Near Buck, the sinful prism radiated a malevolent red aura, its intensity growing the moment it touched the lamb's flesh. The air around him thickened, saturated with a dense and unsettling energy that clung to every breath.
The once-whole body connected to the relic began to wither at an alarming rate. It was as though a stream was vanishing into the desert sands, the flesh dissolving until only the faintest traces of its existence remained. The prism not only drained the residual power within the corpse but also subtly siphoned the lifeforce of Buck and his meat-filled pack.
His right hand, which clutched the relic, bore the brunt of its effects. The skin turned waxy pale, veins bulging grotesquely beneath the surface. Each passing second holding the cursed object drew him closer to an irreversible fate.
[Synchronization with "Prism of Fear" completed.]
The dead creature's body, along with the meat stored in Buck's backpack, began dissolving into a watery, grayish-orange substance. The liquid trickled into the sand as if the earth itself were eager to swallow it whole, freeing Buck's horns from their makeshift prison in the process.
Ahead of him, chaos raged unchecked. The battle between the turtle and the abyssal ants had turned the terrain into a war-torn wasteland. Blood and acid mingled, crafting a grotesque tableau of carnage where neither side showed signs of retreating.
Buck realized he had a singular opportunity. With the relic in hand, he forced himself to his feet—shaking but resolute. Staying here was suicide; facing the creatures head-on wasn't even an option. He wasn't a fighter. He lacked the training, the weapons, and even the nerve to challenge these monsters on equal footing.
There was only one choice. He should flee for his life.
Buck sprinted away from the conflict, keeping low and hoping to avoid notice. Frenzied thoughts raced through his mind as he calculated his odds of survival. His tattered cloak, stained with blood and sand, clung to him like a second skin. The now-empty backpack weighed him down, an instinctive burden he couldn't yet bring himself to discard.
The prism, once a palpable source of dread, now felt eerily silent. Yet Buck knew better than to trust this lull, it was merely the calm before the next storm.
Then, the sound he dreaded most reached his ears. A crunch of sand followed by an unsettling hiss. Turning his head, he saw two colossal ants charging toward him. The earlier battle had consumed their attention, but now the scent of fresh blood and Buck's frantic movements marked him as an easy target.
He couldn't fathom how the turtle had managed to stand against these creatures with such ease. Their shells gleamed under the abyss's dim light, as impenetrable as polished black metal.
Buck thought bitterly, a wry smile tugging at his lips as his feet sank into the sand with every desperate step.
Why does life insist on rubbing my bad luck in my face?
His fingers tightened around the prism. Perhaps it held some advantage, some hidden power that could save him. He racked his panicked thoughts for any recollection of the relic's potential.
[Prism of Fear] – When fed with Stardust, the relic can emit an aura of terror.
That's it? Just fear?
The revelation hit him like a blow. The sinister power he'd believed resided in the prism seemed nothing more than a cheap trick. A manipulative façade.
A frustrated scream clawed at his throat, but he stifled it. Making noise would only invite more predators. His desperation needed an outlet, and the only available target was the prism itself.
Raising it defiantly, Buck channeled all his will into the relic.
[Prism of Fear activated. Its ability "Fear" unleashed.]
A burst of red light engulfed the surroundings, rippling outward in a suffocating wave of terror. The aura was dense, oppressive, like the cold hand of death itself.
The fear was so unnerving that even Buck wasn't immune. His breathing turned erratic, his eyes widened, and panic clawed at the edges of his mind. The relic's power seemed to attack the core of his being, dredging up the darkest moments of his life.
The weight of the aura caused him to stumble briefly, but his pursuers were not untouched. The ants hesitated, their mandibles snapping erratically as their bodies trembled. The relic forced them to reconsider their predatory instincts.
Buck couldn't afford to stop. Despite the growing dread within him, he ran, driven by an animalistic energy born of fear and desperation. He knew that if he faltered, he was as good as dead.
The aura, however, wasn't merely a shield against his enemies. It was a mirror to Buck's own terror, amplifying his deepest fears. Memories of being ensnared by the Captain resurfaced, the helpless struggle to escape replaying vividly in his mind. His entire body shook, and his exhausted psyche teetered on the brink of collapse.
Then he made a fatal mistake. His instincts betrayed him, and he glanced back.
The ants, previously sluggish and hesitant, began moving again—not with the confidence of predators, but with the desperation of cornered beasts. Their multifaceted eyes gleamed dully, reflecting the crimson glow of the relic and the abyssal shadows.
Buck forced himself to focus. Shoving the prism into his belt, his trembling fingers ensured it was secure before reaching for the pointed tooth he had saved earlier. It was all he had to defend himself.
The first ant lunged. Buck sidestepped just in time, plunging the sharp tooth into one of its glistening eyes. The impact produced a sickening squelch as yellowish fluid oozed from the wound.
The creature convulsed violently before collapsing, its legs folding inward in spasms.
[You have slain a Lesser Black Ant.]
[The Stardust dances around you.]
The brief relief was short-lived. The second ant wasted no time, spewing a jet of acid at Buck.
The corrosive liquid struck his cloak, burning through the leather and searing remnants of flesh he hadn't managed to discard. The acid bit into his skin, eliciting a silent scream as pain overtook him. He dropped the tooth, unable to hold it any longer.
Despite the agony, Buck's survival instincts propelled him forward.
Ignoring the acid searing his left hand, Buck leapt desperately, landing atop the ant's hard shell. His hands latched onto its thin antennae, gripping with every ounce of remaining strength as he yanked ferociously.
The antennae tore free with a sickening snap, leaving the creature writhing in chaotic circles. It lashed out blindly, snapping at the air and tearing into the carcass of its fallen companion.
But Buck knew he had no time to celebrate. His vision blurred, and his lungs burned as the adrenaline that had carried him this far began to wane. The prism's aura dimmed, its oppressive energy receding into an eerie stillness. The silence that followed was no comfort; it was a reminder that the abyss was never truly safe.
He scanned his surroundings, desperate for an escape. The battlefield behind him was a wasteland of destruction. The turtle's massive shell lay abandoned, scarred, and hollow, its once-mighty presence reduced to a lifeless husk. The remaining ants regrouped, searching for new prey—and Buck was next in line.
He forced his aching legs into motion, each step feeling heavier than the last. His left arm throbbed where the acid had eaten into his skin, but he couldn't stop. The desperation in his chest drowned out the physical pain.
The landscape stretched endlessly, an oppressive expanse of crimson sand and faintly glowing trails of carnage. Every shadow, every flicker of movement on the horizon, sent fresh waves of fear coursing through him. The thought of escape felt as fragile as his own body, threatening to shatter under the weight of his exhaustion.
Buck's strength was fading. The adrenaline that had kept him alive was now betraying him, leaving him trembling and weak. He needed shelter, a place to hide and regroup.
Then, in the distance, he spotted it: a small rocky formation rising from the flat terrain. Its jagged edges and deep cracks offered the promise of a temporary haven. It was his only chance.
Summoning the last reserves of his energy, Buck staggered toward the formation. He stumbled, nearly falling several times, but sheer willpower kept him moving.
Behind him, the surviving ants began to disperse. Some turned back toward the turtle's remains, while others chased new sounds in the distance, burrowing into the sand. The reprieve was brief but vital, allowing Buck to close the gap to the rocks.
Reaching the formation, he found a narrow opening between two jagged stones. Without hesitation, he wedged himself inside, ignoring the sharp edges that scraped his arms and sides. The small cavity beyond was barely large enough to crouch in, but it was enough.
Safe in the darkness of the crevice, Buck finally stopped. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling in uneven heaves. The silence around him was oppressive, a stark contrast to the chaos he had just escaped.
He glanced at his injured left hand. The acid had left deep burns, the flesh raw and inflamed. Every movement sent waves of pain coursing through him, but he had no means to treat it.
His gaze shifted to the prism at his waist. Its faint glow mocked him, a constant reminder of the ordeal it had caused.
"You almost got me killed," he muttered hoarsely, his voice barely audible in the cramped space.
But deep down, he knew the truth. The relic had saved him. Without its terrifying power, he would never have repelled the ants or survived the battlefield.
The overwhelming exhaustion finally took hold. Buck's eyes grew heavy, his frantic thoughts dulling as sleep overcame him. Even as he drifted into unconsciousness, the fear lingered in his chest, a shadow that refused to leave.
In the quiet of the crevice, Buck dreamed of stars. Points of light shimmered against a vast black canvas, forming patterns he couldn't comprehend. The scene shifted, revealing a timeless garden beneath the cosmic display. It was an image of beauty and mystery, far removed from the horrors of the abyss.
But the stars were fleeting, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared. Buck knew that when he awoke, he would still be trapped in this unforgiving world, surrounded by unimaginable dangers.
Yet, amidst the fear and uncertainty, a faint spark of hope glimmered within him. He was alive.
And in the abyss, that was all that mattered.