Walking for hours, there was nothing around him but the reddish desert sand and the waves of heat, as intense as the furnaces of the industrial revolution.
Unlike an average person, Buck was remarkably resistant to heat—both mentally and, in the past, physically as well.
He couldn't fathom how anything could survive in this place, and he was almost certain the temperature alone could kill an ordinary person in a matter of days.
But of course, for a worker of the furnaces, this environment might feel like home.
He wondered if any of his former companions had noticed his sudden disappearance, but he quickly dismissed the thought. After all, he had been the youngest and the most troublesome of the group, contributing little in terms of brute strength and endurance. They were probably more worried that he'd fallen prey to some abyssal creature and compromised the city's only protection against the horrors of the deep.
Trudging through the desert with only leather to shield his feet from the scalding sand, his skin felt increasingly uncomfortable under the heat trapped by his clothes. All he wanted was to find the volcano responsible for generating all this heat—if such a volcanic vein even existed in the middle of the desert. Meanwhile, the makeshift sack slung across his back felt unbearably heavy.
His mouth cried out for water. Sweat poured relentlessly from his skin, slowly dehydrating him.
Now he faced a new problem: he needed water before eating the dried meat in his pack. Without it, digestion would dehydrate him completely, leaving his overheated body collapsed in the desert. But with the temperature as it was, finding a liquid water source seemed impossible, and the ceiling of the cavern didn't appear high enough to allow for the formation of rain clouds.
I wonder where the creatures here drink water. Where in the hell could—
Buck abruptly tripped over something hidden beneath the sand, falling face-first into the ground and inadvertently tasting a bit of sand.
Who leaves ruins lying around like this?
He spat out the coarse grains as he pushed himself up, glaring at the obstacle he'd stumbled over. But what he uncovered was far from what he had expected.
Partially buried in the sand lay the corpse of a Cackling Nightwing, its decomposing body emitting a faint stench of rotting flesh.
What struck him as odd, however, was that the body showed no signs of being scavenged. There was far too much meat left for a predator to have simply abandoned it.
Scooping away some of the sand covering the creature's face, Buck grimaced and nearly vomited. Nothing came out—there was nothing in his stomach to begin with.
The creature's face had been grotesquely twisted into a funeral spiral of exposed bones in the wrong places and dislocated features. At the center of this morbid spiral, embedded in flesh and veined with pulsating tissue, was a small, intensely radiant prism. The object radiated an overwhelming aura and was adorned with miniature screaming skulls, their flesh seemingly melted off their metallic, silver-colored surfaces.
[Your Stardust is being consumed by an ownerless Relic.]
Damn it! What? A relic?
Fear took root in his heart. What if this relic did to him what it had done to the creature's body? Relics were notoriously dangerous—not just to humans but to monsters as well.
Relics were hostile to their surroundings. Upon the slightest contact with any animal life, they would attempt to fuse with their host, unless the host could control the relic's energy beforehand. This parasitic fusion often led to horrifying transformations, as creatures stumbled upon relics while fleeing predators or navigating tight spaces.
Backing away cautiously, Buck scolded himself for hesitating.
Buck hesitated, his breath forming faint clouds in the cold air as he stared at the relic before him. It was a peculiar object, its surface gleaming like molten silver frozen in time. The aura it radiated was oppressive, almost tangible, pressing against his chest and quickening his heartbeat. Fear coiled within his thoughts, but something stronger pushed back—a desperate need to act.
He had witnessed horrors far greater than this relic. Memories of grotesque creatures with endless shadows stretching across the cavern walls flickered in his mind. Compared to them, this object, no matter how intimidating, seemed manageable—an enigma to be unraveled rather than a nightmare to be feared.
If such a powerful aura surrounded it, the relic must possess immense strength, perhaps even unimaginable potential. In this harsh and unforgiving abyss, power meant survival. Every hesitation, every moment wasted, could spell doom. A weapon like this could tilt the odds in his favor, offering a chance to stand against the monstrosities lurking in the darkness.
The thought lingered, growing heavier with each passing second. Without this relic, the next encounter could be his last. The creatures of the abyss showed no mercy, and neither could he. Buck's eyes sharpened, his breath steadying as he stepped forward, his hand reaching toward the artifact.
But if a Nightwing's body couldn't withstand synchronization, what chance did he have?
Yet he was too unarmed to refuse the demonic artifact before him. His only weapon was a tooth—utterly useless if faced with a fast and healthy creature in the desert. It would be suicide not to claim this relic.
He approached the corpse of what had once been a mighty predator, its jaws capable of shattering every bone in his body with a single snap. Now, it lay lifeless, defeated by the small relic embedded crookedly in its jaw.
Maybe I can use something...
---
Name: Buccaneer
Stardust: 10/25
Awakening: Lesser
Bond: [Starry Garden]
Singularities: [Mystic Vessel], [False Incarnation]
Relics: [Abyssal Core], [Tomb of the Shrouded Aurora]
Destiny: —
---
With his small reserve of Stardust, perhaps he could use his Singularities. The one he relied on most was [Mystic Vessel]. While he needed to test its full potential, he couldn't afford to waste his diminishing Stardust on a second attempt.
His plan was to use the decaying body of the creature to subdue the relic's power, allowing him to touch it without undergoing forced fusion.
It's now or never. I only ask for luck this time.
Placing his hands on the creature's shoulder, Buck concentrated on activating his Singularity, uncertain if it would even respond to his desperate plea for help.
[Sacrifice denied. You do not own this object.]
What?
Buck's confusion was immense. He'd never heard of not being able to sacrifice something like this. He had always thought anything originating from a living being could be used as a sacrifice. He even remembered overhearing an Abyss Spawn negotiating the price of animal brains for its Singularity while haggling for a bag of salt at a nearby stall.
What would even grant me ownership of something? Isn't it just 'finders, keepers'?
Distracted by his thoughts, Buck let his guard down—at the worst possible moment.
Quietly, a second Cackling Nightwing, buried in the sand near the corpse, emerged from its hiding place behind him. As it moved forward, human bones and skulls scattered across the red sand, revealing its ominous presence.
The creature's fur was stained a sticky, dried-blood red, and its face was speckled with sand grains clinging to the dried fluid, giving it a natural camouflage.
It moved silently, its vacant eyes locked on the unsuspecting boy's back as it navigated the bone-strewn ground.
Then, in a sudden, ferocious attack, the ground beneath Buck erupted. A massive desert turtle emerged, its colossal jaws clamping down on the Nightwing's neck. The force of the turtle's lunge sent Buck and the corpse with the relic flying, as if they were nothing more than weightless rags.
The colossal turtle, towering twice the size of the Nightwing, severed half the predator's torso with a single, brutal bite. Blood sprayed in a vast arc, soaking everything within reach, including Buck, who found himself drenched in the sticky liquid.
Lying on the ground, paralyzed by fear, Buck scrambled to put distance between himself and the savage reptile. But something felt off. His head seemed heavier, and to his horror, the weight wasn't metaphorical.
Scarlet crystallizations, resembling a pair of horns in Buck's skull, had pierced through flesh, connecting his body to the decaying creature nearby. The softened flesh of the corpse had allowed the grotesque relic to burrow deeper, binding him in a gruesome embrace.
Surrounded by carnage, Buck was caught between the decaying remains, the massive turtle, and the blood-drenched sand now teeming with chaos. Out of the red-stained haze, a pair of black antennae emerged, their movements slow and deliberate as a swarm of desert ants followed the scent of blood.
The ants' arrival brought a new layer of dread. The turtle, which had been reveling in its kill, roared in pain as the swarm descended on it, their mandibles slicing through its hardened shell with terrifying precision.
The killing intent in the air was suffocating, even if it wasn't directed at Buck. His instincts screamed at him to move, to survive.
This was it. The most pure certain death.
With no time to devise a better plan, Buck turned his focus back to the relic. He needed its power. He had no choice.
Gripping his pack with trembling hands, he reached for the relic embedded in the Nightwing's disfigured jaw. The moment his fingers touched it, an excruciating pain shot through him—the unmistakable agony of synchronization.
It was the same searing torment he had experienced when the Captain had placed a relic in his chest for synchronization. This time, however, it felt more invasive, as if the relic were alive, burning its way through his veins with malevolent purpose.
Through gritted teeth and a contorted face, Buck screamed internally, ignoring the chaotic sounds of battle around him and focusing only in one thing. His survival.
I sacrifice all the meat in this pack! Just make this thing obey me!
['Mystic Vessel' has enhanced synchronization.]