The lead guard stood frozen, his body trembling as he observed the husk's stunted movements. It staggered through the crimson-lit ruin of the mountain base, its skeletal form casting sharp, angular shadows against the fiery backdrop.

The five deep holes that had filled to the brim with blood were now pillars of crackling crimson flame, reaching high into the sky like monuments of devastation. Their light painted the landscape in a hellish hue, amplifying the unease clawing at his chest.

At the remains of the mountain's center, a massive crater radiated an ominous red glow. Rubble obscured its depths, but the light burned through, unrelenting and oppressive. The lead guard's instincts screamed at him to flee, but his legs refused to move.

The husk's movements were unnatural—halting and agonizing, as though it were forcing itself to continue despite its broken body. What little muscle remained clung loosely to bone, yet it moved with a sense of purpose that defied its condition.

The guard's breath hitched as he heard the husk murmur under its breath, its voice raspy and cold. "I didn't expect this… change of environment."

It tilted its head slightly, scanning the desolate area. "And Lain's body… nowhere to be seen."

The guard's blood ran cold. Lain. That name. He had heard it before—used to identify the spy he had personally killed not long ago. The realization struck him like a hammer: the creature before him was Lower Citizen. The one who had been trying to assist the spy, resurrected in this twisted, horrifying form.

"How…?" he whispered to himself, unable to comprehend what his eyes were seeing. He had been certain the spy was dead. The runes used to restrain and control the Lower citizens had faded when life had left him. Yet here he was, standing before him.

The husk's cold, hollow gaze shifted to him, then to the shattered monolith nearby. For a moment, it simply stared. Then, to the guard's utter shock, the husk spoke.

"Thank you."

The guard blinked, his mind reeling. "W-what?"

The husk turned its head back toward him, its glowing crimson eyes piercing and devoid of warmth. "Thank you… for killing me."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

Before the guard could respond, the husk continued. "By killing me, you saved me from making a grave mistake. I see it clearly now. I've regained the truth."

The guard could only stare, his breath shallow and uneven. He couldn't begin to understand what he was hearing. The words carried a harrowing sense of finality, yet they felt wrong—fundamentally and deeply wrong.

As the husk spoke, the guard felt something stirring within him, an unexplainable dissonance. It wasn't fear in the conventional sense. No, it was something worse—a profound wrongness that gnawed at his sanity. The husk wasn't just unnatural; it was impossible.

He tried to reason with himself, to rationalize the overwhelming sensation. But he found no solace in his thoughts. This wasn't the fear of facing death or failure; it was the fear of confronting something his mind wasn't equipped to process.

The husk's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts.

"Now that I've figured it all out," it said, its tone flat but heavy with purpose, "it's time for me to leave."

The guard felt a flicker of relief at those words, but it was short-lived.

The husk took a step closer, raising its skeletal hand to grip the twisted arm still embedded in its torso. "But before I go," it rasped, "I might as well settle my debt."

With a sickening squelch, it tore the arm free, holding it aloft like a grotesque trophy. Bits of decayed flesh clung to the limb, but the bony hand remained intact, sharp, and pointed like the blade of a crude sword.

"You did kill me after all. And I won't be happy if I don't repay you in kind."

The husk shifted its grip, leveling the severed arm toward the lead guard. Its crimson gaze bore into him, unyielding and full of intent.

"So let's end this," it said, its voice a chilling whisper that echoed across the desolation.

The lead guard stood firm, his breath ragged but steadying as he watched the husk draw closer. Its movements were awkward, and disjointed, as though its body were resisting its own steps. But there was an undeniable steadiness to it, a certainty that made the guard’s pulse race. He could not deny the oppressive weight pressing down on him.

But fear? He refused to name it that.

This was a Lower Citizen, a parasite that fed off the hard work of him and others like him—proper citizens who toiled for the Kingdom’s prosperity. Lower Citizens were worthless beings, providing nothing, merely existing as burdens to be managed.

His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, its blade chipped and dulled from the earlier explosion. Why must I feel fear because of such a thing? he thought bitterly. He was a lead guard, among the few privileged enough to ascend beyond the mundane, chosen to become an Empowered. He had earned his status through labor, loyalty, and sacrifice. He stood above the common rabble, much less the detestable dregs of society that Lower Citizens represented.

Anger surged through him, stifling the tremor in his legs. Gritting his teeth, he steadied himself. The flaming cage that surrounded the area—the impossible barrier that trapped him—was undoubtedly the work of the husk. Whatever had happened here, this Lower Citizen was at the center of it. That made the husk a threat he had to eliminate, a task he would see through to the end.

With a sharp hiss, the lead guard unsheathed his damaged sword, its battered edge glinting faintly in the crimson glow. His jaw clenched as he forced himself to focus on the battle ahead. He didn’t know how the husk could have caused such chaos or what role it played in the larger mission. None of it mattered now.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The only path forward was through this abomination.

From Zayn’s perspective, the world was deconstructing.

He could see it—far in the distance, the golden runes and words of the Story dissolving into shimmering fragments. The sky itself seemed to fray like fabric, fragments of the world pulling apart, floating upwards, and vanishing into the void. It was as if the reality of the Story was slowly disassembling, each thread undone by some unseen force.

And yet, Zayn felt no fear, no anxiety at the sight. He was certain he did not belong to this Story. He wouldn't be affected by this as he didn't come from it, standing separate from its fragile framework.

His attention returned to the ruined battlefield before him. The five flaming pillars still burned fiercely, their light casting long shadows across the ground. The crater at the mountain’s center emanated an eerie crimson glow, obscured by debris but unmistakably present. Zayn’s gaze lingered there, his instincts sharpening.

When he had first slammed his fist into the Story, rejecting its decree, he hadn’t known what to expect. Yet ever since returning, he had felt it—a call. It resonated deep within him, familiar and insistent, like a voice that wasn’t quite a voice.

The call pointed him toward the crater. Toward the meteor that had crashed into the mountain.

The memory of his first vision flashed through his mind—the fiery descent of the meteor, its collision with the mountain, and the strange energy that had rippled outward. He didn’t fully understand its significance, but the pull it exerted was undeniable.

This meteorite definitely has something to do with the core problem of the story.

His surroundings were steeped in chaos, the remnants of whatever had happened after his death. The blood pits were gone, replaced by the towering flames. The landscape was a graveyard of devastation. Yet despite the mystery of it all, Zayn felt no urge to unravel the truth.

There was only one thing that mattered now: the lead guard.

He studied the man carefully, noting the tremor in his posture, the weariness in his eyes. Yet, the guard’s sword was drawn, and his expression was set with grim determination. Zayn could see the resolve burning behind his fear.

A faint smile touched Zayn’s cracked lips, though the action felt foreign. He understood now—killing the lead guard wasn’t just necessary for revenge or survival. The call within him had made it clear: unless he defeated this man and reached the meteor, he would leave this Story empty-handed.

The crimson light in his skeletal eyes flickered, and he adjusted his grip on the severed arm he held like a weapon. The makeshift blade gleamed faintly, sharp and jagged. He felt the strange power coursing through him, the red runes etched into his ruined form pulsing with energy.

This is the first step, Zayn thought. The beginning of what I’ll take from this world.

The lead guard shifted his stance, his sword raised in preparation. The tension between them crackled like the flames surrounding the battlefield.

Zayn took a step forward, then another, closing the distance with steady determination.

And so, the confrontation began.

The lead guard launched forward with terrifying speed, his battered sword slicing through the air with precision. Despite the toll of the explosion and his compromised state, his movements were a blur, far beyond human capability. The sound of his boots pounding against the scorched earth was a rapid staccato, like a war drum heralding his attack.

Zayn stood motionless as the guard closed the distance. He didn't flinch, his glowing crimson eyes locked on the blade. At the last possible moment, he shifted, the blade grazing past his side before plunging deep into his ribcage.

The impact sent a jarring vibration through the guard’s arm, the sword embedding itself in Zayn's chest, piercing through shattered lungs and other lifeless organs. A grim smile stretched across Zayn’s pale, bloodied face, and before the guard could react, Zayn retaliated.

With a swift, fluid motion, he drove the jagged bone fingers of his arm-sword toward the guard’s throat. But the lead guard's reflexes remained sharp; he twisted just enough for the strike to sink into his shoulder instead of delivering a fatal blow.

A grunt of pain escaped the guard as he disengaged, leaping back to assess his wound. His shoulder bled profusely, the gash deep and vicious, but he gritted his teeth and maintained his stance.

"You…you shouldn't be able to move like that," the guard muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. Zayn tilted his head slightly, unbothered, crimson eyes unwavering.

The guard tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, though the weapon remained embedded in Zayn’s body. He couldn't shake the mounting unease. Every instinct screamed that this wasn’t a fight he was ready for—not in his current state. Still, he couldn’t retreat. Not with the flaming cage sealing the area and this…thing before him.

The battle resumed, the guard darting forward again, his movements swift and erratic, aiming to exploit his opponent’s apparent sluggishness. Zayn, however, moved with a strange rhythm, his body contorting unnaturally to avoid critical strikes.

The guard’s blade whistled through the air, each strike precise and lethal, but Zayn’s corpse-like form twisted and bent in ways no living being could. What should have been fatal slashes turned into shallow cuts as Zayn leaned, twisted, or deliberately allowed less vulnerable parts of his decayed body to take the blows.

A low growl of frustration escaped the guard as he pushed harder, his speed blurring his movements into a tempest of strikes. Yet Zayn’s timing was impeccable, his counters surgically precise. He swung his arm-sword in calculated arcs, forcing the guard to dodge in ways that strained his battered body.

The fight reached its fever pitch when the guard managed a desperate blow, his blade catching Zayn across the side and sending him sprawling to the ground. Wasting no time, the guard pounced, driving his sword once more into Zayn’s chest.

This time, he pushed with all his strength, using the blade to pin Zayn against the scorched earth. He leaned close, his breathing ragged, and spat venomously, "You're nothing but a worthless Lower Citizen. A parasite. Your existence is a stain on this world, and I’ll wipe it out."

Zayn’s head lolled slightly, his eyes catching sight of the corpses strewn nearby. Among them, he recognized some of the Lower Citizens who had been with him, their necks still etched with glowing runes that hadn’t dissipated in death. His gaze settled on a small, white crystal nestled among the corpses, and an idea sparked.

As the guard ranted, Zayn acted. With a sudden burst of movement, he drove the jagged bone of his arm-sword into the guard’s side. The guard grimaced but held firm, ignoring the pain to maintain his grip on the embedded sword.

Then Zayn struck again—this time with his head. He slammed his skull into the guard’s nose with sickening force. The guard recoiled, blood spurting from his face as he instinctively released his hold on the sword.

Seizing the opportunity, Zayn flicked the white crystal toward the guard’s face. It struck him lightly, but the effect was immediate—runes blazed to life, unfurling from the crystal and wrapping around the guard’s neck like chains.

“What—!?” The guard clawed at the glowing runes, panic overtaking him. He cursed loudly, realizing he lacked the white command stone to counteract the binding effect.

Zayn pressed his arm-sword deeper into the guard’s side, eliciting a scream of agony. With a fluid motion, he reversed their positions, pinning the guard beneath him.

The black command stone on the guard’s hip caught Zayn’s eye. In one swift move, he dislodged it and held it in his bony fingers. Crimson light flickered in his eyes as he began to chant—words foreign yet instinctively familiar spilling from his lips.

The guard’s eyes widened in terror as the runes constricted tighter, choking the life from him. His hands scrabbled at Zayn’s arm in a last, desperate bid for freedom, but Zayn was relentless.

As the guard gasped for breath, Zayn wrenched the sword from his ribcage, raising it high above his head. The glow of the black runes intensified, casting the guard’s pale face in shadow as his struggles grew weaker.

"You…can’t…," the guard rasped, his words cut short as Zayn plunged the sword down.

The blade pierced the guard’s skull with finality, silencing him.

For a moment, the battlefield was still.

Then, crimson letters appeared before Zayn’s eyes, glowing faintly in the air:

An Obstacle Has Been Toppled.