Silas stepped out of his hiding spot as Val knelt beside the German Shepherd, trying in vain to tend to the critically injured dog. The animal gave a weak, futile attempt to stand, its legs trembling under its weight, but collapsed again with a pitiful whimper. Silas's steps were deliberate as he closed the distance, his spade held firmly in one hand, its metal head glinting faintly in the sunlight.
Val heard the crunch of Silas's approach and turned his head, his face hardening as he saw who it was. Slowly, he straightened to his full height, brushing dust off his pants as he turned to face the younger man. "Well, if it isn't the younger Master Creed," Val said, his voice dripping with derision. He gestured lazily toward Silas with one hand. "Good to see you up and about. That system of yours fixed my carpal tunnel, so I'd say it does more than just shake my bones loose."
Silas didn't respond immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on Val, cold and calculating. The spade in his hand didn't waver. "I'm taking the mini-pagoda," he said flatly. His tone left no room for negotiation. "You can leave now."
Val's lips curled into a grin, sharp and smug. His teeth flashed in the midday light, his posture radiating false ease as his eyes glinted with something far more dangerous. "You see," he said slowly, "I just killed someone, and my timer got cut in half… So I'll need you to come a little closer."
Silas blinked at the admission, his expression remaining impassive, though his grip on the spade shifted slightly. That was interesting, he thought. Without hesitation, he began to step forward, each movement careful and deliberate. No time like the present.
As soon as Silas got within range, Val swung the hammer in a vicious, wide arc, aiming to flatten him with a single blow. Silas leaned back, the air from the swing brushing his face as the hammer narrowly missed him. Val's overcommitment left him open, and Silas pivoted sharply, bringing the spade around with precision. The metal edge slammed into Val's lower back, forcing a grunt of pain as he stumbled forward, his footing faltering.
Silas didn't slow. He spun on his heel, only to spot the injured Shepherd weakly lunging at him, its yellowed teeth bared. Timing his movement, Silas twisted to the side and brought the spade down hard. The metal blade drove into the back of the dog's neck with a loud, sickening crack. The Shepherd let out a strangled yelp, its massive body crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap.
Resetting his stance, Silas turned back to Val, who was already straightening, though slower this time. Blood had begun to stain the back of Val's shirt, the crimson spreading outward in uneven blotches, but his grip on the hammer remained firm. Val's face twisted into a grimace as he shifted his weight. His movements were more measured now, less reckless, as he began circling Silas like a predator gauging his prey.
Silas remembered Axel's voice during their training: "Don't waste time or energy dancing with a threat. Neutralize, move on, and prepare for the next." The advice rang clear in his mind. He focused on Val's footwork, watching for an opening.
Val shifted his stance slightly, and Silas seized the moment. He sidestepped, planting his foot beneath the knife Mac had dropped earlier. With a calculated kick, he sent the blade spinning into the air. It flipped end over end, glinting briefly in the sunlight, before Silas snatched it mid-spin, transitioning it seamlessly into a forward grip.
Val gritted his teeth, raising the hammer in anticipation of an attack, but Silas was already moving. He darted to Val's blind side, the knife flashing as he slashed it across Val's back in one fluid motion. Val roared in pain, staggering forward as the hammer slipped slightly in his grasp. His balance was faltering, his movements sluggish.
Silas pressed his advantage. He stepped in close, bringing the spade upward in a brutal arc. The flat metal head connected squarely with Val's groin, the impact reverberating with a sickening thud. Val's eyes widened in agony, his knees giving out as he collapsed to the ground. The hammer slipped from his grasp entirely, clattering uselessly against the dirt as Val gasped, his trembling hands clutching at his midsection.
He tried to speak, his voice hoarse and choked. "Merc—"
Silas didn't let him finish. In a single decisive motion, he stepped forward and slashed the knife across Val's throat. A spray of blood erupted, splattering the dirt and nearby foliage as Val's body twitched once, then went completely still.
Silas straightened slowly, his chest rising and falling as he surveyed the clearing. The faint hum of the mini-pagoda in the background filled the silence left in the wake of the fight. He glanced down at the crumpled figure of Val, his expression unreadable, before turning his attention back to the strange structure looming just ahead.
Silas lowered himself to the ground, leaning against the base of a nearby tree at the edge of the clearing. The bark was rough against his back, but he didn't care. His eyes remained locked on the bodies scattered across the ground—Val and Mac sprawled lifeless in the dirt, their blood pooling beneath them. One of the massive German Shepherds lay dead a few feet away, its frame unnaturally still. The other dog, broken and whimpering, struggled weakly toward Val's body, claws scraping faint lines into the soil.
Silas exhaled slowly, his breath barely audible above the pitiful sounds of the injured Shepherd. For a moment, he just watched, his mind running on autopilot. He didn't feel triumphant or relieved. Just… tired. But the sound of the dog clawing at the ground pulled him back to the moment.
"Damn it," Silas muttered under his breath. Standing with deliberate care, he approached the wounded dog. Its head weakly lifted at his approach, but there was no fight left in it. The animal's golden-brown eyes flickered with something that might have been pain or confusion, but Silas didn't let himself linger on it. He crouched next to the creature, his spade in hand.
Not wanting the dog to suffer any more he decided to end its life. With a swift motion, Silas drove the blade into the dog's neck, just below the base of the skull. The creature let out one final, sharp yelp before going still. Silas remained crouched for a moment, staring down at the now-silent body. He wasn't sure whether to feel relief or guilt. Probably both.
Shaking his head, he stood and glanced toward the mini-pagoda. Its glowing timer read: 28:40. He still had time. Silas grabbed Val and Mac's bodies one by one, dragging them further toward the edge of the clearing. He worked quickly, ignoring the dull ache in his shoulders as he heaved their weight across the uneven ground, he removed their belongings to be looked over later he semi-hidden to the left of the corpses. He positioned them behind a cluster of thick bushes, then covered them with stray branches and leaves. It wasn't perfect, but it would do.
The dog's bodies were next. He hauled them to the same spot, laying them alongside the men. It was a morbid pile, but at least it was hidden. The last thing he needed was to attract attention. His senses stayed sharp, constantly checking his surroundings to ensure he didn't venture more than ten yards from the pagoda's door.
By the time he finished, sweat clung to his forehead, and his shirt was damp against his back. He returned to the base of the tree and leaned against it once more, wiping his hands on his pants. The timer now read: 15:07. Halfway there.
Silas let his head fall back against the bark, his breathing evening out as he surveyed the clearing again. The bodies were out of sight, the immediate danger neutralized. For now, all he had to do was wait.
As Silas tried to let the quiet settle over him, he noticed the timer on the mini-pagoda's door ticking steadily downward: 14:59, 14:58. Time was moving, but his thoughts weren't settling. Instead, they swirled in disjointed circles, replaying the chaos of the last hour.
Her gaze darted nervously around the clearing before landing on Silas. "Hello?" she called out hesitantly, her voice tentative but not entirely timid. "Please, I need help."
Just as Silas began to steady his breathing, a flicker of movement in the treeline drew his attention. A young woman emerged from the shadows, stepping hesitantly into the clearing. Her blonde hair, golden and gleaming, caught the fractured sunlight filtering through the canopy above, the strands shifting like silk with each careful step. She wore a snug, cream-colored sweater, its knit pattern pristine, untouched by the grime or blood that seemed to cling to everything else in this shattered world. Her jeans, dark and fitted, hugged her legs cleanly, the kind of denim that had never been meant for survival but for comfort or show. A slightly overstuffed backpack hung off one shoulder, its dull gray fabric stretching slightly around its contents, though it was slung with the careless ease of someone unused to the weight of burden.
Her steps were cautious, almost tentative, but they lacked the jagged urgency of someone truly fearing for their life. She glanced around the clearing, her movements smooth but with an air of uncertainty, her posture stiff like she was stepping into a place she didn't belong. Her face was pale, free of dirt or sweat, her features sharp and polished, as though this brutal new reality had yet to leave its mark on her. Sunlight broke through the canopy in scattered beams, painting her skin with soft highlights and casting faint shadows under her eyes and jawline. She was too clean, too put-together—out of place in the fractured chaos of the world around her, like an image from a catalog.
Silas didn't move from where he leaned against the tree. His eyes narrowed as he studied her. Something about her didn't sit right. Maybe it was the way her appearance seemed so clean, so… untouched by the chaos around them. Or maybe it was how quickly she honed in on him, her steps a little too direct, her backpack suspiciously full. Whatever it was, he wasn't about to let his guard down.
"Stay back," Silas said, his voice firm and low.
The woman froze, her blue eyes widening slightly. "I'm not trying to hurt you," she said quickly, holding her hands up in a show of surrender. "I just—" Her words faltered as her gaze drifted past Silas to the mini-pagoda standing behind him. A flicker of something—determination, maybe?—crossed her face, but she smothered it almost immediately.
"I said, stay back," Silas repeated, his tone sharper now. His hand tightened around the spade still resting against his leg and the other hand reached for the knife that was currently sheathed, he found the sheath on Mac's body.
The woman hesitated, her weight shifting nervously. "I just… I don't know what's going on," she tried again, her tone softening. "I need help."
Silas's jaw tightened. He had no idea what her deal was, but he wasn't about to take any chances. The system had already proven it was pushing people toward these pagodas, and there was no way she was here by accident.
The silence between them stretched uncomfortably. Finally, the woman's shoulders slumped slightly. Her lips pressed into a tight line as she glanced again at the pagoda, then back at Silas. Whatever she'd been hoping for, she clearly wasn't going to get it.
"Fine," she muttered, her voice barely audible. Without another word, she turned and walked back the way she'd come, disappearing into the shadows of the trees.
Silas didn't relax until she was completely out of sight. Even then, he kept his spade within easy reach and his eyes fixed on the treeline, waiting to see if she'd double back. But the woods remained still. For now.
Silas briefly entertained the flickering thought of calling her over, using her to shorten his wait time and enter the pagoda sooner by killing her—but he quickly dismissed it. He wasn't about to become a killer just for a temporary advantage. The world, he figured, was already descending into chaos, and the mini-pagodas—one-time-use as they were—would only make things worse for anyone hoping to form groups. If the benefits they offered were as significant as they seemed, they'd actively prevent people from banding together, forcing everyone into a ruthless, individualistic struggle. Silas mulled over the implications for a few minutes longer, realizing that in this new world, survival might mean standing alone more often than not.
Silas leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, his spade still in hand, ready for anything that might come his way. He glanced again at the glowing numbers on the pagoda's door 13 minutes and 12 seconds left. The seconds ticked down steadily, each one stretching longer than the last. He took a slow breath, scanning the clearing and the treeline.
Everything felt too quiet now. Even the faint hum of the pagoda seemed to vibrate louder in the silence. Silas gripped the spade tighter. He'd learned one thing today—quiet didn't mean safe. Not in this world. Not anymore.
"Just hold on," he told himself, his voice barely above a whisper. The timer kept ticking, and with it, the weight of what was to come settled heavier on his shoulders.