Karma stumbled through the narrow alleyway, each breath sharp, each step heavier than the last. His legs ached, his chest burned, and the weight of exhaustion clawed at the edges of his focus. The last fight had drained him—not just his strength, but something deeper. His soul felt frayed, unraveling thread by thread.
A distant shriek echoed through the ruined city—high, shrill, inhuman. One of the greater undead. Not a mindless walker, but something faster, hungrier, and far more dangerous. Karma didn't look back. He didn't need to. He could feel it stalking him, its unnatural presence brushing against the edge of his senses like cold fingers.
He had no strength left to fight.
His divine energy was flickering, fading, and the Executioner's Blade pulsed weakly at his side like a dying star. If he kept going, he'd collapse. No warning, no ceremony—just fall.
He veered into the nearest alley, boots scraping the wet pavement. His eyes darted around until they caught it: a small café with its glass door hanging ajar, untouched by the chaos outside. It was dark inside, quiet, hidden. He didn't hesitate.
Inside, the air was stale, filled with the faint scent of coffee and dust. Empty chairs and shattered cups littered the floor, abandoned in haste. It was still. Safe—for now.
Karma ducked behind the counter and crouched low, every nerve on edge. The faint hum of the coffee machine was the only sound that dared break the silence. His muscles remained tight, heart racing as the groans and dragging footsteps of the undead echoed outside.
He peeked through a crack in the counter, watching the street. The horde shuffled past—twisted, broken figures, all hunger and rot. But he could sense the greater one still lingering nearby. It hadn't seen him, but it was searching.
The Executioner's Blade hovered beside him, now nearly invisible. Its divine glow had dimmed to a whisper. Karma could feel it—Muse's gift slipping from his soul like water through cracked fingers. He was running on fumes.
"How do I recover?" he thought bitterly. "Why didn't Muse tell me how to replenish this power?"
His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the counter. Across the room, in the corner near the window, a girl sat curled into herself, clutching her knees. He hadn't seen her at first—she hadn't made a sound, not even a gasp when he entered.
Her wide eyes met his. Terrified. Silent.
And for a moment, something passed between them—wordless understanding.
"I didn't ask for this," Karma whispered to himself, barely audible. "I'm not the hero."
He pressed his back against the counter, breath shallow. The Executioner's Blade flickered again, weaker than before. If he didn't find a way to reignite his divine energy soon, he'd be defenseless. Just another corpse waiting to happen.
The girl shifted slightly, drawing his attention. She wasn't injured—but she looked like she hadn't moved in hours, maybe longer. Dust clung to her clothes, and her arms were wrapped tightly around her legs as if they were the only thing holding her together.
"I won't hurt you," Karma said, his voice rough but calm.
She didn't answer, but her shoulders relaxed—just barely.
A low growl echoed from the alley outside. The greater undead was still there. Stalking. Sniffing the air.
Karma closed his eyes. Think. Think.
He couldn't fight—not like this. But maybe, just maybe, he could wait it out. Let the creature pass. Hope the café's silence masked their presence.
Then he felt it: a flicker.
Not from within—but from her.
Faint. Hidden. But undeniably divine.
His eyes snapped open, studying the girl more closely. It was there—a trace of Muse's light buried beneath her fear. She was like him. Chosen.
"Can you feel it too?" he asked.
This time, she nodded. A small, almost imperceptible movement. But it was enough.
Karma leaned his head back against the wall and exhaled, long and quiet.
Maybe he wasn't as alone as he thought.
The groans faded into the distance. The greater undead moved on—for now.
Silence returned.
In that small, broken café, amidst the dust and darkness, two fragments of Muse's will sat across from each other. Wounded. Frightened. But alive.
Karma looked at the girl once more. "We'll figure it out," he muttered.
Whether he meant the undead, the divine power, or the weight of everything pressing on his soul, even he wasn't sure.
But in that moment, with death outside and silence within, it was the closest thing to hope he had left.