The path grew worse.
What had once been jagged stone and fractured plateaus had now become a twisted ascent of uneven ridges, narrow ledges, and steep climbs. Every step required focus. Every handhold had to be tested.
Lucas moved carefully, his boots scraping over the dark, cracked surface of the mountain. More than once he slipped and had to catch himself with the edge of his palm or the blunt end of the Abyssal Reaper.
He grunted as he pulled himself over another sharp ridge. "This place is trying to kill us."
Ahead, Lyss didn't answer.
She climbed in silence, her hands and feet moving with practiced grace, though even she had slowed. Her movements weren't tired—but they were cautious.
The wind was thinner up here. Colder. It howled past them in bursts, carrying a sharp, dry scent like burnt iron and old ash.
Lucas looked up.
They had barely covered any distance since morning.
And the top?
Still impossibly far.
'We've been walking for hours, and it still looks like the mountain hasn't moved. Like we're ants crawling on the back of a god.'
He cursed under his breath, gripping his scythe tighter.
His stomach twisted. The last Soul Core had barely fed his power. And now… there was nothing but hunger and dry lips.
His throat ached for water.
And still, they climbed.
Lyss reached a ledge and extended a hand. He hesitated—then took it. She pulled him up without effort and turned away again, saying nothing.
'Still not used to this kind of silence… but I'd rather that than her talking about how slow I am.'
The path ahead narrowed, winding like a snake between two steep ridges. The mist around them shifted as the sun—if it still existed here—continued to hide behind the churning sky.
They didn't stop.
Because stopping meant thinking.
And thinking led to despair.
A faint sound broke through the silence.
Scraping.
Lucas stopped mid-step, one foot hanging over the edge of a narrow ridge. He turned, eyes narrowing into the thick mist that clung to the path behind them.
He looked at Lyss. She'd already stopped.
Her posture shifted—hand resting on her hip, aura coiling faintly around her fingers like a warning flare.
"You hear that too?" Lucas asked, voice low.
Lyss didn't respond. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. Then she nodded once.
"It's close."
The mist thickened. Shadows twisted inside it—low and broad, like something crawling along the stone.
Lucas gripped the Abyssal Reaper tight, summoning it with a pulse of dark light. His armor, Deathfang Carapace, formed across his body in dull, bone-like plates, wrapping him in a protective shell.
The sound came again—click-click-click—like hooves on stone, but uneven. Off.
Then it leaped out.
A twisted creature, hunched like a starving wolf, yet taller than a man. Its spine arched unnaturally, and its legs bent backward like a deer's, but its skin was stretched too thin, covered in bone plates and patches of fur. The skull resembled a hornless ram—elongated, broken at the jaw—and its white eyes glowed with unnatural hunger.
It shrieked and lunged.
Lucas moved first.
He ducked low, spinning the scythe and dragging the blade upward in a sweeping arc. The weapon howled as it cut through the mist, grazing the creature's side and drawing a spray of dark, sluggish blood.
But it didn't stop.
It crashed into him with its full weight, knocking him backward.
He slammed into the ground hard, breath leaving his lungs in a rush.
The beast turned to pounce again—
—but silver light shot through the fog.
Starlight Fang pierced clean through the creature's shoulder, knocking it aside mid-leap.
Lyss didn't waste time.
She moved like lightning—one strike to the leg, another to its neck, then a feint before slipping past its jaws and slashing across its side.
Lucas pushed himself up, growling.
"Round two then, freak."
He surged forward, eyes burning.
Together, they closed in.
The creature let out one final gurgled screech before collapsing in a heap, its twisted limbs twitching once—then going still.
Steam rose from the wounds.
Lucas stood over the corpse, breathing hard. His hands trembled slightly from the effort, his knuckles white around the shaft of the Abyssal Reaper.
Lyss stepped back calmly, her blade dissolving into pale light once more.
The system chimed in his mind:
[You have slain: Bonehowler]
Lucas turned to Lyss and gave her a nod. "Yours."
She didn't argue. Didn't thank him either. She stepped forward and reached into the beast's chest, pushing past the bone plates and scorched flesh until her fingers found the glowing object nestled near its warped heart.
She pulled it free.
The Soul Core pulsed with a deep crimson hue—unstable, hotter than the last one.
Without hesitation, she absorbed it.
[Soul Core absorbed. +2 Soul Energy]
Her expression didn't change, but Lucas could feel it: her presence had grown slightly denser.
'She's almost at Kindled Soul.'
He lowered his weapon and let it dissipate with a flick of thought. Then he looked down at the creature's body.
"What do you think?" he asked, nudging the corpse with his boot. "Edible?"
Lyss didn't flinch. "We're not in a position to be picky."
Lucas sighed.
"Gross," he muttered. "Alright."
He crouched next to the corpse and activated the edge of the Abyssal Reaper once again. The blade shimmered, whispering faintly as it carved through the hide and sinew.
He began mutilating the body, cutting thick, dark muscle from its haunches—rough cuts, but enough to cook.
The flesh oozed a dark fluid that smelled somewhere between iron and rot.
Even Lyss looked faintly uncomfortable now.
Lucas stood with a bundle of meat wrapped in cloth he'd torn from his sleeve. "We're either gonna eat, or starve. Your call."
"…We eat," Lyss replied.
With the meat wrapped and stored, Lucas stood in silence for a moment, scanning the terrain.
His mouth was dry. His throat burned. Even the inside of his nose felt like it had been scrubbed raw by dust and wind.
He needed water.
And fast.
"We need to find somewhere sheltered," he muttered. "Somewhere that's not going to suck every drop of moisture from our lungs."
Lyss nodded, already scanning the nearby stone formations. Eventually, she pointed toward a jagged outcrop that dipped slightly—a natural pocket of the mountain's surface that might block some of the wind.
They moved.
The spot wasn't much, but it was enough to crouch in without being fully exposed.
Lucas dropped the bundle of meat beside him and knelt near the lowest part of the stone. He ran his fingers across the surface—cold, rough, but slightly damp in one corner.
He leaned closer, eyes narrowing.
There was a thin film of water—barely a trace—but enough to spark an idea.
He unhooked a small strip of torn fabric from his cloak and pressed it gently into the damp patch, letting it absorb what little moisture it could. After a few minutes, he wrung it carefully into the cap of his waterskin.
A single drop fell.
Then another.
Then more.
It was slow. Tedious. But it worked.
Lyss watched him quietly, sitting cross-legged with her arms resting on her knees.
When he finally handed her a half-full cap of filtered water, she took it without a word. Drank slowly. Passed it back.
"…Not bad," she said after a moment.
Lucas smirked faintly. "Didn't know you could give compliments."
"I didn't."
He rolled his eyes and kept working.
Twilight—or whatever passed for it in this cursed sky—settled low on the mountain. The mist had thinned slightly, enough to see the sharp edges of the surrounding cliffs. But the light overhead remained unnatural, casting everything in a bruised violet hue.
Lucas stacked broken shards of dry stone and splinters of twisted bone beneath a shallow crevice. He struck one of the bones with his scythe—sparks flared, and with effort, a flame caught.
The small fire flickered to life, casting uneven light across the rough stone walls.
He skewered one of the meat strips on a sharpened fragment of metal he'd scavenged from his armor earlier, then held it over the fire.
The fat hissed. The smell wasn't entirely terrible… but not pleasant either. A mix of burnt leather and old blood.
Lyss sat across from him, watching the fire more than the food.
Lucas rotated the makeshift spit with care, eyes half-lidded.
'First real meal in… days? Weeks? I don't even know anymore.'
When it finally stopped dripping and started to char, he tore off a piece and passed it to Lyss.
She took it wordlessly and bit into it.
Her jaw tensed slightly.
Lucas tried his.
He nearly gagged.
"Gods," he choked. "This tastes like ash wrapped in regret."
Lyss didn't respond.
She kept chewing.
After the first bite, Lucas forced himself to keep going. It wasn't good. It wasn't even edible by most standards. But it was something.
He'd eaten worse.
Probably.
Neither of them spoke much after that.
Just the crackle of the fire.
Just the quiet sound of survival.
By the time they'd finished eating, the fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the uneven stone. The mist had thickened again, wrapping the mountain in its cold embrace, and the light from above had dimmed until only the faint glow of the flame offered any warmth at all.
Lucas leaned back against the rock, his hands resting on his knees. The fatigue in his body was bone-deep, settling in like it had claimed ownership of his limbs.
But his eyes stayed open.
Across from him, Lyss was sharpening a small knife, her expression unreadable in the flickering light.
The silence wasn't awkward. Not anymore.
It was just… there.
Lucas tilted his head, gazing upward into the sky.
The same black clouds churned overhead, pierced by the eerie glow of that pale violet moon.
It hadn't moved.
Not an inch.
Not since they arrived.
He narrowed his eyes.
'No sunrise. No sunset. No damn clue how much time has passed.'
He checked his system interface again.
[Current Soul Level: 1 (18/1000)]
No movement.
He grunted, letting his head rest back against the rock.
His body was tired.
His mind was buzzing.
His stomach still ached, but at least it wasn't empty.
And for now… they were alive.
He glanced at Lyss.
She hadn't spoken much after the fight. She rarely did when things got quiet. Just watched. Waited.
Planned.
Lucas closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the fire crackle.
'One monster at a time. One step at a time. That's how we climb this thing.'
But still… he couldn't shake the feeling that the mountain was watching.
Waiting.
Testing.
He looked up again at the endless slope above.
'And we've barely scratched the surface.'