Farha wove through the ruins, sprinting toward the temple. Just as she was about to reach the entrance, her foot caught on a crumbling step. She fell hard—and Elion tumbled over her, slamming into the stone floor.
Pain shot through his body, but he forced himself to roll onto his side, scanning the temple's interior for the fire's owner.
Then a familiar voice cut through the haze.
"You sure know how to make an entrance."
It was Eshrod's.
What?!
The core I saw—dark, twisted…
Wait. I knew it looked familiar. Why didn't I recognize her?
Elion propped himself up just enough to catch sight of her. She was sitting cross-legged by the fire, but something about her was wrong. Both of her arms were pitch black, gleaming as if covered in dark scales. Her camo jacket was shredded at the sleeves, and her right eye was shut tight, a 'X' marked over it in black ink.
"How did you two get here?" she asked, eyeing Farha as the Mute Demon climbed to her feet.
The question snapped Elion back. He pushed aside his shock—for now.
"We followed the river down," he said, his voice tight. "But that's not important. We were being tailed by a Class III. It should be here soon."
Eshrod's face hardened.
"And you brought it here?!"
"Well, we didn't know it was you, and we were going to die, so…"
She gritted her teeth and turned toward Farha, who was still catching her breath.
"How long do we have?" Eshrod asked.
"A couple minutes. At best," Elion answered, yawning mid-sentence.
"Then we run." She grabbed the nearby pack.
"We can't," Elion said. "Farha's not recovered, and I doubt you can carry both of us."
"Both of you?" Eshrod raised an eyebrow.
"Well, yeah. You think I was kissing the floor because I wanted to?" Elion answered, his body still sprawled on the cold stone.
He winced as he sat up straighter.
"Farha managed to wound it last time. I can read its threads. If she provides ranged support, and you go in with your sword, we might have a chance."
Eshrod frowned, considering.
"Or I leave you both and run."
Elion's stomach sank. He stared at the floor, heart hollowing.
After a short moment of basking in his torment, she laughed.
"Relax. It was a joke. Cheer up, would you?" she said, grabbing her sword from beside the fire.
Damn her! This is not the time.
"Killing a Class III isn't that big a deal for two and a half newly Unlocked, right?" she added with a dry grin. "We'll be fine…"
But there were cracks in her tone. Still, she gripped the weapon tightly.
Farha stepped closer as Elion continued.
"When it was stalking us, I noticed something—its tentacles all connect at the same point along the spine. If we sever that section—cut the nerves—it won't be able to sense anything. That's our goal."
Footsteps echoed beyond the temple walls, growing louder and louder.
Farha and Eshrod were listening carefully now.
"Farha, get to high ground," Elion said, looking up at the decrepit structure on top of them. "You'll need to snipe the spine while Eshrod distracts it. I'll guide your shot."
"Great," Eshrod muttered. "Me, alone with a Class III. Just like the old days."
"You're not alone," Elion replied.
"Sure. 'Support,' right? That always works out well."
Support is important, idiot.
The creature's footsteps grew thunderous.
Eshrod stood, eyeing her blade grimly.
"Well, let's see if we live."
Farha climbed the side of the ruined building, careful not to slip on the loose rocks. She pulled Elion up by his right arm. Pain flared, making him feel like it was about to fall off—but slowly, it was healing, the enchanted bandages doing their job.
They were at around four meters from the ground, Eshrod was standing on the sand, surrounded by ruins, firelight glinting off her blackened arms and reflecting off her sword.
Farha summoned her sniper rifle—and another gun, reluctantly pushing it into Elion's arms.
How many weapons did she bring?
This was the same assault rifle she'd used against the leeches, back when they were attacked by the Class V.
She came prepared.
They both took aim into the darkness. She couldn't see the enemy, but Elion could. Shimmering threads of chromatic light were dancing in the distance, betraying every movement the monster made, every vulnerability and every truth it hid. Deciphering them was another task altogether, but the cook was getting the hang of it.
The creature stepped into view.
Eshrod shifted her stance—more defensive this time. Her right arm extended, blade forward. The scales on her skin catching the firelight.
When the Class III noticed her standing alone, it charged, stopping barely out of range of her sword before staring straight at where Elion and Farha were nestled.
I wouldn't take my attention off her if I were you.
The young cook grinned, looking not very convincing in his battered and tired state.
Eshrod moved first—driving her blade into its gut. The blade skidded off the slime-slick flesh, leaving a shallow gash.
The monster finally turned its full attention to her.
That's right. Never turn your back on the Chaos Gremlin!
Elion had hoped for more damage from the sword slash, but injuring it wasn't her goal anyway.
Tentacles whipped into motion, slicing toward her like blades. They extended at a speed too fast to follow, but the dirty-blonde girl managed to dodge with practiced accuracy. When one strike came too close, Farha's rifle flashed, severing the limb cleanly as the creature wailed.
Elion wasn't as precise as her, opting to fire into the thing's body to slow it down. The recoil of the weapon felt like daggers stabbing into his broken, tired body—but he endured.
At one point, Eshrod caught a tentacle with her bare hand. It should've mangled her fingers—but it stopped in her grip.
So that's what she meant by being hard to cut.
She slammed her sword down, cleaving the appendage in a bloody mess.
But it was not enough, no matter how much either she or Farha cut down, they kept regenerating. At least the creature didn't seem to appreciate the process, its screams piercing the shadows.
At one point, the monster rammed into Eshrod, hurling her across the ruin. Blood frothed at her lips as she hit the ground. She snarled, stood, and ran again—circling, trying to draw its attention.
It seemed somewhat aware of their plan, reluctant to turn away, but in a fight, things rarely go your way. That goes for a three-meter-tall monster too.
Eshrod dashed straight for it, sliding between its legs before it could slam its imposing stature on her. Now standing behind the Class III, it was forced to make a choice: face the melee fighter or the ranged one.
It twisted, maw snapping down toward her with terrible speed.
Elion couldn't see if she dodged—but this was the opening they needed.
He stared at the threads of light forming the monster's spine before shouting:
"Farha! Aim just above the mound—where the tentacles sprout. Between the first and second vertebrae!"
The Mute Demon probably couldn't see the vertebra from this distance, but she could determine approximately where to fire with the information.
The barrel of the sniper moved slightly, she held her breath before her finger twitched. A deafening crack split the air. Her black hair flew back because of the recoil, revealing a completely focused expression.
Gas hissed from the barrel as a terrible wail shook the cave. The bullet had hit true despite the distance and the erratic movement of the target.
She truly was an incredible marksman.
A geyser of vile blood erupted from its back. The monster screamed—a terrible, guttural wail—as its limbs faltered. It collapsed, its nerves severed, revealing Eshrod behind it, sword broken, blood streaming from her shoulder.
The beast gasped in pain, twitching but unable to regenerate. The damage had been dealt at just the right spot.
The Gremlin stepped forward, gripping the broken blade with her bare hands.
"Wait!" Elion called out.
She froze, looking up at him.
"Let Farha finish it. She's been in S33 longer and used her ability more often. Her Soul Integrity must be dangerously low."
The dirty-blonde girl looked at her broken blade, sighed and threw it down on the sand.
Farha gave Elion a gentle smile and jumped down. She pulled a longsword from the void. The steel was perfectly reflective and the long hilt was wrapped in red cloth. The guard was simple yet elegant, embodied with an insignia the young cook couldn't quite make out from where he was.
Eshrod stared in disbelief.
"YOU HAD THAT THE WHOLE TIME?!"
Farha tilted her head, then shrugged.
"I fought that thing with the issued trash sword while you had a masterpiece tucked away?" she barked.
Elion climbed down slowly, wincing. He sank near the entrance, leaning against a stone pillar, watching Farha step forward. Her blade dripped vile blood, and for a moment her eyes burned with dark glee—before she quickly hid it. Behind her, Eshrod sulked, mumbling curses.
"We have a lot to talk about," she said, pulling out a first aid kit and tending the deep bite on her shoulder.
Elion nodded, his eyes on her blackened arm and marked eye.
"Yeah… but that'll have to wait. I really can't anymore."
He slumped down—and passed out almost instantly.