The smell of burnt flesh nauseated Altair, but the acrid smell was the least of his concerns as he staggered forward, too exhausted to even stand.
Overusing a power that's not even his had taken its toll.
At least with this, our deal is now complete.
He collapsed to the ground, his limbs too weak to support his own weight any longer... but even through the pain and the exhaustion that seeped deep into his bones, he rolled to his back through clenched teeth.
To see the sky one last time.
But even that was stolen from him as the fog thickened once again.
At that moment, if not for the agony, Altair might have laughed out loud.
The ruins around him were silent, disturbed only by his own ragged breathing. His muscles spasmed and burned in pain; his body felt excruciatingly hot now that the effects of the Droplet no longer shielded him from the heat.
And his condition only grew worse by the second, as if he was buried under a pile of burning coal.
One of the possibly fatal flaws of his Aberrant power — every debt had to be repaid.
But some debts could never be afforded.
As an Aberrant of the second tier, the flames Deon could summon were overwhelmingly more potent than what Altair could have controlled on his own, yet he still went forward with the deal.
And now, the cost had come due.
A scorching pain overwhelmed his mind, like he was being boiled alive, but he couldn't utter a sound, not even a cry of pain.
Around him, he heard muffled steps but couldn't even move his neck, much less his body.
"Did you kill him? Hah! That's amazing, simply amazing."
He couldn't see who was there, but from the voice alone, he recognized Hunter.
"Thank you so much for that, that crazy bastard had to die, he would have killed me too if I wasn't faster—"
Hunter stopped mid-sentence, his ears perked up at something before he fell silent.
"Thank you for everything, Altair, but it's time I go, I'd rather not stay here before the Wolf gets here, good luck!"
In a rush, Hunter darted through the rubble toward the towering high-rise where the crack had formed.
Altair, still barely able to move, heard him slip through. Moments later came the sharp shattering of glass — the sound of the crack collapsing.
The only way out of his predicament... taken, just like that.
Soon after, Altair also heard the source of Hunter's worries.
Each step fell with a low, almost melodic rhythm upon the fractured cobblestone roads of the ruins of a city now swallowed by fog.
It wouldn't be the first time he heard them.
The Wolf… the Shepherd really lost against it. He wanted to laugh, but he lacked the strength to do so.
Reaching to the left side of his chest, a small stone appeared in his hand, the same yellow stone that Butcher ripped from Deon's chest.
Except, this one lacked the bright yellow color the original stone had, revealing one that had fully faded to gray without a speck of its original bright yellow tones.
As he grasped the grey stone tightly, he heard a whisper from it, the remnant voice of Deon.
"Don't give up yet…"
Altair fought the urge to click his tongue and instead forced himself to his feet. With the stone gone, a faint surge of stamina flew back into his body. Nothing much, but enough to give a faint glimmer of hope.
Thus, he began to tumble through the ruins.
The hollow footsteps closely followed behind him.
Altair's steps were hurried and stumbling, but the Wolf's were anything but that — it nonchalantly traced his steps in an unhurried manner.
But Altair didn't just mindlessly try to flee from the Wolf; he knew the location of another crack. In reality, the location of that crack was common knowledge; it wasn't even far from the grand lift, either — but there was a reason that none of the previous exiles even bothered to explore it as an option.
"Can you even swim in that tar?"
A faint whisper came from the grey stone he so tightly grasped.
Deon knew exactly where he was heading.
The crack was located in the surface of the dead waters, infested with horrors far beyond the scope of some crippled Shepherd and the Wolf tracing his footsteps.
But he clearly lacked other options.
Staggering through the rubble of the city, the footsteps of the Wolf-class Entity constantly echoed all around him. He couldn't even recognize the direction they were coming from anymore, while the fog smothered his vision, making the streets nearly impossible to navigate.
Therefore, the convict could only stumble towards the general direction of the beach.
Waiting for the next cycle of the fog dispersing is impossible.
Sometimes that took hours, while Altair didn't even have minutes.
Clap Clap Clap
He heard the sound of a slow, almost amused manner of clapping which sent chills down Altair's spine, prompting him to speed up even further, as fast as his beaten body allowed him,
He knew what this meant...
The Wolf was still toying with him.
But what will happen when it realizes that Altair has a chance of slipping away?
Altair didn't have to think about it; they were already close to the beach… the Wolf knew.
The sound of concrete breaking apart echoed loudly around the ruins.
First, just the sound of a concrete block's surface cracking, but it grew louder and more violent as the stone was ripped apart into smaller pieces.
"...!"
A grave feeling overcame him, forcing Altair to throw his body to the side. The crushing pressure missed him by a hair, but even so, he had to stand up right away.
The Wolf was breaking the city apart, weaponizing its rubble against Altair, who increased his speed once again towards the black waters. Seeing was still impossible; he was forced to focus on the sound made by the Wolf, who ripped another ruin apart.
The sound of concrete breaking apart was even louder this time… it was an even larger building.
Hiding behind another building, Altair braced for impact. If he were forced to evade any more of the deadly projectiles, he would run out of his already dwindling stamina.
The collision of the two buildings sent clouds of dust billowing into the air, fragments of rubble hurtling toward Altair, who never saw them coming through the shrouding fog. Shards of glass grazed his shoulder, drawing blood, but Altair stifled the yelp of pain.
He drew a deep breath and dashed toward the beach once more.
Soon, running became even more difficult, but instead of it being a source of worry for him, it was a source of hope.
He was running on sand.
Even if running proved to be difficult, he didn't stop for a second. Struggling through the sand, even if he couldn't see the part where the sand cut off and the water began, Altair couldn't afford to slow down now.
Even through the roaring wind and the haunting sound of the Wolf's footsteps, Altair only focused on one sound only...
Deon's barely audible voice calling out from the fading droplet.
"Just a bit more!"
Clap
"You asked about your brother for a reason, right?"
Clap
"So you can't just lie down and die here like a stray. It's so close, push just a bit further!"
Clap
The Wolf clapped slowly, yet nothing followed — it stood motionless, calmly applauding.
"You already reached the dead waters, the rest is nothing! Just don't stop!"
The freezing black water lapped at his ankles, making him clutch the grey stone even tighter.
Even through the fog, the crack radiated a certain noise — a haunting, spine-chilling sound that couldn't be compared to anything, like broken glass pulsating with the rhythm of a beating heart.
The only noise he could follow.
Even with the grey stone in his hand, he began to swim through the chilling tar-like water. It was difficult to pedal through the water, but he couldn't afford to stop.
It was cold.
So cold.
It didn't take long for the cacophony of creatures growing in the water to grow louder.
Altar didn't stop for a second, but the creatures around him grew even louder.
A sharp pain stung his left leg, but he couldn't stop; he couldn't even scream out in pain if he didn't want the black water to seep into his mouth.
His chest was already bare after Deon's flames burned them away, and the bone-chilling water felt like it was freezing his bones over, but Altair didn't stop.
Then, he felt a tendril grab him by the ankle, forcing him to kick it rapidly with his other leg.
As it broke free, another one grabbed his other ankle.
But the crack was closed.
So close.
Kicking away another tendril, he kept swimming with all his might, even as the sea attempted to swallow him whole.
It's close.
So close.
The fog robbed him of his sight, but the buzz of the crack served as his sole lead.
His beacon of light when the depths attempted to drag him under.
A set of sharp teeth biting into his side, his flesh bursting open, and his red blood mixed with the black tar like water, but he didn't stop.
He couldn't.
He lost too much blood.
The icy water chilled him to the bone.
Exhaustion clawed at him, and darkness swallowed his vision.
In the middle of the Dead Waters, Altair blacked out.