
The demon leans in, voice dripping with satisfaction.
"Don't worry," it continues. "Your soul will remain in your body when you become my thrall. You'll see the outside world again. You'll watch as I twist it into my image."
I whisper, barely audible.
"S—sorry, El."
The demon tilts its head. "What was that?"
I look up as water drips from one of the sharp stones on the ceiling, splashing against my forehead. I barely notice. My body is failing, my heartbeat slowing. But my mind sharpens. How ironic, the first thing I thought when I entered this rift was that those stone teeth were going to close around me. Now that would come true.
I meet the demon's gaze, dark eyes locking onto its slit-pupiled ones.
Resolve hardens in my chest.
A slow, bloodied smile curls onto my lips.
"I said… fuck you."
I open my trembling hand.
Two mana bombs sit in my palm, taken from Alex's body.
The demon's expression shifts, twisting from amusement into rage.
I throw the bombs.
They soar upward, slamming into the cavern ceiling.
A deafening explosion rips through the air.
Stone cracks. The cavern shudders.
The demon roars, its voice no longer composed. It lunges for me, claws outstretched, but it's too late.
The ceiling collapses.
Jagged stone spears rain down, impaling flesh, crushing everything beneath them.
I watch as the demon's shriek is cut short, its form swallowed by the falling debris.
Tears streak down my bloodied face.
Then the world turns black.
Chapter 9
"Claire, we have breaking news regarding the A-rank rift in Circular Quay." The news anchor's voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable tension beneath it. "The rift has officially been closed… but as of this moment, not a single hunter has been reported exiting."
The words barely registered.
Elise sat frozen, her fingers clenched tightly around her phone. She had already sent Ethan dozens of messages.
No reply.
She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as her vision blurred. He's fine. He's always fine.
On-screen, the reporters continued.
"It has now been thirty minutes since the rift's closure," the reporter continued, standing near the secured rift site. "And still, no sign of survivors. Historically, no hunter has ever exited after ten minutes of a rift closing. As of this moment the thirty hunters who entered the A-rank rift are presumed dead."
Elise's breath hitched.
The phone nearly slipped from her fingers.
She forced herself to breathe in and out but the room felt like it was closing in around her, the voices from the television growing distant and warped.
This wasn't happening.
Tears streamed down Elise's face, warm and unrelenting, but she barely noticed them. Her phone sat in her lap, the screen still open to the dozens of messages she had sent.
Ethan?
Are you okay?
Please answer me.
Ethan, please…
Nothing.
Her chest hurt, like something heavy had settled inside, pressing down, making it impossible to breathe. She curled up on the couch, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around them as if that would stop the trembling.
The news played in the background, voices murmuring about the rift, about how no one had made it out. Words she didn't want to hear.
She shut her eyes tight, her fingers gripping her sleeves.
No.
Ethan wouldn't die. He was strong. He always came home.
A knock at the door made her flinch.
She wiped her face quickly, sniffing hard before sliding off the couch. The knock came again, gentle, patient.
"Elise?" A woman's voice called.
She hesitated.
Slowly, she reached for the handle, twisting it open.
A woman stood on the other side, dressed in neat clothes, her brown hair tied back in a low ponytail. Something about her being here made Elise's stomach twist. A small emblem was pinned to her chest—Feathers Guild.
"Elise Ward?" the woman asked, her voice kind.
Elise nodded, gripping the doorframe.
The woman exhaled softly. "My name is Sarah. I was hoping I could talk to you for a little while. Is that okay?"
Elise hesitated but then stepped aside, barely noticing the way Sarah gave her a small, reassuring smile as she entered the tiny apartment.
Sarah glanced around briefly, the old furniture, the tiny kitchen, the blanket Elise had dragged to the couch. She didn't comment, just set down a folder on the small table before sitting in one of the chairs.
She folded her hands in front of her. "I know this is a hard time for you," she began carefully. "I won't take too much of your time, but I wanted to go over some things about Ethan."
Elise's stomach twisted again. She bit her lip hard to stop it from trembling.
Sarah continued gently. "Ethan wasn't part of Feathers Guild, but he worked alongside a lot of our hunters. Because of that, we're handling his contract and what comes next."
Elise didn't say anything.
Sarah reached into the folder, pulling out a few papers. "This is the contract Ethan signed before entering the rift. He was promised a payment when the job was complete. And because he didn't come back, there is also something called a death compensation."
Elise barely looked at the papers. The words didn't mean anything to her.
"Death compensation," she repeated numbly. "That's… money?"
Sarah nodded. "Yes."
Elise frowned, suddenly feeling small and confused. Money didn't bring Ethan back. Money didn't make anything better. What was she even supposed to do with it?
She wanted Ethan. Not this.
Sarah seemed to understand. She set the papers aside. "You don't have to worry about any of that right now," she said, voice warm. "There's no rush."
Elise swallowed hard.
Sarah hesitated, then reached into her bag, pulling out a small black tablet. She slid it across the table, tapping the screen. A logo appeared—Feathers Guild Academy—Sponsored Enrollment Program.
"Elise," Sarah said softly. "Ethan worked hard to take care of you. I know he wanted you to have a future. Feathers Guild has a program for young people. If you want, we'd like to sponsor you."
Elise stared at the screen.
"You mean… you want me to be a hunter?" she asked, voice small.
Sarah shook her head. "Not just a hunter. The academy trains people for all kinds of things. Office workers, researchers, medics. It's a chance for a good job. A safe one."
A life where she wouldn't have to go into rifts. Where she wouldn't have to end up like Ethan.
Elise bit her lip. But if she had been stronger… if she had been like Ethan… maybe she could have stopped him from going in the first place.
She didn't know what to say.
Sarah didn't push. She just nodded and stood, gathering the papers and leaving only the tablet behind.
"If you ever want to join, just let us know," she said gently. "We'll take care of the rest."
Elise stared down at the screen, her fingers pressing against the edge.
Sarah lingered at the door. "Take care of yourself, Elise," she said softly. "And if you ever need help, Feathers Guild is always here." She slid her card over the table. "I'm also always here."
Then she left, the door clicking quietly behind her.
Elise sat down at the table, staring at the academy program, the contract, the untouched forms.
Outside, the city kept moving.
Inside, everything had stopped.
The apartment felt colder than usual.
Elise curled up on the couch, hugging her knees, staring blankly at the television. The news had moved on—some other rift had opened somewhere, some new crisis unfolding—but she didn't care. She muted the screen, letting the silent images flicker across her tired eyes.
She didn't know how long she sat there.
The lights in the apartment were dim, casting long shadows over the peeling wallpaper. The clock on the wall ticked softly, filling the silence.
She wasn't hungry.
She wasn't tired.
She just… felt empty.
The night stretched on. The city outside never slept, but inside, it was quiet. Too quiet.
Her fingers clutched at the edge of the blanket Ethan always used. She pulled it closer, burying her face into the worn fabric. It still smelled like him, the faint traces of cheap soap and something warm, something safe.
A lump formed in her throat.
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead against her knees.
She didn't want this.
Didn't want to be alone.
Didn't want to wake up tomorrow and have to pretend that everything was okay.
Didn't want to wait by the door, hoping Ethan would walk through it like he always did, tired but alive, grumbling about the job and ruffling her hair like everything was normal.
But he wasn't coming back.
The truth pressed down on her like a weight, heavy and suffocating.
Tears stung at the edges of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
She forced herself to breathe.
In. Out.
She tried to sleep.
Tossed and turned on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
The city lights outside cast faint orange glows through the window, washing over the walls, but they felt distant—like she was in a different world entirely.
She tried to close her eyes.
Tried not to listen to the silence pressing in around her.
Tried not to think about the fact that the apartment had never felt this empty before.
But the quiet was deafening.
Every small sound felt too loud, too unnatural.
She stayed awake for hours.
Eventually, exhaustion won, and her eyes shut.
And morning came too soon.
Elise woke up stiff and sore, curled awkwardly beneath Ethan's blanket. Her throat was dry, her head aching.
She sat up slowly, blinking against the dull light filtering through the window.
For a moment, she forgot.
For a moment, she expected to hear Ethan's voice in the kitchen, making something terrible for breakfast, grumbling about how she never ate enough.
Then reality crashed back down.
Her stomach twisted.
She rubbed at her face, wiping away the remnants of exhaustion.
The tablet sat on the table, exactly where Sarah had left it. The Feathers Guild logo still glowed softly on the screen.
Elise hesitated.
Then, before she could overthink it, she reached for her phone.
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
She had to do something.
She couldn't stay here, waiting for nothing.
Taking a shaky breath, she scrolled through her contacts and tapped on the name Sarah had entered before she left.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Then—
"Elise?" Sarah's voice was warm, surprised. "Is everything okay?"
Elise swallowed hard. Her hands were cold, clammy.
"I…" She hesitated, gripping the blanket tighter. Then, forcing the words out before she lost her nerve.
"I want to join the academy."
A pause. Then Sarah's voice softened.
"Alright," she said gently. "I'll come pick you up."
Chapter 10
I woke up.
Which surprised me more than anything.
Softness beneath me. The sensation was so foreign, so utterly out of place after what felt like an eternity of stone crushing my body, that I almost didn't believe it. My mind was slow, fighting through a fog of exhaustion and pain. I pushed the lingering feelings of being crushed away.
Then, something wet dragged across my face.
I flinched, instincts firing, but my body refused to respond. My limbs were sluggish, heavy, like they weren't mine anymore.
Something yelped as I weakly pushed it, soft fur brushed against my fingertips before it scampered back.
I forced my eyes open.
It was bright. Too bright. A sharp, piercing light assaulted me, stabbing straight into my skull. My head throbbed, like my brain was trying to claw its way out of my skull. I clenched my jaw and squeezed my eyes shut again, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
What the hell was happening?
I tried again. Slowly this time.
My vision swam, not just from the light, but from something else. Ghostly letters flickered across my sight, shifting and distorting as if they were burned into my retinas.
I blinked hard.
The letters remained.
I frowned, still sluggish, still trying to process everything. My body was stiff, aching, but not the way it should have been. I had been crushed, I had felt myself dying.
I opened my eyes again.
The letters were still there.
They floated across my vision, translucent yet impossible to ignore. My head throbbed with each flashing line, a deep ache pulsing behind my skull. I forced myself to focus, blinking rapidly as the words settled into place.
System Initializing…
System Installed…
Running Data Check…
Data Check Complete.
Then, more lines appeared.
Title Earned – Diligence's Chosen
You have been blessed by the Overseer of Diligence.
Reward: System of the Virtues.
Title Earned – Otherworlder
You have traveled between worlds.
Reward: Tongues Hold No Secrets.
I sucked in a breath.
My mind struggled to catch up.
System? Overseer? Titles?
None of it made sense.
As soon as I finished reading, the words dissolved, replaced by more.
⸻
Status
Name: Ethan Ward
Cultivation: Mortal
Titles:
• Diligence's Chosen
• Otherworlder
Skills:
• Last Stand
Stats:
Strength: 10
Agility: 10
Constitution: 15
Spirit: 10
⸻
I skimmed through the words flashing in my vision, trying to make sense of them. None of it felt real. Titles? Another world? What the hell was it even talking about? My mind rejected it immediately. There had to be some mistake. Some weird hallucination. Maybe I was still in the rift, trapped under rubble, and this was just my brain misfiring as I died.
I needed proof. Something real. My hand shot to my pocket, fingers fumbling as I pulled out my phone. The screen was cracked, but when I pressed the power button, it flickered to life. I stared at it, heart hammering as it loaded.
No reception.
My stomach twisted. I turned on flight mode, then switched it off. Still nothing. Again. Nothing.
The world around me blurred, a dull ringing filling my ears. My breathing hitched, coming out shallow and unsteady.
I swallowed hard, forcing down the rising panic. I couldn't afford to lose it. Not now. I clenched my jaw, locking my muscles in place, forcing slow, steady breaths.
I shoved the phone back into my pocket. One thing at a time. I couldn't deal with the bigger picture yet. Couldn't think about what this all meant. So I pushed it down. Ignored it. Focused on what was right in front of me.
I turned my attention back to the floating words. I needed to understand what I was dealing with.
Cultivation. The word stood out immediately. When I focused on it, more text appeared.
Mortal – No cultivation signature present. Power level restricted to standard organic parameters. Evolution required.
I frowned. That sounded… limiting. But also promising. If evolution was required, then that meant it could change.
Next were my stats. Four categories, each with a number attached. I had no idea what they actually meant, but I'd figure it out soon enough.
But all of that could wait.
The words faded from my vision, finally allowing me to focus on my surroundings.
I was lying on soft grass, sunlight warming my skin. A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves above, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across my body.
Trees surrounded me, their towering forms enclosing the small clearing where I lay. The air smelled fresh. Birds chirped in the distance, and somewhere nearby, water trickled softly over stone.
The bushes rustled and a small shape moved within the shadows, just at the edge of my vision.
I tensed. Then, a fox poked its head out. Its fur was jet black, blending seamlessly with the undergrowth, making it nearly invisible against the dense foliage. The only reason I even noticed it was the sharp glint of its eyes, watching me.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the fox darted back into the bushes, vanishing without a sound.
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to relax. It was just an animal.
Ignoring it, I shifted, pressing my palms against the dirt as I pushed myself up. My muscles screamed in protest, every movement stiff and aching. My body felt wrong. Not injured—just… off.
My hand drifted to my stomach.
The demon's claws had ripped through me, impaling me like I was nothing. I could still feel it, the memory of my flesh being torn apart.
But there was nothing there. Just scar tissue. I pressed harder, fingers digging into the skin beneath my shredded shirt. No pain. No open wound. No sign that I had ever been dying under a mountain of stone.
I should be dead.
Last Stand.
It had to be the reason I was still breathing. But healing that kind of damage? I didn't know it could do that.
A cold unease settled in my gut, but I shoved it down.
Later. I could figure everything out later.
Right now, my throat felt like sandpaper had scraped it and my stomach felt like it hadn't been feed in years.
I could hear the sound of water, it was faint, trickling somewhere nearby. I latched onto the sound, forcing my thoughts into order.
Find the stream. Get cleaned up. Figure out where the hell I am.
One thing at a time.
I took a slow breath, then started walking, ignoring the weight of unseen eyes lingering in the trees.
I stripped down and waded into the water, the cold biting into my skin. It shocked my system, forcing my mind into clarity for the first time since I'd woken up.
Then I saw my reflection.
I froze.
Scars covered my body, thin lines, jagged slashes, deep grooves where flesh had been torn and forced back together. Some were old, faded. Others were fresh, angry reminders of wounds that should have killed me. I forced back a shiver.
Even my face wasn't spared. Faint marks trailed across my cheekbone, another just above my brow.
My stomach twisted.
It was one thing to feel the pain. To remember the way my body had been broken. But seeing it? Living with the evidence carved into my skin?
It made me feel sick.
For a long moment, I just stood there, staring at myself in the water's surface. My breath was steady, but my hands trembled.
Then I forced myself to move.
Scrubbing my body clean, I watched as the dried blood clouded the water. Crimson swirled in soft eddies, staining the river before disappearing downstream. My fingers dug into my skin, scraping away filth, forcing myself to focus on the motion.
By the time I was done, my skin was raw.
I pulled myself together, pushing the sick feeling down.
Then I turned to my ruined clothes.
They were stained, torn, barely hanging together. But I had nothing else.
I dipped them into the water, wringing out the filth as best as I could before laying them out to dry on the rocks.
While I waited, I knelt by the stream, cupping my hands to drink. The cold water burned down my throat.
Once my clothes were dry enough, I pulled them back on. They stuck uncomfortably to my skin, but I ignored it.
Laid out on the ground were all of my possessions. A broken dagger, my cracked phone with no reception and my headphones. That was it.
Not exactly the best survival kit.
I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my damp, dark, tangled hair.
I was alone. No food. No weapons aside from a useless blade. No clue where the hell I was.
But I was alive. And that was enough. For now.
I stood up, staring down the river's path.
One thing at a time.
I needed to find some food, then civilisation. And figure out what the hell this place was.
Then, somehow, I'd find a way home.
With a plan forming in my mind I grabbed my things, stuffing them in my pockets and began walking along the river.
Chapter 11
The river weaved through the trees, its steady trickle the only sound besides my footsteps. It should've been peaceful. A quiet, calming walk through untouched nature. But my thoughts wouldn't stop.
I must've checked my phone a hundred times, but the result never changed—no signal. No connection to anything. Every time the screen loaded, my stomach dropped, and I shoved it back into my pocket, trying to ignore the sickening weight in my chest.
How long have I been gone?
Is El okay?
Where the hell am I?
The questions came in waves, pounding against the walls of my mind, relentless and suffocating. I kept trying to push them down, to force myself to focus on what was in front of me. But the more I walked, the harder it got.
Then my stomach growled, a sharp reminder that ignoring reality wouldn't stop it from affecting me.
I reached into my pocket, fingers brushing against familiar wires. Pulling out my headphones, I slipped them on and tapped play. The moment the music started, a tiny piece of normalcy clicked back into place.
Time slipped by as I found my happy place. Turns out everything was easier when you ignored it.
The river widened the further I walked, the current slowing just enough to see movement beneath the surface. I paused when I saw something jump—quick flashes of silver breaking through the water before vanishing again.
My stomach twisted painfully. I hadn't eaten in… I didn't even know how long. My body felt like it was running on fumes.
I scanned the area and spotted a low-hanging branch. After a few hard tugs, I broke it free and sat down. Using the broken edge of my dagger, I started sharpening one end of the stick.
Once I had a decent point, I moved back to the edge of the river.
I crouched low, eyes locked on the water, watching and waiting. After a few minutes, a small fish swam past. I tracked it, held my breath, and then stabbed down.
The fish darted away, and my spear plunged uselessly into the mud.
"Shit."
Turns out this was a lot harder than it looked. But I've always been stubborn. So I reset. Crouched back down and waited.
After an embarrassing amount of time, and way too many failed attempts, I finally walked away from the river with a small fish stuck on the end of the spear.
The next part was easier.
When I was a kid, Dad used to take me out to the Blue Mountains. We'd camp under the stars. No phones. No city noise. Just trees, fire, and his quiet voice explaining everything.
"See here, bud? What you wanna do is cut a little notch like this." He showed me the stick, carefully carving the wood. "Then you use this bit, and pull and push."
"Now you try."
That memory stayed with me as I worked.
It took longer than I remembered, but eventually I got the tinder to spark. The fire caught slowly, then burned steady, a low warm flame flickering in the shade of the trees.
I set the fish to roast on a couple of angled sticks. The smell wasn't exactly amazing, but it still made my mouth water.
It wasn't much. But it was warm. It was food. And it was a win. I'd take it.
I heard a branch snap behind me. I turned, half expecting trouble.
Instead, it was the fox.
The same one from earlier—small, jet-black, with those sharp yellow eyes locked onto the fish roasting over the fire. It crouched low, trying its best to be sneaky, but it wasn't exactly subtle.
"Get out of here," I said, waving a hand at it.
The fox didn't move. Just tilted its head, ears twitching.
"Go on. Shoo."
It kept staring. Then, I'm pretty sure it narrowed its eyes at me before turning and slipping back into the trees.
Probably just my imagination.
The fish finished cooking soon after. I didn't wait and pulled it off the sticks and tore into it with my hands. It was a little rubbery, a little burnt on one side, but it was food. And after everything I'd been through, it might as well have been five stars.
Another twig snapped.
I glanced up again. The fox had returned, something dangling from its mouth.
It stepped closer, cautious but confident, and dropped its prize in front of me, a small branch of berries, dark red and plump.
Then it looked from the berries to the fish. Then back again.
I raised an eyebrow.
"You're bartering?"
The fox didn't answer, obviously, but it sat down and waited. Watching me. Like it was confident I'd see the logic in the trade.
I looked at the berries, then the half-eaten fish, then back at the fox.
"…Fine."
I slid what was left of the fish toward it and picked up the berries. The fox didn't lunge or grab at the food. Just waited until I started eating the berries, then padded forward, grabbed the fish in its mouth, and backed away into the trees.
"Yeah. Thank you too," I muttered after it.
The berries were tart but edible. I finished them off, brushing the juice off my hands.
Honestly, it was probably the most success I could hope for.
With the fish gone, I snuffed out the fire and rinsed my hands in the river. I checked my phone, the battery was still nearly full. I switched it off to conserve the charge, then slid it back into my pocket.
Then set off again, following the river downstream. It twisted through the trees in lazy, winding curves, guiding me forward like a path carved by nature itself. If there was civilization nearby, it'd likely be somewhere along the water.
I walked for over an hour, maybe more. Then my stomach growled.
Loudly.
I slowed, pressing a hand to my gut. The pain flared sharp and sudden before fading again. I frowned, brushing it off and kept walking.
But it came back. Stronger.
Another rumble. A sharp cramp knotted in my stomach, forcing me to stop. I hunched slightly, gritting my teeth.
Shit.
It only got worse from there.
Five minutes later I was crouched behind a tree, cursing every life decision that had brought me to this exact moment.
My dignity didn't survive that battle and I was glad to put it behind me.
By the time I was back on the trail, my stomach still churned like a storm caught in my gut. I glared at the trees.
"Stupid fox," I muttered, while I continued to walk.
The sun hung high overhead when I heard it, a sharp, pained cry cutting through the forest air.
I ran toward it without thinking, legs pumping, heart hammering in my chest. If someone else was out here, maybe they could tell me where the hell I was. Maybe I wasn't as alone as I thought.
I broke through the treeline and skidded to a stop.
A man slumped against the base of a tree, his face pale, one arm cradled against his chest. In front of him, low to the ground, muscles coiled tight, was something that looked like a bobcat, only leaner, with too-long limbs. Its yellow eyes locked on the man as it crouched, ready to pounce.
I didn't hesitate.
If he was alive, he was my best shot at answers.
I charged, makeshift spear clenched tight in both hands.
The creature's ears flicked back. It turned just as I lunged, twisting with a speed I couldn't match. My spear sliced through empty air.
It dodged.
But I'd gotten its attention.
I charged the beast, and it met me with a lunge. Paws spread wide, claws aimed straight for my shoulders. I shifted right, narrowly dodging as I countered with an elbow to the head. The hit landed against coarse fur, making it snarl but it didn't seem hurt.
It jumped back. Then came again, swiping with a paw.
I could barely see the movement, but I'd fought undead faster. I dropped low, backing away fast, the beast hot on my heels.
I shoved off my front foot, cutting left. With all the power I had, I drove the makeshift spear into its ribs. It punched in deep.
Then snapped in half.
The beast exploded with fury. Its claws flew at me, wild, too fast. I felt them tear across my side, raking at my legs, trying to hook in and drag me down. I kept moving, dodging, throwing elbows and knees where I could, trying to make space now that my weapon was useless.
One of its paws whipped too far out.
I kicked it in the head. Hard.
It staggered.
I didn't wait. I darted in, grabbing onto its back, locking one arm around its throat and holding tight. It bucked and rolled, thrashing, claws digging into my legs and tearing long, bloody lines down my thighs.
It was getting loose.
In a burst of desperation, I let go with one hand, yanked my broken dagger from my belt, and started stabbing.
Over and over.
The blade punched into its flesh, short and fast. The beast roared, its body flailing, but I didn't let go. We tumbled across the ground, stones and sticks biting into me but I didn't stop stabbing. Couldn't stop. I was used to pain.
The beast wasn't.
Finally, it went limp beneath me.
I rolled off, chest heaving, limbs burning.
But I was still breathing.
And it wasn't.