The shimmering heat of the Nightmare Desert was nothing compared to the ice-cold dread pooling in Arjun's stomach. He ran. He didn't dare glance back, for he knew that to look upon the Vile Thieving Bird was to invite a spiritual weight that could crush a mortal soul into dust. His lungs burned, each breath a serrated blade of hot sand, but his mind was singular: Escape.
Ahead, the dark, oily shimmer of the oasis lake reappeared through the haze. He remembered his earlier hesitation, his suspicion that the water was a trap. Now, it was his only sanctuary. Without slowing, Arjun launched himself toward the bank and dove.
The water was thick, unnaturally cold, and tasted of ancient copper. He submerged himself completely, sinking into the silken gloom. He kicked his way down, his fingers clawing at the muddy floor as he forced his body to remain still. Above him, a shadow larger than a fortress blotted out the surface light.
Arjun held his breath until his chest felt like it was ready to implode. Through the dark veil of the water, he could see the silhouette of the Cursed Terror perched on the shore. It was searching. For the first time in two lives, Arjun felt a terror so absolute it transcended physical pain. Even the presence of a Sovereign like Ki Song, whose aura could flatten a city, felt like a summer breeze compared to the pressurized, eldritch malice radiating from this creature.
Oxygen or the Bird. Choose your death, his mind screamed.
In his desperation, he accidentally swallowed a mouthful of the brackish water. He waited for the end, praying to every deity, every daemon, and every weave-thread he knew of. Then, as suddenly as the pressure had arrived, it vanished. The Bird shrieked—a sound that cracked the very stones beneath the water—and took flight, heading toward some distant, greater prey.
Arjun surged to the surface, gasping and retching. He dragged himself onto the burning sand, collapsing into a heap. He lay there for a long time, staring at the bruised sky.
Am I this powerless? he thought, his fingers digging into the grit. To expect to fight a Cursed Terror as an Aspirant is foolishness... but I refuse to be an ant forever.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stand. He took one more drink from the lake—since the "trap" had actually saved his life, he figured he owed the water that much—and fled into the dunes before the Terror could return.
Hours bled into an indeterminate haze of heat and exhaustion until a familiar sight broke the horizon: the jagged fortifications of his battalion's camp.
As Arjun stumbled toward the perimeter, the sentries leveled their spears, but several recognized the blood-caked survivor of the Dragon's landing. They rushed forward, hoisting his arms over their shoulders and dragging him into the shade of a medical tent.
He lay on the dirt floor, his mind drifting as healers applied stinging salves to his myriad of cuts. The peace didn't last long. The tent flap was thrown back, and a man of medium height stepped in. He carried himself with the quiet gravity of a veteran, a short beard framing a face mapped with scars. In his hand was a heavy spear.
"Explain everything," the man commanded.
Arjun didn't hold back. He spoke of the battle, the Dragon's descent, the massacre of the legions, the lake, and the Bird. He omitted his future knowledge, framing his survival as a series of desperate, lucky gambles.
The man listened in silence. "Lad," he said finally, "you're lucky to have a soul left in your body. Rest. When you can walk, find me at the command pavilion."
As the man left, Arjun summoned his runes. He needed to see the cost of his survival.
Name: Arjun
True Name: —
Rank: Aspirant
Soul Core: Dormant
Memories: [Plain Sword], [Plain Armor]
Echoes: —
Attributes: [Outsider], [Fast Learner], [Desolate Spawn]
Aspect: [Vessel]
Aspect Description: [You are a being that is yet to be filled.]
A weary smile touched his lips. Finally. Two Memories. He knew they were likely low-tier, dormant-rank trash, but in this Nightmare, a sharp blade and a layer of leather were the difference between a survivor and a corpse.
After a few hours of fitful sleep, Arjun made his way to the command tent. Inside, the veteran was not alone.
Standing by a map table were two figures who radiated the lethal competence of elite warriors. One was a man named Kael, with long black hair and a heavy quiver of black-fletched arrows. The other was a woman who stood nearly seven feet tall, her auburn hair braided tightly. She reminded Arjun of Saint Effie—muscular, tall.
"So, this is the miracle survivor," the woman, Ellie, said with a smirk. She stepped forward, her hand landing on Arjun's shoulder with the weight of a crushing vice. "Tell me your tales, little hero."
"Ellie, Kael, leave us," the veteran commanded.
As they slipped out, the man turned to Arjun. "I am Damon, head of this camp. I didn't bring you here for a debrief. I brought you here because we have a traitor among us."
Arjun blinked. "A traitor?"
"The Shadow Legion knew our exact position before our legion arrived," Damon said, his voice dropping to a low growl. "That intel was leaked. You were at the front lines—did you see anything suspicious? Anyone acting out of place?"
Arjun thought back to the chaos, the screams, the red sand. "No. Everyone was too busy dying to think about treachery."
Damon sighed. "If you remember anything, tell me. We cannot win this war if our own shadows are sharpened against us."
Night fell over the desert, bringing a treacherous chill. The soldiers gathered around bonfires, eating sparse rations in a silence that felt brittle. Arjun sat near the edge of the light, picking at a piece of dried meat. His mind was elsewhere—trying to figure out his place in this "Vessel" aspect—when a shadow fell over him.
It was Ellie. She held a cup of fermented alcohol and looked down at him with a predatory grin. At her hip sat a strange, metallic capsule—a piece of high-tier technology that felt out of place in this bronze-age Nightmare.
"Hey, hottie," she purred. "Is this seat taken?"
Arjun nodded toward the sand. "Sure. Sit."
She sat close, the scent of wine and iron clinging to her. "Tell me the real story. Not the one you told Damon. Tell me how it felt to watch the sky fall."
Arjun spoke softly, narrating the horror of the Dragon's landing. Ellie listened, her eyes flashing with a strange fervor. "Isn't that the glory of it?" she whispered. "Fighting until the world ends? You accompany the slaughter perfectly."
She suddenly leaned in, her lips meeting his in a fierce, demanding kiss. Arjun was stunned, his senses reeling, but as she pulled away, she smirked. "That would charm any woman into a grave."
The moon was a sliver of bone when the screams began.
Arjun didn't wait for orders. He gripped his [Plain Sword], his mind turning cold. He had lived as a cleaner in the Song Clan; he knew that in a world of monsters, you were either the butcher or the meat.
He surged into the night. The camp was a forest of fire. He stepped into a tent, his [Fast Learner] attribute activating instantly. Three enemy soldiers were inside, mid-slaughter. Arjun didn't shout; he struck.
He drove his blade through a soldier's chest, twisting the steel as he felt the resistance of the ribs. His mind mapped the anatomy of the kill, learning the exact pressure needed to maximize lethality. By the time he reached the thoroughfare, he was a whirlwind.
He met an elite guard near the command pavilion—a giant with a two-handed claymore. Arjun didn't parry the massive swing; he watched the man's feet. Shift. Pivot. Strike. He mimicked the giant's footwork, sliding beneath the blade and severing the man's hamstrings. As the giant buckled, Arjun drove his iron blade into the gap of the helmet.
The spray of hot blood blinded him for a second. He wiped his eyes, looking at the slaughterhouse his camp had become. He had killed thirty men in thirty minutes, his movements evolving with every drop of blood spilled.
But the real horror was waiting for him at the end of the night.
When the crisis was finally quelled, the camp was a ruin. Kael approached Arjun, his face grim. "Damon wants you. Now."
Arjun followed him to the command tent, expecting a mission. Instead, he found the battalion's strongest warriors standing in a circle, their weapons drawn. At Damon's feet lay Arjun's travel bag.
"What is this?" Arjun asked, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck.
Damon reached into the bag and pulled out the metallic capsule Ellie had been carrying earlier. "A secret message to the Shadow Legion. Caught in your belongings, 'Hero'."
Arjun's heart plummeted. The kiss. She slipped it in during the kiss. "That belongs to Ellie! She—"
"Liar!" one of the men shouted. "Ellie has bled with us for years. You're the outsider. You're the one who survived when everyone else died."
"Ellie has been with us since the start," Damon said, his eyes filled with a weary, murderous rage. "Since you choose to lie, we'll find the truth the hard way. Take him."
Arjun tried to draw his sword, but he was an Aspirant against Awakened veterans. They swarmed him, pinning his arms and shattering his knees with the pommels of their swords.
Time lost all meaning.
Inside the torture tent, the sounds of screaming had long since faded into a low, broken whimpering. Damon waited outside, his face a mask of stone. Kael, the man who had acted as the inquisitor, stepped out, his apron soaked in blood.
"Nothing," Kael said, wiping his hands. "He claims he knows nothing. He's either the most loyal spy in history or he's telling the truth. But at this point, it doesn't matter. He's broken."
"Give him time to reconsider," Damon said coldly. "If he doesn't talk , we'll make a spectacle of him in the Battle pits."
Inside the tent, Arjun was no longer a man. He was a heap of ruined flesh tied to a chair. The torture had been meticulous. His eyes had been gouged out, leaving only hollow, weeping sockets. His left hand was a stump of charred bone. His right leg had been dipped into a corrosive acid that had dissolved the muscle, leaving the femur exposed to the air.
As the silence of the night settled over him, Arjun's cracked lips moved, a single, broken plea escaping the ruin of his mouth.
"Please... kill me..."