Ayu gritted her teeth, every muscle in her body screaming in protest. She pushed forward with everything she had, ignoring the searing pain tearing through her battered frame.

She clutched Alonso tightly, his weight pressing down on her like a mountain, each step a battle against her failing strength.

Her ribs ached with every breath, sharp jolts of pain stabbing her side. Sweat poured down her face, mixing with the blood and grime clinging to her skin.

Her vision blurred, but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was moving forward.

She caught glimpses of Chiara and the others rushing toward her in the distance, but the swarm of jellyfish loomed closer, their ghostly forms rippling as they closed in.

Another tentacle lashed out, its speed blinding. But she knew this one wouldn't hit her. She kept running.

A loud crack echoed behind her as a shot from Lukas's ballista found its mark, piercing through one of the creatures and scattering those behind it. But there were too many. Far too many. The air felt suffocating, heavy with the buzzing hum of their movements.

More tentacles lashed out.

They're adapting… faster than before.

She leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding one. Pain exploded in her ribs as she landed hard, her movements clumsy under Alonso's weight. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, forcing herself to stay upright. Her legs wobbled, but she pushed forward.

Her lungs burned, each gasp of air like fire in her chest. The army of jellyfish was unstoppable, their sheer numbers suffocating. They were closing in, surrounding her. She clenched her teeth harder, her lips trembling.

Run. Just run.

Suddenly, her instincts screamed again. Without thinking, she leapt forward, her body acting before her mind could catch up.

The arc of a tentacle passed inches from her back. She landed awkwardly, her knees buckling, and tumbled forward with Alonso sprawled beside her. The impact sent a shockwave through her body, knocking the breath out of her lungs.

She scrambled to her knees, her fingers trembling as she reached for Alonso. Shadows loomed over her—massive, dark. Her body froze.

Is this it?

Her mind screamed at her to move, but her limbs wouldn't respond. Her breath hitched. Time seemed to slow. And then, a sharp whizz split the air, followed by a deafening crack. Another shot from Lukas's ballista slammed into one of the creatures, scattering its core into pieces.

Ayu gritted her teeth, forcing her body to obey. She hoisted Alonso onto her back again, her arms trembling with effort, and pushed forward. Her knees buckled with every step, but she pressed on, biting her lip so hard she thought it might split again.

The world blurred. Sounds faded. All she could feel was her own frantic heartbeat, Alonso's limp weight, and the crushing pressure of the creatures closing in. Another tentacle lashed out, but she barely registered it. A sling shot zipped past her, intercepting the strike.

Don't stop. Don't stop.

Her head swam. The ground felt unstable beneath her feet. She stumbled forward, her vision a haze of blood and sweat. And then… a shadow appeared ahead, blurry but unmistakable.

Imani?

"Gi—me," his voice broke through her daze, but she couldn't make out the words clearly. She nodded weakly, barely registering his presence. She felt his hands on Alonso, trying to lift him off her back.

No.

She flinched, shaking her head. I can't let go. Not like this. Her grip tightened instinctively, her arms screaming in protest.

Her body wouldn't allow it. Something primal, unspoken, demanded she hold on. No one else can. No one else will.

More shadows appeared—Chiara, Wang, Arjun, Lukas.

Her lips trembled into a faint, broken smile. They're here. We made it.

Lukas rushed to her side, passing the ballista to Wang. His hands were firm yet careful as he moved to support her. He steadied her by gripping her shoulder and waist, ensuring she could lean against him. She didn't resist.

Together, they pushed forward. Step by agonizing step, they crossed the border, leaving the Riftflow behind.

Relief washed over her, a faint flicker of hope blooming in her chest. But then, like a hammer to her heart, a single thought struck her.

Alonso!

She sent a frantic wave to Lukas.

"Alonso… Alonso is not breathing! His heart is not… beating!"

Lukas flinched internally but maintained his calm exterior. His response came quickly.

"It's okay. If he was dead, he would have disappeared. That means he's alive. Don't worry, Ayu. He will be ok."

Her chest heaved as the realization dawned on her. She had forgotten that. A wave of relief swept through her, tears spilling down her cheeks.

He's alive. That's good. That's…

Darkness crept into her vision. Her legs buckled, her body finally giving out.

Lukas caught her just before she hit the ground, gently maneuvering her and Alonso to rest. His expression was grim as he glanced between the two of them.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

Chiara's eyes shifted to their battered forms. Ayu looked awful. A deep gash ran across her chest, her armor barely holding together. Bruises covered her arms and legs, her skin mottled with dark patches. Burn marks seared into her shoulders, leaving jagged patterns of raw flesh. Blood streaked her face, her hair matted and damp with sweat. Her breathing was shallow, her entire body trembling even in unconsciousness.

But Alonso… Alonso was far worse. His back, the little she could see, was a grotesque mess of mangled flesh. Deep wounds crisscrossed his skin, charred and blistered from burns. His face was even more horrifying. Blood oozed from every orifice—nose, ears, eyes. His lips were cracked, his expression hauntingly still. There was no rise and fall of his chest, no hint of breath.

Chiara's heart tensed. How is he even alive?

Suddenly, Lukas's voice interrupted her thoughts, transmitting directly into her mind.

"We have to take them to the jungle. We'll need water and food. It's your call—do we head to the camp or find a clearing elsewhere?"

Chiara clenched her fists, grounding herself as she processed the situation. Her gaze flicked to Arjun, who was glaring at Alonso with a strange intensity. Her teeth ground together.

She straightened, her voice sharp and commanding as she faced the group.

"Imani, take Arjun and Wang back to the camp. Leave the ballista there and gather enough food and water to bring to the location I'll send later. Arjun, stay at the camp and inform everyone that the Riftflow is now off-limits. Let them know we may need to cooperate for the next boss fight. Start stockpiling long-range ammunition and materials to build more ballistae. We'll rejoin you shortly."

Her tone brooked no argument. Arjun's face flickered with a mix of emotions—hesitation, frustration, and something else she couldn't quite place. But after a brief pause, he nodded and followed the others without a word.

Chiara exhaled deeply, her eyes meeting Lukas's. With a silent nod, they began carrying the two of them toward the jungle.

My eyes slowly open. I blink several times, my surroundings blurry. Where am I? What happened?

I'm not sure. My vision gradually sharpens. I notice the trees—tall, like pines. But… something's off. They look… strange.

I stare at my hands, clenching them into fists. My gaze drops to the ground. It's flat, unnervingly plain. There's no texture, no rocks, just a uniform stretch of grass. Too perfect. Too unnatural. And the smell… there is none. No wind either.

Where… where am I?

I press a hand against my head as a sharp, searing pain shoots through my skull.

It's sudden, persistent, and it intensifies with every passing second. My vision blurs, my ears ring, and my chest tightens. It feels like my head is being torn apart from the inside.

"AHHHHH!"

I scream, my voice raw and strained. The sound rips from my throat, echoing around me. My hands fly to my head, clutching it desperately as if I can hold it together, but the pain just keeps growing. It's unbearable—searing, blinding, suffocating.

I collapse to my knees, my body shaking. My fingers dig into my scalp, my nails scraping against the skin, but nothing eases the pressure.

Another scream escapes me, louder this time, torn from the depths of my lungs. It feels like it'll never end.

And then…

It stops. Abruptly.

And then it hits me. I remember everything.

Ayu… Houston… flying…

I stare blankly ahead, my chest tightening as the weight of those memories crashes down on me.

The pain in my mind dulls, but now it's in my heart, clawing its way deeper. I grit my teeth, forcing the thoughts aside, but then I hear it.

A voice.

"Houston?"

Huh?

I blink, looking up—and freeze.

What the…

There's someone standing in front of me. But that person… is me?

"No…" The figure speaks, his tone curious, almost analytical. "A new one?"

I can't move, my mind spinning. What is happening? Is this a dream? A hallucination?

The figure steps closer, his presence unnerving.

He looks just like me but… wilder, more primal, yet composed.

A rough, dark cloak hangs from his shoulders, frayed at the edges as if it's endured countless years. His plain shirt clings tightly, the top buttons undone, revealing a prominent chest and a silver necklace with a metallic fang hanging from it—a detail that stirs a memory of the panthers from back then. Long, messy hair tumbles past his shoulders, framing fierce, dark eyes. His expression is sharp, carrying a charm that feels both captivating and dangerous.

"But this doesn't make sense," he mutters, his expression a mix of intrigue and puzzlement. "A new one shouldn't arrive like this, much less while I am still…" His words trail off, and then his eyes widen. Surprise flickers across his face before melting into a wicked grin.

He chuckles, his tone shifting from murmuring to crisp and direct. "Well, Alonso," he says, his voice polite. "I didn't expect to see you here."

What… the hell?

I barely have time to process the sight of him before he speaks, his voice smooth.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions. Let's find somewhere more fitting to talk, shall we?"

He doesn't wait for my response. With a deliberate motion, he sweeps his cloak forward, the fabric moving unnaturally, like a living shadow. The world around me twists and warps, melting away in an instant.

I find myself in a cave.

The air is unnervingly still, as if the space itself denies the subtle nuisances of reality. The walls are jagged, rocky, and uneven—but some surfaces look strangely smooth, as though their textures were unfinished, like low-resolution pixels. The dim light, its source unclear, casts a shadowless glow, further amplifying the cave's unsettling atmosphere.

Near the center of the room, a plain wooden table catches my attention. A chessboard rests on its surface, the pieces perfectly arranged for an unfinished game. Two wooden chairs sit on either side of the table, their simplicity almost mocking the attempt at sophistication the setting seems to strive for.

At the far end of the cave, my gaze lands on a sword propped against the wall. My breath catches—it's a perfect replica of my own blade.

The walls bear scars, jagged cuts and slashes gouged deep into the rock. A desk sits nearby, cluttered with scattered manuscripts. The papers look aged, some with faded writing and others blank, as though waiting for stories yet unwritten.

And then, my eyes find it—a singular painting hanging on the wall, starkly out of place in the otherwise dark and plain setting. The image is striking, vivid, and detailed, far more so than anything else around it. It pulls me in.

I know that scene.

It's the sunset from my cave in the Isles.

My fist clenches as I stare at the painting, the sight pulling me into a whirlwind of memories. The thought leaves me shaken.

Is this some kind of elaborate dream? Or… am I dead? Afterlife?

He gestures to the table with the chessboard, his expression calm but watchful. "Please, take a seat."

I hesitate for a moment, my eyes narrowing as I glance at the setup before me—the mismatched chairs, the chessboard, the unsettling atmosphere. Still, I walk over and lower myself into the plain wooden chair. It's hard and uncomfortable, fitting for the strangeness of this place.

He waits until I'm seated, then moves around the table with measured steps. Pulling the opposite chair back, he sits down, resting his hands on the table. His dark eyes meet mine.

"Let me start by introducing myself," he says. "You can call me… Darius."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.