..
A murmur of conversation filtered through, voices overlapping, laughter cutting in at uneven intervals. His brow twitched in mild irritation. With a faint frown, he cracked one eye open, reached for the new duffle bag, and unzipped it just enough to retrieve his headphones.
Slipping them over his ears, he welcomed the artificial cocoon of quiet they provided. The noise dimmed, replaced by a soft, muted hum. His shoulders eased. Closing his eyes again, Damian allowed himself a faint smile as the wind shifted once more, sending a fresh draft of rain-cooled air sweeping into the shop. The chill brushed against his neck like an unspoken reminder that, despite the ruin, the world outside still moved on.
..
--
Location: Johannesburg - Terrace Road - Clothes Shop - First Floor.
Year: 2026.
Date: April 1st.
POV: Third Person.
Time: 5:36 PM.
--
The first floor of the clothes shop was steeped in a muted, uneasy quiet, broken only by the low murmur of scattered conversations and the restless rattle of wind pressing against the rain-speckled windows. Outside, the storm's howl rose and fell, sometimes shrill, sometimes distant, like an animal pacing in the dark. The scent of damp fabric still lingered in the air, mingled faintly with something metallic that the rain hadn't yet washed away.
Damian sat in his claimed corner, his posture relaxed but deliberate—arms folded across his chest, hood drawn forward, headphones resting snugly over his ears. The steady, cushioned thrum of muted sound dulled the chatter of the others, letting him sink into that rare, comfortable pocket of solitude. Beyond the fractured glass, the late-afternoon sky was a mixture of shadow and molten gold, the setting sun leaking faint rays across the bruised horizon. The rain had weakened into a gentler fall, droplets tracing slow paths down the panes, and at this rate, it might stop entirely within the next half hour.
Just as Damian was settling deeper into stillness, he felt a faint movement against his left arm. His brow lifted. Opening his eyes, he glanced down and caught sight of a small, familiar figure emerging from the 'cuff' of his sleeve.
Nyxi slithered free, her slender, midnight-blue scaled body glistening faintly in the dim light, coils winding gracefully until she was wrapped around his wrist.
*Hisss~*
"Hey, Nyxi," Damian murmured with a faint smile, eyes softening at the sight of her small yet disarmingly adorable form. "How are you?"
Another hiss, but this time there was something different—an undercurrent he couldn't quite name. He tilted his head, more from instinct than curiosity, as a strange certainty welled up inside him.
"You're… hungry." The words left his mouth without hesitation. He wasn't guessing—he knew. It was the same intuitive clarity as when a pet drops its food bowl at your feet, yet somehow deeper, almost primal, as if the knowledge had been placed directly into his mind.
*Hisss~*
Nyxi hissed in repy.
"But what do you eat? I tried feeding you sandwiches this morning but you refused them" Damian said, he had pondered what she ate before and had come to an unsettling conclusion. 'God I hope 'that's' not what she eats' Damian thought with conflicted expression but he couldn't have been any closer to being right.
*Hiss~*
Nyxi hissed again in reply, and when her small silver eyes shifted toward his hand, the meaning was crystal clear.
"You have got to be kidding me," Damian muttered. His thoughts flashed back to the last time she'd bitten him—the sudden heaviness in his limbs, the leaden weakness, the slow drift into darkness before losing consciousness entirely.
'If she bites me again… am I just going to black out?' he wondered, scratching the back of his head. The alternative formed quickly in his mind—Nyxi slithering weakly across the ground, unable to fight or even defend herself—and the thought hit him harder than expected.
'Come on. Man up, Damian. Even if you pass out, it'll be worth it, better than her dying from weakness.' He drew in a long breath, bracing himself.
Nyxi, for her part, waited in still, patient silence. What Damian didn't know was that her delay in revealing her hunger had little to do with her diet. She could eat normal food—though to her it was like licking a lollipop on an empty stomach: sweet but hollow, a poor substitute for what she truly needed—although the lollipop looked disgusting to her. And while her small, lithe frame betrayed no fear, she remembers the first time she bit him with a vividness that still made her shiver. That burning, unrelenting agony had etched itself into her memory, and she'd dreaded feeling it again.
But hunger was already gnawing at her core, slowing her movements, thinning her strength. In battle, that weakness would be lethal. So she had come—resolute despite the dread—to ask for what she needed.
"Phew… Alright, here," Damian said at last, extending his right hand and holding out the side of his index finger toward her.
Nyxi wasted no time. Her fangs sank delicately into his skin, and instantly her Cosmic Devourer Resonance stirred to life.
She braced herself for pain—only to find none. Instead, her senses erupted with flavor and vitality so intense it staggered her. Her tongue flicked instinctively, tasting something beyond description, as though she were drinking from an elixir distilled from the lifeblood of ancient, primordial beings. The taste was rich, layered, almost infinite—each second revealing new notes that made the last feel pale in comparison.
Her soul flared like a newly lit star. She drank greedily, the pull on his essence deepening with each heartbeat, her small body trembling not from weakness but from euphoria.
Damian, meanwhile, was quietly bracing for the onset of weakness… but it never came. Instead, a low, steady hum coursed through him—familiar, reminiscent of Entropy Surge, though softer, more contained.
'Well, that's… unexpected,' he thought, glancing down at Nyxi. She clung to his finger as though it were the only thing keeping her alive, her eyes bright, her every movement betraying desperation and bliss in equal measure.
He let her drink uninterrupted. After nearly a full minute, she finally released him, retracting her fangs and exhaling a long, satisfied sigh. Her forked tongue flicked lazily, as though savoring the lingering taste.
*Hiss~*
Damian blinked, leaning closer with squinted eyes. He reached out with one finger, poking gently at her midsection.
"…Is she bloated?" he thought aloud, the faintest grin forming. He poked again, just to be sure.
The second poke earned him a sharp, indignant hiss, after which she darted up his arm and slipped back under his sleeve, disappearing into the tattoo that bound them.
'Embarrassed?' Damian mused, amusement tugging at his lips. 'Adorable.'
He slid his headphones down to rest around his neck. The moment the seal of silence broke, the chatter of the others rushed back in, layered with laughter, clinking metal, and the faint patter of rain against the glass.
With a sigh, he glanced down at his finger, half-expecting to see marks from her bite—but there was nothing. Not even a faint indent.
'Strange…' His mind sifted through possibilities. He even pulled up his Origin Status out of habit, but saw no changes. Eventually, his thoughts landed on one explanation:
'Could be like a vampire's bite. Some folklore says the marks vanish instantly, leaving no trace.'
That reminded him—'Wait, there'd been no mark the first time she bit me either'
'Hmm… maybe…'
His gaze shifted to his left forearm, where the tattoo of their bond lay underneath his sleeve. He raised his right hand, ready to tap the central point—only to pause, his attention snagged by the tone of the conversation carrying across the room.
--
[ A Few Minute Ago ]
Time: 5:47 PM.
-
The first floor was dimly lit, its atmosphere shaped by the low hum of conversation mingling with the mournful rattle of wind battering the windows. Occasionally, the stronger gusts howled through the cracks, carrying the faint scent of rain and the lingering metallic tang of rotten blood from earlier battles.
Hanabira Riko small frame stood with her back against the wall, her bow in hand, pulling back on an empty string in a slow, deliberate motion as if replaying a moment in her head. Her expression carried a hint of frustration.
Hanabira Riko "Nee-san, I think my aim needs some work."
Amy Williams glanced over while adjusting the hem of her green crop-top hoodie, tugging it down over the fitted tank top underneath.
Amy Williams "Hm? Why do you think that?"
Riko's gaze drifted toward the rain-streaked glass a distance away.
"Earlier… when Hustin-san was about to be hit by that Necrogyph, I shot four arrows. Only three landed. I missed one." Her tone was tinged with disappointment, the memory clearly gnawing at her pride.
Amy Williams "Riko, you're being too hard on yourself. Your accuracy's been improving every single day. At this rate, you'll be landing perfect shots blindfolded." Amy smiled reassuringly.
Riko's face lit up.
Riko "Thanks, Onee-san."
Amy's eyes twinkled with mischief as she turned toward Lana.
Amy Williams "Remember when Riko first picked up a bow? She could barely stand straight without toppling over." She let out a laugh, and Lana joined her.
Riko's cheeks flushed crimson.
Riko "Moo~ Onee-san…" She playfully tugged on Amy's sleeve.
Amy tilted her head toward the boys who sat opposite them.
Amy Williams "What do you think, Hustin? Her skill with the bow have improved a lot, right? … Hustin?"
Her smile faded when she noticed both Hustin and Marcus locked in a silent, unspoken exchange—eyes narrowed slightly, jaws set. It was as if a wordless argument was unfolding between them.
Riko squinted curiously.
Riko "…Are they communicating with their eyes?"
Amy Williams "Guys!" Amy folded her arms.
The sudden sharpness in her tone broke whatever mental standoff the two were engaged in. They blinked, almost in unison, and turned their attention to the women.
Amy Williams "You two want to tell us what's going on?"
A brief, uncomfortable silence passed before Hustin leaned back in his chair.
Hustin Bright "You wanna tell them, or should I?" He glanced at Marcus.
Hannah Lee "Tell us what?" Hannah asked, she knew something had been bothering Marcus but he didn't say anything when she had asked earlier.
Marcus looked conflicted, his brows furrowed as if he was choosing his words carefully. Hustin gave him a nudge.
Hustin Bright "Dude, there's no better time than now."
Marcus exhaled slowly.
Marcus Hale "Damian said he's leaving tomorrow morning."
The words seemed to hang in the air like a weight. The group instinctively turned their eyes toward the far corner of the shop, where Damian sat with his headphones resting around his neck. He appeared lost in thought, completely detached from their conversation.
Hannah Lee "What? Why?" Her voice carried surprise and confusion.
Amy Williams "I thought the journey was at least a week away." Amy said with furrowed brows.
Marcus shook his head.
Marcus Hale "It was actually planned for three days from now."
Hannah Lee "Three days?!" She shot up from her seat, her voice rising.
Marcus rubbed the back of his neck.
Marcus Hale "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't have a chance to bring it up. First, we had the Necrogryphs attack, and before I could say anything, Damian just drops the news that he's leaving tomorrow. I… I didn't know how to respond." His frustration was clear.
Hannah's eyes narrowed slightly.
Hannah Lee "So what? You're just going to leave with him tomorrow?"
The question shifted everyone's gaze back toward Damian. He met their eyes briefly, his expression unreadable, before looking away.
Damian Derulo 'The hell? Why are they looking at me?.'
Marcus straightened.
Marcus Hale "My word still stands, Hannah. I'll stay… but only if you want me to."
Inside, he desperately hoped she would say yes. Amy's mouth opened, ready to speak, but Hannah beat her to it.
Hannah Lee "Of course I want you to stay. You're one of my closest friends. But Marcus… I can't give you what you want. Even with Kai cheating on me, I still… I still love him. So much that it hurts every time I think about it." Her voice wavered, and tears threatened to spill.
Marcus froze, her words echoing painfully in his mind.
Marcus Hale 'Of course… what was I expecting.'
Damian who had heard Hannah's words from his position frowned and turned on his headphones and connected to his phone.
Damian Derulo "Pathetic." He muttered behind his mask before he wore it over his head and began listening to a song.
Music filled his head, drowning out the tension in the room.
Marcus exhaled slowly, the breath shaky, before finally speaking.
Marcus Hale "I'll be outside…"
He rose from his seat and walked toward the entrance, his footsteps muted by the rain's steady patter. Hannah's gaze lingered on him, her arms folding across her chest as she turned away, blinking back tears, and headed toward the stairs.
Hustin watched her go, his own sigh escaping.
Hustin Bright "I'll go after Marcus."
He followed Marcus toward the doorway, Amy standing shortly after.
Amy Williams "I'll go to Hannah."
The group split without another word, leaving only Riko, Lana, and Damian on the first floor. Riko struck up a quiet conversation with Lana, the mood subdued but lighter in their corner. Damian, on the other hand, remained exactly where he was—seated, headphones on, music blaring—detached from it all.
--
[ Some Minutes Later ]
Time: 6:12 PM.
-
Damian rose slowly from his seat, the faint creak of the chair barely audible beneath the muted chatter and rustle of clothing inside the boutique. His deliberate movement immediately drew the attention of the girls. Hannah and Amy, who had only just returned from their brief trip upstairs, exchanged a curious glance.
The boys—Marcus and Hustin—were still outside, their presence felt more than seen. But that wasn't the reason Damian headed for the entrance.
He stepped forward with quiet purpose, the polished floor reflecting faintly under his boots as he moved toward the glass door. Once outside, he tugged his headphones down from his ears, letting them rest loosely against his neck. With a small, precise motion, he pressed the button and silenced them. The faint hum of music died, leaving him with only the quiet ambience of the city.
He tilted his head upward. The sky stretched out in shades of soft pale gold and thick gray, the evening sun barely visible. Though the storm had broken earlier, a thin drizzle still lingered—more of a whisper than rain, a delicate mist clinging to the air. The silence was uncanny. Streets that once throbbed with life now held their breath, haunted by an emptiness that unsettled even the strongest survivors.
Damian exhaled slowly, a deep breath that carried weight, as if he were breathing out not just air but fatigue and resolve. Just as he turned to head back in, he caught sight of Hustin and Marcus approaching from the side street. He paused, his eyes briefly locking on theirs. Without a word, he dismissed them with a flicker of indifference and re-entered the boutique.
Inside, the chaos of displaced clothing and scattered items hadn't lessened, yet Damian seemed untouched by the clutter. Reaching his seat, he bent down with calm efficiency. First, he lifted his newly acquired duffel bag, pulling the strap diagonally across his chest until it rested snugly against his shoulder. Then, with his free hand, he gripped the handle of his older, heavier duffel.
Straightening, he turned just in time to see Hustin and Marcus stepping into the boutique. Despite the tension that hung over them from earlier events, Marcus wore a mask of composure. But Damian, sharp-eyed and ever-observant, saw through it instantly. That calm facade was nothing more than a shield against the storm raging beneath his skin.
Hustin's voice cut through the air.
Hustin Bright "Damian, are you leaving?" His tone carried more concern than curiosity, his gaze lingering on Damian's travel-ready stance.
Damian Derulo "Yeah. The rain's stopped. I need to move before the curfew locks things down," Damian replied evenly, adjusting the strap on his shoulder with a subtle tug.
The soft echo of footsteps sounded from behind, drawing Damian's attention. Amy had approached, her expression both questioning and hopeful.
Amy Williams "Are you sure you don't want to leave with us? There's space in the truck. It'll save you time, and… honestly, it's safer." Her voice carried the weight of sincerity, her eyes searching his for any crack in his resolve.
Damian's response was instant, his voice steady and final.
Damian Derulo "No."
The word struck with the quiet force of certainty. He lowered his head slightly, a subtle nod, and Amy—though visibly disappointed—mirrored the gesture, accepting his decision.
Turning on his heel, Damian made for the exit. He stopped just shy of the doorway, his boots halting a foot from the threshold. Slowly, he glanced back over his shoulder, his gaze fixing firmly on Marcus.
Damian Derulo "Marcus. Do you have your answer?"
The name drew Marcus's head up immediately, as though the sound had pulled him from his thoughts.
Marcus Hale "…Yes. We can leave tomorrow," he said firmly, his voice betraying no hesitation.
Damian's eyes narrowed in approval.
Damian Derulo "Good. I'll find you tomorrow morning—nine sharp. Be ready."
Marcus nodded, the gesture small but filled with a sense of agreement.
Satisfied, Damian turned and walked out of the boutique. His destination was set—Fort Sentinel.
--
--
The world outside greeted him with its broken stillness. His eyes fell immediately on the truck Marcus's group had arrived in. He had glimpsed it earlier, but now, under the dimming glow of dusk, its battered state was undeniable.
The once sturdy vehicle bore the scars of survival. The roof sagged inward where the Necrogryph's monstrous weight had crushed it, a cruel reminder of the earlier encounter. Shards of glass glittered on the seats like cruel jewels, remnants of shattered windows. The frame was battered but intact. With some desperate ingenuity—severing the roof entirely and clearing the glass fragments—the truck could still serve. Barely.
Damian studied it for a long moment before turning away. The silence of the streets stretched on, broken only by the soft patter of drizzle on the asphalt. He considered pulling out his phone, the temptation of his playlists whispering at the edges of his mind. But he shook it off. Music dulled awareness, and dulled awareness meant death.
His Survivor's Instinct would warn him of danger if it came, but instincts weren't infallible. Not after the sudden emergence of the Necrogryphs. Not when the rules of survival seemed to change by the hour.
With resolve carved deep into his features, Damian walked on, vanishing into the eerie quiet of the city.
---
-
Damian's pace remained steady, his boots striking a muted rhythm against the pavement as the city around him lay in eerie stillness. The longer he walked, the more his thoughts began to unravel, slipping from the tight control he tried to keep on them.
One after another, unanswered questions gnawed at the edges of his mind:
What really happened to the Earth?
That dream—or nightmare—before all of this… what was it, truly?
Was what happened really the Rapture, or something else entirely?
Where had the monsters gone? The ones that lurked across the city just a month ago.
Alter… what exactly was his true goal? And who, or what, was he speaking of when he warned, "They will come for you"?
'And what was my place in all of this madness?'
His brow furrowed as one final thought slipped in, softer but no less persistent: 'Why had I gone back for Marcus and the others?'
That question lingered. Damian knew himself well. He wasn't the kind to sympathize with strangers—or even acquaintances. In fact, he prided himself on being detached. He could walk past a dying man on the street without hesitation, without even a flicker of guilt. And yet… he had returned.
He can tell himself it was for the new wardrobe. Or maybe because the Necrogryphs, once done with Marcus's group, might have turned their attention toward him. Logical—mostly, practical reasons. Reasons that made sense.
But still, a part of him whispered otherwise. Maybe—just maybe—deep in the fractured, shadowed recesses of his subconscious… he still saw himself as the same boy his parents raised—Or wished to be...
Damian let out a long sigh, his shoulders heavy with the weight of thoughts better left buried. His mind drifted to his family. A dull ache of worry crept in, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. Where were they? Were they even alive? He prayed they wouldn't try to find him—not in this chaos. If they did, the chances of them ever crossing paths again could plummet to nothing.
Another sigh escaped him, this one sharper, as if to cut the thought short. One step at a time, he told himself, repeating the mantra silently with each stride.
--
--
A few minutes deeper into his walk, the atmosphere began to shift.
The air grew chill, carrying with it a damp edge that bit through his clothes. The silence thickened, broken only by the crunch of his boots on cracked pavement. Overhead, the skies were still dark, clouds crawling across the heavens like smears of ink. The fractured moon hung low on the horizon, its pale light dim and uneven.
Then the mood shattered.
Damian froze mid-step, his chest tightening as the hair at the back of his neck rose. The unmistakable sensation of being watched pierced him. His eyes widened instinctively, his head snapping over his shoulder.
The duffel bag slipped from his grip, thudding dully against the ground. His hand moved without thought, unsheathing Lunar Fang in a single fluid motion. The blade gleamed faintly in the moonlight, his gaze sweeping the shadows, searching. Nothing.
No movement. No figure. No enemy.
And yet… the gaze lingered. Heavy. Inescapable.
Slowly, almost against his will, Damian tilted his head upward. His mind flashed back violently—to the Rapture, to the nightmarish vision—Or so he thought—of countless eyes staring down from the heavens. His pulse quickened, heart slamming in his chest as his gaze locked on the sky.
But there was nothing. No monstrous eye staring back at him. No eldritch being tearing through the clouds. Only the fractured moon, broken yet still casting its cold silver glow across the ruined cityscape.
Relief poured through him, his chest rising and falling in a sharp exhale. If he had looked up to find an eye staring back, he wasn't sure what he would've done.
Still, the feeling remained—unsettling, gnawing. The gaze hadn't vanished. It pressed on him, unseen and unknowable. His Hollow Veil dulled the edge of panic, numbing the fear that might have consumed another man. But even that calm couldn't erase the unease prickling beneath his skin.
'Where the hell are you?' Damian thought bitterly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned every shadow.
A sudden sound cut the air.
*Caw*
The sharp cry made him jolt—almost, his head whipping upward toward a nearby duplex. His eyes locked on the source and he froze, blinking in disbelief.
A bird.
Large, dark-ish, and silent, it perched calmly on the roof, its gaze locked onto him. Easily the size of a hawk, its feathers shimmered purple against the dim light. It stared at him with an intelligence that sent a chill crawling down his spine.
Then, without warning, it spread its wings. With a single powerful beat, it shot into the air, moving faster than any bird Damian had ever seen. By the time his eyes tried to track it, the creature had already vanished—gone without a trace.
"...What the hell?" Damian muttered aloud, voice low. His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "Was that a raven? Or a crow?"
The difference hardly mattered. Both were omens in their own right.
He lingered for a few moments longer, scanning the rooftops and streets for any sign of movement. When he was finally certain the gaze had passed, he exhaled through his nose, sheathed Lunar Fang, and bent down to retrieve his duffel.
But his thoughts wouldn't let him go so easily.
That was weird… unsettling. A raven—or crow—appearing out of nowhere, watching him in silence, then disappearing as if it had never been. The whole encounter gnawed at him.
'It's just a bird,' he tried to reason, even as unease simmered.
'What's that kind of bird doing out at a time like this?' And yet, he couldn't shake the absurdity of it. 'I literally killed a zombie griffin, and now I'm spooked by a raven? And even bothered about it's nightly activities' He scoffed at himself, shaking his head. 'Like it's not weird enough that I brush my teeth at three in the morning before crashing. Sometimes… I can be such an idiot.'
Still, despite the humor he forced into his thoughts, his eyes continued to sweep the shadows with sharp vigilance. Because a raven—crow, whatever—staring at him like a predator eyeing prey and then vanishing into the night?
That was anything but normal, especially with the state the world was currently in.
If anything, it was a warning.
And Damian, more than most, hated anything with mystery.
---
-
---
Location: Johannesburg - Fort Sentinel - Main Entrance.
POV: Third Person.
Time: 7:19 PM.
--
The night sky stretched overhead, cloudless, its silence broken only by the fractured light of the moon—an eerie thing, shattered yet strangely beautiful. The streets outside were hushed, though faint murmurs bled through the iron gate, like whispers from a world behind walls.
Damian reached the Fort at last. His return had been quicker than the morning trek; then, he had wandered in search of phone shops, but now his path was straightforward. He might have arrived sooner, if not for the encounter with the Raven-Crow—an incident still pressing faintly at the back of his mind, like a shadow refusing to leave.
His wristwatch glowed: [7:20 PM].
'Ten minutes till curfew. I made it.'
He stepped forward, knocking hard on the giant doors. From the watchtower, a beam of light speared through the dark, landing on him. The soldier above lingered, scanning the empty road behind Damian before signaling for the smaller pedestrian door to creak open.
Inside, the Fort breathed its own quiet rhythm. Damian offered a brief greeting to the guard who let him through, but his eyes were already drawn to the scene ahead: two soldiers hefting a bloodied sack from a truck whose top looked sheared clean off—unnatural, as if cut by something less mechanical, more deliberate.
"Damian, you made it, with a few minutes to spare," Marcus Hale called, striding over. Behind him, Amy, Riko, and Hustin lingered by the truck, deep in discussion with a soldier who cradled a thick ledger like scripture.
"Yeah, I see your group made it in one piece as well," Damian replied, his gaze slipping past Marcus toward the ledger's keeper.
"After most of the monsters in the city mysteriously vanished about a week ago, fewer groups have gone missing," Marcus said as they walked closer.
"…Vanished, huh?" Damian's reply was thoughtful, but inside his mind churned. 'Did they disappear, literally? Or did they leave? If they left—why? Was it by choice, or because something drove them out?'
A knot tightened in his chest. 'If they fled willingly, where to? If not—what force could make monsters run? Something isn't right…' His thoughts were cut when his name rang out.
"Hey Damian, glad you made it before curfew," Amy greeted with a smile.
"Mmhmm. Are you done?" he asked, his eyes darting toward the soldier with the ledger. Recognition struck him. It's him. Same post as this morning. His brows furrowed. Has he been here all day?
He reasoned quickly. Maybe a shift overlap. Maybe.
"We are," Amy confirmed, glancing at the others. Hustin gave a silent nod. Damian returned it, though the air between them still hung awkward after the clothes shop incident. Riko, bright as always, beamed at him.
"Hello~ Mister," she sang.
His eye twitched. 'Why does she keep calling me Mister?' He thought as he gave a mental note to asked her a gnawing question.
*Ahem*
The soldier with the ledger cleared his throat. "Sir?" He extended a hand.
Damian tilted his head in brief confusion until Marcus explained. "Damian, your number."
'Why didn't he just say that?' Damian thought, before fishing a folded slip of paper from his pocket and handing it over.
-
[N0: 632]
-
The soldier flipped through the tome-like ledger until his finger halted on a page. His voice, practiced yet oddly measured, broke the stillness.
"Your bag, Sir."
Damian lowered both duffle bags to the ground. His stomach tightened. The Oblivion shards inside gave him pause, though he reminded himself he had little choice. Maybe I should have hidden them elsewhere…
The soldier crouched, unzipping both bags with calm precision. No spilling of contents, just the same ritual Damian had seen that morning—fingers ghosting through items, marks scratched neatly onto the ledger's page. The sound of ink against parchment felt heavier than it should.
..
N0: 632.
Date: 1/04/2026.
Time: 9:44 AM.
Name: Damian Derulo.
Appearance: Tall, light skinned, Black hair and eyes. Left forearm wrapped with a white cloth, wearing a strapless silver streaked mask, a white shirt, black pants and white sneakers.
..
Contents:
1 Sword ☑.
1 Phone ☑.
1 Map ☑.
Torn hospital gown ☑.
29 Similar crystals ☑.
1 Unique crystal ☑.
1 Powerbank ☑.
1 Headphone ☑.
1 USB cord ☑.
..
**New Contents**
1 Watch.
Multiple clothes and underwear.
2 New Phones.
Phone repair equipments.
1 Green Orb.
1 Duffle bag.
..
"That will be all, Mr. Damian," the soldier said, closing the ledger.
Damian exhaled relief. No questions about the shards.
"Now, for the ten percent policy," the soldier added smoothly, as if reciting a prayer.
Damian gestured toward his older duffle bag, the one packed with clothes. "Will this be enough?"
The soldier's eyes flicked over it. "Yes. That will suffice." He signaled, and another guard carried it off into the barracks' depths.
Zip. Strap. Shoulder. Damian straightened just as Marcus slung an arm around Hustin.
"Alright! Come on, Damian, you're spending the night in our room."
Damian frowned. "I'll stay—"
"Outside? Dude, it gets freezing in the morning. Besides, if you're with us, we can leave at once tomorrow. No hunting me down."
The logic was sound enough, and Damian finally sighed. "Fine." 'What's the worst that can happen?'
Marcus grinned. "That's the spirit. Hop in."
The truck was already full—front and back seats crammed, with several bags containing clothes on their laps. Damian climbed into the boot instead, where bags filled with severed, valuable Necrogryphs parts gave off a faint, metallic odor and a strong decaying smell. He braced himself near the edge, gripping the rim as the engine roared to life.
The truck rumbled toward the Fort's inner lot.
---
-
---
What's the worst that can happen, he said…
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
To Be Continued....
..
A/n: Image of the Necrogryphs have been uploaded on Discord .