"Do any of you know the easiest way to conquer an enemy? Divide and conquer, people! It's turning the enemy against themselves. I haven't been able to get my hands on a copy of The Art of War since the apocalypse, but Sun Tzu was saying the same things millennia ago! And now look at us. People used to help one another in times of difficulty––but where is that kindness now? How have we become so jaded? When did this happen?!

A beggar woman was clinging to my pant leg last month, screaming all this at me. And as you are all aware, I don't give kind lies, so I answered her question earnestly. I told her, 'The exact moment all was lost was when you first saw one person kill another.' She tilted her head at me with the same expression of confusion I see on all of you right now, but it really is that simple. To witness one person killing another––to comprehend that your fellow man is even capable of the atrocity, that is the simplest way to sow mistrust in an individual and division in a society. Our conquerors called this a period of grace, but make no mistake, people. We are still actively being conquered."

– Dakila Angkico, The Riptide

* * *

Integration 1st Year Nightmare, Misting Valleys, Path of Poisoned Thorns 15 years, 39 days before System Reset

Alex tripped over a stone jutting out of the ground and crashed into Margaret. She yelped.

"Geez! C'mon kid, look where you're…"

She trailed off, her expression blurry in Alex's vision. His left eye was bandaged and his right blurred from exhaustion. Jose hooked his arm beneath Alex's armpit, hoisting him up so he stayed on his feet.

"Ishaan, we should take a break," Jose called.

Ishaan stopped further down the path. "No. We've taken too many breaks already. I suspect more supply drops will appear once we've gotten further along our path. If Alex can't keep up, then this'll be where we have to part ways."

"Sorry, you heard the man…"

Jose re-steadied Alex, a tad clumsily. The man was built like a bull but there was a tremor in his motion that hinted his call for a break might not have been entirely for Alex's sake. Margaret met Alex's tired gaze and muttered "Sorry…" before turning and hiking after Ishaan.

'Sorry'. That was all any of them had had to say when they found him again after abandoning him during the Second Scenario. Alex had only managed to reach the first bonus reward and despite his wound, he'd been forced to get a Stamina potion to survive.

They all had health potions. Margaret: only one. Jose: two, after he'd used one to heal a grievous wound. Ishaan still had all three that he'd gotten from the boxset. Health potions weren't sold in the store and not a single one of them had offered to heal Alex's eye. The wound was already healing on its own, anyway. His Vitality had slowly increased over the past day, and he'd probably have haziness in the left of his vision for the rest of his life.

If he lived at all…

His stomach constricted in on itself, and he'd seen enough survival documentaries to know what would happen at this rate. His throat was parched and burned for want of water. The others had all taken their stamina vials, and they walked ahead of him. However, he knew that they were just as starved and dehydrated as he was.

"You're gooing… to die heere," The Lost Souls whispered.

"I-I know."

"Knock it, kid," Margaret said. "Don't respond to them. Just ignore them like the rest of us."

Alex didn't look up, his eyes were glued to the ground ahead of him as his legs plodded onward. Margaret was the only one who bothered hanging back to keep him company, but no doubt she would leave him behind if he became a liability. He was no different. They'd all done so to that drunk woman. They'd left her behind.

Jose's voice echoed from further up the path. "A smoke signal. You think there's water?"

"It's not close enough," Ishaan said. "Remember the last time we went that far into the mists?"

"Guh...I'd kill for some water," Margaret muttered.

Alex grunted. Those were the only words they spoke that afternoon. He treaded forward, his mind lost in a haze. Each step was torture. He'd stopped perceiving the world entirely. After a while, he had no clue whether he'd already been left behind or not, he just continued. Eventually the sun started to go down and the ground in front of him grew shadowy… and closer––

Alex collided with another person's back. This time it was Ishaan; he had stopped. Alex looked up, seeing Jose and Margaret stopped too, and they all stared out into the mists as a pillar of green smoke trailed a parachuted object.

"It's close," Ishaan said. "We're going."

"Wait…" Alex rasped.

They didn't wait. They disappeared into the mists and panic gripped Alex. He found an energy he didn't know he still had in him as he scrambled after them. The voices in the soul mists wormed further into his brain. They told him he was alone, and lost. He began to believe them. Then he saw a warm torch-light glowing in the dark forest.

He brushed apart thick bushes and Margaret jumped. "Oh… just you kid, glad you made it…"

Her cheeks were sunken and hollow. Alex looked past her at Ishaan and Jose and…

"Dustin," the new man said, nodding to Alex.

Alex didn't reply. The four others beside Dustin didn't bother introducing themselves either. They all looked as exhausted as Alex felt. The bushes rustled to their right, and three others emerged.

"Oh… there's more," Dustin said. "I'm Dustin."

"I'm… Karen."

"Natalie," Another woman said. "I… guess we're early? The supply drop hasn't landed yet."

"You should put that light out," Ishaan told one of Dustin's companions.

"But that's how we managed to find you guys," Karen sputtered.

"There are monsters in these mists. We don't want to attract any more attention."

"Jeremy, put out the torch," Dustin said. "Sorry… we hadn't been close enough to reach the supply drops until now. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"You guys haven't either?" Jose asked.

"No…"

The light went out, but Alex noticed Ishaan's hand still hovered near the sword at his hip. In the darkness, the luminescent trail of smoke faded the nearer the supply drop got. They all watched the descending case with bated breath until it landed on the ground with a thud. Dustin and Jose rushed forward, clicking it open. Others circled around them, peering in at the case's contents. The Green smoke meant this one contained food and water.

Gasps of relief went around the small crowd. Alex felt his heart leap in his chest.

But an odd tingly sensation in his spine made him hang back with Ishaan and some of the others. After the first wave of excitement gave away, a very bad feeling settled in his gut. Ishaan gripped the hilt of his sword; Alex reached for his dagger on reflex.

Someone whispered aghast. "There's not enough…"

* * *

Integration 1st Year Nightmare, Misting Valleys, Path of Buried Ghosts 6 Days After System Reset

102:31:58

It'd been one-hundred-two hours, thirty-one minutes, fifty-eight seconds since Alex had entered Nightmare's Misting Valleys. Humans were meant to rise with the sun and fall with its setting, and the eventual, endless night was at odds with that biology.

But not all creatures in Nightmare were human.

As the sun set and the moon rose, so did humanity's shadow. This world was inhuman––but where humans struggled, creatures that walked the night thrived. When the poor man's exhaustion became too great—when his eyelids drooped closed and darkness came—that was when they were at their most dangerous. Nightmare could starve a man, yet the vampires were surrounded by their natural prey.

It wasn't uncommon to wake up and find two holes drilled into the neck of the person sleeping next to you. The vision in Alex's dreaming mind was vivid and clear:

Two canines that bared in a twisted grin. Eyes like daggers that glazed over in red fury. Blood smeared Anne's cheeks like rotten berry juice, and tight in her grip was a woman's body. Anne bit into her neck again, maw stretched wide and tore.

Head hanging by a thread, Laura could only mouth one final message.

"Alex—"

Alex jolted awake, a cold sweat running down his back.

He summoned his sword, knowing full well that there was no danger in his vicinity but wanting it in his hands anyway. It was dark out. He took several deep breaths, then banished his sword away.

"Sleeeeeep," the lost souls called. "Sleep some more… you know you want to…"

"Show usss…"

105:28:13

Alex checked his timer and cursed. He'd slept one hour longer than he had intended. It wasn't a huge loss, but he had no clue if he was gaining on Gloomy as it was, and any lost time was a setback. He should get up immediately, pick up the pace, and make up the difference.

He should, but…

"Stay… Sleeep some more……let…"

He sighed. Those damned Lost Souls weren't persuading him, but he didn't feel like getting up just yet. He felt like shit. They'd purposely kept him asleep, spurring on his dreams.

"Sleee–"

Alex cracked open a Red Bull.

The taste was metallic and not in a way he liked. But his roommate didn't drink Monsters, and it was all Alex had found in the fridge.

"Bottoms up," he muttered.

He cringed. What he'd kill for some orange juice to chase this down with.

But there was no orange juice. No Kool-Aid or Coca Cola. This was Nightmare—the last place Alex would call civilized—and he was fortunate enough to have what he did have. People killed over less.

Alex shivered and hugged his blanket tighter around his shoulders. It was a cold, cold night. Or day, depending on how one counted the hours. To catch up with Gloomy, he'd started sleeping in increments of two hours, three times a day. He could stretch himself thinner this way, and… these nights he always dreamed. It was better if those dreams didn't reach their ends.

"Shoow usss…"

Alex sneezed. No orange juice… though I could go for some ramen.

He already had a fire pit dug in front of him to satisfy that craving, but… there was a reason it wasn't host to any flames. He'd been an exhaustion-addled idiot and chucked his only lighter into the furnace during the Second Scenario. Naturally, he knew how to start a fire the old fashioned way, but when he was only sleeping for two hours at a time it was hard to justify the effort it took to do so in this weather. So if he wanted ramen that badly…

Then I guess I'll have to earn it.

Alex glanced to the side of the pit. There, a small mound of wooden slats sat discarded—his failures from the night before, when his cravings started. Sighing, he summoned another slat to his hand and carved into it with his dagger.

Enchant

Nothing happened.

He tossed the slat aside with the other failures. Then he began again with another. It was tedious, but that's just how it was when you were trying to learn such a difficult skill. And Enchant was uniquely challenging, even compared to most.

But it was a good distraction from—

Beep-Beep! Beep-Beep!

Alex stood. That sound—that beeping that seemed to resound from within his skull—was what dictated his life these days. Two hours for sleep, six hours hiking, two hours for sleep, one hour killing ghouls, five hours hiking, two hours for sleep, one hour of downtime wherever he wished to spend it, then five more hours hiking, rinse and repeat.

"And it'ss all… hopelesss…"

No, that wasn't true. He couldn't imagine Gloomy pushing herself to this length, so he had to be gaining on her.

"You already know… what you have… to do…"

…Maybe. It wasn't concrete though, and he'd be damned if he didn't exhaust all his other options first. So Alex started walking. And walking. And walking…

* * *

"Do you… remember?" The Lost Souls whispered.

Their voices seemed to multiply, overlapping with each other at all pitches. Theirs were the gruff voices of men, the soft lilts of women, strained rasps of the elderly, and the airy whines of children.

And Alex… he remembered.

He remembered exiting the mists that night and trudging aimlessly along his path, one foot after the other. His shoes had squelched with each step. His throat burned. He gripped the prize tight in his hand and raised it to his lips—a red-smeared Dasani water bottle. It was the only thing he'd grabbed in the chaos.

He looked behind him, at the bloody foot-prints he left. Then ahead of him, at the path. Then at the sky, his stomach grumbling, collapsing in on itself like a vacuum implosion. He continued walking. And walking. Until he saw another green trail of—

Beep-Beep! Beep-Beep!

114:22:59

Alex's eyes shot open. He raised a jug of tap-water to his lips and recapped it, gasping for breath, then was greeted with more darkness. Hadn't he been here just yesterday? The fire pit sat before him, still filled with kindling, still unlit. A small pile of wooden slats were stacked beside it.

His stomach grumbled. He shifted himself up beneath his blankets, still disoriented, and set for himself another timer. Still craving ramen, he picked up a wooden slat and began carving.

All power—all that could be called magic—was derived from the patterns intrinsic to the cosmos. They were patterns set in order by beings much older than the constellations, by the Primordial Gods themselves. When those patterns were touched with essence and interwoven with an individual's soul, formations like skills, traits, and even bloodlines were formed.

Enchantments, however, were different. While skills were woven into souls, enchantments were woven in dirt, wood, and metal. And whereas skills directly echoed the cosmos's patterns, enchantments mirrored those patterns' physical symbolisms. Enchantments were not anchored to life, and thus could not bridge the spiritual realm into the physical like other powers when cast. They had to be inscribed directly into the physical realm, and tethered by intention.

Of course, most of Alex's life, the distinction had been of fuck-all importance—until now, when he had to actually try enchanting something. He looked down at his hands, red and numb from the night's cold. In one, he held the dagger, and in the other, a slab of wood carved with the runic symbol for Fire.

Or at least, he thought it was the runic symbol for fire. The cosmos seemed to have its own opinion, and now that his clumsy carving had chipped a ridge in the symbol, he wouldn't convince it otherwise. Not with this piece of junk, at least. With detached exasperation, he tossed it onto the small mound of wooden slats where all his other failures sat.

"Show usss…"

"Thirteen," he said, sighing.

Alex had restarted his count when it had gotten high enough so as to be demoralizing.

Briefly, he considered using one of the Skill Instruction Slates for guidance, but it would be a waste. Enchant wasn't so rare that instruction manuals didn't exist for it. They did—just at a gouged price. But less gouging of a price than that of a single Skill Instruction Slate.

Besides, his problem was more with the carvings than the skill itself. If anything, Alex just wished the shop would sell him wood that wasn't rotted, or send him trees more compliant to being carved from.

Unfortunately, Nightmare's shop had hosted a bizarre selection of goods—at odds with Alex's needs. It was a strange place where you could find Archaic skills and Dragon-forged armor that were utterly unaffordable in Nightmare—albeit, impossibly cheap in context with the greater Universe. Yet, the shop offered none of the more mundane essentials for surviving. So in terms of armor, if you wanted simple, un-enchanted gambeson or chainmail or anything better than shitty leathers, you either had to wait until you reached the city or…

…or go for a conspicuously timed supply drop.

In the sky, Alex saw a black trail of smoke in the far distance. Black—signifying that it contained armor and weapons. He looked at his interface, which was open to the Armor and Weapons page in Nightmare's shop, then glanced dubiously back at the supply drop.

…So, suffice it to say, the shop didn't sell wood.

And if it did, it would only be a waste of Essence to put in the hands of a novice like Alex. Because unfortunately, Enchant fell into a locked category of Magical skills, and the things he could do with it were limited until he fixed his core.

Within those limitations, however, was the ability to boil ramen. Thus, he patiently carved.

"Sixteen… Seventeen…"

Alex's interface beeped, alerting him that his break was over. He threw his latest runic-slat aside and stood up, walking. Marching. Lifting leg, stepping down foot—repeating this sequence in dull monotony, endlessly. He ate out of a cold can of beans, watching as another smoke signal alighted temptingly in the distance.

Green smoke—those were the deadliest supply drops of all. Because food and water were necessities no person, no mage, no shifter could survive without. The Third Scenario was simple at first glance. Their paths may be twisting and narrow, but they'd been given a month to walk them. It sounded a lot easier than facing a town full of undead, and perhaps it was. But Alex could say one thing for sure: for every survivor of this scenario, there were memories formed in these mists that would never leave them. Parts of them that stayed behind—lost in the mists, and culled ruthlessly from their persons, so that they themselves might wander out alive.

And yes, he told the Lost Souls, I do remember.

They had made very certain of that as of late. Even now, they whispered. Their words carried indiscriminate hate, tinged with an undertone of sorrow, and he could feel the urge to see the world burn in their intent. It was a sentiment Alex found himself sympathetic towards at times, and he could only presume that was the intention behind making him relive his memories.

But he knew where that path led. He knew where this path led—and he walked it regardless, in pursuit of vengeance—but he did so mindfully. He wasn't stopping for anything, however, he wasn't mindlessly burning everything that stood in his path either.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"How lonnng… can you keep your hands clean?" The Lost Souls whispered.

Alex looked back and saw the bloody footprints he'd once left behind. He shook his head. No, they were just simple boot prints. Further behind them, that green smoke trail fizzled out, losing all of its allure. He had all that he needed to survive with, for now. And it wasn't about him keeping his hands clean; he knew that was impossible. It was about not dirtying them needlessly.

So he finished his can of beans, contententing himself with just that, and tossed the empty can into the bushes.

Suddenly, he felt a deep, unsettling chill.

He halted, walking back a few paces. The Lost Souls had grown disturbed, their voices seething with even more hatred, giving him a migraine. He hunched over the aluminum can he'd littered and ruffled his hair in annoyance.

"God dammit. Look at this place. You're all evil spirits—why do you even care?"

Regardless, he picked up his refuse and the Lost Souls's intense rebukes abated. However, their voices whispered all the same as he continued after Gloomy. With time they would only worm deeper and deeper into his conscious.

136:22:59

"Fighting… Hiding… Killing…"

"That dark… abysss…"

"When the blood is..ssspilled… and the wraithss…"

"Do yo—"

Alex drew Nychta across a ghoul's chest, pivoting out of the blow. Danger screamed from behind, focusing his senses into sharp clarity, and he jerked out of the way of the attack, slicing through another ghoul's tongue.

There were so many more voices now that he was in the mists, but he paid none of them any heed. He launched himself forward, taking initiative against the three remaining ghouls. They fought on a steep slope and he tracked their positions in the murky daylight, filtering out whatever useless information the Lost Souls fed him.

His concentration was strained, however. When he rushed his nearest opponent, he didn't notice a tree's root snaking towards a corpse he'd left behind. He stumbled, and all the ghouls swarmed in to—

Smoke Screen

Dark, sooty clouds plumed out in a burst from Alex and the undead faltered. Their intent did not however, and he recovered his footing and traced the killing intent back to the ghoul he'd been targeting—slicing its neck.

Ghoul has been Cleansed!

+460 Essence Crystals

Alex entered stealth. He couldn't actually see in these conditions either. He'd lost the ghouls' positions and already he could hear the cries of wraiths. He shivered, recalling the first time he'd faced them—the night he'd killed his second man. They were a frequent trauma for any NIghtmare survivor. The moment their cries reverberated through-out the mists was when everyone knew it was time to split and book it out of there.

Intellectuals argued that wraiths actually saved more lives than they took, but by god, it did not feel that way.

Deeming the two ghouls' lives not worth the risk, Alex began to flee back the way he'd come and out of these god forsaken mists. He entered his path, embraced by the warm sun. The voices of Lost Souls didn't fade nearly so much this time. He didn't even bother setting a timer. He continued forward, praying that slip of a girl wasn't too far ahead of him.

* * *

Twenty-six-thousand-nine-hundred-thirty, twenty-six-thousand-nine-hundred-thirty-one.

It wasn't sheep Alex counted now, but the amount of trees that wouldn't look out of place in a graveyard. Twenty-six-thousand-nine-hundred-thirty-two.

"Penance comes… for everyone…"

"Shut up," Alex muttered.

Twenty-six-thousand-nine-hundred-thirty-three.

"I said shut up!"

The Lost Souls went silent, yet whispered in scenes and images. Alex focused on the trees. These twisting hollows writhed in the colors of dusk, although painted in dried blood.

Twenty-six-thous—oh fuck it. This is hopeless.

"I told you to shut—!"

Alex paused. No, that voice had been his own. And this was hopeless. What was he even doing? What was he supposed to be doing? He'd already gotten Smoke Screen; he was level 22. And that wasn't bad progress. That was good… and yet, it wasn't good enough.

"There's… an easier wayyy… to get Essence…"

Alex grit his teeth. He was losing it.

His sword was asleep; he had no one to talk to. He had no spare time, and any other method of entertaining himself on the road had grown tiresome days ago. His mind was unstimulated—its rhythm of thought repetitive. Thus, it was becoming easier for the Lost Souls to penetrate.

Where the fuck is Gloomy? They whispered.

No, that voice was also Alex. But seriously, where the fuck is that bitch?

The sun went down, went up, went down again, and he never seemed to be catching up to her in the slightest. What the hell was she doing? Did she consume all her Stamina Vials already?!

Don't call her a bitch. That's uncalled for.

And don't talk to yourself like this either. Bad idea.

"No… keeep going…let usss…"

"Shut it."

151:22:59

Many hours later Alex sat beside a fire-less pit, next to a small pile of failed enchantments, eating a can of beans after yet another Lost-souls induced nightmare. He'd been held prisoner before and this was not nearly as bad as that, but he still felt as though he were being lobotomized. Every tree, every rock, every bush he passed was the same as the thousands he'd passed in days before: Dull, gray, lifeless; this world was dead in every fashion.

Yet, as the sun made its crawl up to establish a new dawn, Alex thought to appreciate its struggle. He placed the half-eaten can of beans on the ground, watching the sun rise. The Lost Souls misunderstood his intent and he immediately picked it back up as their hatred stirred, but he thought he understood their perspective now.

The undead were weaker under the sun. Yet even so, the trees, the plants, and even the creatures in this world didn't shy away from it. The tweeting of birds sounded the same whether from a carcass or a live animal, and for a second, Alex saw Nightmare through a new light. Nightmare wasn't a world full of undead but an undead world—hopelessly clinging to the lattice of life. And for just a moment, he thought it looked beautiful.

Then a bat screeched and the tree to his back began to consume it where it crash landed at its roots. Bones crunched, flesh squelched; he put the rest of his breakfast in his inventory. Perhaps he'd been demented for calling this place beautiful.

But after what he'd grasped of the Fallen Feather of the Phoenix technique, it wasn't a thought he could so easily shake. So he set a thirty minute timer and summoned the elixir.

[High-grade Refinement Elixir - Consumable]

A dense supply of high-grade Aspect-pure Aura designed to guide and aid refinement in preparation for forming a Spiritual Core.

There was only a small sliver in the bottle leftover from Nychta's reforging, and of that, Alex inhaled only a tiny percentage as he began to meditate. They Lost Souls crowded in on his mind, but the further he sank into his inner world, the further their voices got.

His inner-world appeared crack and fractured, as though the dimensions of his soul brushed edges with his shattered core. Still, it provided refuge for his Vital Essence, and as he circulated the aura in his diaphragm, his soul was not in danger of slipping away. Essence was drawn from the world of Nightmare to his Core—slowly, ever so slowly, mending the pieces whole.

His timer beeped, and he ignored it. Here, in his soul, he was comfortable. He was purely himself and he didn't want to go back out there where the Lost Souls lingered, showing him things he didn't want to see.

Moreover, he could sense it now—he had enough of the elixir to fix his shattered core and re-attempt Core Formation. He would have to stretch it beyond thin, perhaps over ten sessions or more, but it would get him there.

And what then?

No, there wasn't room for doubt. For fear. He'd shed himself of his chains, and he wouldn't be held back by anything. He must've let doubt creep in during those final moments, but he wouldn't make the same mistake. His Core would not shatter again.

What assurance do I have?

What assurance did he even need? He didn't have assurance of anything. He just put one foot in front of the other, and he'd continue doing so until he killed Anne. Then he would be free.

"There's… an easierrr way…"

Alex almost cursed. Instead, he remained calm and ejected the Lost Souls from his inner world. There's always an easier way, and it's never the right one. Sometimes you had to walk the path to know what others you could've taken. But this was his past, and strength would come on his own terms. He was no longer weak. He wouldn't be chained by—

Beep-Beep! Beep-Beep!

Alex returned to the world of nightmare, this horrid place. Any semblance of beauty he'd perceived in it was eradicated by a fresher perspective. If Alex was beginning to understand the Lost Souls of all things, that was a clear signifier this situation couldn't go on for any longer.

And that he was back, the Lost Souls re-settled back in his mind like an infestation. Those moments in his souls' depths, away from their voices, had been bliss. However, he looked at the time and knew he would not have time to spend on repairing his core again. Not until he caught up to Gloomy.

And if he didn't today…

No, he couldn't let doubt creep in. He'd spent too long meditating, so he planned to march for twelve hours straight to make up for it. He'd take a stamina vial if he had to—but he was catching up to her today. She was just a little girl for fucks sake. There was no way it didn't happen.

"And if… you doon't…?"

164:02:31

"Hopelesss…."

"Hope…lessss…"

Alex hopped sluggishly over a fallen tree, all of his muscles sore and burning. He looked at his interface. He had one hour left of the twelve hours he'd given himself.

Where the fuck is she? He wondered for the millionth time.

"Hopelessss…"

He ignored the Lost Souls, trekking onward. An Orange supply drop lit up a mile away, carrying general supplies like gas, sleeping bags, plush pillows, batteries for his flashlight, and probably even wood.

"Whyyy don't you…"

Because it's not worth killing a man over.

"What'ss a few more… to the lissst?" The Lost Souls countered.

Alex sighed, and reminded himself not to engage with their moral diatribes.

He continued walking, wading endlessly through the dark. Alex's own flashlight had a limited battery and the Constellations lit his path well enough that he couldn't justify using it. But every so often, he'd pass under spots where the trees branched together at their thickest and all light would disappear. He'd trip, stumble, and stub his toes.

How many days of this would he have to suffer? How did one even count the days? By a metric of 24 hours? That's what he should've done in his first life. The sun rose and fell to a different beat now, and in his endless march he had become something misaligned and inhuman. It was easy to forget what it was all for.

"Haate…" The Lost Souls whispered.

Except why the hell did killing Anne require him to waste a week tracking down some stupid girl his sister's…

Alex winced. My sister's age…

His thought rode the breeze to the Lost Souls' ears, and Alex paid utter disregard to their next words. Alyssa… it'd been a week since the tutorial started on earth. If she wasn't already dead…

"Then you… could've maade it… you could've protected her…"

Alex tried to even his breathing. But it found no rhythm in his exerted state.

In any case, Gloomy clearly had her demons, but ultimately she was just a girl—his sister's age—in over her head in Nightmare. Whatever her deal was, that simple fact stayed true. It wasn't her fault she'd taken what Alex needed, and it wasn't his place to demonize her for the grand undertaking this turned out to be.

But he swore to God, when he caught up the first thing he'd do was tie her to a tree and take a ten hour nap. It may not be the healthiest way to start a partnership, but in the event that negotiations fail…

No, scratch that. Negotiations wouldn't fail. Gloomy was mentally unstable, inexperienced, and a risk to party with for many more reasons. A partnership wasn't what he was looking for—The Crucible of Sun was. He'd negotiate in good faith first, but he needed it. And no matter what Gloomy had to say about that, there was one trick he had up his sleeve to ensure negotiations swung in his favor. He'd do what he had to.

But for the love of everything Primodial, where the fuck—

Beep-Beep! Beep-Beep!

Alex stopped walking. He stood, heaving for breath as the timer in his interface sounded off. His heart pulsed its beat in his temple and he was drenched with more sweat than his deodorant could repel.

Where was she?

He glanced up along his path and knew the question he kept asking himself had a very simple answer: Gloomy was further ahead.

Her tracks hadn't faded; those shoe marks were in her size.

And yet… This was hopeless. He could only tell himself "one final push" so many times. Now, Alex couldn't put it off any longer. It was time for his last resort.

…Tomorrow though.

He unhooked Nychta from his belt and held her in his arms as he slumped down against a large rock. He had just descended a great slope and now stood on a flat stretch of forest between the last mountain and the next. The entire path thus far had been a constant up and down. Exhaustion was the enemy to critical thinking, and doing what Alex was about to do without respite from the Lost Souls would be suicidal.

And they agreed—with the addendum that he should do it anyway.

He told them to fuck off and set twenty alarms on his interface in the event that he slept through the first dozen.

* * *

It seemed it was the price of any good sleep nowadays that the Lost Souls showed Alex old nightmares. But they almost seemed confused on which ones to show him. Should they show him all the times he killed over scraps of food and water? Or would it be better to show him what he'd done once he'd understood the way this world worked?

Maybe they should show him how he'd died; with Jordan's splattered corpse and Camilla taking away his soul. No, they'd learned he was numb to that one. There were countless other deaths to choose from that were more impactful.

Laura always made her appearance.

Like the sun that cleared cloudy skies, she often made Alex forget she was dead for a time. She made him forget that this was a dream, that it was supposed to be a nightmare. And then they'd tease him, unveiling the truth bit by bit. His dreams always ended the same way: with him standing over the ravine, becoming a Lost Soul himself.

167:35:00

Alex's eighteenth alarm rang, and as such, he awoke in anger, anguish, despair—and with an intense craving for ramen. He drank some water, took a moment to gather his breath. Then he dug a small pit with a shovel, filled it with kindling, and wrapped a second blanket around himself as he began again carving the rune for 'fire' into wood.

Before long, he had a pile of failures beside him to rival the ones from all the previous nights.

"Twenty-one," He said, tossing his latest failure aside with a clank.

"Two-hundred…Se—"

"Don't give me the real count," He snapped.

Alex scratched his dagger into the next one. The wood was all dredge wood, so it splintered easily. But… the simple act of carving calmed his nerves, even if he only made failures.

"Twenty-two."

Alex summoned another blank slat from his inventory without ceremony and continued carving. Aside from the chirps of undead crickets, the only sound filling the path was the rhythmic scratching of his knife. Pleasantly, it seemed to drown out the voices of the mist's lost souls.

As he finished his new carving, Alex nestled the slat in with the kindling. Yearning strongly for fire, he extended both his shivering palms over the symbol and thought about the flames that roared in a furnace's belly.

Enchant

His hands took on a magical blue tint, which… soon winked out. The symbol glowed briefly, but the light faded all the same. Damn it. What does a man gotta do for ramen around here?

He sighed, picking it up, and was about to toss it aside with the others when he paused.

Rather than carelessly tossing aside the slat he'd just spent three minutes carving into, he examined it closer. His fingers traced the grooves of the symbol, and it took him a moment to even find the flaw. Just a tiny nick. His earlier attempts had been riddled with them, but his hands had grown steadier, and the grooves much smoother. This was neither an ideal knife for carving, nor an easy symbol to draw, but he was definitely improving.

In a way, it was humbling. No matter who you were—a total greenhorn or a System veteran—when learning something new, everyone started at the same place: the beginning. Picking up a wooden slat at random from the pile, he noticed the failures at the top already looked incomparable to those at the bottom. And that was just from the past hour.

He smiled. Despite how miserable the last many days had been, Alex was not immune to its simple joys in life. He began humming as he summoned another slat from his inventory.

With renewed vigor, he started anew.

He worked steadily, even slipping off his gauntlets for more precise control despite their leather's warmth. The enchanters he had encountered in the past were a superstitious lot, and prone to monologues, but he missed hanging around those sorts. He recalled the things they'd said, entertaining that there might be truth in their "words of wisdom".

It was a common belief that the more physically embedded an enchantment was, the stronger it became. Hence, carving runes into wood or metal was usually preferred over scribbling them in the sand or chalk if preparation time could be afforded. That much was actually just proven science, but some enchanters took that ideology further. They believed the more an enchanter embodied the runes they carved, the more those aspects were drawn to them.

Once, an old friend of Alex's had told him even that failure would work in an enchanter's favor. That every mistake, every wasted slat, would make the final success all the stronger if he carved each one with complete focus.

It was a warming thought. But then, this was the same friend who had taught Alex to sign the rune for luck before entering combat. He'd done that back in Dykriest and he'd still died.

Ultimately, he wasn't sure he believed in superstitions. But their gestures weren't entirely unwelcome. What he did believe in was results, and there were other reasons to believe that what he was during here wasn't a lesson in futility.

Alex had very intentionally chosen this as his first project. One-symbol runes—especially those representing a major aspect like fire—were the simplest formations to enchant. There was also the fact that he had an affinity with fire. However, he'd have chosen fire as his first even if he didn't.

For an enchantment to work, the aspects they drew upon had to be gathered into the runes. Aspects were how the cosmos made itself known and they existed throughout all of reality, but that didn't mean they were omnipresent. For example, the runic symbol for water was relatively simple to enchant—but a man in a dry desert would struggle to draw the water aspect into his runes. Conversely, someone carving fire into a naturally flammable material like wood should, in theory, have an easier time with it.

At least, in theory.

When Alex finished this specific slate, he took a moment and hugged himself, wiping the snot from his nose. Then he set it down in front of him, closed his eyes, and activated Enchant.

His mana surged through the skill's pathways, gathering in his palms as a small inkling of Essence split from his gathered reserve. That Essence found the wooden slat and embedded itself in the symbol of fire, echoing its pattern. When it did, the mana blazed its pursuit along the path it laid.

He opened his eyes just in time to see a small spark flicker in the night.

And then… nothing.

He looked down. The wood hadn't caught fire, but a thin tendril of smoke curled from the carving. A long lost smile returned to his lips—one that the bitter cold and the Lost Souls' whispers had stolen.

He placed it gently upon the large stack of wooden slats he'd amassed. This was his best failure yet.

169:11:03

After a few more less-impressive failures, Alex proceeded to spend the next fifteen minutes spinning two sticks together until he had embers. He blew, battling the winds and moist air for oxygen. Then slowly, he nursed those embers into a fire.

His frustration that it'd taken fifteen minutes had invited the Lost Souls back into his mind, but now a pot of ramen simmered over crackling wood and Alex couldn't find it in him to care. His stomach grumbled as he summoned a sealed Tupperware container from his storage.

He gulped.

If there was one thing he'd done since returning that could send him straight to hell, he thought, this might be it. Yet… it couldn't be helped. He had eaten the worst of his rations while tirelessly chasing after Gloomy and life wouldn't be getting any better in the short term, so it was time he finally splurged a little. He opened the container to the smell of soy-marinated eggs and prayed Cameron wasn't alive to notice they were missing.

Then Alex took a moment to pray his friend was actually alive. Even as a joke, such thoughts were in poor spirits.

Unfortunately, Alex's guilt didn't end there. Next, he brought out tufts of cilantro, basil leaves, a bottle of garlic chili oil, and slices of what Cameron called "ghetto chashu"—which was really just slow-cooked pork tenderloin. Of course, Alex hadn't taken all of it; he'd left most behind, taking only a few packs of ramen for himself. But by rights, the only food he'd been entitled to at home was his stash of canned beans, and gods knew he'd had no right to steal the brie and salami he was saving.

Still, when he brought a piping forkful of gourmet Shin Ramen to his lips, all was forgiven. Unashamedly, he slurped.

Then, patting his stomach, he sat back, watching the starry sky and already dreading the next several hours. A few hours wasted no longer mattered as much, but he couldn't sit here forever. He'd had his respite, and ignoring the Lost Souls became easier for it. Now there were no more reasons to procrastinate.

Huh… I wonder how Jun is doing…

Alex frowned. It'd been an idle thought, but he regretted having it the instant he realized why it occurred to him. He'd spotted a green supply drop, and the Lost Souls had unsavory things to say on the subject of Jun's wellbeing. Ignoring them, Alex eyed the trail of smoke that arose in the…in the distance?

Alex squinted his eyes, then he jumped to his feet in alert. Quickly, he smothered his fire and stamped out the embers, re-hitching Nychta at his waist. No—that wasn't distant. This supply drop was close, very close to his path. His pursuit of Gloomy had taken Alex far ahead of the main pack, and he knew that anyone else traveling at this pace was not someone he wanted drifting onto his path.

When he'd done all he could to hide the fire's smoke trail, Alex's eyes drifted again to that other smoke in consideration. The ordeal of the Third Scenario was something he didn't intend to experience twice. His memories of this scenario had been the reason he'd prioritized food and water above everything else as he'd prepared himself for Nightmare. But even he would run out of drinkable water eventually. Was this really something he could afford to pass up?

It's close enough to the ground. Even if there's other paths nearby, I doubt there will be anyone else there before me.

Alex faced the wall of mist to his left. He grimaced, as their voices pulled at his mind with greater intensity. What if he was wrong, and there were others? It really didn't take that much spilled blood before the wraiths came swarming.

Well… If I see anyone there before me, I'll leave it be.

Most people didn't travel alone, and Alex was neither in a killing mood nor in the mood to be killed. Not unless the crate carried orange juice, pork belly, or something equally luscious and tender.

With his priorities set, he left the path and immediately felt a shift in atmosphere. The bright starry night had disappeared, swallowed by a murky, stifling dark as the mist engulfed him. Without the warmth from his fire, a chill stretched down his back. The Lost Souls he had grown used to resisting crowded his mental defenses, threatening to drive him mad.

"There will be… no oraange juicee," they whispered.

Alex shut their voices out and pressed forward with haste. Despite the darkness, his eyes were slowly adjusting. The upgrades he had taken in his Perception stat made it easier to swerve around trees, though he still stumbled over their roots. He thought of summoning his flashlight, but the drop was too close for him to turn it on—lest it alert others to his whereabouts. As for the drop itself, the green smoke started to dim visibly through the mist, signaling that it had just landed. As he approached, he spotted the wooden box and could barely distinguish the red stamp labeled "Nightmare." Fortunately, he was right on time.

Which was why it was unfortunate that the parachute had tangled in the canopy of an exceptionally large tree. The crate dangled just out of reach, and Alex uttered a silent curse as he began scaling the bark to cut it down. He lamented not having any ranged attacks to do the job for him—and as the crate fell with a heavy thud onto the dead foliage below, he winced at the noise. Still, sensing he was the only one there, he hopped down and knelt to pry it open.

Then a twig snapped.

He jumped back, his hands landing on his sword as he scanned the tree line.

"Who's there?!" he called. "Show yourself!"

To Alex's surprise, his adversary acquiesced. A lone figure stepped out confidently from behind a tree, their features still concealed by the dark. Without even meaning to, Alex drew the slightest inch of his sword from its scabbard—

And that's when he felt it.

A chilling burn flared across the back of his neck as his dangersense activated. Dry leaves rustled in the distance behind him. He started to sweat as he began his count.

One, two, three, four… then the person standing boldly in front of him… five.

He was well and truly surrounded.

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