-/-
Slowly, Damian approached. The Behemoth's body withered, its roars now choked whispers.
He pressed his palm against it.
"[Entropy Surge.]"
A second later, blood gushed from his mouth, staining his lips, then his nose, eyes and ears. He only watches as the Behemoth's form crumbled to nothingness.
Behind him, Mira collapsed to her knees, drenched in sweat. Then Damian surrendered to the darkness, with a only a thought.
Damian Derulo ' Maybe.... This time... '
-/-
Location: The Eclipsed Labyrinth.
Year: 2026
Date: February 20th
Time: 8:49 AM
POV: Third Person
---
Zayne's breath caught in his throat the moment Damian's body went limp.
"Damian!"
He broke into a run, boots scraping harshly against the fractured stone as he crossed the chamber in seconds. Behind him, Elise was already kneeling, supporting Mira, who had collapsed to the ground. Mira's chest rose and fell erratically, her breathing ragged, her entire body trembling from mana exhaustion.
Zayne dropped to his knees beside Damian and pulled him into his arms without hesitation.
He barely registered the small serpent coiled loosely around Damian's neck. His focus narrowed instantly to the blood.
Dark crimson seeped steadily from beneath Damian's mask, trailing down the side of his face, his jaw and soaking into his hoodie. Worse still, thin rivulets stained the floor beneath his back—evidence of his burnt back from the earlier attack. Damian's breathing was shallow, uneven, as if every inhale cost him something vital.
Zayne Callister "Stay with me…" He muttered, panic tightening his chest.
He reached up, fingers brushing the edge of Damian's mask, ready to remove it and assess the damage—
*Ding*
The sharp, artificial chime echoed through the chamber.
Elise flinched at the sound, tightening her grip on Mira. "Are you okay?" she asked urgently, searching the girl's face.
Mira nodded weakly.
"…Yeah—hick—"
Her voice broke as a translucent screen materialized before her eyes. The sight of it shattered what little composure she had left, and tears spilled freely as she stared at the glowing text.
---
[ Congratulations Challenger ]
– DUNGEON BOSS DEFEATED –
* You have slain the Dungeon Boss: [Gilded Behemoth]!
Dungeon Cleared: [The Eclipsed Labyrinth]
Status: COMPLETE
Reward:
* Grand Chest!
-
* Please exit the dungeon within the time limit or be trapped within forever!'
* Time left - 9:59
---
The dungeon responded immediately.
The massive chamber shuddered as the disintegrated remains of the Gilded Behemoth erupted with radiant energy. A violent surge of golden light tore through the air like a storm, flooding the space with heat and brilliance before gradually dissipating into an unsettling stillness.
Half of the behemoth's collapsing essence converged midair, compressing into countless luminous shards that fused together, forming a massive Grand Chest, its surface etched with ancient symbols that pulsed faintly with power.
A few meters away, the remaining essence twisted and reshaped itself. Pages unfolded from nothingness, binding into a massive, open tome with a weathered brown cover. Its pages churned endlessly with shifting runes, and above it hovered glowing numbers—counting down, second by second.
Zayne's eyes flicked toward the enormous book.
'Is that… the exit?' he thought, momentarily drawn in by the mesmerizing motion of the living script.
That brief distraction was all it took.
The small serpent around Damian's neck stirred.
Nyxi.
She slid soundlessly along Damian's shoulder, her movements deliberate and precise. Her silver eyes locked onto Zayne's exposed arm—the one supporting Damian's upper body.
Then she struck.
Her fangs pierced Zayne's skin with barely more than a pinprick.
[ Cosmic Devourer ]
A controlled siphoning began.
Nyxi drew in a fraction of Zayne's essence—not enough to kill him, not enough to cause permanent damage. Just enough to knock him out.
Zayne inhaled sharply. "What—"
The strength drained from his limbs in an instant. His vision blurred, his grip loosened—
*Thud*
His body collapsed beside Damian's.
The sound snapped Elise and Mira back to the present.
"ZAYNE!"
They rushed to his side, panic surging anew. Neither noticed Nyxi as she withdrew, her small form faintly glowing with absorbed energy.
Nyxi slithered back toward Damian.
The essence she had taken from Zayne began to refine itself within her body. Filtered through her unique nature and Resonance, it transformed into a specialized restorative energy—one focused not on regeneration, but stabilization and healing.
This energy carried traces of:
Vital reinforcement, strengthening failing organs
Backlash suppression, dulling internal damage caused by overexertion
Neural soothing, easing the strain on Damian's shattered consciousness
Its quantity was limited. Its quality imperfect and it could only do so much.
But it was enough.
Nyxi pressed her fangs gently against Damian's skin and injected the refined essence. It spread silently through his body, reinforcing damaged systems, halting further deterioration, and easing the violent backlash ravaging him from within.
Damian did not wake.
But his condition stabilized and healed somewhat.
And he would awaken sooner than he otherwise should have.
Nyxi retreated and went still.
Elise knelt beside Zayne, shaking him urgently. "Zayne—please—are you okay?"
Her usual calm was gone, replaced by raw fear. She had already lost Adrian, someone irreplaceable. She was barely holding herself together for Mira's sake.
She couldn't lose Zayne too.
Seconds passed.
Then she noticed it—his breathing.
Slow. Steady.
Elise exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her chest as she forced herself to calm down.
"He's fine," she said, voice trembling. "Just unconscious… probably exhaustion."
Mira staggered closer, still weak. "I-is he… really okay?"
"Yes," Elise said firmly, lowering Zayne carefully to the ground. "He'll wake up."
Mira's gaze drifted past them—to the far end of the chamber.
To Adrian's severed body.
Her lips trembled as she bit down hard, fighting the tears.
"…Is Damian okay?" she asked quietly.
Elise looked at Damian's battered form. His injuries were severe—seemingly far worse than anyone else's.
"…He should be," she said after a moment. "He just needs rest. Like all of us."
But even as she said it, she knew rest would have to wait.
She turned toward the massive tome.
[ 8:31 ]
Time was bleeding away.
Elise stood, exhaustion weighing heavily on her limbs, and walked to the Grand Chest. She opened it.
Golden light burst outward as several items rose into the air, hovering silently before her.
She felt nothing.
No triumph. No relief.
They had cleared the dungeon.
But they had paid for it in blood.
Elise turned back toward Mira—and saw her walking toward Adrian's body.
Elise glanced once more at the ticking numbers… then followed her.
She already knew what Mira intended to do.
...
..
..
Location: Earth - South Africa – Johannesburg. Fort Sentinel – The Last Bastion.
Year: 2026
Date: ???
Time: 10:31 AM
POV: Damian Derulo
---
Damian Derulo "Ugh... Where am I?"
The groan slipped out before I even fully opened my eyes. Every inch of my body ached with a heavy, pulsing pain—as if I'd been struck by a damn airplane-sized freight truck and then tossed into a volcano for good measure. Alright, maybe that was a bit dramatic. But it hurt.
My head throbbed. A dull, rhythmic pounding that reminded me I was, unfortunately, still alive. I blinked several times, the harsh white lighting above me slowly coming into focus. The sterile sting in the air, the faint beep of monitors, the murmur of distant voices—I was in a medical ward.
A hospital... no, not just any hospital.
I glanced around and confirmed it. The dim lighting, lack of windows, and sandbag-lined corners made it unmistakable—The Last Bastion. Fort Sentinel. The last known safe zone in Johannesburg, possibly the entire country.
I shifted slightly, groaning again as my body resisted the movement. I looked down and saw myself dressed in a standard-issue white hospital gown, the fabric itchy and unfamiliar. On the back of my right hand, thin transparent tubing led to an IV drip beside me. A small electronic patch was stuck just beneath my collarbone, blinking slowly—monitoring my vitals. My skin was pale, veiny, and littered with faint bruises next to my tattoo. Scars, both fresh and faded, marked my forearms like reminders of battles I clearly remember.
I turned my head—and there it was.
My sword.
It rested on a metal rack next to my bed, slightly out of reach but still there, still mine. Relief washed through me. I reached up with trembling fingers and touched my face—
Still masked.
A deep breath escaped me.
I didn't even realize I'd been holding it.
Instinct kicked in. I scanned the room, I saw other patients, some in the same state as I was, other were worse, but I didn't care, I glanced around searching for Nyxi. She'd been with me before… right? My memory was a blur after using Entropy Surge. And the aching pain was not helping.
Just as panic began to creep in, a gentle voice cut through the fog.
Nurse "Good morning, Mr. Damian. How are you feeling?"
I turned toward the voice. A young nurse approached with a calm, warm expression. She was petite, maybe five feet tall at most, with sleek black hair tied neatly in a bun and soft features that hinted at East Asian ancestry. Her eyes were dark and attentive, filled with a kind of practiced gentleness that only nurses and war survivors could pull off. Despite the sterile air of the ward, she carried a presence that felt… oddly comforting.
Damian Derulo "Uh... I'm fine."
The words came out sluggishly. My voice sounded hoarse, dry, like I'd swallowed sandpaper. I shifted my legs and tried to swing them over the side of the bed.
Bad idea.
The nurse's hand caught my shoulder, surprisingly firm, gently pushing me back down.
Nurse "Mr. Damian, please—rest. Your body still needs time to recover. You've been unconscious for the past three days."
Her voice carried a soft undercurrent of concern, but it didn't waver. She meant what she said.
Damian Derulo ' Three days? ' I sighed. ' Of course. No surprise there'
I moved to remove her hand—but her grip tightened. Not painfully, but enough to make me pause. Her strength was subtle, hidden beneath the nurse's uniform and gentle demeanor.
I gave her a look. She gave one right back.
Stern. Unflinching.
I applied a little more strength and finally pried her hand off my shoulder. No resistance, no protest. She just let me go, watching silently as I reached for the IV and yanked it out with practiced nonchalance. A small sharp sting. A tiny thread of blood. Nothing I hadn't dealt with before.
I grabbed my sword. The weight was reassuring, like an old friend leaning against me.
The nurse looked at her hand, then at me, a flicker of something—confusion? Recognition?—passing through her eyes. Whatever it was, she didn't speak on it. I didn't care nor did I ask.
Damian Derulo "Where are the people who brought me in?"
A moment of silence followed. She glanced at her wristwatch before responding.
Nurse "They usually stop by a few hours from now. I'd suggest waiting for them. They'll want to know you're awake."
She said it with the same steady calm, her smile unwavering. No hint of sarcasm. No irritation. Just that strange, peaceful expression.
Damian Derulo "No thanks. Where are my clothes?"
She paused. For the first time, her smile faltered just a touch—more from memory than discomfort.
Nurse "Your clothes were… let's just say they didn't survive. You can find a new set in the ward next door—second door on the right."
Her tone made it clear she remembered exactly what state I'd arrived in.
I gave her a nod—a slight bow, more instinct than gratitude—and stepped off the bed, my bare feet touching the cold tile floor. Behind me, I heard a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. Maybe it was disappointment. Or maybe just relief.
Either way, I didn't turn back.
Sword in hand, body aching, and mind foggy, I walked out of the ward.
---
The door to the ward clicked softly behind me as I stepped into the adjacent room. It was noticeably quieter here, with a sterile smell of linen and fresh sanitizer clinging to the air. The lights above buzzed faintly, their cool glow reflecting off metal racks and white tiles.
Rows upon rows of neatly folded clothes and sneakers greeted me, all organized with military precision. Shirts on the left, pants on the right, footwear at the far end—clearly designed for efficiency, not style.
At the back of the room, seated behind a plain metal desk stacked with folders and loose documents, was an older man—easily in his fifties. He wore rimmed glasses that rested on the edge of his nose, and his white nurse's uniform was neatly pressed. He didn't acknowledge me at first. Instead, he remained focused on the paperwork, only glancing up when my footsteps grew near.
His gaze slowly swept across me—lingering on my mask, then down to the black tattoo coiled around my left forearm. I could tell he had questions from curiosity, but thankfully like a few people, he kept them to himself.
Nurse 2 "Take anything you want. Changing area's behind the curtain."
He gestured lazily to the corner of the room where a pale blue curtain hung limply from an iron rod. It concealed a small space next to a rack filled with folded clothes and boxes of shoes.
I gave him a short nod and turned to the nearest counter. My expression soured slightly. Most of the clothes were standard-issue—white, blue, and more white. There were a few dull variations here and there, but nothing stood out.
After a brief scan, I grabbed an XL white T-shirt and a pair of black pants labeled 'XL'. They looked a bit too wide at the waist, but I didn't feel like browsing anymore. I found a clean pair of white sneakers near the bottom of the rack, then moved toward the curtain.
I stepped inside the cramped changing space. Belts were coiled neatly on wall hooks, leaving only enough room to maneuver if you were flexible or patient. I let out a quiet sigh, the first hint of comfort in a while, and began slipping out of the hospital gown.
--
The clothes were loose—borderline baggy—but I didn't mind. In fact, it was better that way. Gave me more room to breathe. I reached for one of the belts, fastened it around my waist, and made a mental note to thank whoever thought to include them. Without it, I would've looked like a kid playing dress-up in adult clothes.
I stepped back out, the gown now draped over my left arm.
Damian Derulo "Thanks."
The nurse nodded silently, already back to his paperwork.
I left the ward, stepping into the corridor where the air felt heavier, and my footsteps echoed softly against the concrete floor.
Damian Derulo ' Shit… where even am I? '
I stopped in my tracks, with the hospital gown on my left forearm, covering my tattoo and my sword in my right. It hit me—I couldn't remember my room number. Not surprising, given my still throbbing head, but still annoying. I wasn't worried, though. There was a bulletin board near the entrance of the bunker, I had written my room number on it. If I could find it, I'd find my way.
I turned right, falling into step behind a young girl who seemed to know where she was going. I figured I'd follow her path until I saw something useful.
The corridors twisted and turned like a maze carved into steel and stone. We passed a few others—some chatting quietly, others focused on their own business with a few glancing at my mask. At one point, the girl picked up her pace, probably realizing I was behind her. Fair enough. I didn't blame her.
Eventually, I came to a junction where a mounted signboard stood, painted in black with directional arrows. I scanned the labeled sectors until I found what I needed.
A few minutes later, I arrived at the entrance area of the underground bunker. The bulletin board stood tall, messages, notes, and others.
Damian Derulo ' Alright. Let's find home base. '
--
[ Location: Fort Sentinel – Central Hall, Bulletin Board ]
Time: 10:58 AM
POV: Damian Derulo
--
I stood before the bulletin boards. Plural.
What used to be a single standard-issue board had grown into a wall of updates—now four boards wide, each with color-coded edges. Someone had been busy. Real busy.
The original was still there, but three new ones had joined the party—each buzzing with life. Two of them were packed with scribbled messages, neatly pinned notices, and the occasional desperate plea written on torn notebook paper. The third was still growing into itself, only about half full, but catching up fast.
Damian Derulo ' Where did all these people come from...? '
My eyes drifted over the chaos for a moment before I shrugged it off.
Damian Derulo ' Meh. Not my business. '
I shifted my focus to the board edged in dark green—the one I had written on. Took a few seconds of scanning past layers of paper and overlapping notices, but eventually, I found what I was looking for.
There it was. My message. Unchanged. Exactly how I left it.
Damian Derulo ' ....*sigh* Room number is... HT 43. '
I exhaled through my nose, lips pursed in a sigh. For a second there, I'd half-expected it to be wiped, reassigned or updated...
With the room number locked in, I pivoted and started weaving through the bunker's hallways.
As I walked, pieces of memory fell back into place. Turns I'd taken. Corners I'd passed. A flickering overhead light here. The cracked tile near the water dispenser there.
It didn't take long. About eight minutes, give or take.
And just like that, I was standing in front of Room HT 43.
Damian Derulo ' Home sweet home... I guess. '
--
[ Location: Room HT-43 – Fort Sentinel Bunker ]
Time: 11:06 AM
POV: Damian Derulo
--
With a slow breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The air was stale, the lighting as dim as I remembered. Concrete walls boxed the space in, and four bunk beds lined the room, same old setup. Only three people were inside—two chatting on the right, and one laying silently on the left.
I immediately recognized the guy on the left—Marcus. He wasn't wearing his glasses, just lying there, eyes glazed over, staring up at the bunk above his like it owed him money. He didn't even flinch when I entered.
"Hey, you looking for someone?"
The voice came from the guy on the right—dark-skinned, muscular, with short black hair and a steady gaze. Seated beside him was a girl with long black hair and striking green eyes. Both of them were staring at my mask like it had hypnotized them.
Damian Derulo "No. This is my room."
I stepped forward, but his reply made me freeze mid-step.
??? "That can't be right. This room already has eight people."
Damian Derulo ' Have I been replaced already? It's only been a week... then again, a week's plenty of time with the way things currently are. '
"Okay, then. When you moved in, there should've been a black duffel bag under your bed—had some supplies in it. Where is it?"
Honestly, I didn't care about most of the stuff—just wanted my headphones, cord, and power bank.
The guy squinted, thinking. "A black duffel bag? Didn't see one when we came in."
Damian Derulo "I see. Thanks." ' So someone already looted it... should've figured. '
"Yeah, no problem," he replied with a shrug and an easy smile.
I turned my attention to Marcus, who was now sitting up. Apparently, he had been listening.
Damian Derulo "So, Marcus... where is it?"
He blinked at me. "Who are you? And how do you know my name?"
Damian Derulo *Sigh* "It's me. Damian."
Marcus tilted his head like a confused puppy. "Damian? Sorry, I don't know anyone by that name."
Damian Derulo ' The hell is this guy on? ' "Seriously? We came here together, like, a week ago?"
Marcus frowned. "Nah, man. I've been here for a month. You must have me confused with someone else."
And just like that, my mind hit a wall.
Damian Derulo ' A month? No way. I was in that dungeon for three days, tops... What the hell's going on? And why is he pretending not to know me? '
Before I could spiral too deep, Marcus spoke again.
Marcus Hale "There was a bag when we got here," he said, walking over to the next bunk. He crouched, reached underneath, and pulled out my black duffel. "Didn't know whose it was. Had some supplies in it."
He handed it to me.
Damian Derulo "Yeah... that's mine."
I set the bag on the ground, dropped my sword and the hospital gown beside it, then unzipped it.
Most of the supplies were gone, as expected. But the important stuff—power bank, headphones, cord—still there. ' Good enough ' I tossed in the gown and zipped it back up.
"Sorry about the supplies—" Marcus stopped mid-sentence. "Whoa. Dude, where'd you get that tattoo?"
He was leaning closer now, eyes wide with awe. The other two got up and approached too, all staring at the ink on my forearm like it was glowing.
Damian Derulo ' Crap... forgot about that. ' "A friend drew it."
Without giving them another second of eye contact, I slung the duffel over my shoulder, grabbed my sword, and walked out of the room.
I didn't owe them any explanations.
---
[ Location: Room HT-43 – Fort Sentinel Bunker ]
POV: 3rd Person
--
Marcus stared at the door long after Damian had left, his eyes wide with wonder.
Marcus Hale "Whoa… that tattoo was insane. You saw that too, right, Hustin?"
He dropped onto his bunk, still a little dazed.
Hustin nodded, arms folded behind his head, gaze thoughtful.
Hustin Bright "Yeah, that was dope. But… Marcus, are you sure you don't know him? Something feels off."
Marcus opened his mouth to deny it again—
Then paused.
Brows slowly furrowed.
Marcus Hale "No, I don't—huh? Wait… Damian? That name—why does it…?"
Then his eyes widened.
Marcus Hale "Damian! Holy crap—how could I forget?!"
He jumped to his feet, bolted for the door, and vanished down the hall.
The door swung shut behind him.
The girl tilted her head, watching the empty doorway with a hint of curiosity.
Amy Williams "What was that about?"
Hustin Bright "No clue," he said, scratching the back of his head. "But I'm guessing we'll find out when he comes back."
Amy nodded, a little smirk curling at the corner of her lips. She rose slowly, her movements graceful and deliberate. Then, without a word, she walked to the door, closed it softly, and twisted the lock.
Hustin Bright "…Amy? What are you doing?"
He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, already sensing where this was going.
Amy turned, green eyes glinting with mischief.
Amy Williams "How about we finish what we started yesterday?"
With that, she pulled her top over her head, revealing a sleek black bra underneath.
Hustin blinked, swallowing hard.
Hustin Bright *Gulp* ' Oh boy… '
--
[ Location: Hallway – Fort Sentinel Bunker ]
POV: 3rd Person
--
Damian moved through the bunker's dimly lit corridors, his footsteps quiet against the concrete floor. The air was cool, thick with the subtle scent of metal and sterilized dust. Around him, others passed by—some talking in hushed tones, others lost in their own worlds—but Damian barely noticed. His masked face remained still, eyes sharp and distant, his thoughts louder than the murmurs around him.
Damian Derulo 'A whole month has passed? That… makes no sense.'
His jaw tightened behind the mask as he turned a corner, the overhead lights flickering faintly with age.
'I was only in that dungeon for three days. Three. At most. There's no way the outside world jumped a month unless…'
He paused beside a corner pillar, letting a pair of people shuffle past before he resumed his steps.
'Time dilation… yeah, that's the only thing that fits. The flow of time inside the dungeon must've been dramatically slower than out here. But even so…'
He clenched his fists as the image of Marcus's confused face replayed in his mind.
'Why the hell didn't he recognize me? Even if it's been a month for him, that shouldn't be enough time to forget someone we went through confrontations with. He didn't seem brainwashed or like his memory was wiped. He remembers coming here—but not me?'
He sighed internally, frustration pressing against his ribs like a tight band.
'No. I need more information before I start throwing around assumptions. I'll have to meet the others, get some clarity. Maybe they—'
Damian's thoughts trailed off as he approached a familiar intersection—one that split into three narrow passageways, each marked with faded signs and flickering bulbs.
'No… one thing at a time. Before I get ahead of myself, I need to find Zayne and his gang. If anyone has any idea where Nyxi is, it's them.'
He shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder, its weight grounding him slightly. His steps quickened as he made a sharp turn, heading back toward the bulletin boards—the central nerve of information in Fort Sentinel.
People still lingered around the boards like moths drawn to flickering lights. Messages, updates, miscellaneous postings, and general notices were slapped across the surfaces in layers. But Damian didn't pause to read this time. His eyes scanned for movement, for faces—familiar ones.
--
[ Location: Fort Sentinel – Central Hall, Bulletin Board ]
Time: 11:25 AM
--
Damian stood in the middle of the central hall, a low hum of chatter and footsteps filling the expansive space. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a pale glow over the bulletin board that stretched nearly the full length of the wall before him. His eyes scanned the cluttered display of miscellaneous postings, notices, warnings, and scattered hand-written notes pinned in chaotic layers.
Damian Derulo "It should be somewhere around here…" he murmured under his breath, leaning in for a closer look.
His gaze flicked quickly from left to right before halting on a small typed sheet. "Ah, there it is—LQ-153…" he said softly. "Now… where the hell is that?"
He straightened up, eyes narrowing. There were no maps, no directional signs, and the layout of the bunker was like a maze from a mad architect's dream. He sighed in mild frustration, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets as he turned toward the bunker's exit.
'Maybe I can find someone to give me a map or directions…'
But just as he stepped away from the board, a voice rang out across the corridor, slicing through the ambient noise like a knife.
"Damian!"
He froze.
Turning slowly, Damian found Marcus standing a few feet away, breathing slightly heavy like he'd jogged to catch up. His expression was a confusing mix—relief, hesitation, and something else Damian couldn't quite place.
Damian blinked at him, guarded and confused. 'Did he… follow me?'
"What is it?" he asked plainly, his posture tense but neutral.
Marcus stood still for a second, struggling to organize his thoughts.
Marcus Hale 'Crap… what do I even say? "Hey Damian, I forgot who you were but now I remember—cool, right?" Yeah, that sounds like the beginning of a slap to the face.'
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, searching for the right words as the silence between them started to stretch.
Damian watched him, brow twitching slightly. "Do you have something to—"
*Grrrrrrrrrrowl*
A loud, unmistakable sound tore through the air—Damian's stomach growling like a starved beast. Both of them froze.
A beat of silence.
Damian's face flushed faintly behind his mask as he glanced away, shoulders stiff with embarrassment.
Damian Derulo 'Shit. That's right… I haven't eaten in three days. Damn it.'
Marcus blinked… and then burst into a light chuckle, shaking his head.
Marcus Hale "How about we head to the cafeteria?" he offered casually, a crooked grin forming on his lips.
Damian hesitated for a moment before silently nodding. The growling in his stomach wasn't about to stop anytime soon, and the last thing he needed was to pass out in the hallway like an idiot. He fell into step beside Marcus, the two of them walking side-by-side, neither quite knowing what to say.
But for now, a warm meal would do.
--
[ Location: Fort Sentinel – Sector A, Cafeteria ]
Time: 11:53 AM
--
The cafeteria in Sector A was a drab, metallic space that barely passed for a place to eat. Fluorescent lights flickered weakly from above, casting a sterile white glow over the fifty-square-meter room. The air was thick with the scent of cheap oil and stale bread, buzzing faintly with conversation and the occasional clang of metal trays hitting iron tables.
Rows of rectangular tables filled the space, each constructed entirely of dull, scratched iron and surrounded by eight equally uncomfortable chairs—none of which matched in height. Despite the cold atmosphere, the place was packed, buzzing with soldiers, scavengers, and bunker residents. The low hum of overlapping voices echoed off the metal walls, creating an almost claustrophobic white noise.
Damian and Marcus finally managed to snag a table near the back corner after weaving through a crowd thick with bodies. They sat opposite each other, their postures relaxed but the silence between them carrying a weight neither quite addressed yet.
On their trays sat the day's meal: two limp sandwiches made from dry bread and fried eggs that looked more yellow-gray than golden, paired with a standard-issue bottle of purified water.
Damian stared down at the sad excuse for food.
'Well… better than nothing.' His stomach growled in agreement, the audible protest earning a side glance from Marcus.
Without a word, Damian pushed up his mask just high enough to uncover his mouth. Then, with the focus of a man who hadn't seen food in days, he tore into the sandwiches. The bread was dry, the egg flavorless—but he devoured them anyway, chewing quickly and sipping water in between mouthfuls.
Across from him, Marcus picked at his food more slowly, occasionally glancing up at Damian while his mind spiraled through a vortex of questions.
Marcus Hale 'Where has he been all this time? Why did I forget him? Why did we all forget him? And that tattoo…'
He watched Damian shovel down the last bit of sandwich. It was like watching someone who had clawed his way out of hell—hungry, haunted, and holding himself together with fraying thread.
Damian finished the last drop of water and exhaled, resisting the growing urge to ask for seconds. His hunger was far from satisfied, but at least it had been silenced for now.
"Sigh… Thank you," he muttered, preparing to rise from his seat.
But Marcus finally broke the silence.
"Sorry, Damian," he said softly, placing both hands together on the table and looking straight down.
Damian paused mid-motion and slowly sat back down. His eyes narrowed behind his mask.
"…What for?"
Marcus tightened his clasped hands, lips pressed in a thin line. "For not remembering you," he said, his voice edged with guilt.
There was a moment of stillness between them.
Damian studied him closely. "Was it an act?" he asked bluntly, his tone guarded.
'If it was… he might just be the best actor alive. Then again—actors don't usually come from shattered societies.'
Marcus shook his head, his grip tightening. "It wasn't. I swear—it really wasn't," he said. "I… I genuinely forgot. But when I saw you again earlier—like really saw you—everything came flooding back. It was like a fog just… cleared."
Damian leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean, 'a fog'?"
Marcus lifted his head, eyes serious now. "It was like… my brain chose to forget. Like your existence was erased from our memories by force. I can't explain it. I didn't even know there was anything missing until you showed up."
Damian's gaze darkened, his mind racing.
'Memory tampering? On that scale? That's not something you just stumble across… Someone—or something—did this intentionally. But why?'
"…How many others do you think forgot?" he asked, voice calm but laced with tension.
Marcus frowned. "All of us. But why we forgot… or how? I have no clue."
Damian leaned back slightly, fingers drumming the edge of the tray.
'Something isn't right. I need answers. And I need them soon.'
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To Be Continued....
A/n : Hello everyone, how are y'all doing 😅. Okay, I'd like to tell you how busy I was but those are just all excuses, I could have spared at least five minutes to upload a chapter, so it my fault and I apologise 😔.
I hope this chapter is enough to soothe your disappointment.
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And once again, all—and I mean all.... almost— character images have been uploaded on discord.