"Rosemary, I have to go to the Church," Clyde stated, his voice tight, a serious look fixed on his face, mirroring the insistent urgency he felt.
Her brow furrowed immediately. "The Church?"
"What for?"
I can't tell her that some… thing is telling me to go there…
That'll make me look bad.
And more crazy.
He thought, a flicker of unease crossing his features.
"I need to see if anyone there can help with my situation."
Rosemary just looked at him, her gaze laced with skepticism. She walked towards the kitchen door, then paused, looking at him over her shoulder. "How do you know there's a church here"
"And you saying that you know nothing?" Her voice was laced with a shrewd suspicion.
Crap…
How do I…
Clyde's mind raced, desperate to find a suitable answer, his breath quickening, a sudden, cold panic seizing him.
"Uh…" His voice dragged, a tell-tale sign of his scrambling thoughts.
"It's common knowledge that churches exist everywhere…" He paused, searching for more, then blurted out.
"And they're known as places of knowledge and help." His voice, to his own surprise, sounded sharp, almost too confident.
Wait, no…
That was too spot-on!
"Hmmm…" Rosemary just glared at him, a deep, probing stare, while Clyde stood rigid, hoping against hope that she would believe him.
"You do have a point…" She sighed, a subtle shift in her skepticism.
I can't believe it…
Clyde's mind reeled in shock that she had actually bought his flimsy excuse.
[STAT INCREASE: COGNITIVE ABILITY INCREASE]
Cognitive ability…
Does that mean…
My reasoning?
How'd it increase…
Was it from lying to her just now?
Clyde thought, looking at the glowing panel with a fresh wave of confusion, the stark blue light momentarily blinding him.
"If anyone can help you, it's definitely the church of Conroy." She walked out of the kitchen and into the main room, then turned back, her voice softer.
"But shouldn't you eat first?"
"No… Don't worry." Clyde quickly stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
"I-I'm fine…"
"The earlier I go, the better." He met her gaze, his own eyes unwavering, a desperate intensity in his pupils.
After a moment of silent assessment, she stepped back, allowing Clyde to pass. "But wait." She removed the scarf that went around her shoulders, the soft fabric covering her bosom, and handed it to Clyde.
"What's this?" Clyde asked, bewildered.
"It's a scarf, you nitwit," Rosemary answered, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.
"But why are you giving me this?" He asked again, genuinely confused.
"Use it to cover yourself." She said, gently wrapping the scarf around his head, her fingers brushing his hair.
"To not let yourself be easily recognized from what happened yesterday."
"Yeah… you're right." Clyde replied, his voice frail, the memory of his exposed face and the angry crowd still fresh.
"But you have to manage without shoes…" She sighed.
"I don't have any spares…"
"Oh, wait. I can give you mine." She bent down, reaching for her feet, but Clyde stopped her.
"No, don't worry… It's fine." He said softly, a genuine pang of gratitude.
"You've already done enough for me."
Now, his face fully but neatly covered, only his eyes and part of his nose visible, he walked towards the door. But then, something within him clicked, a sudden realization.
"Uhh… Please, where's the church?"
Rosemary's smile softened, turning melancholic.
"Thought you'd never ask." She chuckled.
"Yeah…"
"Sorry…"
"Got a bit too ahead of myself there." He gave a slight, awkward chuckle, a flush rising on his cheeks.
"You first go straight down on the left and then you take a right…" Rosemary gestured with her hands, describing the path.
She continued speaking, her words flowing, but after some time, Clyde's brain, already tired from the ordeal, began to doze off, the directions a jumbled mess.
"…And then you're there." She finished, putting her hands on her hips, her voice pulling him back.
"T-Thanks." Clyde jolted himself upright, flustered, and gave a deep bow.
Rosemary walked closer to Clyde, gently placing her arms on his shoulders. "Be careful, then."
"The streets aren't safe, especially now."
"Keep your head down. Lay low." She met his gaze, her tired eyes filled with a solemn wisdom that spoke of a harsh world.
Just like my mother...
He felt a warm feeling from within.
"I will." Clyde nodded, taking in her words.
"Hmm Hmm." She nodded back, a faint, encouraging smile.
"Remember this, Clyde: even in the darkest night, there's a flicker of light."
"Hold onto that." Her voice was soft, barely a whisper.
That was weird
But advice is advice.
And she's been too nice to me...
For a reason that I know nothing of…
Clyde thought, nodding his head, a knot forming in his stomach.
"Thank you, Rosemary." He said, his throat tight with a mix of gratitude and lingering suspicion.
She nodded again, her melancholic smile deepening. "Go on now. Quickly, before a patrol goes around in the streets."
Morning patrols?
Damn…
Then I guess this is the right time for me to head there.
He thought, rubbing his eyes and yawning, then readying his body, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep.
He hurriedly stepped out, the rough door closing quietly behind him as Rosemary watched him carefully through her one boarded-up window. The morning air was cold, damp, biting at his exposed skin. The streets were indeed barren, only a few figures moving quickly, hunched against the wind, looking like shadows.
Distant, muffled gunshots echoed, a grim counterpart to the faint cries and screams that rode on the wind, as particles of sand, thick and gritty, blew past. He didn't linger, walking with a restless energy, his mind still trying to untangle the terrifying threads of his dreams from his brutal reality.
But what was that dream actually…
He thought as he walked, the memory an unsettling phantom.
It felt too real…
His mind flashed back to what he remembered: the visage of a boy and himself seemingly drowning.
The mere thought made him pause and clench his chest, feeling as if water had rushed in, compressing his very heart.
But I do wonder…
Why does this panel thing want me to go to the church so much…
He looked ahead, the objective still a mystery.
Speaking of which…
…Where was it again?
Rosemary said…
He tried desperately to recall her directions, but the words were a jumble, dissolving into nonsense, lost in the throbbing ache behind his eyes.
"Ahh…" He exclaimed, riffling his fingers through his hair, turning to consider whether he should go back to Rosemary and ask for directions again.
How about the people?
He looked around at the few figures, all walking with their heads bent, avoiding eye contact.
"Hey…" Clyde tried to call out to one, but he was swiftly ignored. No one even batted an eyelid at him.
"Damn…"
"So should I just go back?" He muttered, his body already positioning itself, ready to head back.
DING!
Suddenly, a shimmering panel popped into existence before his eyes, a stark, hazy blue against the grimy street. It then became clear and precise, the map of Lackate he'd seen before, with a pulsing red marker directly over a building.
[PATH TO OBJECTIVE: CHURCH OF CORNROY.]
Of course.
He scoffed internally, a mix of annoyance and relief.
This thing won't let me get lost.
It is the one sending me on this errand.
He followed the marked path, his bare feet surprisingly resilient against the rough cobblestones, a grim determination setting in. He passed what could only be soldiers, their heavy, armored forms moving with brutal efficiency, some kicking at overturned crates with excessive, casual force.
Posters of a stern-faced man with a jagged scar were plastered on crumbling walls, his image glaring down at the suffering populace. Dead bodies lay in shadowed alcoves, slumped against boarded-up houses, grim monuments to the Blight's relentless toll. The metallic sweetness of decay in the air was stronger here, clinging to his tongue.
His eyes snagged on something unusual up ahead.
Huh?
Clyde's vision focused on a figure, perfectly still, leaning against a broken wall.
Out of curiosity, he moved closer, and it became apparent that the figure wasn't moving, nor was it a dead body. It was a statue, red and dusty, yet strangely beautiful in its charred and twisted formation, like coral frozen mid-growth.
This must be one of the Blighted, turned to stone…
Clyde thought, a cold uneasiness prickling at him.
He pulled himself closer, reaching out, his fingers brushing against its rough surface. The instant his skin made contact, the statue vibrated. It didn't crumble, didn't break. Instead, it shimmered, then slowly, impossibly, began to fade. The red dust swirled, coalescing into motes of light that then flew upwards along with the grit of sand, dissolving into the dull, bruised sky. Clyde stared, utterly bewildered, his hand still outstretched to where the statue had been.
Is this...
What's gonna happen to me if I'm a blighted?
Confused, but afraid, he just shook his head, pushing the unnerving experience aside, unable to comprehend it.
The map still pulsed, urging him forward. He pressed on, keeping to the shadows, acutely aware of the soldiers. One patrol, in particular, seemed too close, their voices gruff and searching as he heard them call out his direction. Clyde pressed himself flat against a grimy wall, holding his breath as their heavy boots clanked past. He heard one of them mutter.
"Thought I saw somethin'…" He paused and looked, but quickly dismissed himself.
"Probably just rats, I guess." He exhaled slowly, a wave of relief washing over him as their footsteps faded into the urban decay.
He turned a corner into a narrower alley, already preparing for the next stretch, when he collided with something soft and yielding. He stumbled back, catching his balance, just as a small figure ricocheted off him.
It was a girl, no older than himself, maybe younger, frantically clutching a worn bag to her chest. Her eyes, wide with fear, darted around before settling on him.
"Ow…" She groaned in pain, having fallen to the ground.
"Hey!"
"Watch it!" she snapped, her voice thin with panic, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"You watch it!" Clyde shot back, his own irritation flaring.
"You're the one that wasn't looking where you were going." His eyes then flickered to the bag on the ground.
Noticing his gaze, the girl quickly bent and clutched the bag tighter, as if it held her life's blood, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"But what's in the bag…?" He asked, a nascent curiosity.
"And why should I tell someone I just met?" The girl retorted sarcastically, her voice rising.
"How's it any of your business?!"
Clyde's gaze flickered to the street behind them, then back to her, assessing her attire: a long, dark, dirty cloak covering a dark red shirt and joggers, her long black hair dangling from her scalp.
"You look like you're in a hurry too," he noted, his voice flat.
"Hmph!" She grunted, then without another word, turned and bolted down the alley, a blur of motion, her worn shoes slapping against the pavement. The bag bounced against her side as she disappeared into the gloom.
Clyde watched her go, a strange mix of confusion and fleeting curiosity, but then immediately shook his head, dismissing her.
Well… That was rude…
He thought, before a sudden, chilling realization brought him up short.
Oh shit!
She was a local.
He checked around his body frantically, trying to dust off anything that might have transferred from her.
She might have had the Blight!
But he was cut short as the map pulsed again, and an acute headache piercing through his cranium as more pressure was felt in the direction that he need to to go.
Just a little further...
Maybe I should've eaten...
His stomach growled.
He pushed through a final narrow passage, emerging onto a wider, desolate street. And there it was. Looming against the bruised sky, partially obscured by scaffolding and adorned with torn banners, bullet holes, and defiant graffiti that read: No hope for the blighted.
And by its side, a sign stood, stark and unyielding: Church of Cornroy. Its silhouette was imposing, a somber monument in a dying city, waiting for him.
[OBJECTIVE COMPLETE. REACHED THE CHURCH OF CORNROY]
---The end of chapter 4---