Day 49: A Fire Kindled
Eli sat in the darkness, his back pressed against the cold stone wall of the museum's labyrinthine corridors. The silence around him was thick and oppressive, amplifying the turmoil in his mind. His breath was ragged, his heart still racing from the frantic sprint that had brought him here, far from the others. But the physical exhaustion was nothing compared to the storm of emotions that raged inside him.
Anger. Shame. Frustration.
These emotions churned within him, each one feeding the other, growing stronger with every passing second. He had run away, abandoned his friends, and left them to fend for themselves against the looters. He had allowed his own self-loathing to paralyze him when they needed him most. And now, he was alone, consumed by the fire of his own failures.
But as he sat there, hunched in the darkness, another thought began to take root in his mind—an idea that cut through the fog of self-doubt like a blade. It was the looters' fault. They had brought this destruction, this chaos. They were the ones who had attacked, who had driven him to this breaking point.
The anger that had once been directed inward began to shift, turning outward like a smoldering coal that was suddenly fanned into a blaze. It was the looters who had turned the museum into a battleground, who had made him feel weak and powerless. They were the enemy, not himself.
And if he couldn't save the group by reuniting with them, then maybe he could help by striking at the heart of the problem.
Eli slowly pushed himself to his feet, the weight of the knight's helmet pressing down on him, but now it felt different. It no longer felt like a burden—it felt like armor, like a shield against the world. His anger was a weapon, and he was going to use it.
He took a deep breath, his mind sharpening with a newfound sense of purpose. The looters were spread out across the museum, tearing through walls, hunting for the group. They were organized, methodical, but that also meant they were predictable. Eli knew this building—he had spent hours fortifying it, sealing off entry points, learning its layout.
Now, he would use that knowledge against them.
He quickly ran through a plan in his mind, piecing together the fragments of the museum's layout with what he had observed during their earlier exploration. The looters were working in teams, smashing through walls and doors, but their focus was on brute force, on tearing down the defenses. That left them vulnerable—vulnerable to someone who could move through the shadows, who knew the twists and turns of the museum better than they did.
Eli's heart pounded with adrenaline as the plan took shape. He would strike from the shadows, picking them off one by one, using the museum's narrow hallways and hidden corners to his advantage. He didn't need to confront them head-on; he just needed to disrupt their operation, to create enough chaos to give the others a chance to escape or regroup.
His anger burned hotter, fueling his determination. The looters had made him feel powerless, but he would turn that powerlessness into their downfall. He would make them pay for what they had done.
Silently, Eli moved through the darkened corridors, his steps careful, his breathing steady. The helmet's narrow visor limited his vision, but it also forced him to focus, to hone in on the details that mattered. He could hear the distant sounds of the looters still at work, the crashing of their tools against the walls, the occasional shouted order. They were methodical, confident—too confident.
He reached a section of the museum where the walls had been weakened by the looters' assault, large cracks splintering the stone. Eli could hear voices just on the other side, rough and callous, discussing their next move. He could see the faint light of a torch flickering through the gaps in the wall, casting long shadows on the ground.
Eli gripped his knife tightly, his pulse quickening. He didn't have much, but he didn't need much. The looters were focused on their task, unaware of his presence. That was all the advantage he needed.
He crouched low, pressing himself against the wall as he listened to their conversation. There were at least three of them on the other side, all preoccupied with breaking through the next barrier. Eli's mind raced, searching for the right moment to strike.
The anger flared again, and without another thought, he acted.
Eli moved quickly, silently, slipping through the cracks in the wall like a shadow. The looters didn't see him coming until it was too late. The first one didn't even have time to turn around before Eli's knife found its mark, slicing through the man's throat in a quick, precise motion. The looter gurgled, collapsing to the ground, his torch clattering beside him.
The second looter turned, eyes wide with shock, but Eli was already on him. He drove the knife into the man's side, twisting it to ensure the kill. The looter screamed, stumbling backward, but the sound was cut off as Eli yanked the knife free and struck again, finishing the job.
The third looter, realizing what was happening, fumbled for his weapon, but Eli was faster. He lunged forward, slamming the hilt of his knife into the man's temple, knocking him to the ground. Before the looter could recover, Eli was on top of him, his knife plunging downward.
It was over in seconds.
Eli stood over the bodies, his chest heaving with exertion, the helmet's visor fogged from his heavy breathing. The anger still burned within him, but now it was focused, controlled. He had done it. He had taken them down, made them pay for what they had done.
But this was just the beginning. The looters were still in the museum, still hunting for the others. Eli couldn't stop now—not until they were all gone, not until the museum was safe.
He wiped the blood from his knife, his mind already racing to the next step of his plan. The looters might be strong in numbers, but they were no match for someone who knew the terrain, who could strike from the shadows.
Eli turned and disappeared back into the darkness of the museum, his movements swift and silent. He was no longer running away.
He was hunting.