Their footsteps sank into the sand, leaving a long trail behind them in the dark. Neither of them knew where they were going, but following the river was their best chance. If anyone else had survived, they would have washed ashore eventually.
Elion glanced down at his forearm.
[Soul Integrity: 67%]
He cursed silently.
Why didn't the Tier V leech he killed restore his soul? Was it because they were extensions of a larger creature?
He didn't know how long they'd have to survive here, but Soul Integrity could become a serious issue—especially for others like Farha, who might've been in S33 longer or used their abilities more frequently.
Elion had no idea what her Soul Integrity looked like, but it had to be low.
Could he trust her not to betray him if she got desperate? If she was on the verge of unraveling, would she kill him to take his soul energy?
And right now, I'm at her mercy. I can't run. I can barely stand.
A shiver ran through him. Farha glanced over, concern written in her crimson red eyes.
"I'm alright, don't worry," Elion said quickly, answering her unspoken question.
At least she seems to care. That means she's not planning to kill me… not yet.
He clenched his jaw.
It's so hard to tell what she's thinking. She can't talk, so there are no vocal cues. And her expressions, they rarely make sense unless she's trying to ask something.
The river curved left, and the shore began to narrow. A cliffside rose on their right, stretching endlessly into the darkness, while the roaring river crashed against their left. The path was getting tighter, more dangerous.
Suddenly, Elion's boot struck something hard. He looked down, expecting a rock—but it wasn't. What he saw made his thoughts grind to a halt.
Half-buried in the sand was the spine of a small rowboat.
It was made of dark, almost scorched-looking wood. Roughly three meters long, the boat had clearly been there a long time. Faded symbols—once carved into its hull—had been mostly erased by age and exposure.
This means someone was here. People were here. People who managed to brave that raging river in boats.
Dwellers of the Depths?
No. They were said to be primal, almost feral. Nothing about this boat matched that narrative.
Unless… the information we were given is wrong.
Farha glanced at him, puzzled by his sudden stop. He pointed at the wreck. She just shrugged, unimpressed.
"What do you mean by that? This is vital information! It means there are—or were—people here!" he said, visibly agitated.
Farha merely looked at the boat again, then returned to her usual, impassive expression.
Why doesn't anyone care about the little details? They often prove the most important.
Elion resigned himself to keep advancing. The mute girl didn't share his enthusiasm about the discovery.
As they walked, he studied the barely legible symbols carved into the wooden wreckage, burning their shape into memory. They looked familiar somehow, but he couldn't quite place where he'd seen them before.
The more he thought about it, the more one detail bothered him: the river. Bodies of water weren't rare in the Depths—but flowing rivers with this kind of power? That was unusual.
All rivers near Nexus ultimately stemmed from the First River. Most of its flow had been redirected through a massive system of dams and pressure regulators to cool Nexus's inner mechanisms. Still, some of that diverted water trickled down into the Depths, forming secondary rivers of impressive strength.
If this river came from the First River, then following it upstream could take us back.
But no—there is no time. And even if there was, the Depths were nothing if not unpredictable. This might be something entirely new.
As Elion mulled over the implications, a chill crept up his spine. A subtle shift in the atmosphere—almost imperceptible—put him on edge. Farha seemed to notice it too.
He activated his ability, scanning the threads of reality with light focus, careful not to overwhelm his mind. His gaze skipped from shadow to shadow until he found it—movement, not theirs, and not the river's either. Something else was out there. Worse still, the threads constituting it were twisted and foul.
"We're being followed," Elion whispered.
Farha nodded and quickly reached into the void, pulling out her massive sniper rifle. Her eyes lit up, almost eager to finally use it.
"No." Elion placed a hand on the barrel and gently pushed it down. "It's strong. And you can't see it—what good will blind shots do?"
His eyes stayed locked on the dark threads drifting through the gloom. The thing paused, as if realizing it had been spotted.
Then it lunged.
The Voice of God whispered:
[Class: III]
Elion's stomach sank.
How is a newly Unlocked supposed to handle that?!
He raised his voice now, panic sharpening his tone.
"Raise your gun!"
Farha didn't hesitate. She aimed, just as thunderous footsteps began shaking the cavern floor.
The monster stepped into view—three meters tall, grotesque and appalling. It walked on two hind legs, with no arms. Its pale body shimmered faintly with slime. Its face was almost human, but grotesquely so—nothing but a gaping mouth full of jagged teeth, blood-red gums glistening with drool. The rest of its face looked like skin had been stretched taut over where its eyes and nose should've been.
Tentacle-like appendages sprouted from its back, each one sharp as a bayonet. They twitched and probed the air, sensing everything nearby.
Farha released Elion, letting him drop into the sand. She planted her feet and fired. The rifle's blast echoed through the cave like thunder. The recoil hurled her backward, carving deep grooves into the sand. The bullet struck the monster's side—but it didn't flinch. No scream, no stumble. It kept coming like nothing had happened.
"You can't take that down alone! We need to run!" Elion shouted.
Farha already knew that. But they couldn't outrun it—not even without carrying him. The only option was to stagger it.
Elion forced himself upright, every muscle screaming. His vision blurred, but he locked eyes on the oncoming terror. Despite the strain, he scanned its thread structure, identifying a weak point.
"Aim just under the neck—left clavicle!" he shouted.
She adjusted her aim and fired again. The recoil made her wince in pain. It was clear this weapon wasn't made to be fired standing. The shot hit dead-on. The bullet tore into the creature's flesh, spraying vile blood, more than it should, just like Elion predicted. He had guided her shot to hit straight on one of its arteries.
It shrieked—a horrible, piercing sound—and slowed its charge.
Still not dead. Of course not. You can't kill a Class III that easily, even if Elion could fight, it was clear that victory was all but impossible. But it was slowed considerably.
Farha shoved the rifle and her pack into her pocket dimension without hesitation, despite the strain on her soul. She hoisted Elion over her back and ran.
She sprinted through the cavernous rock paths, turning corner after corner until she found a narrow alcove wedged between the stone. She dropped Elion unceremoniously and collapsed beside him, chest heaving in ragged breaths.
They could no longer see the river, but its constant rush echoed faintly in the background.
Farha laid there for a while, unmoving. Eventually, she pulled her pack out and let it drop beside her. They couldn't afford a fire—it would attract attention they couldn't handle.
Elion broke the silence with a whisper.
"Thank you… for not leaving me behind."
Farha, still lying on her back, gave a faint smile and raised a shaky thumbs-up.
The young cook rummaged through his pack, pulling out a ration bar. He bit into it reluctantly, grimacing as his teeth fought the hardened mass of the culinary abomination.
Farha did the same, her face contorted in disgust. She glanced at Elion with a pleading look.
"What?" he asked, mouth full.
She held up her bar in silent protest.
"Oh, trust me, I probably hate it more than you. But it's not like I can cook. Not without fire… or ingredients."
She sighed dramatically and forced down another bite.
After a moment, Elion said,
"I'll take first watch. You should get some rest."
She didn't argue, pulled off her camo jacket, fished a sleeping bag from her pack, and settled into it. Hers was dry since it was in her pocket dimension when she dove into the river. The shivering Elion seethed with quiet envy.
They still had to find the others. Creatures here weren't just dangerous—they were overwhelming. Numbers gave the best odds of survival… if anyone else had survived at all.
Eshrod's face flashed in Elion's mind.
She probably made it. I doubt anything could kill that Chaos Gremlin.