The world stopped.
So, this is what dying feels like?
Buck now saw the creature slowly being consumed by flames. The sparks danced in front of its grotesque face as he lay beneath it, bleeding out, pale, shriveling, dying. His femoral artery had been sliced vertically, leaving him with zero chances of survival.
The smooth stone beneath his feet, once freezing cold, now grew warmer as his blood pooled beneath him. His legs tingled with numbness, forcing him to collapse to his knees.
Wait, I fell… but the flames are still frozen in place…
He dragged himself weakly toward the creature. His legs had grown too frail, and his head felt weightless, adrift from the blood loss.
When he saw its face, the expression was priceless. The Instable creature wore a genuine look of fear. Pure, unfiltered terror gripped its features, mirroring those of any mortal facing death.
In the end, monsters were living beings too—and like all living beings, they feared death.
Buck managed a sharp, wide grin.
Ha… I must be the first to see an Instable so afraid. Surely, that alone would earn me a heroic title. Maybe something like "The Terror of the Stars" or something equally dramatic.
Of course, that would only happen if he lived to tell the tale. And in truth, he was dying alone. Not even "she" could stand by him now.
He looked at his leg, at the gushing wound, and, like the creature, he felt a deep-seated fear of his lifeblood ceasing its flow—because it would mean his undeniable, naked death.
Why had he done all of this? He no longer remembered. The blood loss had muddled his mind beyond recognition.
But something within him stirred—a dormant feeling now clawing its way to the surface. A pure, primal hatred denied even the right to exist.
Yet he couldn't recall what he even hated. The vaccine injected into his body seemed to be working.
At that moment, his blood began to move. Though it still poured from his body, it was also being drawn into the stone of the mausoleum beneath him, seeping into the cracks of its blocks, which now pulsed faintly as if alive—breathing anew.
The pulsation grew stronger, sending a massive tremor across the biome of the abyss.
[Destiny Synchronization with the Tomb of the Shrouded Aurora complete.]
A voice? Who are you?
Please, help me! I don't want to die, not here, not now! I still have so much to do…
[Request for activation authorized. Opening information window.]
---
Name: Buccaneer
Stardust: 10/10
Succession: Lesser
Bond: [ ]
Singularities: [Mystic Vessel]
Relics: [Synchronization Core], [False Blood], [Tomb of the Shrouded Aurora]
Destiny: [The Failure of SOU]
[Insufficient sacrifice detected. Forced consumption of owned relics and Destiny initiated.]
The sepulcher glowed, revealing intricate golden lines hidden within its gray stone. Its once blood-red crystal now appeared molten, spilling over to further stain the mausoleum, deepening its taint with the blood and sacrifices it had claimed.
Buck felt his soul slipping away, an all-too-familiar sensation from the beginning of the synchronization. But this time, there was no resisting it. The agony wasn't merely physical—his soul itself seemed to be shredded by merciless claws.
Every part of his being was painfully reshaped. Each cell became an instrument, and the relic was the composer, tearing them apart, rearranging, and evolving them.
[Astral Body created. Welcome to "Starry Garden: Ruined"!]
["Before its Ruin, this place was a gift to a princess who craved the power of magic but could not wield it herself. Thanks to a trickster who sought to steal its power, the garden was corrupted and abandoned to an infinite void. All that remains is its fragmented structure and its starlit skies."]
Buck's body slowly reformed from a swirling dust that drifted toward the garden's center, where a small podium stood. The garden was a blend of sandstone-carved platforms embracing lush flowerbeds, though blackened roots of a dark power spread everywhere, tainting the soil and fracturing the floating island amidst a starry void.
He stood up, seeking answers. Though his steps felt like walking, it was as though his form—now mimicked by the dust—drifted toward his destination.
[You have a choice- ce- ce- e...]
The system of his Synchronization Core, usually crisp and reliable, faltered, its voice fading into static.
Will I be trapped here forever without answers?
Focusing on his body, Buck noticed the dust now flowing from his chest, while a red dust spilled from the wound on his thigh. Neither returned to him but instead drifted skyward, along with his Synchronization Core and something else he couldn't yet identify. All of it was being drawn toward the garden's heart.
[You're a resilient boy.]
The voice changed, now higher-pitched and sinister, like that of an imp dripping with malice.
[I'm resilient too. Perhaps we could help each other.]
[Aren't you tired of being used by everyone and unable to fight for your dreams?]
[Right now, the relic controlling your memories is vanishing, along with your other synchronization relic.]
[I am the solution to all of it.]
— I don't need a creature out of nowhere offering me help. I'm not stupid you see. You're trapped here for a reason, and if so, you are a danger to some strong foes, since this place is quite... Extravagant.
[I wasn't trapped. I was made in this plane.]
From the roots, a black powder emerged, swirling around Buck in a dark whirlwind.
[Born… shaped… forged by this place. Denied the chance to live, created from the selfish desire of this garden to have a master. Even my creator failed me.]
[We share that, don't we?]
His memories were still hazy. The vaccine's shock was too intense to heal quickly, yet fragments began to resurface. Among them, a face stood out—a woman who is a soldier and the architect of his shattered mental state.
Buck began to say, with a heavy voice, full with frustration by everything that happenend in a course of a day.
— I don't know if you understand, but I'm trapped here too. Even if I agreed to your help, neither of us knows where the escape hole is.
[I never said I didn't know how to leave.]
The black mist coiled, swirling toward the island's edge, beckoning him to follow.
Buck obeyed, stepping cautiously along the path. He passed flowers that thrived without water and statues shattered into pieces, each fragment hovering in defiance of gravity, as if refusing to touch the corrupted soil.
At the island's end, the path abruptly ceased. Below stretched the purest, most maddening void.
Directly beneath the island loomed a colossal black celestial body, warping any light daring to graze its surface, devouring everything that strayed too near its core.
[That... is your 'Escape Hole'. You only need me to shield you from the wild magic inside.]
He stared into the endless abyss before him, contemplating the words of the shadowy entity.
— So... the stars really exist. They're not just fairy tales.
His tone softened, tinged with awe.
— Someone once wrote an epic about them. I wonder how they saw something so vast and lived to tell the tale... I owe that person a debt."
[If someone had ventured here, I'd remember. That guy probably made it up and somehow got it right.]
Buck said firmly, his conviction now unwavering.
— No, I trust the one who told me that story. What he said is true. And if it isn't... I'll make it true. So, all I have to do is jump?
[Yes. Together, we'll be free.]
With a leap of faith, Buck plunged into the infinite void. Not because he trusted the malevolent spirit, but because he clung to a soldier's words echoing in his mind:
"Trust your instincts. That's how a little creature like you survives the abyss. Survive, boy, even if your destiny betrays you."
The shadowy mist wrapped around him, constricting like an embrace, pulling him deeper into the unknown.
Elsewhere, within the scorching desert of the abyss...
An ancient, dust-laden tomb trembled as it received a colossal ray of light, its brilliance a symphony of golden yellow and violet-black.
The beam struck a sphere etched with intricate, otherworldly patterns. It shimmered and ascended, reigniting the tomb's long-dormant power.
Golden mirrors, shaped like discs, reflected and amplified the light, directing it toward a central platform. The dais was crafted to command attention, encircled by spaces seemingly designed for an audience—a divine stage for forgotten believers.
As the twin-colored ray struck the platform's core, its energy surged outward. From the heart of the radiance emerged a partially restored body, gasping for air.
[True Resurrection of the 'Tomb of the Shrouded Aurora,' corrupted by insufficient power.]
Buck's body bore the marks of his ordeal. Part of his neural tissue attempted to regenerate, but its complexity defied the process. What could not heal crystallized, forming black antler-like horns jutting from his prefrontal cortex—an eerie, magical addition to his form.
[Singularity 'False Incarnation' created.]
[Relic 'Abyssal Core' synchronized.]
He opened his eyes, disoriented but alive, reborn into a fractured destiny. Or into the lack of it.