Rafa drove his fists forward, each repeated strike sending a jarring shockwave up his arms. His knuckles, already bruised and torn, screamed with every impact, the pain radiating up through his tense shoulders and into his clenched jaw. Muscles strained and burned as they absorbed the brunt of each blow, his desperation driving him to hit harder, faster, the rhythm of his punches a frantic staccato against the unyielding stone.

Over and over, he drove his fists forward, compelled by the urgent need to break through. Via the cracked stone, a thin stream of light pierced the wall's breach and the flickering glow of the torch in Marcos's grip. He couldn't stop, his body moving as if possessed—outside their stony prison, darkness had already claimed the world, the dimming light through the holes having marked the passage of unseen hours.

"Come on, niño, I think that's enough for today," Marcos said, his voice a blend of soothing warmth and parental concern. Yet it fell on deaf ears; Rafa was consumed by an urgency that bordered on frenzy, the need to escape clawing at his sanity with each ticking second.

Rafa's fists pounded relentlessly, the dull thud of each strike echoing through the confined space. His skin tore against the unforgiving stone, knuckles raw and bleeding, yet he didn't relent. Each blow sent rock shards splintering off, the hole in the wall growing increasingly jagged, cutting deeper wounds into his flesh with every desperate attempt to break through.

I need air! The craving for fresh air consumed Rafa's thoughts, driving his fists into the wall with relentless force, each blow chiseling away at the barrier, bit by bit, inch by inch.

Marcos, sensing a line had been crossed from determination to recklessness, clasped Rafa's shoulder in an attempt to anchor him back to the present. The response was a reflexive shrug-off.

"I'm no violent man," Marcos murmured, echoing Elena's often-spoken wisdom. "But sometimes, enough is enough." With that, he enveloped Rafa in a firm bear hug, lifting him away from the wall and the obsessive pursuit that threatened to consume him.

Rafa, larger and younger, could have easily overpowered the baker, but even clouded by panic, he restrained the impulse to lash out. "Let me go!" he protested, his body writhing in Marcos's hold. "We have to get OUT!" The urgency in his voice was a raw edge, a clear sign of the fear gripping him.

"Deep breaths, Rafa," Marcos urged, his voice betraying the effort it took to restrain the younger man. He could feel Rafa's heartbeat hammering against his chest, the frantic rhythm echoing the panic in his words. Finally, feeling Rafa's resistance begin to wane, he eased his grip, allowing Rafa's feet to find purchase on the ground once more.

Rafa's body was a tumult of raw instincts, every fiber urging him to return to the breach in the wall. Yet, he summoned a monumental effort of will, so forceful it sparked a headache while remaining rooted to the spot, drawing in deep, measured breaths.

With Rafa's breathing steadying, Marcos' back straightened, a series of pops cascading along his spine followed by a low groan of relief. "Damn, niño," he exhaled with a chuckle of weary humor, "I had no idea you were this claustrophobic."

Rafa's hands still quivered, and his pulse pounded at his temples, yet the scant breeze whistling through the crevices of their rocky prison seemed to carry away the worst of his panic. "I didn't know either," he admitted, finding some humor in his newfound fear.

Marcos's grumbling was a soft undercurrent, a string of Spanish mutterings about the aches of aging and the absurdity of their predicament. "You're lucky it's me here with you," he quipped, massaging his aching back with a grimace. "Elena would've given you more than a scare—her slaps have a way of bringing clarity."

"I know, I felt it," Rafa responded, a hint of laughter softening the edges of his voice despite the lingering tension.

"You haven't seen anything yet. That was her going easy on you," Marcos retorted quickly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth. "I've watched her turn would-be thieves into devoted churchgoers with just one well-placed smack."

The image conjured by Marco's words—Elena, with her demeanor, transforming scoundrels into devout souls with a mere slap—coaxed a genuine laugh from Rafa. He pictured the stern, yet sturdy woman dispatching a miscreant to the church, only for them to emerge as a picture of piety, bible, and rosary in hand.

That sparked a question in Rafa's mind. "How does she stay so fit? I mean, people can look good at sixty, but she's..." He trailed off, letting the implication linger.

At Rafa's words, Marcos stiffened, casting a cautious glance over his shoulder as though the mere mention might invoke her presence. "Keep it down," he cautioned, half-joking, half-serious. "She's fifty-five, not a day over," Marco's words were punctuated by him looking around, "And trust me, if she hears you implying she's in her sixties, the exit you'll be taking won't be one you dug out."

Rafa's laughter grew louder, a boisterous sound that echoed off the stony confines. He doubled over, each chuckle cutting off his breath.

Gasping for air, Rafa collapsed onto the ground, clutching his stomach. The absurdity of him actually fearing Elena's retribution amidst their circumstances only fueled his amusement further.

All around them, the world had shifted into an unrecognizable landscape; he had battled a monstrous Hermosa, suffered wounds that should have been fatal, and was stained with the evidence of his own bloodied encounter. Yet, amidst it all, it was the thought of Elena’s scolding that sent a shiver down his spine.

"You laugh now, but one misstep and she'll have you," Marcos warned with an amused smirk, punctuating his point with a sharp snap of his fingers. The crisp sound cut through the laughter, bouncing off the close walls of their enclosure.

Perhaps it was the noise, or perhaps the denizens of their stony cell were disturbed by the snap itself, but the ground soon shuddered beneath them.

Rafa's mirth died in his throat as he watched the remnants of a once-familiar building shift and part. Emerging from the ruin were grotesque parodies of creatures, hairless and misshapen, like cats plagued by sickness. Their eyes were devoid of the mystical glow that Rafa saw in Hermosa's eyes.

The beasts were ankle height, but from their sickly looks, putting them down would be even more dangerous than fighting against Hermosa, Rafa could see a new type of disease being born from a single wound created by those creatures.

Marcos narrowed his eyes, straining to discern the vague shapes skittering at the edge of the torch's reach. Sensing the need for stealth, Rafa went to his side, carefully positioning the torch behind him to shroud its light. With a silent urgency, he gestured for Marcos to follow, "Monsters," Rafa whispered, guiding them both away from the potential threat.

Their efforts at silence were challenged by the cluttered ground strewn with debris. The soft clacks of stone falling over and the faint ringing of metal accompanied each moment. Despite their caution, Rafa's foot snagged on unseen rubble, sending him sprawling to the ground creating a domino effect and making a wall collapse near them.

A wall of dust rose as the noise cut through the silence like a beacon, and the creatures' attention shifted, drawn to the disturbance.

Marcos reacted swiftly, reaching down to clasp Rafa's hand and hoisting him to his feet. Their timing was impeccable; the bizarre, cat-like creatures swiveled their heads in their direction, their movements erratic and disjointed, as though they were marionettes yanked by unseen strings.

"RUN!" Rafa's shouted. Together, they bolted into the enveloping darkness, their frantic strides aimed toward the ruins of the bakery, the adrenaline fueling their desperate flight.

Rubble shifted noisily underfoot as both men stumbled, nearly crashing into the concrete remains more than once. Despite the chaos, they managed to widen the gap between themselves and the bizarre creatures whose erratic movements were ill-suited for navigating the debris-strewn landscape.

When the creatures faded into the obscurity behind them, their pace eased from a frenetic run into a cautious jog.

Rafa's pulse still hammered in his ears as he caught Marcos's eye, their faces illuminated by the dim light of their makeshift torches. "Looks like..." he panted, his breath evening out as the rush of adrenaline subsided, "I may have overreacted."

"It never hurts to be too sure," Marcos replied, his voice roughened by the exertion of their flight, his face glistening with a sheen of sweat.

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Their pace gradually slowed further to a brisk walk, allowing them to recover their breath and regain some strength. With heightened vigilance, they navigated the terrain, each step more measured than before.

The initial journey to the breached wall had been surprisingly smooth, free from any monstrous encounters or threats. This relative calm had bred a hope of safety, a hope that was shattered by the appearance of those grotesque, diseased creatures.

Their cautious walk soon escalated back into a steady jog; they were determined to reach the bakery before sunrise, if possible. Not getting lost was an equally important goal.

As time marched on, they oriented themselves using the remnants of familiar landmarks. The library, now reduced to its front steps and the feet of a once-dominant statue, marked the edge of their neighborhood. It stood as a silent sentinel to the devastation.

Then came Old John's bar, eerily untouched in its structure but haunting in its emptiness. Blood stains marred the debris, and scattered pieces of clothing littered the area, yet there were no bodies to be found. This absence was as ominous as it was relieving, suggesting that other creatures – or perhaps survivors – had made their way through here.

The enormity of their confined space became increasingly apparent as they journeyed on. Their prison encompassed at least half of their neighborhood and stretched even beyond its familiar borders. Rafa, never one to gauge distances accurately, made rough estimates in his head.

Considering their pace and the assumption of a direct route, he guessed it might take them about four hours to return to the bakery. It was a broad estimation, but he clung to the hope that his calculations were correct.

The stagnant air was thick with dust and the pervasive stench of decay, a combination so overpowering it left a tangible taste on their tongues. The dust hung like a dense fog, obscuring their vision, while their makeshift torch flickered weakly, its fuel dwindling alarmingly. In this desolate landscape, finding suitable wood for a torch was proving to be a daunting task.

As their flame dwindled to a worrisome ember, a sudden, unexpected gust of wind nearly extinguished it altogether. This close call spurred them into action. They halted their journey to scavenge what remained of a once-sturdy wooden pillar, shattered in the cataclysm.

Marcos squinted at the hefty piece of wood. "This should do the trick," he said, his voice carrying a hint of overconfidence. "It'll burn for hours."

Rafa nodded, sharing the same optimistic outlook. "Better to have more than we need," he agreed, lifting the large piece with a grunt. The weight of it immediately pressed down on his already tired muscles, but he brushed off the discomfort, determined to make it work.

Lighting one end, they created a makeshift but formidable beacon. Its robust flame promised endurance, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls around them. The new source of light, akin to a blazing beacon, seemed to promise safety and direction, boosting their spirits momentarily.

"This will get us through," Marcos said, a rare smile breaking through his fatigue.

However, as they continued their journey, the realities of their choice quickly became apparent. The heavy, unwieldy piece of wood soon took its toll on their already wearied bodies. Every step became a struggle, the burden of the torch draining their strength at an alarming rate.

"Maybe we should've picked something smaller," Rafa muttered, adjusting his grip and feeling the strain on his shoulders.

"Too late for second thoughts now," Marcos replied, though his earlier confidence was waning. "Let's keep moving. We need to find a place to rest."

The blazing light cast them in stark relief against the darkness, potentially drawing the attention of anything—or anyone—lurking within their vast stone prison. This nagging fear hung over them, but their physical exhaustion overshadowed all else.

A wave of dizziness washed over Rafa as they trudged along. He stumbled slightly, catching himself against a wall. "I need a break," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Marcos, equally spent, nodded in agreement. "Alright, let's find a spot," he said, scanning their surroundings.

Rafa took deep, measured breaths, trying to steady his racing heart. "Next time, we choose a smaller torch," he said with a faint smile.

Marcos chuckled, despite the fatigue etched on his face. "Deal," he agreed, closing his eyes for a moment. "But for now, let's rest. We'll need our strength for whatever comes next."

The oppressive silence of their stone prison enveloped them once more, but for the moment, the light and warmth of their makeshift beacon provided a fragile sense of security.

They settled in a partially intact home, scavenging what remained of the furnishings to create a makeshift camp. Rafa dragged a sofa to the gaping doorway, an effort to block part of the entrance despite the absence of an actual door. "This feels wrong," he muttered, his movements heavy with fatigue and unease.

Near the flickering fire, Marcos sat massaging his neck and back, the extinguished wooden pillar near him. "It does feel wrong," he agreed, his voice tinged with resignation. "But we can't risk sleeping out in the open. And the people who lived here..." His voice trailed off, leaving the unsaid truth hanging heavily between them – the fate of the home's former occupants was all too apparent in the silence of the ruins.

Looking to make their barrier better, Rafa used broken furniture and bundled blankets to add bulk, effectively closing the door. Once satisfied with his work, he sat on one of the blankets they set near the fire. Their plan was simple: keep the fire going while they rested, then once they felt ready, light the pillar and hopefully finish the travel to the bakery.

Rafa broke the silence, his voice tinged with regret. "I wish I'd brought a cellphone." His had broken months ago, and to avoid the steep costs of a replacement plan, he had been saving to buy a more affordable model outright. In this moment, cut off from the world as they knew it, the absence of that connection felt more poignant than ever.

Marcos pondered Rafa's remark, his own thoughts turning inward. "Left mine with Elena," he murmured, a hint of regret in his voice. "It just slipped my mind."

A heavy silence fell between them, occasionally broken by attempts at small talk. But each conversation inevitably circled back to their dire circumstances. Discussing people they knew always led to anxious speculation about their well-being, and any mention of familiar places spiraled into doubts about whether those places had withstood the catastrophe.

Marcos succumbed to sleep first, his age apparent as he drifted into an uneasy sleep. The sheen of sweat on his skin was a testament to the ever-increasing heat, a reminder that extinguishing their only source of light wasn't an option, despite the oppressive warmth.

Rafa remained awake, staring into the flickering flames, lost in thoughts of what lay ahead. He knew they needed rest, but the weight of their situation bore down on him, making it hard to find peace. The sounds of the night, once comforting, now seemed ominous, each creak and rustle a potential threat lurking just beyond their fragile sanctuary

As the hours crept by, sleep remained elusive for Rafa. His mind churned, eventually wandering back to the strange screen that had appeared earlier. At being mentioned, the screen materialized once again in his mind's eye.

Cultivation Manual Selection

Earthbound Titan

Draw upon the silent might of ancient giants, bolstering your body’s endurance and strength. Embody the resilience of stone and earth.

Blazeheart Way

Ignite your inner fire, allowing its fierce blaze to consume weakness and radiate unyielding power. Become one with the inferno.

Tempest’s Breath

Harness the capricious spirits of storm and gale, turning the tempest's fury into your breath and the lightning’s strike into your will.

Veins of the Mountain

Merge with the mountain's enduring spirit, your fortitude becoming as impregnable as the ageless rocks themselves.

Every option seemed like something out of a fantasy, yet the promise of power was undeniable, especially in a world where survival was uncertain. Reflecting on the System's warning of an environment steeped in fire and heat, his decision became almost instinctive. He needed a way to withstand the harsh conditions and defend against the threats lurking in the shadows.

With a deep breath, Rafa made his choice. [Blazeheart Way].

As soon as he made his selection, the air around him grew heavy with anticipation. In the center of the room, a tome began to materialize, suspended in the air and shrouded in heavy flames. The fire roared and crackled, casting flickering light and deep shadows on the walls, but despite its intensity, it did not harm the room. The flames were illusory, a grand and awe-inspiring spectacle.

Rafa stared in wonder at the hovering tome. The heat was palpable, yet it was not scorching. With a mix of trepidation and resolve, he reached out and touched the cover.

The moment his fingers made contact, a sharp pain exploded in his head as if his skull were being crushed under a hammer. His mind was suddenly flooded with knowledge of the first realm. Images and concepts poured in, overwhelming him momentarily.

What is this? he wondered, struggling to process the deluge of information. Then, as he sifted through the new knowledge, understanding dawned. The image of Elena meditating by the fire clicked into place. Meditation was the key – the first step was to absorb Ether.

Settling into a seated position, Rafa allowed himself a few more moments in hope of sleep's grasp. When it continued to evade him, he opened his eyes and straightened his back, turning his attention inward.

The [Blazeheart Way] manual's instructions, freshly imprinted in his mind, presented a novel concept. Using meditation as a conduit to power. The soft crackling of the fire and the rhythmic cadence of Marcos's breathing served as a soothing backdrop to his efforts.

Rafa closed his eyes, seeking the tranquility necessary for meditation. He focused on the ebb and flow of his breathing, letting each inhale and exhale anchor him in the present. Gradually, he began to follow the manual's guidance, reaching out with his senses to tap into the Ether surrounding him. This was the first step on his Blazeheart Way journey, a path that promised to transform him in ways he could scarcely imagine.