Day 49: Soaked
Eli's breath came in quick, controlled bursts as he moved through the labyrinthine corridors of the museum's underground archives. The scent of blood clung to him, mingling with the musty air of the forgotten chamber. His hands were slick with it, his knife now a dark, wet instrument of survival. The looters had fallen one by one, but the hunt was far from over.
He wiped the blade on his pants, smearing the blood across the already stained fabric. There was no time to clean himself up, no time to think about the growing weight of what he had done. The anger that had driven him so far was still there, but it had settled into something colder, more focused. He was a weapon now, and there was no room for doubt.
As he rounded another corner, Eli's ears caught the faint sounds of a struggle—muffled shouts, the scrape of boots on stone. He froze, his heart pounding in his chest as he listened intently. The sounds were coming from a room up ahead, one of the many storage chambers that branched off from the main archive.
Someone was in trouble.
Eli moved quickly, the adrenaline surging through him as he approached the source of the noise. He slowed as he neared the doorway, peering around the edge to assess the situation.
Inside the room, two looters had cornered a member of his group—Raya. She was fighting them off with a knife of her own, but she was outmatched. Her movements were desperate, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to fend off the attackers. One of the looters grabbed her arm, wrenching the knife from her grasp, while the other advanced with a crude club, his face twisted in a cruel grin.
Eli's blood boiled at the sight. The anger, the cold fury that had guided him through the night, flared up once more, burning away any hesitation. These men were just like the others—merciless, brutal, ready to take everything from them. But not this time. Not while he still had strength left.
With a fierce resolve, Eli launched himself into the room, his knife gleaming as he attacked. The looters barely had time to react before Eli was upon them, moving with a speed and precision that belied the weight of the blood-soaked armor he wore.
The first looter turned just in time to see Eli's blade flashing toward him. The knife plunged into his chest, the force of the blow driving the looter back into the wall. His eyes widened in shock, blood bubbling up from his lips as he tried to gasp for air.
The second looter, the one who had disarmed Raya, let out a curse and swung the club at Eli's head. But Eli was faster. He ducked under the blow, his hand lashing out to grab the looter's wrist. With a brutal twist, he wrenched the club from the man's grip and drove his knife into the looter's side.
The looter screamed, a raw, agonized sound that echoed off the stone walls. He stumbled back, clutching at the wound, but Eli didn't give him a chance to recover. He followed through with a savage strike, slashing the man's throat and sending him collapsing to the ground.
The room fell silent except for the ragged breathing of Raya and the quiet drip of blood onto the stone floor.
Eli stood over the bodies, his chest heaving with exertion, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The blood that soaked his clothes felt hot, sticky, a reminder of the violence he had unleashed. But as he looked down at Raya, who was staring at him with wide, shocked eyes, he felt something shift inside him.
Raya's gaze moved from the fallen looters to Eli, her eyes lingering on the dark stains that covered his clothes, the blood that streaked his arms and hands. "Eli… you're covered in blood."
Her voice was soft, trembling slightly as she took in the sight of him. There was no judgment in her tone, just a mixture of shock and something close to concern. Eli looked down at himself, seeing for the first time just how much blood there was—how it coated his skin, his clothes, even the visor of his helmet.
The anger that had driven him so far began to wane, replaced by a creeping sense of numbness. The blood was everywhere, a testament to the lives he had taken, the violence he had wrought. But in that moment, it didn't feel like victory. It felt like something else, something darker.
"They… they were going to kill you," Eli said, his voice hoarse, as if trying to justify what he had done. "I had to… I had to stop them."
Raya nodded, her eyes softening as she reached out to him, placing a hand on his arm. "You saved my life," she said quietly. "Thank you."
Eli stared at her, his mind racing as he tried to process her words. He had acted on instinct, driven by anger and the need to protect, but now, with the fight over, he was left with the aftermath—with the blood on his hands and the weight of what he had done.
"Are there more?" Eli asked, his voice strained, trying to focus on anything other than the blood that covered him.
Raya shook her head. "Not here. I was trying to get back to the others when they ambushed me. I… I thought I was done for."
Eli nodded, his mind still clouded, the adrenaline beginning to fade. "We need to regroup," he said, forcing the words out. "We can't stay here."
Raya hesitated, her eyes still on him, as if searching for something beneath the blood-soaked armor and helmet. "Eli… you've done enough. You don't have to keep fighting alone."
Eli wanted to respond, wanted to tell her that he had to keep going, that he couldn't stop until the looters were gone, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he just nodded, the numbness spreading through him like a cold fog.
"Let's go," he said finally, his voice distant. "We need to get back to the group."
Raya gave him a small, understanding nod and moved toward the door, her steps cautious as she led the way. Eli followed, his movements slower now, the weight of everything he had done pressing down on him.
As they left the blood-soaked room behind, Eli couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed—that the anger that had fueled him was no longer enough. The blood on his clothes, on his hands—it was a reminder of the cost of survival, of the lines he had crossed in the name of protecting those he cared about.
But even as he walked away, Eli knew that he couldn't afford to stop. The looters were still out there, still a threat, and he had a role to play. Whether it was as a protector or something darker, he couldn't say. All he knew was that he had to keep moving, keep fighting.
Because in this world, there was no other choice.