After the Collapse
Chapter 6 - Just The Beginning
Thomas and Keith had murdered them.
No.
Thomas and Keith had murdered them?
Despite the grotesque scene in front of him, Silas couldn't fully process it. His mind reeled, searching for some alternative explanation, but there wasn't one. The blood on their hands, the lifeless bodies on the ground—it was undeniable. And yet, it made no sense.
The same Thomas and Keith who always lent a hand to anyone in need? The same ones who had helped Silas time and again? Murderers?
His breaths came in shallow gasps.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
exhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhale—
His chest heaved as the rhythm spiraled out of control, his breath no longer keeping time with the pounding in his head. His vision blurred at the edges, and he was afraid to blink, terrified of what might happen in the split-second he couldn't see.
They were fast. Too fast. He didn't hear the dogs until it was too late, and he hadn't heard the men until…
The image of their cold, efficient strikes replayed in his mind. Two human lives snuffed out like nothing, and it had happened right behind him. How had he not noticed? How had he not felt it?
The realization sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't just the brutality. It was the fact that it had happened so quietly, so effortlessly.
Silas tried to speak, but his throat closed up. His hand instinctively reached for his dagger, trembling as it hovered over the handle. He wanted to trust them—needed to trust them—but every fiber of his being screamed at him to run.
"Silas."
The sound of his name snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. Thomas's voice was calm and steady.
"Please don't make me kill you too."
Thomas's words echoed in the air, chilling Silas to his core. The raw sincerity in his voice, coupled with the weight of their meaning, made Silas's stomach twist in knots. It wasn't a threat—it was a plea, and that made it all the more horrifying.
Silas took a shaky step back, his thoughts racing. The realization that Thomas *could* kill him—that he was *willing* to—made his whole body tremble.
"What's the commotion?" Warren's voice broke through the tension. He turned to face them, his usual casual tone fading the moment his eyes landed on the scene. "We're here, no—!" His words cut off abruptly, his gaze locking onto the pale corpses sprawled on the ground and the blood-soaked figures of Thomas and Keith.
A single bead of cold sweat rolled down Warren's temple as his lips parted, but no sound came out.
Silas forced himself to speak, though his voice wavered. He raised his trembling hands, trying to keep the situation from spiraling further. "O-Okay, look—my hands are right here. Just—why? Why did you do this?" He tried to sound calm for Warren's sake, but his heart was beating out of his chest.
Thomas exhaled heavily, the sound thick with regret. "On the day of… November 17th," he began, his voice steady but broken, "I heard a voice. It told me I'd meet you two."
Silas blinked in confusion. A voice?
"I wasn't the only one," Thomas continued, glancing at Keith, who nodded grimly. "The voice told me that if I didn't kill you two, Keith would die."
The air around them seemed to freeze, the weight of his words suffocating. Silas's mind reeled. He couldn't deny the logic—twisted as it was. In their shoes, would he have done the same?
Thomas gestured toward the bodies on the ground, his voice cracking. "I killed them because I knew they'd try to stop me."
Silas swallowed hard, fear and disbelief swirling in his chest. "B-But you said, 'Please don't make me kill you too.' What does that mean?"
Thomas's shoulders slumped, his sadness palpable. "The voice told me everything. It said I'd meet you, then Warren. That we'd travel together, learn about these Collapse Sites. And that someone would be inside… to finish the job."
Silas felt his knees weaken. This wasn't just murder. This was orchestrated. Someone—or something—was pulling the strings.
"What is this 'voice' you keep talking about!?" Warren shouted, his trembling fists clenched. "Utter bullshit!"
Tears streamed down Thomas's face, his composure finally breaking. "I—I can't say. If I do, it'll kill me. Or Keith." His voice cracked with desperation.
As Thomas and Keith stepped forward, Silas and Warren instinctively moved back, their steps hesitant and uneven. The cavern's entrance loomed behind them, its dark maw threatening to swallow them whole.
"Please," Thomas whispered, his voice heavy with guilt. "Don't make this harder on us. I don't want to do this, but I have no choice."
Their backs were against the edge now, the chilling breeze from the cavern brushing their skin. Thomas and Keith lowered their weapons, but the gesture wasn't comforting. Slowly, they raised their boots.
"Forgive me," Thomas murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I enjoyed our time together… I know it's too much to ask, but I need your forgiveness."
Silas barely registered the words before the world spun.
The last thing they heard was the sound of Thomas's voice, broken and distant, as they were kicked in and fell.
Thud.
…
Freefalling, without a doubt, was one of the most terrifying ways to die. There was no dignity in it, no chance to resist, no opportunity to brace for impact. It was an agonizing surrender to the unknown, a descent into inevitable doom. Worse yet, the darkness consumed you. The world vanished, leaving only the suffocating black that wrapped itself around your body like a shroud.
Fear had no rival in moments like this. It overrode everything else—thought, instinct, even pain. Fear was the sharp edge that cut through the air, the relentless drumbeat that pounded in your ears, louder than your own screams.
But fear wasn't the worst part. No, the worst was waiting. The freefall wasn't instant; it dragged on for an eternity, long enough for every anxious thought to claw its way to the surface. How far was the fall? How long until it ended?
And the end—oh, the end—wasn't merciful. You didn't wonder if you'd die. That was certain. You wondered how. Would your body shatter like glass, every bone crushed in a symphony of pain that stretched seconds into eternity? Or would you be fortunate enough to land wrong—no, right—and snap your neck, delivering death in the blink of an eye?
But really, was that even lucky? It was absurd to call it that. The thought of being grateful for a swifter death felt like the sickest joke. A cruel, cosmic irony that mocked you even as you plunged into the void.
The darkness offered no answers. It didn't care for your terror, your desperate bargaining, or your futile prayers. It swallowed everything—your screams, your thoughts, and soon, it would take your life too.
"—ilas! S—ilas!"
The muffled sound clawed its way into his consciousness, the broken syllables echoing through the fog in his head. It took Silas a moment to register the voice calling his name. Familiar. Urgent. He forced his heavy eyelids open, and the blurred outline of Warren's face hovered above him, panic etched into every line.
"Silas! You're alive!" Warren's voice cracked, the relief flooding over him like a wave.
Alive. That much was clear. But how was another question. Silas groaned, his body protesting every inch of movement as he shifted to sit up. The sharp, throbbing pain in his arm brought him back to reality. The dim light in the cavern cast long, jagged shadows on the walls, giving the place an eerie, suffocating atmosphere.
Warren knelt beside him, studying Silas as if making sure he wasn't about to keel over. Silas blinked a few times, trying to gather his thoughts. His surroundings, the dull ache in his bones, Warren's voice—it all came together like puzzle pieces, forming a grim realization: they had survived the fall.
But the thought brought him no comfort. His eyes lingered on Warren's face, and in that moment, his memory betrayed him. He remembered when Thomas and Keith had found him—how they'd hovered over him. Now those same hands had shoved him into this nightmare.
The bitter irony wasn't lost on him. The ones he once trusted had sent him hurtling into the depths of this cavern, and now, here he was, alive but broken, with Warren as his only ally.
He let out a shaky breath, his voice a low murmur. "Figures it'd come full circle like this…"
Warren frowned. "What are you mumbling about? Can you move? Are you hurt bad?"
Silas thought before answering, staring up at the jagged ceiling above them. His thoughts raced, but one thing stuck out above the pain, the betrayal, and the fear: they had survived the fall. Somehow, they'd made it.
Finally answering Warren's concerns, Silas gritted his teeth and tried to push himself upright, leaning on both arms for support. But something was wrong. His left arm didn't respond, hanging limp at his side as if the connection between it and his brain had been severed.
A wave of panic surged through him. He quickly looked down, half-expecting the worst, only to see the arm still attached. Relief was short-lived, though, as he noticed something off: the limb hung unnaturally, a couple of inches lower than his right.
"Dislocated," Warren muttered, his brows knit in concern as he crouched closer. "The fall must've done it."
Silas stared at the arm, his breathing uneven. Dislocated. The word sounded distant, almost detached from his own reality. Strangely, he didn't feel the intense, stabbing pain he thought he would. Instead, there was a dull ache, overshadowed by the chaotic storm of adrenaline still coursing through him.
"It… doesn't hurt that bad," Silas admitted, his voice shaky. "Shouldn't this… I don't know, feel worse?"
Warren's eyes lingered on him for a moment before he sighed. "You're running on adrenaline. Trust me, it's gonna hurt like hell when that fades." He glanced at their surroundings, the dim cavern walls and jagged rocks adding an oppressive weight to the situation. "We need to figure out how to fix it—fast. You can't stay like this."
Silas nodded weakly, though the very idea of popping his arm back into place sent a shiver down his spine. He wasn't ready for what came next. He wasn't sure he'd ever be ready.
Grasping Warren's outstretched hand, Silas staggered to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him. Once upright, he instinctively cradled his injured arm with his good hand. The limb hung awkwardly, throbbing with small, sharp jolts of pain that shot up to his brain like tiny needles. Manageable—for now.
Warren rummaged through his bag, pulling out a flashlight. Its beam flickered briefly before stabilizing, cutting through the cavern's oppressive darkness. Silas blinked at their surroundings, his eyes tracing the jagged walls and eerie shadows. There was something surreal about it. He couldn't help but imagine this was like the opening of a game he used to play—one where a dangerous boss lurked just beyond a foggy door.
"C'mon," Warren muttered, stepping forward. Silas followed reluctantly, every step a reminder of his precarious arm.
The duo walked deeper into the site, their footsteps echoing faintly off the walls. Just as the silence started to stretch too long, Warren stopped abruptly, the flashlight's beam catching on something up ahead. "Wait… what's that?"
They moved closer, and Warren crouched down, picking up a piece of faded fabric. It was a plaid shirt, tattered and coated in dirt. His eyes lit up with an idea. "Quick. Give me your dagger."
Before Silas could respond, Warren snatched the blade from his side, crouching down to hack away at the shirt. He worked swiftly, cutting through the arm sleeve with surprising precision. Silas raised an eyebrow, watching in curiosity as Warren fashioned a makeshift sling.
Warren stood, a hint of pride in his expression, and carefully looped the fabric under Silas's injured arm, tying it securely around his neck. "There. That should hold it in place for now."
Silas blinked a few times, looking at the sling, then back at Warren. "What?" Warren asked, already sounding annoyed. "You're not gonna say thank you or something?"
"I mean… thanks," Silas said, his voice tinged with surprise. "But seriously, I didn't expect this from you. Did you plan on being a doctor or something? Where'd you learn to do that?"
Warren smirked proudly as he admitted something disturbing. "I've broken my fair share of arms! Wait.. I mean my arms were broken, not that I broken anyone else. Though there was this one time—," he admitted as he talked about his grim experience with pride.
"Yikes," Silas muttered, his lips quirking in an uneasy smile. "Not the answer I expected, but… fair enough."
With his arm now stabilized, the two continued forward, the flashlight beam their only guide into the unknown.
As they pressed on through the darkness, their steps grew slower, more hesitant. The air thickened with a rancid stench, pungent and overpowering, that made both Silas and Warren instinctively wrinkle their noses. The longer they walked, the stronger the smell became—so strong that it clawed at their throats and made their stomachs churn.
"It reeks… Makes me wanna just stop right here," Silas muttered, trying to mask his unease with a half-hearted quip. His voice cracked slightly, betraying his nerves.
Neither of them stopped, though. They pushed forward until Silas suddenly stumbled, his boot slipping on something slick. He threw out his good arm to steady himself, hissing as his injured arm jostled in its sling.
"What the—?" Warren swung the flashlight down, the beam catching on a dark, glistening liquid beneath their feet. Its hue was unmistakable, even in the dim light.
Blood.
A fresh chill crept up their spines as the realization sank in. Silas stared down at the crimson trail, his throat dry. It wasn't just a smear—it was a path. A deliberate trail leading somewhere deeper into the cavern.
"…Fuck." Silas whispered, He rarely swore unless under extreme amounts of pressure.
Warren didn't look back at the profanity Silas mumbled, his jaw tightening as he pointed the flashlight ahead, illuminating where the trail led. It pooled at the base of a door—wooden, old, and slightly ajar. The light revealed the way the blood seeped from underneath it, forming rivulets that snaked toward them like hungry fingers.
Silas swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. His feet felt rooted to the spot, but Warren stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the door as if drawn by something unseen.
"Wait—" Silas called out, but his voice came out weak, drowned out by the oppressive silence of the cavern. Warren stopped and looked back. The two heard footsteps—not coming toward the door, but seemingly wandering aimlessly, with no clear destination.
Putting his ear to the door, Silas strained to make out the sound. Shoes. Whoever was walking behind the door was human!
Warren quickly caught on and carefully pushed the door open. At first, just a sliver. Then, after a few moments of silence, he opened it fully.
They were met with the sight of an elderly man. He wore a coat, trousers, and had something long strapped to his hip. They couldn't quite make out what it was. He was taller than Warren but shorter than Silas.
"Er– Excuse me." Silas broke the silence, raising his hand nervously as they stepped inside, the door still ajar.
The elder turned toward them, his expression eerily neutral, almost detached.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. You see, me and my partner, uhh… got lost." Silas didn't want to admit they'd been betrayed. Warren nodded along silently.
"Ah, no worries. I'm just like the both of you," the elder replied as he began to walk toward them slowly.
As the man approached, Silas's mind began to churn, the memory of Thomas's words resurfacing, clear and heavy.
"The voice told me everything. It said I'd meet you, then Warren. That we'd travel together, learn about these Collapse Sites. And that someone would be inside… to finish the job."
At the time, Silas had dismissed it, assuming it was just a lie Thomas told himself to justify the betrayal. But now, as the pieces came together, the situation felt too perfect to be a coincidence.
An elderly man, alone in a cavern, surviving without anyone else? The odds of that were laughably low.
Could this be the man Thomas meant? The one who would "finish the job"?
As Silas's gaze dropped, something caught his attention. Something was off.
The blood pooled on the ground when they walked in—it was moving. Slowly, steadily, toward the elder.
This should've been impossible. The blood had been stationary before. Why was it moving now?
Silas looked back up, just in time to see the elder reach for his hip. He withdrew a Japanese-style sword.
So that's what the long object was, Silas thought.
Warren's eyes widened as the elder raised the blade and sliced upward through the air.
The blood followed the motion, rising in a sharp, fluid arc toward them.
Silas, quicker on the uptake, reacted first. He shoved Warren out of the way, both of them barely avoiding the attack.
Wait… what?
As Silas hit the floor, pain shooting through his arm, his thoughts raced.
Unless… the man had some type of ability? Even thinking that almost made Silas laugh. This wasn't a manga or a game he played when he was a teenager, so why would he think something so ridiculous?
But no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, the sight before him made no sense. The man controlled the blood.
The elder exhaled, his tone casual, almost bored.
"Using this Soul Fragment bullshit is difficult," he muttered.
Soul Fragments…?
What?