Most of the Vowbound were dead now. Twisted heaps of flesh and bone littered the earth like broken promises.
This was the moment. The opening. The only smart move left.
Run.
Velcrith, dry as ever, piped up in his head."Better start running."
He always knew. Always one step ahead inside Desan's skull.
Desan didn't argue. He was already turning, boots slick with blood and bile, breath ragged in his throat.
He didn't run out of fear.
He ran because staying meant more pain. And Desan had had enough of pain for one lifetime.
Or "three".
Desan turned toward the shattered gate and ran.
The pain in his palms spiked—nerves tingling like a warning bell his conscious mind hadn't caught up to yet. His body moved before thought. Instinct. Like some part of his brain had already sensed it: something worse was coming.
He sprinted across the ruined compound, boots crunching over shards of bone and armor.
The gate was close. So close.
And with it came a flicker of hope.
But it didn't last.
No, hope never lasted long in this place.
It sank into him like cold iron. That feeling. That deep, sick certainty that this wasn't the end—just another chapter. Another monster. Another nightmare waiting in the trees.
The forest ahead swayed in the wind, thick and towering. Every branch, every twisted shadow looked like it could eat a man whole.
He clenched his teeth.
"Running from one hell right into the jaws of another," he muttered.
Velcrith hummed in agreement. "Yeah. But at least it keeps things interesting."
Desan didn't laugh. Couldn't. His breath was already short, legs burning, heart slamming against his ribs.
The monsters in that forest… without people to cull them… they'd gone wild.
And Desan was running straight into their teeth.
But that fear was for the future.
Boom.
Something exploded behind him.
Desan turned instinctively—too late.
A chunk of the compound wall was airborne, spinning end over end. It hurtled toward him with the howl of something that didn't want to miss.
He ducked. It tore past his head, so close it sheared a few strands of hair. He hit the ground hard, rolled once, twice, arms flailing to catch himself.
A vowbound corpse crashed down next to him—limbs bent the wrong way, blood trailing like ribbons.
Then another fell. Not whole. Its organs spilled across the ground in steaming loops.
A hot, sticky chunk of something hit his chest. Slid down.
He didn't want to know what it was.
He stumbled, rolling with the momentum, arms wide to steady himself—but the ground didn't give him the luxury of time.
Boom.
The ground shivered. Like something was charging. Something big.Each step thudded like thunder through his spine.
Dust curled through the compound like smoke from a dying fire. It stuck to Desan's skin, his lungs, his eyes—made everything a blur.
But through that blur—
A figure.
Massive.
Unnatural.
Desan's breath hitched. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up.
That thing.
The one from the "dream."
Except it wasn't a dream. He'd fought it.
He'd died to it.
And now it was real. Here. Again.
His legs twitched like they wanted to run, but he knew better.
Running? Useless.
Turning his back on that? That was a death sentence. A faster one.
"Keep an eye out for anything useful," Desan muttered, unsheathing his sword with a shaky grip.
Fighting wasn't an option. Not really. Not against that. He could maybe trick it, use the environment, but the space was too open. Nothing here gave him the edge.
"Desan," Velcrith's voice cracked. "There's more of them."
BOOM.
Then another.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Four. Maybe five explosions—close. Too close.
The side of the mansion imploded. The shockwave tore through the courtyard like a hurricane of debris. The force folded inwards—warped air, twisted metal, cracked stone.
Velcrith screamed something—
"MOVE—"
Too late.
A chunk of the wall hit him. Full force.
Everything went red. Then black.
Desan didn't scream.
His legs—gone. Pulverized.
And then—
The monster. Looming.
Its mace swung down, impossibly fast.
Crack.
Pain—blinding. Deafening. Brain-melting.His body shattered like dry bark. His spine folded. His eyes popped, rolled sideways in their sockets as he watched, helpless, his crushed form writhing under the blow.
It happened so fast. Too fast.
No clever plan, desperate last strike.Just pain.The pure, animal agony of a nervous system caving in on itself.
His fifth death.
Darkness overtook him.
But within that black, breathless void, something formed.A shape. A pattern.
A chessboard.
Only—wrong.
Too big. Far too big.
The pieces weren't just black and white—there were dozens of colors, shapes that didn't belong. Some melted together, others cracked down the middle like broken bones.
And the board?
It was shattered and splintered like glass under a boot. Whole corners missing. Squares floating where they shouldn't. Lines warped into spirals that led nowhere.
There was no game. No strategy. No logic left.
Just chaos pretending to be order.
And still… the pieces moved.
As if the game had to be played—
Even if the rules were long dead.
From the madness, one of the pieces shifted.
It looked like him.
Same broken stance. Same rusted blade. Same blood-soaked defiance.And just like him, it was alone, charging headlong into something it couldn't kill.
And dying.
Hopeless.
It wasn't just familiar. It was mockery. A cruel puppet show of his failures.
Desan clenched his jaw. He knew who was behind this.
He could hear that damned god laughing.
Not with joy—never with joy.
With hunger.
The laughter grew louder. Sharper. It wrapped around his throat like wire and pulled.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't scream.
Only choke.
And then…
Cold.
Freezing.
It sank through his skin and clawed at his bones.
Cold.
He grit his teeth, tried to think of anything else. Anything but the cold.
He had died again. What was this, the fifth time?
Outnumbered. Outmatched.
Too far from safety. Too far from Mire.
…Mire.
Maybe if he'd stuck with him—maybe if he hadn't run…
It always came back when he ran.
Maybe staying by his side would've changed something.