Kael pushed himself away from the dank basement floor, a wave of dizziness making the world swim for a moment. His battered body ached with a dull, persistent throb that resonated with every movement, every breath. Mudtown beckoned, a tangled web of familiarity and threat, of potential allies and inevitable betrayal. He could almost smell the acrid smoke, the stench of decay that clung to the streets, hear the familiar cacophony of shouts, laughter, and desperate cries. But the thought of navigating that maze, of facing those who had so easily discarded him, brought a tightening to his chest, a cold knot of anxiety that coiled in his gut. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. Not with his body still mending, his spirit still raw with the sting of betrayal.
The Realms, with all their brutal unpredictability, offered a different kind of challenge—a straightforward test of survival against monstrous creatures, against harsh environments. No whispers of false promises, no intricate games of manipulation, no betrayal masked as concern. Just raw, primal instinct, a struggle for existence stripped bare, devoid of the complex, soul-crushing cruelty that he’d come to expect from those who claimed to care.
He recalled the cold sweat that had soaked his clothes as he’d faced the shadow creature, the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, the desperate, primal fear that had surged through him as the creature's claws raked his flesh. He could still hear the echo of its guttural snarl, the rustling leaves as it stalked him through the darkness. Yet, even in the depths of that terror, there had been a strange clarity, a sense of control, a certainty that was absent in the ever-shifting dynamics of Mudtown. Here, in the Realms, the threats were brutal, unforgiving, but they were also predictable. They hunted, they fought, they killed—simple, straightforward actions driven by primal instinct, not by malice, nor cruelty, not by the twisted agendas of desperate humans.
Kael weighed the two options in his mind, his gaze flicking between the rough stone wall of the basement and the pulsating glow of the Shard in his hand. Both were terrible choices, paths fraught with danger and pain, with little hope of genuine respite. Mudtown offered the familiarity of the known, the slim chance of finding allies amongst those who had once shared his struggle, the desperate hope of scavenging enough food to stave off starvation. He could see them in his mind’s eye, their faces twisted in sneering smiles, their eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger—Venn, Sera, Dorrin. Their betrayal, their callous disregard for his life, still burned in his memory. It also meant navigating the treacherous currents of the Mud Rats' influence, the ever-present threat of being caught.
The Realms offered a different kind of risk—a gamble on the unknown, a test against creatures he barely understood, in environments that could be just as hostile as the city’s slums. But there was a twisted logic to those realms, a brutal honesty that he found both terrifying and oddly comforting. At least there, he knew what to expect—creatures driven by instinct, by hunger, by a primal need to survive. There were no alliances, no hidden agendas, no whispered betrayals in the shadows. He remembered the fights, the visceral fear that surged through him, the desperate struggle to stay alive. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, the phantom ache of claws raking across his skin, the echo of a guttural growl that sent shivers down his spine. He had nearly died in that world, had tasted the bitter kiss of oblivion as the creature’s shadows enveloped him.
And yet… there had been a clarity there, a sense of purpose that was absent from the chaotic streets of Mudtown. Fight, survive, grow stronger. There were no hidden agendas, no tangled web of alliances, no shifting loyalties to navigate. No betrayal to face.
His mind drifted back to the final encounter with the shadow creature, the desperate fight, the surge of power he had felt when the Shard responded to his need. He had leveled up, gained strength, learned new skills. Despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, a small spark of excitement flickered within him. In those realms, he had found something he’d never experienced before—the power to fight back, the power to survive, the power to change his own destiny.
It was a gamble, yes, but a gamble with tangible rewards. He could push his limits, hone his skills, grow stronger—all within the controlled, albeit brutal, context of those fractured worlds.
The stale air of the basement seemed to press in on him, a physical reminder of his limitations. His tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth, his lips cracked and bleeding. Each breath was an effort, his chest tight with the strain of his labored breathing. Hunger gnawed at his insides, a constant, sharp pain that dulled everything else. Even the cold pulse of the Void Shard seemed distant, muted beneath the overwhelming need for food and water. He could feel his body cannibalizing itself, muscles cramping and trembling from the lack of nourishment.
He needed to eat, needed to replenish the Shard’s dwindling energy, needed to find a way to leverage the meager skills he'd acquired. Mudtown offered no such opportunity— only familiar dangers and a constant battle for scraps.
He focused on the Void Shard menu, channeling his will. The familiar blue screens flickered into existence, the stark light of the System’s interface a jarring contrast to the muted gloom of the basement.
Void Shard Has One Free Slot Remaining. Use Slot? Y/N
He focused on Y, and a single portal shimmered before him, the swirling energy a hypnotic blend of purple and black, its edges crackling with unseen power. The System’s assessment was blunt, devoid of emotion:
????
Tier: Tin
????: ??
????: ??
????: ??
????: ??
????: ??
ERROR: Void Shard Establishing
Tin Tier. The words meant little to him, another system categorization that he hadn’t yet deciphered. But the portal was there, beckoning, offering a path forward.
Kael pushed himself to his feet, the movement slow and deliberate, his body protesting every inch of the ascent. His legs were weak, his stomach churned with hunger, his wounds ached with a constant throb.
He limped towards the portal, each step a testament to his stubborn refusal to give in, to let the world break him. He could almost feel the pull of the other side, the strange, unsettling energy that whispered of a different reality, a world where survival was the only law, the only currency.
He hesitated for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind. The air around the portal crackled with a low, thrumming hum that vibrated through his bones, sending a shiver down his spine. The energy wasn’t welcoming—it was ravenous, almost sentient, as if it recognized his fear and fed on it. His skin prickled, the hairs on his arms standing on end, and he had to force himself to take a step closer. The closer he got, the more it felt like standing at the edge of a precipice, the void below beckoning him to fall. What if this time it was worse? What if the challenges beyond this portal were beyond his meager abilities?
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
But the alternative was worse. To stay here, to crawl back to Mudtown, would be a death sentence. At least in the Realms, he had a fighting chance. A slim chance, yes, but a chance nonetheless. And that was all he needed.
He took a deep breath, his heart pounding against his ribs, and stepped through.
The world shifted around him, the familiar sensations of the portal’s transition—the swirling colors, the pressure against his skin, the disorienting shift in gravity—disrupting his already fragile equilibrium. He stumbled as he emerged on the other side, the ground beneath his feet solid, but uneven, the air thick with a strange, acrid tang. He blinked, his vision blurring, his senses overwhelmed by the sudden assault of the new environment.
The world that greeted him was… bleak. Barren. A wasteland of cracked, parched earth stretched before him, as far as he could see, a landscape of jagged rock formations and dust that swirled in the air, whipped up by a relentless wind.
The air was thick, almost cloying, with a bitter, acrid scent that clawed at his throat. It felt heavy, pressing against his skin like a tangible weight, making each breath a struggle. There was a faint, underlying smell of sulfur and decay, a reminder of death and something far worse. The wind didn’t just blow; it scraped against his skin, a relentless, abrasive force that felt like sandpaper against his exposed flesh. The taste of metal lingered on his tongue, mingling with the acidic burn of bile.
The sky was a muted gray, a heavy, oppressive weight that seemed to press down on him, suffocating him. There was no sun, no moon, no stars—just the endless expanse of ash-colored sky.
He coughed, the air thick and dry, scratching at his throat. His body ached, the wounds from his previous encounters throbbing with a dull, insistent pain. He was still weak, still vulnerable, but there was something about this desolate landscape that resonated with a sense of familiarity. This place, stripped bare of all pretense, devoid of even the twisted beauty of the previous forest realm, felt more honest, more straightforward.
Kael took a step forward, his boots crunching on the cracked earth. The silence here was profound, broken only by the constant sigh of the wind, a low, mournful sound that seemed to carry echoes of long-forgotten sorrow.
He raised a hand to shield his eyes, squinting at the desolate expanse before him. The landscape was stark, unforgiving, yet there was a strange beauty to it, a sense of ancient, enduring power. The ground beneath his feet felt solid, real, and even the harsh wind had a certain clarity, a directness that was absent in the suffocating claustrophobia of the city slums.
This realm was different from the previous one. There was no immediate sense of danger, no rustling leaves concealing hungry predators, no sudden movement in the shadows. Just the wind, the dust, the ash-gray sky—and the gnawing, desperate hunger that clawed at his empty stomach, a constant reminder of his own fragile existence. He had to find food, water—something, anything to sustain him.
"This place..." Kael murmured, his voice barely audible above the wind's mournful sigh. "It feels… empty."
He turned, scanning the horizon. In the distance, he could see a faint line, a darker shadow against the pale gray of the sky. Hope flared within him, a flicker of purpose against the encroaching despair. He set off, his steps slow, his legs protesting with every movement. But he kept going, the distant hope of finding something, anything to sustain him, driving him forward.
Kael’s boots crunched on the dry, cracked earth, raising small clouds of dust that danced around his feet, then vanished in the dry wind. He picked his way through the debris of the wasteland, a landscape that looked like the skeletal remains of a forgotten world. The air tasted like ash, a faint metallic tang lingering on his tongue, a reminder of something long gone, something irretrievable.
He’d been walking for hours—or maybe it was only minutes, his perception of time distorted by exhaustion and hunger— and the only thing he had found was more emptiness, more dust, more sky. The oppressive silence pressed down on him, broken only by the sigh of the wind, the occasional crackle of dried leaves as they crumbled into dust beneath his feet.
His muscles ached, his throat felt as dry as the earth beneath his boots, his head pounded with a relentless, throbbing pain. But he kept moving, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, a beacon of faint hope in this seemingly endless wasteland.
He stopped, leaning against a jagged rock, his body swaying slightly, his vision blurring at the edges. The effort of simply staying upright was becoming a challenge, his body screaming for respite, for sustenance, for anything to ease the gnawing hunger.
A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to the cool surface of the stone. His senses reeled, his mind drifting into a state of hazy half-consciousness. Was this it, then? The end of his journey? Had he come this far only to die of exhaustion in this barren, godsforsaken place? The thought sent a cold, shivering dread through him, a fear that gnawed at the edges of his mind, whispering that maybe, just maybe, this was all there was, all there would ever be.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to focus, to will himself back from the brink of unconsciousness. The cold energy of the Void Shard, a faint pulse beneath his skin, felt distant, muted, like a distant star flickering in the vast, uncaring emptiness. Was this the price of its power, then? A brief surge of strength, a moment of defiance, followed by this slow, agonizing descent into oblivion?
As the world swam before him, the sound of movement in the distance startled him back to wakefulness. His eyes snapped open, his hand instinctively reaching for his crude club. He scanned the horizon, his gaze sweeping across the desolate landscape. His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins, sharpening his senses. But there was nothing, just the empty, silent expanse, the dust dancing in the wind.
His mind drifted, thoughts fragmenting into a jumble of images and memories. Faces blurred and shifted, familiar and strange at once—Venn’s sneer, Sera’s cold eyes, the shadow creature’s predatory gaze. He blinked, shook his head, but the images persisted, flickering at the edges of his vision. Was that a figure in the distance, or just a trick of the light? Voices echoed on the wind, distorted, unintelligible whispers that sent a shiver down his spine. He felt as though the world itself was watching, waiting for him to falter.
He braced himself against the rock, his legs trembling, his vision still blurring. He was hallucinating now, he thought, his mind betraying him as his body reached its limits. He needed water. Needed food.
"Just a little further,” he whispered, his voice a croak in the wind. “Just a little further, and I’ll find something.”
But the words tasted like lies. He set off again, each step an act of will, the faint hope flickering like a dying ember. He followed the trail towards the line he'd seen in the distance, unsure of what he would find, but clinging to the belief that something—anything—would be better than this endless emptiness.
As he walked, the sky shifted subtly, the monotonous gray deepening into a dusty purple, the shadows around him stretching into elongated, distorted forms. It was like stepping into a nightmare landscape, the air itself thick with an unseen, unsettling energy. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of being stalked, although there was nothing to be seen, no flicker of movement in the barren expanse. Kael had spent his life as an orphan, alone, discarded, and yet in this desolate realm, the absence of life pressed in on him, amplified the loneliness.
Every shadow seemed to shift, to stretch and twist when he wasn’t looking. He glanced over his shoulder, his pulse quickening, certain he had seen something move—a flicker of darkness at the corner of his vision. But there was nothing there, just the empty, desolate plain. His heart pounded in his ears, his skin prickling with the sense of unseen eyes boring into his back. It felt like the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for him to let his guard down, to falter. He couldn’t trust his own senses; even the wind seemed to whisper his name, taunting him with echoes of voices he could almost recognize.
His legs felt like lead, each step a monumental effort, his body trembling with the strain of keeping upright. The sunless sky above seemed to press down on him, a heavy, suffocating weight that bore down on his shoulders, crushing him. His vision blurred, the edges darkening, his thoughts drifting in and out of focus, slipping away like water through his fingers. He was so tired, so unbearably tired. It felt like he was moving through a dream, a strange, twisted reality where the ground stretched endlessly before him, each footfall a dull, echoing thud that reverberated in the empty space around him. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t rest. Every time he faltered, every time he stumbled, the fear surged up, a cold, relentless terror that drove him forward, that whispered of the creatures that lurked just beyond sight, waiting for him to fall, to fail.
The distant line grew closer, revealing itself as a range of low, jagged hills, their peaks shrouded in a purple haze, their slopes etched with patterns that resembled scars, as if the very ground had been wounded. He pushed on, drawn towards them as the only point of interest, the only possible break in this monotonous expanse.
The air grew heavier as he neared the hills, a thick, oppressive weight that seemed to press down on him, squeezing the breath from his lungs. There was a tension in the air, a sense of something unseen, something lurking just beyond the edge of perception. His skin prickled, a cold, creeping sensation that sent shivers down his spine, his instincts screaming that he was not alone. He scanned the jagged peaks, the twisted, scarred landscape that loomed before him, his gaze searching for any sign of movement, of danger. But there was nothing, just the wind, the dust, the faint, metallic scent that hung in the air like a warning.
The metallic tang in the air grew stronger, sharper, mingled with a faint, acidic scent that made his eyes water, his stomach churn. It was the smell of blood. The realization jolted through him, sending a shiver down his spine, and he scanned the ground, the rocks, his eyes searching for the source of the scent. It felt close, almost tangible, a chilling reminder that even in this desolate realm, he wasn’t alone.
He was prey. The knowledge settled upon him like a weight, heavy and inescapable.