chapter 23 The Geometry of Loss
The Assimilation River. In the lore of the Novel , it was the "Grave of Gods," a cosmic phenomenon that signaled the end of a world. What lay before Fighter and Kaizer wasn't the true, world-eating current, but a stagnant vessel of it—the Endless Quagmire.
Though the flow had stopped eons ago, the sludge remained. In the UCA, this place served a dual purpose: it was the first stage of the Ritual and the ultimate measuring stick for a student's potential.
The Hierarchy of Assets
The UCA classified its "livestock" into three cold, uncompromising tiers:
A-Class (Asset): The commoners. Those who could walk 1 to 5 steps. They were destined to stall at Chapter One or Two, serving as the backbone of the labor force.
SA-Class (Special Asset): The elites. Those who took 6 to 8 steps. These students were predicted to reach Chapter Three (Famous) or Four (Mate), with a rare few ascending to Chapter Five (Hero). They lived in luxury, shielded by the government.
SSA-Class (Super Special Asset): The monsters. Anyone taking 9 or more steps. They were the future "Gods" and "Demigods."
Fighter's mind raced. He couldn't be an A-Class; he'd be bullied and discarded without Saint Veera's protection. But SSA-Class was a death sentence of a different kind—he would be placed under a microscope by every shadow-player in the Human Unified Territory.
Target: 6 steps. The threshold of an SA-Class. ### The First Step
Fighter took his first step.
A strange sensation washed over him—not pain, but a hollow, echoing void. It felt as if he had dropped his keys in deep water. He checked his pockets. Everything was there. He checked his mind. His memories were intact.
I must have imagined it, he thought.
He took a second step. The feeling intensified. A lightness in his chest, as if a breath he had taken years ago had finally escaped.
Third step.
Fourth step.
The hollowness was now a deafening roar of "nothing." Fighter paused, his boots sinking into the black, iron-smelling sludge. He looked back at his trail.
His heart stopped.
Floating on the surface of the mire, a few yards back, was a pale, severed human leg. It wasn't bleeding. It wasn't rotting. It was simply... there, suspended in the mud like a preserved specimen.
Fighter looked down. He could see his right leg. He could feel his toes wiggling in the muck. But as he tried to lift his foot, the sensory data glitched. His mind insisted his leg was attached, but his eyes saw the truth: he was leaving pieces of his physical existence behind.
The Trap of the Mind
Then, the realization hit him like a physical blow. Why did I forget the danger? Why did it take four steps to notice I was falling apart?
This was the true horror of the Endless Quagmire. It didn't just assimilate your body; it assimilated your awareness of loss. It numbed the soul so the body could be harvested without a struggle.
Fear.
Terror.
Dread.
The words felt too small. He was being unmade. Every inch he moved forward, the "Fighter" that existed was being smeared across the swamp like ink on wet paper.
He had taken four steps. He needed two more to reach the safety of the SA-Class. But his legs were no longer entirely his, and the mud was rising.
How? he screamed internally. How can I move a body that is no longer a single piece?
Fighter was shaking .... He was shaking... he was shaking..... shaking... shaking ... shaking... shaking.... shaking .....