With a pained expression, Quagmire forced his aching body to move forward. Unfortunately, as the effects of adrenaline were now wearing off, his once-clear vision had once again turned blurry.
"No..." Quagmire exclaimed with a raspy voice.
He was getting desperate. His breathing grew heavier and more irregular, and the wounds that had not ached much a while ago now throbbed as if they were part of a beating heart. The pain was reaching an all-time high.
Not only that, but he was now near the river. What kind of twist of fate was that? He couldn't fall now. However, just like the intricacies of human relationships, his vision blurred to the point of darkness, and he collapsed to the ground, headfirst, losing consciousness and entering the sea of darkness once again.
He lost consciousness just a mere meter from the river—a cruel twist of irony.
Deep within his mind, memories flashed by—memories of a long-forgotten past. Memories of friends, lovers, families, and subordinates. He missed them all. Unfortunately, he had been a soldier, a high-ranking one at that. He had a duty to defend and serve the motherland in which he perished.
What would they think when they received the letter announcing his death and his medals of honor? Would they be proud of him, or would they resent him for leaving them so soon? Unfortunately, he no longer lived in that world, and he would never know the answer to that question—and he'd be damned if he ever did.
After drifting through the sea of memories, he felt a sense of satisfaction. He could now move on and begin this new life before him, to accomplish the task he had set out to do—or the task that had been set out for him. So he stood up and walked through the door, leaving behind his former life and starting anew.
"!!!" Quagmire silently groaned as he opened his eyes. However, upon opening them, he was greeted with a message that floated in front of him.
[Darkness Has Now Dawned Into The World]
[Twilight Of The Red Moon Looks Over The Crimson Night]
[Bogies Have Now Been Increased Four Times Their Standard State]
[Beware! The Crimson Night Has Descended!]
Upon reading the few messages that appeared before him, Quagmire was gripped with anxiety in his very core. His heart once again began to pound, as loud as the war drums that accompanied medieval soldiers on the battlefield.
As if he had momentarily forgotten the pain that ravaged his body, it returned with full force. He could not help but wince as waves of agony and despair surged through him. Fortunately, he did not allow it to completely consume him.
Despite the pain, he forced himself to rise. He glanced around. It was now dark, but a crimson light faintly illuminated the surroundings. He was confused at first, but then he remembered what he had read earlier, and the pieces started to fit together. He looked from left to right—it was all the same.
Curious as a cat, he turned his gaze skyward and saw the red moon. Shockingly, the moon truly was red. He had thought it might be just a visual event in this world, but it was very real.
Looking over his aching body, he sensed that something was wrong. He looked again—from side to side—then at his arms, then at his hands. They were empty.
"!!!" Quagmire was baffled.
He looked again, trying to confirm what he saw—or didn't see. Then he began to search his memory for answers. He couldn't afford to lose the only means he had to defend himself, the only weapon he had to kill with. That was when he remembered losing consciousness. He scanned the ground urgently.
He scoured the terrain, but to no avail. He couldn't find it. So, he resorted to an old soldier's trick—he stared into the darkness, letting his eyes slowly adjust. He let the faint illumination of the red moon help guide his sight.
It didn't take long before he finally located the military knife. It had flown quite a distance; he found it just a few inches away from falling into the river. He was incredibly lucky it hadn't ended up in the water, as he might never have retrieved it again. Losing that knife would've meant losing both retaliation and defense.
Unfortunately, he now found himself face-to-face with another pressing problem. He was in a dire situation—in an apocalyptic world—currently shrouded in darkness. And right in front of him was a source of potable water. However, he didn't know if it was safe to bathe in, as he couldn't even determine how deep the river was.
On top of that, he didn't know if there were infected animals lurking beneath the surface, or worse—undead creatures capable of surviving underwater. The darkness further worsened the uncertainty, limiting his visibility.
Another issue was whether or not to clean his wounds. Though it's commonly advised, especially in the field, to treat wounds immediately to prevent infection, he reasoned that if he could survive just half a day more, his recovery system might heal him fully. Was it worth the risk? Infection, sure. Pain, sure. But if it was only for half a day, maybe it was bearable.
Faced with a difficult decision, he chose the most rational option for the moment: rather than seeking comfort, he accepted pain. He could resist pain—but he could not resist death.
Instead, he decided to quench his thirst. That much, at least, could be done safely. He didn't need to submerge himself—just lower his canteen into the river. So he did just that. He unstrapped it from his support equipment, lowered it carefully, and waited for it to fill.
Once full, he immediately drank. It was the most refreshing drink Quagmire had ever tasted in his life. After finishing the entire canteen, he filled it again.
He sat for a moment, body still aching, but spirit slightly renewed. As the cool water ran down his throat, he felt more alive than he had in hours. The pain remained, but the strength to endure it had returned.
The red glow from the moon continued to illuminate the cursed world around him. Still gripping his knife and clutching his canteen, he began to look for a place to camp and wait for sunrise.