They slept near the fire, taking turns keeping watch. Fortunately, nothing ambushed them during the night. It was a rare moment of peace—only the faint rustle of leaves disturbed the stillness. The dying embers offered a soft, pulsing glow, their warmth drifting lazily into the cool air.
A dull breeze swept through the open cavern, carrying with it the faint scent of wet grass… and blood.
"So," Kellta said, breaking the quiet. "Elion, you'll stay back and protect Farha. Eshrod will lure one of the Rotlers away from the pack and bring it toward me so I can land the killing blow."
She turned toward the dirty-blonde girl sitting cross-legged by the fire, listening attentively.
"Be careful not to get bitten. Their fangs will rot your skin."
Eshrod nodded silently.
And once again, I am left out of the actual fight…
It was what he wanted from the beginning—support over direct confrontation. It offered less risk of dying, but the constant drain on his Soul Integrity was starting to eat away at his nerves.
And besides, the kill needed to go to Kellta this time. That was the whole point.
Now, Elion waited patiently, scanning the surroundings. They had walked for hours to reach the Rotlers' territory. Farha was slumped against a twisted tree, her long black hair hiding her pale features. Eshrod had left the bags with him, carrying only the young cook's sword to stay agile, leaving him completely defenseless.
Kellta didn't own a sword either—she relied on her flames and a dagger to finish the job.
The eerie silence weighed heavily. Strange noises filtered through the dense foliage, warped and indistinct. The absence of his two companions made everything feel more dangerous.
"What's the point of guarding Farha without a damn weapon?" he muttered under his breath, trying to keep his voice low enough not to draw attention, yet loud enough to drown out the murmuring forest.
Sure, he understood—Eshrod needed the sword more since she engaged the enemy directly, and Kellta had her powers. But still.
If only I could summon weapons out of thin air like Sleeping Beauty over there…
His gaze flicked toward Farha, then swept around the clearing again in anxious, erratic motions.
There was a spurt of crimson light in the distance, confirming that the battle had started.
Elion wasn't worried about their competence—Eshrod and Kellta were probably the most dangerous newly Unlocked individuals alive—but they were still just that: newly Unlocked. They had no business taking on creatures stronger than Class I without a team.
Newly Unlocked weren't much different from normal humans, really… except for their ability. Their physique was somewhat enhanced since their soul shone brighter, but they were nowhere near the superhuman level of a First Finger.
It was widely believed that when stabilized by a First Finger, an Unlocked's soul stopped leaking energy and turned inward, reinforcing the body itself. Without that stabilization, soul energy bled out, slowly draining like water from a cracked jar.
Killing a living being granted the Unlocked a portion of its energy—the stronger the slain soul, the greater the power. For a newly Unlocked, that energy couldn't be contained, but at least it delayed the inevitable.
As Elion was distracted by the flashes of crimson light in the distance, he heard a sound. Something slightly different from the forest's ambient static, something much closer.
He turned, heart pounding, hands trembling slightly. His eyes scanned the terrain with sharp focus.
It sounded like something was slithering not on the ground, but beneath it. Like earth being displaced in wet, deliberate pulses.
Despite his concern over his soul's condition, he activated his ability.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
Below the surface, between tree roots, something massive and alive moved—sentient threads of motion, stretching endlessly in all directions, forming a chromatic web of shimmering filaments.
Fuck
"Fuck"
Elion cursed inwardly and outwardly.
The creature was enormous—far beyond anything he could hope to fight. And running would prove quite difficult since he was already surrounded.
Toward the crimson light, though, the threads were sparser.
It's always running. Why is it always running?
He grabbed Farha and bolted toward the crimson glow, leaving the packs behind.
The vibration of his steps seemed to alert the thing. Its movement shifted, every filament adjusting course. What had felt like scattered presence now focused into coordinated pursuit.
The threads burst from the ground—tendrils of raw flesh, grotesque and glistening.
The Voice of God whispered:
[Class IV]
"FUCK."
Elion cursed again, his mind reeling.
Why not just throw me at a god while you're at it? A Class IV? As a newly Unlocked?!
He was outraged and distressed by the current situation.
One tendril grazed his boot. It surged with unnatural speed, slipping inside, coiling around his ankle—and connected.
A sharp pain invaded his leg as the tendril somehow connected with his own nervous system.
His eyes widened as he realized his right leg wasn't listening to him anymore.
Elion screamed, collapsing. Farha tumbled a meter ahead of him. His cries pierced the still air as unbearable agony tore through his nerves.
The Class IV didn't have full control over it, seemingly choosing to inflict pain as a means to cripple him long enough for more of its cursed limbs to connect.
Elion tried to compose himself, willing his leg to move. He managed to stand up, but more threads were already upon him, waiting to take over his body to do God knows what with it.
He saw some heading toward Farha.
With a grunt, he lunged forward, scooping her up and sprinting several meters away.
By then, the flashes of crimson light were dimming, indicating the battle was over.
I need to reach them… I need…
Even thinking hurts. The Class IV's presence was spreading.
Elion pushed through despite the pain, determined to reach Kellta and Eshrod. He was currently carrying Farha in his arms. She was showing no signs of waking up—for better or for worse.
He took another step—then another.
The tendril snapped off at his ankle. The pain eased, its influence receding—but they were already doomed. The repulsive creature had the time to fully surround them in the moment it took to break free from the single limb.
Hundreds of tendrils slithered across the terrain, turning the ground into a pulsating sea of flesh. He couldn't even see the creature's core—it lay beyond the range of his ability, somewhere deep in the woods, beyond sight and sense.
There was no way out.
He was mere seconds away from being completely devoured by the Class IV. All he could do was pray for a miracle.
But that was not like him, leaving his fate to impossible luck was not something he'd do. Still, there was no real way out of this.
Die fighting.
This wasn't about honor or glory, it was simply out of spite. The fact of just giving up and dying without trying anything didn't sit right with him.
Maybe the only decent trait he inherited from his father.
His grip on Farha tightened as he shoved all thought aside. With a snarl, he jumped forward, pink muscles following his body, trying to reach it in vain. He landed right in the middle of a pool of slithering flesh. They were already climbing up his legs, some connected with his skin, threatening to unleash devastating pain.
His goal was to jump before that, but he was currently trying to escape a Class IV. Of course, things couldn't be that easy. His legs simply wouldn't move. The pain vanished. No—it didn't vanish. It inverted. Euphoric pleasure flooded his nerves, wrong and right at once. It was… blissful. It felt as good as it was fake.
No, that's wrong. Snap out of it.
But it didn't feel wrong, not anymore.
On the contrary. It felt as if he was becoming part of a greater whole. A greater design, something that would take care of him… something that would love him, taking all his burden away.
It's playing with your mind! MOVE, DAMMIT!
No… he only needed to let it do its thing… he would no longer need to suffer… no longer need to fight, all would be taken care of.
He glanced down at Farha's unconscious form. She breathed softly, chest rising and falling in a rhythmic motion.
One thought crossed his mind:
How selfish of me. I must share this blessing! What was I thinking, keeping such bliss from her?
No, it's not a… it's not…
Elion did not even feel the thousands of microscopic needles piercing his skin, reaching into his nervous system. He did not feel them because it was meant to be.
He smiled, lowering Farha gently into the sea of flesh below.
She would see. She would understand. She would thank him.
A burst of crimson flame reached him, sending his… his brethren into seething agony.
He could feel it too, the pain his benefactor was feeling. It burned. It was horrible. So bad he couldn't help but squirm. There was only one thing burning in his mind:
I need to kill whatever is inflicting such pain!