When the man was out of sight, the cellar remained still. Nobody moved. Only the dim light of the lantern glowed on the cold walls. Fifteen minutes passed like an age. Then Ashura sighed, calculatingly, as if letting go of an ethereal weight.
Ashura:
"Even our strongest… is fallen. He's gone."
"If he went crazy, then how do we live? We can't even find the energy to fight the weakest hellspawn. And we're here, crawling into to share rations we'll not be able to finish until another week."
Naiv (softly, as if he had already made up his mind long ago):
"I have an idea. It is repulsive, I confess, but it's the only real chance we have for survival."
Elsa (trembling, but resolutely):
"Say it. Don't seed fear and then fall silent."
Naiv:
"Listen carefully. What I'm going to say will not please anyone. It could dynamite this building. Because we no longer live in fairy tales, where justice reigns and love wins. We live in a world torn in two, where the choices that keep you alive are few. and brutal."
Silence fell. Their faces did not change. But the eyes—those who understood what it was to stay alive at the expense of another—did.
Naiv:
"We must dispose of them. The civilians. All those who do nothing but weep and whimper. They're just a drag dragging us to the pit. If we rid ourselves of them now, we'll have provisions for two months.
Then. to the Oracle base.".
Oracle is no foundation, but a lifeboat ripped from the jaws of catastrophe and moored between the edges of madness and peace. It stands above a chain of highlands made up of black rocks ejected from ancient rifts, bordered by deep gorges woven out of the ashes of time—only reachable through a single gateway lined with blasting rocks and smothering grey mist.
It sits atop a high plateau, and practically speaking, it is impossible to climb or attack. The journey to reach it is not merely a journey—it is a trial. Anyone brave enough to try to cross will have to face up to unpredictable weather and phases of unreality that appear along the periphery of the valley—remaining by-products of post-disaster distortions.
Water is scarce, yet present—percolating through layers of rock charged with minerals, gathered through primitive yet efficient means. And the land, though harsh, has been tilled in patches for limited agriculture, sustained by a form of biological stimulation like fleeting bio-activation.
Oracle's endurance is not so much in its endurance as it is in its ability to be self-perpetuating in its own hostile world. It's the only place near this putrid city that still catches sight of the occasional resistance convoy—infrequent and risky, but accessible.
As it's situated among three minor rifts, it's the safest spot to look for demon movements and forecast chaos waves before attacking on arrival. That is: arriving at Oracle doesn't mean mere survival. but buy time to plan for the next survival.
Therefore in my judgment, risking traveling to Oracle is worth far more than risking luck in finding additional food or hunting low-level demons whose flesh is prone to vanishing when dead.
As soon as Naiv was finished, no one spoke up, but the silence wasn't consent—it was terror. They glanced at each other, then away from one another, as if a silent confession had passed between them: they couldn't afford to say no anymore.
Ashura did not lift his head, he merely whispered:
"If we don't leave now, we'll perish here. or worse, transform."
Meer, who had stood frozen in place all this while, turned his face towards Naiv and asked:
"And what if the path is obstructed?"
Naiv, after a pause, replied:
"Then we die trying—not huddling behind sympathy."
Naiv, near a shattered table, produced an ancient yellowed map, then outlined as if reporting on an operation, not an evacuation plan:
1. Psychological Priming – "The Danger Close"
"We'll begin by circulating rumors of supernatural activity in the southern regions—strange echoes, a pack of the unnatural hunting, or even rumors of a potential rift.
We'll designate them as tension areas.
We'll distribute the rumors with loose talk, witnesses, even shared dreams amongst several persons. Fear is fuel. But it must be fear, not panic—just bearable apprehension."
2. Creating Need – "The Map Completion Journey"
"Then we declare that supplies cannot be reallocated unless we possess an up-to-date terrain map.
We draft a particular sector—young, strong, especially those who gripe or show negative feelings—to join what we will call:
'The Circuit Closure Journey.'
Its public aim: map danger areas and stake out safe ground.
Its real aim: reduce mouths to feed, and produce an awareness that their survival depends upon proving worth."
3. Participant Selection – "Soft Pressure"
"We present it as a heroic opportunity, not an obligation. But we add an undertone:
Those who don't take part won't get top priority when rations are low.
No orders. only adjusted priorities."
4. Internal Motivation – "Fake Honor"
"We announce that the survivors who fulfill the mission will earn a special seat in the Oracle Coordination Committee.
We give them badges, tiny shiny medals.
Humans require meaning—even if it's a lie."
5. Elimination
Once everyone else is gone, we will dispose of the remaining civilians within and turn their bodies into food.
It won't all occur at the same time. It will start as a series of unexplained vanishings.
We'll attribute it to the rifts and claim it's one of their side effects.
There will be hysteria, but it's preferable to them finding out we're responsible for it."
6. Anticipated Outcomes:
If they return with a good map: we have what we need and can get there.
If they die: the load is lighter, internal problems lessened.
If they mutiny: we report that they left of their own choice, or the divide devoured them.
Those who vanish without a word are soon forgotten.
As soon as Naiv completed his plan, Meer settled back, as if the air was toxic. Her left eye twitched, as if something inside of her had snapped.
Meer, with a low voice that hardened:
"So… we'll be worse than the rifts? At least the monsters kill because they don't know anything else. But us… we'll kill in full knowledge."
Naiv, calm and firm:
"We know exactly why. We kill so that we're not killed. This is not treason—it's surgery to save the body."
Elsa, not glancing at anyone, just the floor:
"Would you say that if your mother were there? Or your sister? What you're proposing isn't a strategy for survival… it's erasing whatever humanity is left in us."
Ashura, expression blank, spoke gravely:
"I've seen cities fall apart and wait for the 'moral solution.' It never came. No one survived. We're not murdering our values—we're temporarily amputating them, like gangrened limbs."
Zoreem, glancing between them:
"I'd rather be a living executioner than an angel that's dead.
The map we're trying to draw is not of the earth—it's of the actual nature of this world. and there's no place now for the weak."
Meer stood up, slapping the table with her hand:
"You're the ones creating new splits!
The crack that we fear is not in the air—it's in our decisions."
Elsa, in mournful silence:
"When we eat the last bite of humanity… we don't die, we transform."
Naiv, in a low but biting tone:
"If we don't transform, we'll be left buried with the rest."
Ashura looked at Naiv, then at Zoreem, and nodded mutely.
Zoreem tightened his grip with his hand on the hilt of the sword beside him and spoke to Meer in a low but resolute voice:
"Every moment that we delay brings us nearer to the end. We must do it now."
Meer, his voice shaking:
"You… you're really serious about this?"
Naiv, cold-blooded and calmly ruthless:
"Ashura and Zoreem will coordinate the reconnaissance missions. We won't force anyone, we'll convince them they're doing a national service… and we'll take them a clear path to death."
And then he addressed Elsa and Meer, his eyes leaving no doubt:
"You two will balance each other in the city. Disseminate reassurance, foster belief that the disappearances are side effects of the rifts, as in the neighboring cities. You are the last line of defense against anarchy."
Elsa had not responded. She gazed at him with her eyes full of rejection, but not a single word escaped her lips.
Meer lowered her head and smothered her fury with a stifling silence.
Naiv concluded in a quiet voice, as though pronouncing sentence on them all:
"We are not monsters, but the surgeons who cut to save the body. And whoever disagrees… shall be one of the limbs to amputate."