As if fate itself were mocking his future, a small stone fell from the ceiling of the enormous chamber, landing right beside him.
With all the discoveries he had made, Buck had never once thought to look up.
And there, above him, as he strained his eyes to glimpse what lay hidden in the darkness, his legs gave way beneath him, and his once vibrant red skin paled into a lifeless hue.
For an Abyss Spawn to break free from a Queen during synchronization, it was said, according to the scarce reports from those who survived, that one must kill one of the creatures under her control and use its body to inflict a wound on the Queen herself. For that reason, the number of people who had ever escaped synchronization could be counted on one hand, and they usually became central figures in their battalions afterward.
But what Buck saw above him didn't seem like an ordinary soldier.
For God's sake— is that thing an Unstable?
From various field studies, military intelligence had uncovered patterns among creatures killed on the first level during the war. They always seemed to be divided into evolutionary castes, like ants born with a specific job.
But unlike ants, an extremely small number of these creatures were able to evolve into higher categories by absorbing the power of the creatures they hunted. This led to the creatures being classified into five tiers, where the closer a creature resembled a Queen, the more powerful it was.
In this case, an Unstable was second-tier, and they were often even more dangerous than the class above them—not due to the amount of damage they could inflict, but because of how they acted.
Second-tier creatures, as their name suggested, were "Unstable." With newfound power coursing through their bodies, they became overconfident and aggressive, killing not just out of necessity but for the thrill and to assert dominance.
Above Buck, hidden in the darkness, a creature no one had ever lived to describe moved stealthily with razor-sharp legs that pierced the smooth vault of the cave. A colossal being crowned with the small star-creatures—yet unlike the empty exoskeletons, these creatures still moved, undulating and glowing with vibrant light from their polished shells. The creature wearing the crown was grim, with a body riddled with deformed holes that created a concave illusion, its eight-legged joints bound together by the small creatures acting as bandages. Its four eyes rolled erratically, unable to focus on anything concrete, as if it wanted to eliminate any movement it detected.
Buck's worst nightmare had come true in that moment. The creature's four eyes stopped rolling and focused together, locking onto the pale yet striking human below.
The Sol's Parasytes on its body bristled, shifting colors as if awaiting something in response, their chromatic bodies shimmering.
Before Buck could fully grasp the myriad grotesque details of the creature, one of its massive legs scythed downward, aiming to slice him in two. Given the speed of the strike, his body was certain to be cleaved in half without effort.
Lying on the ground, Buck had no other choice—the vertical slash was impossible to dodge.
His mind raced through a flurry of memories: people, places, experiences, and, worst of all, the realization that he had never truly been recognized or loved by anyone throughout his entire life.
He had suffered his whole life, ever since he was saved from the abyss. Even parental love had been neglected. So why, at the end of it all, did he still care so much for people?
...Ah yes, the soldier who saved me. He's the reason I never gave up all this time.
The image of a soldier telling wild tales around a campfire, wielding a chicken drumstick like a triumphant sword, expressive and bold, appeared before his eyes.
That soldier always claimed he would one day be on the front pages of every newspaper and that even biographies of his life would become epic tales for future children.
He would surely be disappointed if I died so young—he wouldn't forgive me if I didn't at least fight bravely, as he would have done without hesitation.
But unfortunately, I'm not like that hero. I'm a coward, produced by the fear and hopelessness of the industrial city.
Like a toad in boiling water, I've been cooking myself to the point where my legs are useless and my eyes are blind. In the end, my life was always meant to end like a tasteless meal with no sides or seasoning. Bland.
That's how I have expected to die. Right after coming of age, killed by abyssal beasts in a forsaken hole, thrown away never to be remembered by anyone.
A massive fight-or-flight response surged through him. His consciousness had given up, but his body still fought back. He didn't want to die—he would never submit to the fate that had been laid out for him since birth.
Lines can be erased, but the stars of a constellation will still shine. A celestial body is not governed by the lines connecting it to others—it decides where the lines are drawn. It determines its shape, color, position, and ultimately when it will disappear.
After all, a star can only die by its own hands.
And so, Buck used one of the stalagmites as support and leapt with all his strength, dodging the scythe that, upon striking the rock, created a deafening, almost metallic sound. The impact shattered the brittle stone, causing a cascade of emerald liquid to erupt, splashing over both bodies.
His hands and feet were injured from the force exerted against the jagged rocks, and a burning sensation spread through his wounds as they came into contact with the liquid.
Despite the pain, his adrenaline kept it at bay. In fact, he felt free, rejuvenated, alive. Is this how someone on the brink of death feels? Alive?
The creature seemed pleased with the human's sudden awakening, as if it had been awaiting a fight for a long time. But to its misfortune, the boy picked up the shard of stone and ran with everything he had, as if his life depended on it—because it did.
He had realized something crucial about this biome: the liquid geysers. For some reason, they erupted when under stress, meaning there was gas trapped near the source.
Buck ran toward the place he least expected to approach—the great tomb—using the many stalagmites to his advantage, dodging the creature's increasingly loud attacks. The beast was enraged, and it probably would have roared if it could.
— Damn! I hope this tomb is strong enough!
He ascended the steps, the structure appearing as if frozen in time. The dark-gray stone had not suffered the erosion the marble of the cave seemed to have endured, yet it held an opaque tone, unmarred by any deformities. Now, upon closer inspection, he could make out small carvings on the stone—completely nonsensical and chaotic, as if representing unnatural forces. But all these engravings led to a single point: the interior of the mausoleum.
The doors appeared heavy, made of solid rock, adorned with a blood-red crystal that had been crafted to resemble blood flowing from the inside of the mausoleum outward.
Running with all his might, Buck braced himself to push the door, even just a little, enough to slip inside.
But when he put all his kinetic force into the push, a crackling sound came from his arms, which had slammed against the rock. His forearms snapped, and he hadn't even come close to opening the veiled tomb.
Argh!
Glancing behind him, the Unstable creature was closing in, its legs pounding aggressively against the ground, thrashing about like an enraged child throwing a tantrum at its parents.
Buck was about to attempt something insane, and if he missed by even a millimeter, his life would end right there.
He stood face-to-face with the monster charging toward him, making sure to position himself in the center of the doors. If his hunch was correct, the creature wouldn't be able to strike him diagonally—its joints seemed too rigid, incapable of attacks requiring moderate flexibility or precise motor actions.
The Unstable came at full force, climbing the stairs with its elongated, scythe-shaped limbs, emitting a metallic sound like a pickaxe striking hard crystal, its legs sliding along the slick rocks of the tomb, causing it to lose control, unable to stop on its own.
Its right scythe was preparing a downward, vertical strike that would cleave the boy in two effortlessly.
But instead of the expected outcome, Buck sprinted beneath the creature, and the scythe embedded itself in the crack between the doors, lodged firmly by the sheer force of the blow. The monster was stuck.
Of course, not without a cost.
The speed at which Buck could react was nowhere near enough to save himself entirely. As he dashed towards the creature's abdomen, several sharp legs were flailing aimlessly, desperately trying to latch onto something. It was at this moment that the young boy passed close to one of them. The sheer force of the scythe grazing him was enough to create a massive gash on his thigh, from which blood poured out like a red waterfall.
But he had expected this since the begging. He had never thought this body would survive. All he needed was to hurt the queen with her own offspring, to break free from his synchronization. However, if the queen died, along with her entire nest, there would probably be nothing left to synchronize with in the first place. So he screamed:
— You dumb beast! You think I'm just another toy for your amusement, don't you? A weak insect not even worth the effort of a quick kill. But you should've killed me while I wasn't watching. You played too long with your food, and now, I'll make sure your nest burns down with me.
Taking cover beneath the creature's body, Buck hurled the fragment of the stalagmite with all his strength toward the doors, directly in front of the monster's face. There, where the two rocks touched, a small spark flickered into the air, as if performing a delicate, dramatic dance. Its shape vaguely resembled a falling star, like the ones he had seen in fairy tale books—though, of course, it wasn't one. It seemed to have come here to fulfill his wish. That was the purpose of a falling star: to give the weak one last chance to live.
And as the spark descended into the darkness, the condensed gas within the biome's concave structure ignited, following the path of the spark, producing a growing tail of fire, expanding with every millisecond.
The gas escaping along with the liquid was flammable.
And in a fiery explosion, the spark enveloped the chamber with its final glow, taking with it everything that had once been important to the creatures of that nest. The final sacrifice of the black lamb, driven by pure hatred and a refusal to be controlled by the queen.
The entire level of the abyss trembled that day, mourning the star that had flickered out.