The fight had ended, but his body still felt like it was in the middle of it. Ash could feel the night crawling over the land.
He stood over Ken's body, breathing hard, arms hanging low like they were made of stone. Ken was unconscious—his body still, face pale, lips dry. He didn't even twitch anymore. For a second, Ash thought… maybe he wasn't breathing.
He dropped to his knees beside him and pressed his fingers against Ken's neck. Still alive.
Ash let out a breath and stared at the dark sky above. His back hurt, his shoulders burned, his whole body felt like it had been dragged through fire and ice. But he had to move. They couldn't stay here. And not with night falling like this.
Ash bent down and slowly, carefully, lifted Ken onto his back. The weight hit him hard. Not because Ken was heavy—he wasn't—but because every muscle in Ash's body was already on the edge. He adjusted Ken's arms around his neck, gripping his legs tight with one hand, and used the other to steady himself on the rough ground.
"I got you, okay?" he said softly. "Just hold on."
Ken didn't reply. He couldn't.
Ash started walking. And then, the screams began. They weren't close. Not yet. But they were real. Deep, horrible screams from somewhere inside the forest. Some high-pitched. Some guttural. Some so loud they made Ash's bones shake. He swallowed hard and looked into the trees.
It wasn't fear for himself.
He was strong enough. He could fight through a low-level nexus tear alone if he had to. He had done it before. But not like this. Not carrying someone. Not dragging a half-dead friend through a place where every shadow had teeth.
That's what chilled him.
Not the monsters.
The thought of failing.
He moved again, slower now, keeping his head low. His eyes scanned every corner of the trees. Tall twisted trunks covered in moss and black leaves. Some trees didn't even look real—like they had grown from the skeletons of creatures that died screaming.
He held his breath as he passed under an arch of roots shaped like a claw. Ken groaned softly in his sleep.
Ash froze and listened, but there was nothing except the buzzing of insects. The whine of wind through tight branches. And then… a low, slow breathing. It didn't come from Ken.
Ash turned his head very slowly. Through the trees, just a few meters away, something moved.
It was tall. Taller than a man. Its body was thin, hunched, but not weak. It looked like its bones were on the outside. Its skin stretched tight. Its face had no eyes. Just a mouth—open, shaking slightly—breathing like it had all the time in the world.
Ash didn't move.
Not an inch.
The thing tilted its head, sniffing the air. It took a slow step forward.
Ash crouched behind a dead log, lowering Ken to the ground as quietly as he could. He pressed his hand over Ken's mouth just in case he made a sound.
The creature sniffed again.
Ash's heartbeat was so loud he was sure the thing could hear it. The sword strapped to his back was humming. Not loud, but enough that it almost sounded like it was excited. Like it wanted to be drawn. Like it wanted blood.
The creature moved away. It didn't leave. It just… passed through, its long arms dragging across the bark, its breath still echoing between the trees like a dying song.
Ash waited until the sound was completely gone. Then, he stood up, shaking, sweat running down his neck.
He picked Ken up again, his arms almost giving out. But he didn't stop. He couldn't.
For the next hour, he moved through the forest like a ghost. Every noise felt like it could be the last thing he ever heard. Every flash of movement in the trees made him ready to fight, even though his body was too tired to lift the sword.
He found a broken hill, and behind it, the opening of a cave. It wasn't deep, but it was enough. It was hidden by roots and branches and shadows, and it didn't smell like anything lived there.
Ash slid inside, laying Ken down gently.
He sat beside him, holding his knees to his chest, the sword by his side.
The wind outside was quiet now, but it still carried strange sounds. Screams. Growls.
Inside the cave, it was cold. Damp. The ground smelled like wet dirt and shit. He had wrapped Ken in a thin layer of cloth, whatever scraps he could find in his bag. Ken hadn't woken up yet. His chest rose and fell very slowly. But at least he was breathing.
Ash rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept, not properly. Just short, sharp dreams that ended with a jolt every time. His bones ached. His back still hurt from carrying Ken through the forest. His head was spinning, and his mouth was dry.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the flare. It was a small black stick. If you pressed the button on top, it shot a bright signal straight into the sky, a blue light so loud and bright that it could be seen for miles. It was risky—but it was their only hope of getting picked up.
Ash stared at it for a second, his thumb hovering over the button. He was just about to press it—
When a hand grabbed his wrist. Then another hand covered his mouth.
Ken. His eyes were open wide. But also… afraid. He shook his head quickly, eyes darting to the back of the cave. Then he pointed into the dark.
Ash followed his gaze—and his blood turned cold.
There was something in there.
At first, he thought it was just a shadow. But it was breathing. The sound was so deep it made the ground shake a little. The creature was lying down, its body blending into the dark, but the shape of it—long legs, twisted back, thick and small arms, a total of four arms.
Ash felt his stomach sink. He knew that thing. It was a Gloomstalker.
A high-level predator. Silent. Sharp. Almost impossible to outrun. Even when they slept, they could hear heartbeats. It was rare to see one alone—lucky, maybe. But also unlucky. Because one Gloomstalker was worse than ten of any other kind.
Ken's hand slowly let go of Ash. He sat up, shakily. Then, still on his knees, he raised his palm.
Ash knew what he was trying to do.
'Blood Spinners.' Ken's own ability. He could form sharp rotating blades out of his blood. They were fast, quiet, perfect for a kill.
But Ken's hands were trembling. And his aim was off. The spinner hit the wall behind the creature.
A small sound click sound echoed but it was enough. The Gloomstalker's head snapped up. Its fingers twitched. Its neck cracked as it turned toward them, slowly.
Ash didn't wait. He turned and shoved Ken away—hard. Then he drew the sword. The metal burned in his hand. Like it wanted to taste blood again.
The creature roared and lunged forward—but Ash didn't back down. He moved fast. One step. Then a dash. One swing.
The blade sliced through the creature's neck, clean and hard. Its body kept moving for a second before collapsing, twitching, until it went still.
Ash stood there, panting. The sword still in his hand, humming. Then he turned around—and saw Ken frozen, not by the creature. But by him.
Ken's eyes were wide again. That same look of fear.
Ash looked down at the sword in his hand… and finally understood. Ken wasn't scared of the Gloomstalker. He was scared of him.
Ash dropped the sword. It hit the ground with a dull clink, but to Ash, it sounded like thunder.
He stepped back. Held his hands up. His voice cracked as he spoke.
"I didn't mean to—Ken, I—"
Ken didn't say anything. He didn't run. Didn't attack. He just stood there. Ash's chest felt tight. Like someone had wrapped a chain around his ribs. He took a shaky step forward.
Tears ran down his face before he even knew they were there. He dropped to his knees, wrapped his arms around Ken, and pulled him into a hug.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so fucking sorry."
Ken didn't hug him back. But he didn't pull away either. He just stood there, stiff, his arms hanging by his sides. He didn't say anything. Not for a long time.
Then slowly, quietly, he placed one hand on Ash's shoulder. Not because everything was okay. But because he was trying, trying to act normal. Trying to not be afraid. Trying to find his way back.
Ash held on tighter.