Roy slowly opened his eyes. The world around him was hazy, the colors swirling in a dreamlike manner. He felt the ground beneath him moving—he was being dragged. Blinking to clear his vision, he saw a fellow slave, a burly man, pulling him along, cursing under his breath. The man's expression was one of annoyance, his brows furrowed as he tugged Roy across the rough ground, clearly irritated by the added burden.
Pain throbbed through Roy's body. He noticed the bandages covering the wounds on his chest and back. The strange irony was that they wanted him to survive, but they tortured him by dragging his injured body across the rough ground, making every wound burn anew. The wounds were a reminder of the recent lashings, a reminder of Chris's death.
As Roy's body slid over a small rock, a groan escaped his lips.
The man dragging him glanced back, a look of irritation crossing his face. "So, you're awake, huh? Then get up and carry the items," the man growled, his voice gruff and annoyed.
Despite the pain coursing through his body, Roy forced himself up. His limbs ached, his muscles screamed, but he knew better than to hesitate. Failure to obey would mean another lashing or worse, and Roy had learned enough about the cruel ways of the sect to know that he couldn't afford to draw more attention to himself. He picked up his oversized bag, his fingers trembling as they grasped the straps. He struggled to keep pace with the rest of the group, every step a challenge. The other slaves glanced at him briefly, their faces blank, each consumed by their own misery. The burly man shot Roy a disdainful look, clearly expecting him to fail.
They continued the grueling journey for what felt like hours, eventually emerging from the dark embrace of the Toxic Forest. The air changed abruptly, going from the choking thickness of the forest to the arid, barren atmosphere of the wasteland beyond. It was shocking to see such a stark contrast—the lush, albeit deadly, vegetation of the Toxic Forest suddenly giving way to an expanse of lifeless, cracked earth. It seemed almost unnatural, as if some force had drained the life out of the land right at the forest's edge. The sudden change left the group uneasy, a reminder of how unpredictable and strange this world could be. They traveled for a few kilometers, the ground beneath them dry and cracked, until they encountered an enormous crevice—a crack in the earth stretching hundreds of kilometers long, twenty meters wide, and so deep that its bottom was lost to darkness.
The bald man leading the group glanced at the crevice, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the obstacle. He turned to face the group, his voice loud and commanding. "We'll rest here tonight. Tomorrow, we'll cross at first light by jumping in pairs, bringing the slaves across as well. We're close to our destination."
Roy felt a sense of relief wash over him. He let the heavy bag slide off his shoulders, collapsing on the hard, cracked ground. The other slaves did the same, their bodies too worn and weary to care about comfort. The disciples set up a few tents, while the slaves were left to sleep in the open. The cold night air bit into their skin, and many of the slaves tried to huddle together to share warmth. Roy kept a bit of distance, his eyes darting towards the disciples' tents, observing them with both resentment and envy. They had fire, food, and protection. The slaves had only each other, and for many of them, even that was not enough.
Roy lay on his back, gazing up at the night sky. Stars twinkled above, scattered across the vast expanse of darkness. Two large moons, one blue and the other pink, hung in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow over the barren landscape. The sight was almost beautiful, a rare instance of peace amidst the chaos of his life. He could hear the low murmur of the disciples talking among themselves, their laughter occasionally rising above the crackling of their campfire. The warmth of that fire seemed a world away from where he lay, the cold seeping into his bones. He extended his hand towards the sky, his fingers trembling slightly.
"I must escape from here," he thought. The memory of Chris's death flashed through his mind, and his chest tightened. He could still hear Chris's final words, could still see the fear and acceptance in his eyes. "I need to live and I need to find my parents."
He clenched his hand into a fist, determination welling up inside him. His gaze shifted towards the crevice. His heart pounded as he contemplated his options. The crevice was vast, dark, and uninviting, but beyond it lay the possibility of freedom. "Even if there's only a small chance, I'll take it. I can't stay here forever." The memory of Chris's final moments replayed in his mind, and he knew he couldn't let that sacrifice be in vain. He had to find a way, not just for himself but for everyone who had already fallen.
The evening was calm, a deceptive tranquility that masked the dangers around them. The temperature dropped sharply, and a chill settled over the camp. The slaves huddled together for warmth, while the disciples sat around small fires, their faces illuminated by the flickering flames. Roy shivered, pulling his thin shirt tighter around his body.
He glanced at the other slaves, their expressions hollow, their eyes devoid of hope. They had long since given up on escaping this hellish existence. Roy understood why—the Demonic Blood Sect had a way of breaking people, of stripping away any semblance of hope or resistance. But Roy refused to be broken. He had something to live for, and that made all the difference.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rumbling sound. The ground beneath him began to shake violently.
"Earthquake!" someone screamed, and the camp erupted into chaos. People rushed out of their tents, trying to steady themselves, their eyes wide with fear. The disciples shouted orders, their voices frantic as they tried to maintain control.
The shaking grew more intense, and Roy struggled to stay on his feet. He could see the disciples stumbling out of their tents, panic etched across their faces. Suddenly, the ground erupted with a deafening roar, and Roy watched in horror as a massive worm burst out from the earth, right where a group of disciples had been sitting moments earlier. Dust and debris flew into the air, and the cries of the disciples were abruptly cut off as the worm's gaping maw swallowed them whole. In an instant, all of them were swallowed whole, disappearing into the creature's massive maw. It was at least forty feet long, its body covered in thick, leathery scales, and its gaping maw was filled with rows of sharp teeth. The sight of the creature sent a wave of panic through the camp, the slaves and disciples alike frozen in terror.
"It's a Level 3 Giant Worm! Run! We can't fight it!" one of the disciples yelled, his voice filled with panic. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear as he turned and sprinted towards the crevice.
The worm let out an ear-piercing screech, and the camp descended into chaos. People scattered, some running towards the crevice, others heading in different directions. The slaves, confused and terrified, tried to follow the disciples, but the worm's massive form blocked their path. Roy saw some of them fall, tripping over their own feet in their desperation to escape. The disciples, meanwhile, acted solely in their own interest, ignoring the slaves entirely. Chaos had overtaken the camp, and Roy could see no order, no plan—just raw fear driving everyone. The disciples, knowing the worm couldn't cross the crevice, leaped to the other side, their faces filled with desperation.
Roy's heart pounded in his chest, his senses on high alert amidst the chaos. He saw his chance—the worm was distracted, and he could use this moment to escape. He turned towards the forest, intending to make a run for it, but to his dismay, the massive worm had already begun slithering in that direction, its movements blocking any hope of escape that way. He gritted his teeth, feeling the fear clawing at his insides, urging him to find another way. There was no choice left but to head for the crevice—his only shot at surviving this nightmare.
He ran towards the edge, his legs aching, his breath coming in ragged gasps. On his way, he quickly grabbed a smaller bag he had left on the ground, stuffing it under his arm. The bag contained some of the few essentials, like bandages, empty vials etc., he couldn't afford to leave behind. They were meager supplies, but in the world he lived in, even the smallest advantage could mean the difference between life and death. He saw the others jump across, but as he reached the edge, he hesitated. The crevice was wide, and his body was weak. He knew he wouldn't make it.
Suddenly, a strong force shoved him from behind. Roy stumbled forward, his feet leaving the ground as he was thrown into the air. For a moment, time seemed to slow, and he glanced back, catching a glimpse of the bald man who had used him as a footing to propel himself across. The man's face was twisted in a sneer, his eyes filled with contempt.
Rage flared inside Roy, but there was no time to dwell on it. He fell at a great speed, his heart leaping into his throat. For what felt like several minutes, he plummeted deeper into the darkness, the rushing wind roaring in his ears. Darkness swallowed him, and he closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate.
The air around him seemed to grow thick, and a strange sensation enveloped him. He wasn't falling anymore—he was floating. It was as if the air had caught him, wrapping around his body and slowing his descent. For a moment, Roy felt weightless, the fear that had gripped him loosening its hold. The rushing wind that had roared in his ears moments before was now a soft hum, and he felt an inexplicable calm wash over him. His descent slowed until he landed gently on the ground below. He opened his eyes, confusion washing over him. He wasn't dead.
The darkness around him was thick, impenetrable, and the air felt heavy. The walls of the crevice were steep, and the ground was uneven, scattered with jagged rocks and twisted roots. He could hear the distant rumble of the worm above, its movements causing tremors to reverberate through the crevice.
Suddenly, a deep, resonant voice echoed through the darkness, filling the entire space. "HERE YOU GO, YOUNG ONE."