Soul fragments?
What?
Silas blinked slowly at the elder, forcing himself to rise despite the sharp, persistent ache in his arm. Pain rippled through his body, but he bit down on the sensation, breathing through clenched teeth. His arm hung uselessly at his side, the discomfort now a dull roar in the back of his mind. He couldn't afford to focus on it. Not now.
The elder, however, didn't seem to notice Silas's struggle—or if he did, he didn't care. Instead, his brows furrowed as he tilted his head slightly, as though trying to decipher some inexplicable puzzle. "Why are you looking at me like that?" the elder asked, his tone laced with genuine confusion. He shifted his sword slightly, the blade catching the dim light of the cavern as its tip rested against the ground. "You came into a Collapse Site, and you're surprised I'm using the power of a Soul Fragment?"
Silas stared at the man, unblinking, the words not fully registering. A Soul Fragment? What the hell was he even talking about?
"Do you not have your Soul Fragment ability yet?" The elder's voice broke through Silas's thoughts again, this time tinged with curiosity rather than concern.
Behind him, Warren groaned as he pulled himself upright. His movement was slower, his body stiff from the sudden fall and the shove that had likely saved his life. He leaned against the cavern wall for support, favoring one leg as he stood. "Seriously… I'm sick of this bullshit," Warren spat, his voice brimming with frustration and rage. His glare locked onto the elder. "What are you even talking about?! My head seriously hurts, and the fact you're so calm about all this makes me want to kill you even more."
There was no hesitation in Warren's words, no attempt to mask his anger.
The elder sighed, shaking his head as though explaining something to a child who refused to understand. "When the Collapse happened… it gave birth to Collapse Sites." His tone was calm, deliberate, as though reciting a well-rehearsed script. "Collapse Sites could be anything—structures, caverns, anomalies. The mystery of them lies in the fact no one knows what they contain or where they will appear. But eventually, people began to explore these sites more often, and inside, they discovered Soul Fragments."
The elder paused, reaching into the pocket of his coat. Slowly, he withdrew a small object that glimmered faintly in the dim cavern light. Silas squinted, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of it. A shard of glass? No, not quite. It looked more crystalline—pristine yet somehow imperfect. The edges shimmered faintly, almost as though it pulsed with a weak heartbeat.
The crystal's faint light flickered in and out, steady and rhythmic, much like a dying bulb fighting to stay alive.
"Usually…" The elder's voice broke the silence. He held the shard up for both of them to see. "The light is brighter. It doesn't go out unless it's been used." He spoke with a tinge of disappointment, as though the crystal in his hand had failed to meet his expectations.
Silas's eyes darted between the elder's face and the shard. "Used?" he echoed faintly, though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.
"In order to gain the power of a Fragment… you must stab yourself with it." The elder's words were matter-of-fact, cold and blunt. He held up his arm, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a small, jagged scar. The wound matched the size and shape of the shard in his hand perfectly.
Silas felt a bitter laugh escape him before he could stop it. His gaze wandered back to where the elder's blood-fueled slash had missed them, the aftermath now etched into the environment itself. The doorframe and nearby rocks bore deep, jagged scars—vertical cuts identical to the trajectory of the elder's attack. The sheer force had carved through solid stone with ease. That could have been them. No, it should have been them.
"Seriously…" Silas muttered, his laugh fading into a sigh as he shook his head. "It's like something new happens every day. Makes me wish I was the first to go that day."
Warren shot him a sharp look, but Silas ignored it, drawing his dagger with his good hand. His grip was shaky, unsteady, but his resolve remained firm. It was a battered, one-armed Silas and a limping Warren versus a man who could cleave through stone with blood and steel. The odds weren't just against them—they were stacked so high they could crush them outright.
But even so, they wouldn't go down without a fight.
Silas charged headfirst at the elder, his dagger gripped tightly in his good hand. "Oorgahhhh!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the cavern with raw desperation. Behind him, Warren followed suit, each step a reminder of the sharp pain in his injured leg. But pain didn't matter now. Nothing mattered except stopping the elder.
As Silas closed the distance, his mind raced. The elder had explained Collapse Sites and Soul Fragments, but none of that gave him an immediate solution to their predicament. The man could control blood—his, theirs, anyone's—and the key to beating him seemed almost cruelly ironic: they'd have to make sure he didn't bleed.
But how?
If Silas tried the same tactic he used on the dog earlier—baiting the enemy into a mistake—it would be suicide. This wasn't an animal acting on instinct. The elder could stab himself, Silas, or Warren, and all that blood would just become another weapon.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
The elder turned his cold gaze on the charging Silas and raised his sword, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. Silas knew better than to charge recklessly without a plan—media and fiction had taught him that much. But sometimes, the best plan was to act on instinct.
As the elder swung his sword, Silas raised his dagger, bracing for the clash.
Cling!
Sparks flew as the two blades collided, the sound reverberating like a chime through the cavern. The weight of the elder's sword forced Silas to brace hard, but the lighter dagger had one key advantage: speed. Silas shifted his stance quickly, catching the elder's blade at an awkward angle and throwing it off balance.
The elder's grip faltered just slightly—just enough.
Silas lunged forward, grabbing the elder's arm and forcing it down. The sword slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the rocky ground. "Warren!" Silas shouted, his voice sharp and commanding. "Aim for his neck!"
Warren's steps quickened as he closed the gap, his arms outstretched, hands ready to grab hold of the elder's throat. The elder struggled against Silas's grip, but for the first time, the man's calm demeanor cracked.
And then—
Squish.
The sound was grotesque, like something wet and soft being crushed.
Silas's heart skipped as he glanced at the elder's face, his stomach sinking. The man had bitten down hard on his lip, splitting it open. Blood poured from the wound, thick and dark, pooling along the edge of his mouth.
"Silas!" Warren's voice rang out in sheer panic. "Ruuuuunnn!"
But it was too late.
The elder's blood surged unnaturally, shifting from liquid to solid as it formed sharp, deadly tendrils that aimed straight for Silas's head.
Silas's instincts screamed at him to move, but as he turned to flee, his leg caught against the elder's. The two stumbled awkwardly, and by some chaotic twist of fate, the elder's aim faltered. The tendrils of blood missed their mark, slicing through the air just inches from Silas's face.
The elder hit the ground hard, his sword clattering further out of reach. Silas, still reeling from the near miss, scrambled to his feet, dagger trembling in his hand. His breaths came in sharp, frantic gasps as he looked down at the elder, now sprawled on the ground only a few feet away.
Silas lunged forward, his dagger poised to strike, his mind locked in a single thought: they weren't out of danger yet.
Silas's mind raced as he executed his plan, a plan that now felt more fragile with every second. The key was to prevent any bloodshed—any at all. The elder's ability fed off it, turned it into his weapon, and giving him even a drop was the equivalent of handing him a loaded gun. Silas had seen the devastating results of just one mistake. He wouldn't let it happen again.
Sliding the dagger toward Warren, Silas took a leap of faith—literally—hurling himself onto the elder's stomach.
"Puu—uh!"
The sound of air being forcibly expelled from the elder's lungs filled the cavern as Silas's weight came crashing down on him. The man's body jerked, his face contorted in pain as he struggled to breathe. Silas planted his knees on either side of the elder, pinning him to the ground.
"Okay… listen," Silas panted, his chest heaving as he fought to steady himself. "I don't want to kill you. So just… cooperate, okay?"
It was a desperate plea, one tinged with hope but grounded in fear. Silas wasn't a killer. He didn't want this to end in blood. If the elder surrendered now, maybe—just maybe—this nightmare could end without further disaster.
But the elder's gasps turned into something else. A smile—a wide, sinister grin—stretched across his face.
Silas felt his stomach sink.
Then he saw it. The crimson streaks on the elder's hands.
Blood.
"Shitshitshitshitshit!"
The thought raced through Silas's mind like a broken record as he instinctively threw his arms up to shield his face. He was too late. The blood on the elder's hands shot forward, hardening midair into a lance-like form that slammed into Silas with the force of a battering ram.
Thwack!
Silas's body rocketed backward, the sheer impact of the attack lifting him off the elder and sending him crashing into the cavern wall.
Crack!
The jagged rocks greeted him mercilessly, digging into his back as he struck the surface. For a moment, his world was nothing but pain—a sharp, unrelenting agony that radiated through his entire body. He bounced off the wall and crumpled to the floor in a heap, dazed and gasping for air.
"Oooogh… My body…" Silas groaned, his voice weak and strained. His limbs felt like dead weight, his dislocated arm screaming in protest with every attempt to move.
"Silas!" Warren's voice cut through the haze. He was at Silas's side in an instant, pulling him up with trembling hands. "Here, let me help you—"
"T-Thank you…" Silas muttered, his voice barely audible. He reached out his good hand toward Warren, his fingers twitching weakly. "My dagger… give it to me…"
Warren hesitated, the color draining from his face as he froze mid-motion.
"What? Give it to me," Silas snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I—"
His words died in his throat as he followed Warren's gaze.
His hand.
No, not his hand.
What should have been his hand—his familiar, five-fingered hand—was now a grotesque, mutilated shadow of itself. Only two fingers remained, the others severed cleanly.
Silas stared, uncomprehending, as the realization dawned on him. He remembered the blood's trajectory, the way he had raised his hand to block the attack meant for his face. The elder's blood blade had sheared through his fingers like they were nothing.
His brain caught up a moment later.
"Huuu—OOHGUHHHHHH!"
The scream that tore from Silas's throat was raw, primal, a sound born of pure, unfiltered agony. The pain struck him like a tidal wave, overwhelming and relentless.
The adrenaline that had kept him going, that had dulled the ache of his dislocated arm and masked the sting of his wounds, now vanished entirely. In its absence, the full extent of his injuries hit him all at once.
His hand throbbed violently, the open wounds pulsing in time with his racing heartbeat. His arm hung uselessly at his side, the joint twisted at an unnatural angle. His back ached from the collision with the wall, and every shallow breath sent sharp, stabbing pain through his ribs.
Warren crouched beside him, his face pale and stricken with helplessness. "Silas—just hang on—"
"IT HURTS! IT HURTS!!!" Silas squirmed, his voice trembling as he clutched at his mangled hand. His vision blurred, tears of pain and frustration spilling down his cheeks.
The elder rose slowly from the ground, brushing dust off his coat as if nothing had happened. He looked down at Silas and Warren with a calm, almost amused expression.
"You should've listened," the elder said, his voice cold and measured. "Blood always finds its way."
The elder extended his hand, pointing directly at Silas' mangled excuse of a hand. Silas could feel it—the blood inside his body reacting to the elder's will. A sharp, pulling sensation coursed through him as crimson droplets began to seep from the mutilated wound. The elder was extracting his blood, twisting it to his own ends.
"Aaaaagh—!" Silas screamed, the pain unlike anything he had felt before. It wasn't just the physical agony of having his blood forcibly drawn from him—it was the complete helplessness that came with it. His body was no longer his own.
The thought gripped him: How will I die? Would it be from the pain, the unbearable torment that threatened to drag him into unconsciousness? Would it be the fear, gnawing at the edges of his mind, whispering that this was the end? Or perhaps it would be blood loss—a slow, agonizing draining of life as the elder consumed every last drop.
Silas didn't care anymore. Living like this, in this state of raw, unending agony, was unbearable.
"Silas!" Warren's voice cut through the haze like a lifeline.
Warren clenched his fist, his knuckles white with fury, and launched himself at the elder. His movements were unsteady, his injured leg buckling with each step, but he didn't hesitate.
The elder's eyes flicked toward Warren, calm and calculating. He sidestepped the punch with almost lazy ease and retaliated, flicking a tiny drop of blood forward. The crimson pebble shot through the air like a bullet, embedding itself in Warren's knee with a sickening pop.
"Gh—ahhh!" Warren stumbled, his leg giving out beneath him as he fell to the ground. His teeth clenched tightly, suppressing any further cries of pain.
The elder loomed over him, his expression unreadable, the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes. But Warren wasn't done yet.
Crack!
The unexpected backhand fist to the elder's jaw was enough to make him stagger.
"Damn it…" Warren growled, dragging himself upright, his body trembling with effort. "I don't care if you bleed or not. I'll kill you before you can even use that damn power!"
Fueled by desperation and rage, Warren closed the distance, lunging toward the elder as he regained his balance. With a forceful hop to compensate for his injured leg, Warren delivered a brutal kick to the elder's face.
Thwack!
The sound of Warren's boot meeting the elder's face echoed through the cavern, the impact snapping the elder's head to the side.
Silas blinked through the haze of pain, his vision swimming as he struggled to make sense of the scene before him. Warren was fighting—fighting for both of them. Each blow, each desperate attack, was a testament to Warren's resolve, to his refusal to give up even when the odds were stacked against them.
Silas tried to move, tried to push himself off the ground, but his body felt like lead. His arm throbbed, his hand pulsed with unbearable pain, and his mind wavered on the edge of unconsciousness.
He weakly sat up, his body trembling as he propped himself against the jagged wall. His gaze locked onto Warren, who fought with everything he had, refusing to back down.
Silas's chest tightened. He felt so utterly useless.
Why couldn't he do anything?
Warren was bleeding, fighting, risking everything to give them a chance. And all Silas could do was sit here, broken and helpless, watching as his friend faced the elder head-on.
Hopelessness clawed at him, threatening to swallow him whole.
"If I don't do something… if I don't get up… we're both going to die."
The thought gnawed at Silas' very existence, burrowing into the pit of his soul. All his life, he had felt the same hopelessness. It had clung to him like a shadow, an ever-present reminder of his failures. And now, as he lay broken and bleeding, watching the life drain from his only ally, he realized that feeling was about to follow him to his end.
Warren sent another kick to the elder, his movements wild and desperate. The elder blocked it with ease, his sword steady in his hand. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a needle-thin stream of blood hurtling toward Warren's eye.
The shot went wide, striking just above Warren's left eye. Blood seeped into the wound, dripping down and blinding him temporarily. Warren staggered, his footing unsteady, his hands instinctively trying to wipe the blood away.
"Warren!" Silas croaked, his voice raw and useless.
The elder moved in, quick and merciless. Gripping his sword tightly, he thrust it into Warren's ribs with a sickening force.
Crack.
The sound of bone breaking, flesh tearing, and steel sinking into muscle echoed through the cavern.
Squelch.
Warren gasped, his mouth opening in a silent scream before vomiting a torrent of blood. His body trembled, his strength evaporating as the elder twisted the blade slightly before withdrawing it.
Warren fell to his knees, then crumpled entirely. His body slumped against the cavern floor, lifeless eyes staring toward Silas.
Silas stared in horror, his breath caught in his throat. This can't be real. This can't be happening. No. No, no, no!
His chest tightened, his thoughts spiraling into chaos. He was just a kid. A seventeen-year-old with his whole life ahead of him. And now, that life was gone, slowly leaking away before his very eyes.
Silas shook his head violently. This is my fault. If I were stronger—if I had been faster, smarter, more capable—he wouldn't have had to fight alone.
The guilt was suffocating.
Warren's body collapsed next to him, lifeless and crumpled like a discarded rag doll. Silas reached out weakly, his trembling hand brushing against Warren's shoulder.
This can't be it.
A sharp poke against his leg interrupted his spiraling thoughts. Silas blinked, sluggishly glancing down to find the source. There, nestled against his leg, were two crystal-like objects.
Soul Fragments?
His heart skipped a beat as the elder's words came rushing back. "To gain the power of a Soul Fragment, you must stab yourself with it."
Silas didn't want to believe it. The thought of it seemed absurd, impossible, and yet…
He glanced at Warren, his bloodied form barely clinging to life.
There was no time to think.
"I'm sorry…" Silas whispered, his voice cracking as tears blurred his vision. "Please, trust me."
He gripped one of the crystals tightly, his hand shaking as he brought it to Warren's leg. With a swift motion, he stabbed it into the boy's flesh.
Warren's body jerked violently, his face contorting in pain as the shard dug into him. Silas flinched, guilt stabbing at his heart.
"I… I'm sorry," he choked out again, gasping as his own strength began to wane.
There was no time left.
Silas grabbed the remaining Fragment and, without hesitation, stabbed it into his own leg.
Pain.
A searing, unbearable pain exploded through his body. His vision blurred, his breathing faltered, and the world around him dissolved into nothingness.
.
..
…
Silence.
An empty void surrounded him.
Silas felt… nothing. No pain, no sound, no sense of his body. Just an overwhelming emptiness.
"Am I… dead?" he whispered into the void.
There was no response. Only silence.
Then, a voice.
"Welcome."
Silas spun around, his body moving instinctively only to be met with.. a floating blue aura?