The wasteland stretched endlessly before them, an unforgiving expanse of jagged rocks and barren earth, void of anything that resembled life. Akuma trudged along, each step a laborious effort as the weight of his existence bore down on him. His throat burned, parched from days without water, while his stomach twisted in hunger and revulsion, an unrelenting agony that he could no longer escape. The putrid stench of goblin blood clung to his skin, soaking into his clothes, and the sour taste of its meat lingered on his tongue, a reminder of his grim reality.
Beside him, **Kuro** the bone fiend clattered with each step, its skeletal frame moving with an eerie fluidity. Though the fiend was powerful, its presence only underscored the bleakness of Akuma's situation. The two were partners in this savage fight for survival, but Kuro lacked the warmth of life—an emotionless husk that knew nothing of the suffering Akuma endured.
It had been days since their first encounter with a goblin, days filled with nothing but the gruesome, relentless task of hunting more of the vile creatures. Every goblin they encountered was an ordeal—each one stronger than the last, more cunning and vicious. Akuma could barely keep up, his small body wracked with exhaustion and malnourishment. The cuts and bruises from each battle layered over one another, forming a patchwork of pain that never seemed to fade.
Each morning, Akuma would wake with a growing sense of despair. His lips cracked further, bleeding as he coughed the dryness from his throat. His limbs felt heavy, almost too heavy to lift as he prepared for yet another day of hunting. It was no longer about surviving the goblins; it was about surviving himself.
He hadn't found any water in this cursed land, not even a trickle. All he had to drink was the foul green blood of the goblins, the very thought of which made his stomach churn. But he had no choice. It was the only liquid that kept him alive, though barely.
Akuma's hands shook as he held the crude bag of goblin meat at his side, the stench of it making his already weak stomach lurch. The flesh was tough and slimy, and every bite felt like a punishment. But he forced himself to eat it. The meat kept him alive, though he wished it wouldn't. It was like gnawing on death itself. His teeth couldn't break it down fully, and his stomach rejected it constantly, but he continued to consume it, gagging on each bite until his throat burned with acid.
The green blood was no better. Akuma had tried drinking it slowly at first, hoping to make it more palatable, but it was impossible. Every gulp filled his mouth with the rancid taste of rot and decay. The sickly liquid was thick, oozing down his throat like bile. He often vomited it up moments later, his body violently rejecting the poison-like substance.
But he kept going.
Because he had no choice.
Their latest goblin hunt had left him trembling. Akuma watched as Kuro tore through the creature with its bony hands, cracking the goblin's skull as though it were nothing more than brittle wood. The goblin let out a final screech, its small, twisted body collapsing to the ground in a pool of its own blood. Akuma stood by, useless as ever, clutching his makeshift bone spear and doing little more than watching. He couldn't fight—not yet. He was too small, too weak. But he could help Kuro. He could support his only ally, the only one who fought for him.
Or at least, that's what he told himself.
The goblin's death brought no joy, no relief. There was no satisfaction in killing anymore. Only survival. Akuma knelt by the body, tears stinging his eyes as he prepared for the grisly task ahead. He couldn't help but feel the weight of the world pressing down on him, smothering him under the oppressive heat and hopelessness of the wasteland.
His hands trembled as he pulled out the crude knife he had made from another goblin's bone days ago. The blade was dull and jagged, barely functional, but it was all he had. With shaking fingers, Akuma began to carve into the goblin's flesh, tears slipping down his cheeks as he tried to stomach the grotesque task. The skin peeled back with sickening ease, revealing the dark, rancid meat beneath. Akuma gagged, pausing only to wipe the sweat and tears from his face, before continuing.
The meat was soft, and the stench that rose from the goblin's open corpse nearly made him vomit. But Akuma forced himself to remain still, to keep carving. He needed the meat, no matter how much he hated it. He needed it to survive. He tossed the goblin's limbs into his tattered makeshift bag, feeling the weight of it pull at his waist. The raw meat oozed in the fabric, leaking blood that seeped through the thin material. The bag wouldn't last much longer.
"Why?" he whispered to himself, his voice cracking. "Why am I still alive?"
There was no answer, only the unyielding silence of the wasteland.
Akuma's stomach lurched as the smell of the meat grew stronger, his body still rejecting what little food he had. He wiped the bile from his mouth and pressed on, cutting through the goblin's sinewy flesh with the bone knife. His hands were sticky with blood, and his clothes were soaked through with the disgusting green liquid, staining his skin a sickly hue.
Beside him, Kuro stood motionless, its empty eye sockets staring into the distance. It had no need for food, no need for sustenance. It didn't suffer like Akuma did. And for that, Akuma both envied and pitied the bone fiend. It didn't understand the agony of hunger or the torment of thirst. It was a soulless creature, bound to him by some strange fate.
When Akuma had taken what he could from the goblin's body, he rose to his feet, swaying with exhaustion. His knees buckled, but he caught himself before he could fall. His vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges of his sight. He felt lightheaded, as if the very world beneath him was crumbling away.
But still, he didn't stop.
He couldn't.
With the bag of meat tied around his waist and the bone spear clutched in his hand, Akuma staggered onward through the wasteland, his legs burning with each step. The sun was high in the sky, casting a brutal heat across the land. His skin felt like it was on fire, the heat suffocating him as it beat down on his already fragile frame.
Each breath he took was labored, his chest tight with dehydration. His throat was so dry that it hurt to swallow, and he had to force himself to breathe slowly, evenly, just to avoid coughing.
But despite it all, Akuma continued. Kuro followed silently behind him, its bony feet scraping against the rocky ground. They were a miserable pair, a boy and his undead companion, wandering aimlessly through a world that seemed determined to kill them.
Akuma's thoughts drifted as he walked, his mind clouded with hunger and thirst. He thought about the goblins—those wretched, disgusting creatures that had become both his enemy and his lifeline. He hated them. He hated everything about them. The way they shrieked, the way they bled, the way their flesh tasted like death. But without them, he would have died long ago.
A twisted part of him almost thanked the goblins. Their meat, their blood—it was the only thing keeping him alive. The irony of it wasn't lost on him.
But the cost was too great.
Akuma was losing himself. Each time he fought, each time he ate, he felt more like a savage animal and less like a person. He could feel his humanity slipping away, piece by piece, as the wasteland continued to chip away at what little remained of his soul.
He had tried to cling to hope at first. Tried to tell himself that there was a way out, that he would find water, that he would find safety. But those hopes had long since crumbled, worn away by the harsh reality of his situation. Now, there was only the present. Only the need to survive.
As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the barren land, Akuma collapsed to his knees. His legs wouldn't carry him any further. His body had reached its limit.
"Kuro," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I... I don't think I can go on."
The bone fiend didn't respond. It couldn't. But it remained by his side, its presence a cold comfort in the vast emptiness of the wasteland.
Akuma closed his eyes, letting the weight of his exhaustion wash over him. His body was broken, his mind shattered. He had nothing left to give.
But he couldn't die. Not yet.
With a groan, Akuma forced himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. He had to keep going. Even if it killed him.
The night was approaching, and with it, the dangers of the wasteland would grow. But Akuma wasn't ready to give up.
Not today.
As the first stars began to dot the sky, Akuma stumbled forward, Kuro following closely behind. They were lost, broken, and desperate.
But they were still alive. As long as he breathe he would keep fighting