"Men of sharper intellect know that there is no difference between the real and the unreal."

- H.P. Lovecraft

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Although the flesh machine was most certainly dead, I raised my sword and cleaved once again into its chest. Pushing with care and strength alike as I searched for and made sure to fully destroy its very core, the crystallization of its anchor to reality, the other-worldly material that powered most of our defenses, as well as the creatures that kill and consume us to create more of their own.

I had read many forums in my time of obsession over the Disfavored. Most of them explained that, although the creature may be dead, as long as the core remains repairable, the corpse will remain anchored to reality. A source of fuel for others of its kind, something that should be treated as little more than trash. Only fit to be harvested, burnt and destroyed.

With the core breaking, a small crack in reality opened over the creature for half a second. It startled me, and I retreated a few steps back, but found myself still very much alive as the rift closed once again and the corpse decomposed at such a speed that I barely had enough time to blink before it turned from flesh and machine into nothing but ashes that was flown away by the wind.

“...That certainly looks mesmerizing.” I couldn’t help but mutter to myself as I turned and cleaned the sword on the running water again.

Sliding it nicely back into the scabbard, I knelt down to pick up my firewood and felt my left side tugging at itself. My lungs burned bright, and the taste of iron filled my mouth as I coughed and released the meager remains of the food from the previous day alongside a few drops of blood.

My vision became blurry as my eyes filled with tears from the pain, but I pulled myself together. Pushing me further wouldn’t be wise, so making camp by the river would be the go-to apparently. Placing the backpack on the ground, I took out the can of beans. With no can opener, and a sword too big to be of use in this case, I turned to the stones that laid beneath me.

“...Just like grandfather used to do…”

I tried to recall the faint few memories I had of my grandfather. The one that walked with me through nature, the one that showed me how to spot animals in the forest that surrounded our home, the one that actually retained my respect even after death.

Picking up a reasonably sized stone, slender and oval in its form, I held the can tightly with my left hand and raised my right, bringing it down upon the soft metal surface and eventually cracking it open after the third strike. Of course, some beans were spilled and the stone was now covered in the soup juice, but it was of no concern to me.

I was hungry.

So I ate. Prying open the rest of the lid using my fingers and nails, I tilted the can itself and drank. And drank. And drank some more. I didn’t care to munch or chomp on the beans as they slid directly into my very empty stomach, creating actual substance to expel when my body collapses again. If I live until that happens.

“No, think positive…Anytime now, the breach will be opened…The Disfavored are just taking a little longer than usual…”

It was a little hard to keep myself from despair, but the reality of my situation caused my mind to remain unnervingly calm. I wasn’t so scared of dying here as I was terrified of finding my end at the hands of a Nox constructor. Harvested for my meat and turned into another hound, or something worse.

Some people retained their sanity throughout the process, according to some disturbing new scientific efforts to see if the process could be reversed. Needless to say, putting these poor subjects out of their misery was the most acceptable way to resolve the situation.

I was going to die, I just didn’t wish to be transformed into a monster after the fact.

Shaking these thoughts from my head as I almost choked myself with the thick soup, I stopped drinking and took a moment to breathe, to go over what I knew, over what I should prepare for. Scouts were the lowest of the low in the Nox hordes. They are sent to clear the arrival area, to kill, devour and bring back flesh to the central breach, to their core.

They are easily handled by anyone with a decent weapon. Firearms were the preferred way to handle them, at safe distances away from their echo-location and claw attacks, but guns were a rarity given only to the army and the police forces. Both of which wouldn’t venture into an actual breach to kill.

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Not that they could fully close it. The creatures that are given birth at the core of a breach are, to put them into one sole word, unfathomable. Disfavored forums and vids spoke of fiends, demons, titans even, made from gruesome masses of flesh and steel. Exposed muscle, reinforced with artificial alloys and machines, enhanced to drill themselves deep into the earth, to create a long-lasting core that would eventually evolve, change, into something much worse.

A dungeon.

Dungeons were breaches that evolved past their breaking point, the cores dug themselves into the earth and ruptured reality around them. The barriers were pulled down, allowing the Nox hordes to rampage through the nearby area, ever-expanding in their crusade to devour anyone and anything. These were the things of horror that the Disfavored were facing in the southern provinces, the places they ventured into to secure land for the reconstruction of humanity.

So I was running against time.

If a Disfavored didn’t show up before the core fully ruptured reality, then I would be trapped inside hell, no. Inside a place that would make hell look like a walk in the park. Burning alive would be a hundred times better than being confined to the harvesting walls of a Dungeon. Forever trapped in my body as the core harvests my flesh little by little, from limb to limb, until only my consciousness remains. One amongst thousands trapped in the terrible fate that was a Dungeon.

My hands were shaking. My legs had lost their strength and I couldn’t stand back up, my breaths quivered as I realized I had spiraled into terror once again.

I kept myself sitting on the ground, closing my eyes and going over the exercises I was taught both by the medical professionals and the ancient scrolls that were kept at home. A warrior’s mind must be like calm water. Gentle and stoic in its form until shaken, and only then would it respond in kind with the same force, the same strength, the same rage.

Breathing, I steady my mind.

Breathing, I cleanse my body.

Breathing, I am alive.

It took me a few moments to go back into the meditative state I was familiar with, but once I did, I could feel my body calming down and returning its control to the real me. If the Disfavored were to take long, then I would need to make an incursion back home. Securing more food and resources would be necessary if I had to wait for more days than expected.

“....Finish the food. Go home.” I repeated as I went back to finish the can of beans, now halfway eaten.

“Take food and tools. Hide again, and wait…” I muttered, looking down at the empty can.

With my mind made up and my goal clear, I stood back up. The empty can of beans would prove useful in its own way, eventually, so I kept a hold of it. If need be, it could still be a decent noise maker to get scouts off my trail if they were hanging around the house.

The expedition that followed was slow, boring and incredibly tiring. Hiking all the way back not only to the tree but the house itself proved rather uncomfortable due to the fact that I wasn’t all that used to it. I wasn’t tired, not by any means, but the sensation of my body slowly breaking down as I pushed it past what it should be able to handle was not a good one.

I couldn’t tell how late into the day I was by the time I reached the treeline I had rushed when the warning came, but there was no darkness growing around me so I still had sufficient time. Looking around, as sharply as I could, I noticed two scouts. One of them was on the street, just standing completely still.

The other one was much further away, down the road that leads into Sendai itself.

I had options. I could deal with the one closest to me or I could sneak by, but that would mean sneaking out as well, and I wasn’t fond of getting ambushed inside my own home. I opted for the first option. I still had strength in me, and I had faced one of these hounds before, so a small sense of confidence grew in my chest.

I threw the empty can onto the street to my right side. The soft metal caused a small noise as it bounced off the concrete and rolled around until it stopped a few meters away from my position. The scout in the street instantly responded by screeching at a low volume and closing the distance. As unnatural as it was to see the metal hit the ground and not cause a single noise, I rushed forward while it was somewhat distracted in the opposite direction.

The hound heard me coming, and he defended himself by swiping with his metallic claws at me from the side as he turned.

Fortunately, I managed to stop myself before entering the range of his attack, the claw slipped past my face, mere centimeters away from ripping it off my head. I kept moving, using the small opening to thrust the sword into the hound’s chest, pushing him down to the ground.

The scout died on the spot, with the core being ripped apart from the impact of the stab, but it also meant noise. Noise that the other hound used to rush my position.

I yanked the sword out of the scout’s body just in time to see the hound lunging at me with its claws spread open. He was way too close, I was too noisy. I saw it coming closer and closer, my body seemed to move ever so slowly, as my mind kicked into an adrenaline rush. I forced myself aside, causing one of his metallic paws to cleave through my left arm.

I felt my skin rupturing, but the claw didn’t go deep enough to injure me too badly, beyond a slow bleed on my bicep.

With the hound landing on the corpse of his brethren, he slipped in its steps, and I took the chance. I raised the sword and plunged it deep through its side, aiming for the core. I missed, by little due to the natural flinch of pain as I almost forced the cut in my arm to open further.

The hound tried to fight back, and I just pushed against the hilt of the sword, twisting and turning until I found the core and slowly pressed the edge against it.

The crystal broke and the scout died.

“...Shit, it hurts…”

It was not good. Even if the injury was not bad enough to require medical attention, the pain still made me flinch, which meant I couldn’t trust my first strike as much as I did before. Clicking my tongue, I walked into the house and headed to the kitchen, closing every possible door and curtain behind me. Looking through the drawers I found the med-kit. It was just a convenience, learning how to cook is a sure way to get yourself some cuts and burns after all.

I took some disinfectant and a small bandage roll. Most of my left sleeve was torn, so I just ripped what remained off of me and threw it into the trash, proceeding to disinfect the wound, causing me to quiver and groan in pain as the oxygenated water did its thing. The bandage came after, disinfected and tightened around my bicep, it was certain to keep the wound from infecting at least.

With that taken care of, I looked around the kitchen, opening every cabinet and drawer I had in sight. I would need to take everything I could carry. Utensils and food alike. I would need a bigger backpack, and thankfully my grandfather’s old camping kit still remained on the annex, right in front of the dojo.

I cleaned the sword on the sync, washing off the…Oil and other liquids that the Nox called blood.

I looked at myself in the reflection of the blade, eyes filled with terror, as I noticed a figure standing right behind me, its maw filled with pointed, disgusting teeth that tried to mimic a dog’s, but somehow failed miserably at it. I turned on my feet, quick enough to see the thing bite down on me, pain rushed my body and my mind went blank.

I made too much noise.