Two full days. That's how long it took Neil to reach the place where the two crimson lights had clashed.
The terrain grew more devastated the closer he moved to the epicenter. Trees were twisted, splintered, and snapped like brittle twigs. A haunting silence had taken hold of the land, disturbed only by the occasional moan of the wind. Birds were absent. So were the small critters that had once fled at Neil's presence.
Something massive had occurred here.
His injuries ached with every step. His ribs throbbed. His arm, still stiff and bruised from the earlier shockwave, made movement difficult. But he pressed forward.
Then he saw it. A faint light.
It shimmered softly, dull and pale—not vibrant like a living aura. It was the unmistakable hue of death: light gray, lifeless. He recognized it instantly. Just like the beasts he had killed, this aura told him that something had died here. Recently.
He stopped moving. Carefully scanned the area with his senses. No other auras. No movement. Only that dim gray signal.
He approached.
It was a body.
Or rather, part of one.
Neil froze.
The corpse was slumped awkwardly against the remains of a shattered tree trunk. It had been severed cleanly, from just under the right shoulder to the left side of the waist. The top half was missing. Blood had long since dried into the earth. The remaining torso was clothed in a tight black uniform, torn and burned in places. One arm remained intact, hanging limp. The legs were still in place, long and lean. Male, likely.
Neil's stomach turned.
It was the first time he had seen something like this. A person—or at least something very human-like—reduced to this state. The cold, clinical part of him kicked in, overriding the revulsion.
He crouched beside the body.
The proportions were slightly off. Arms a bit longer. Legs just a touch too slim for the build. Not enough to call it inhuman outright, but enough to feel wrong.
Still, this was an Awakened One.
The body emitted faint energy. Not a living aura, but a residual presence. Like the corpse of a beast, only stronger.
Neil didn't try to absorb it.
He couldn't.
Not because it wasn't possible—but because something inside him refused. Whether out of shock or respect, he didn't know.
Instead, he inspected the remains.
The boots stood out.
Dark leather, reinforced by some kind of gleaming material. When Neil focused, he saw it: a subtle glimmer in the energy spectrum. Not gray. Not green. Something else. A gentle pulse of light. Almost like a heartbeat.
He reached forward and carefully pulled them off.
It felt wrong.
Like stealing from the dead.
He paused, holding the boots in his hands.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't mean to dishonor you. But I need to survive."
He checked the boots. They were slightly bigger than his current ones, but still wearable. His old work boots had barely held together this long—their soles worn through, laces frayed.
He slipped on the new boots.
As soon as he tightened the straps, he felt it.
His Core reacted.
Energy flowed through him. Lightness filled his legs. He took a few careful steps.
Silent.
Smooth.
Then he ran.
Faster than before. Effortless. His movements were muffled, controlled. The boots didn't just support his speed—they enhanced it. Muted the impact of his steps.
They were enchanted. No doubt.
And they emitted a faint aura—one that didn't match any living creature, but still hummed with presence.
Neil returned to the body.
He couldn't leave it like this.
It had been a person. Awakened or not, human or not, they had died here. Alone.
He used his broken sword to dig into the earth, cutting a shallow grave beside the tree. The soil was dry and tough, but he pushed through the pain in his ribs and arms. After some time, he managed a hole large enough to place the remains.
He gently laid the body to rest.
Then he gathered small stones and placed them in a ring on top of the grave.
Not a cross. Not a symbol. Just a circle.
A marker.
He sat in silence for a while, staring at it.
The air was still.
His hand rested on the hilt of the broken sword. His thoughts drifted to home. To Earth.
To his sisters.
To his mother.
To his father.
The last memory of his father was burned into him like a scar. Lying in that hospital bed, cancer having stolen the man's strength and warmth. Neil had been eleven.
"You have to take care of them now," his father had said, voice hoarse and thin. "You're the man of the house."
Neil had nodded. Eyes full of tears. Heart full of fear.
"Promise me," his father had said.
"I promise."
Then his father was gone.
Neil had held onto that promise like a lifeline. Through school. Through work. Through every sleepless night.
And now he was in another world.
Alone.
The loneliness hurt more than any physical wound.
But he couldn't give up.
He had to survive. Had to keep moving. Had to find out if they were here too. If they were alive.
He gathered his old boots, tied them together by the laces, and slung them over his back. He would ditch them eventually, but not here. Not at a grave.
He stood.
His ribs still ached. His arms were bruised. But his steps were quicker now. Lighter.
Stronger.
He looked toward the distance.
Toward the green dome, still far off.
Toward whatever waited beyond the shockwave.
And he walked.