I could’ve stopped this. That was the only thought that ran through Zabo’s mind as sweat ran down his brow. He gritted his teeth, knowing that he was holding back, convinced his natural strength and a teardrop of aura was enough to hold back the Chitarraks. His arrogance, born from his harsh training, made him feel like those monsters were simply an insignificant obstacle in his path.
His eyes flitted over to Sabir, who lay on the ground, barely breathing. Zabo knew his pride had cost him an innocent life. It was all his fault. “Damn it... what was I thinking?” He cursed himself, watching the monsters close in. His aura had been his last resort, something he hadn’t wanted to rely on so soon. His fight with Noah had taught him to reserve his strength, but it seemed to have only crippled his weaker friends. Now it felt like it was too late.
Sabir, in his half-conscious state, felt something edging closer to him. The clicking of mandibles and shuffling of sand grew louder. His vision blurred as his body betrayed him, the pain overwhelming his senses. The black veins pulsed, creeping through his body, sending an icy shiver through him. Each fibre of muscle felt like lead, pinning him down to the ground.
“Is this how it ends?” Sabir thought, unable to move, his breath shallow, his heartbeat slowing. He could feel the Chitarraks looming over him, ready to strike.
Yet, suddenly, the earth quaked beneath them. From the bared wasteland came a loud, shrill sound—a piercing scream that cut through the air, interrupted only by Zabo’s cheers. A colossal shadow came sweeping down, its wings beating like a bird before its prey. The Griffin’s feathers shone in a half-light as the creature plummeted down. Its sleek feline frame, composed of only muscle, with its sharp beak capable of slicing through steel, stretched out arrowing towards the Chitarraks like a missile.
The Griffin’s front legs lashed out, grabbing one of the Chitarraks by its armored carapace and flinging it away from Sabir as if it were nothing more than a rag doll. The monster clicked its mandibles furiously in protest, skittering across the rocky terrain before smashing into a nearby hoodoo and crumpling in a heap.
“Finally found people!” From above came a voice, as Maize sat atop the Griffin, her long hair flowing wildly in the wind. Almost ethereal in the chaos, she looked like a savior descending from the heavens. Without a hint of hesitation, she leaped off the Griffin’s back and landed gracefully in front of Warren and Zabo.
Strands of hair whipped Warren in the face, the smell of flowers wafted through his nostrils. Her presence brought him a sense of hope that he desperately needed. Warren panted. He grabbed his knees, trying to regain his breath. He turned to his side to see Zabo also taking sharp intakes of breath. Although he seemed less fatigued than himself.
“Looks like you boys could use some help,” she said casually, pulling a small pouch from her belt.
“You sure love a dramatic entrance,” Zabo muttered, wiping his brow as he watched Maize.
Maize’s eyes narrowed as she ignored Zabo’s remark. With a flick of her wrist, she threw several small seeds into the air, her movements precise and controlled. For a moment, the wind carried them, scattering them across the ground. Then, with a sharp gesture, Maize’s fingers twisted in a circular motion, commanding the seeds to burst into life.
Almost immediately, the ground beneath their feet shook. The seeds bursted open, and thick, twisty vines shot forth, shooting upwards, like they were alive. As the vines moved toward the nearest Chitarrak, their approach intensified the air’s energy as they coiled around it like boa constrictor. The creature hissed and screeched, the sounds of their jointed legs drowned its buzzes out, flailing to free themselves.
With a sharp constriction, the vine squeezed. A sickening crack echoed through the wasteland as the creature’s chitinous armor shattered under the immense pressure. Dark, viscous fluid oozed from its broken body, staining the sand. The Chitarrak’s death throes were brief but violent as its stinger lashed one final time before going limp.
A second vine lashed out toward a Chitarrak, this one larger and more aggressive, its pincers snapping in retaliation. It tried to scuttle away, but the vine was faster. It snatched the creature up as it was trying to stand and then banged it down to the ground as hard as it could. A hideous, horrible noise came out of the Chitarrak, as its armor couldn’t take any more. And then all one could hear was the vine uncoiling as it slowly faded away.
The other Chitarrak were no better off. Vines attacked it with homing precision. The green tendrils were too thick and strong for the Chitarraks to escape. The Chitarrak tried to defend itself with its stinger and pincers, but each limb became wrapped tightly by a vine, another vine shot towards the incapacitated monster, striking through its carapace. Maize’s creation ensnared and immobilized the Chitarraks one by one.
The desolate land reverberated with the sounds of the Chitarraks’ dying screams, their enormous bodies writhing and breaking under the ceaseless, almost tender, onslaught of vines sent forth by Maize. There was the unmistakable sound of armor being crunched and flesh being torn, interspersed with the occasional sharp crack of Warren’s weak electrokinesis. Then all at once—silence.
Lowering her hand, Maize commanded the vines with a silent intention, and they retreated into the earth. The ground opened and swallowed them whole, leaving behind nothing but the broken bodies of the Chitarraks lost in a desert that left the smell of rotting flesh and iron.
“Show-off,” Warren muttered under his breath, still catching his breath.
She dusted her hands off and strode over to where Sabir lay on the ground; the Griffin following closely behind her, its wings folding neatly against its sides. Zabo and Warren watched as she knelt beside Sabir, her expression turned distinctly concerned.
She asked, softer now as she examined Sabir’s unconscious form, “What happened to him?”
Zabo cast a sidelong glance as Warren formed his reply. “He’s dying.”
Maize let out a frustrated sigh. She glanced from Sabir’s pale face to the black veins that pulsed malevolently under his skin, and a thread of fear wound its way around her heart. It was clear he had little time left. But as much as she might like to be the one to save him, Maize didn’t feel like she had the power to do so. Still, she had to do something. Glancing at Sabir once more, Maize quickly reached into the folds of her long, flowing dress for the small, yellow vial that held the hope of his survival.
“Where are the bags?” Maize asked suddenly, her tone demanding.
Zabo’s expression was one of disbelief. “A guy’s dying, and you’re worried about your stuff?”
Warren could only watch helplessly, too drained even to reprimand Zabo for his comment. He shook his head as Maize rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with Zabo’s attitude.
“Priorities, Zabo,” she muttered. With some urgency, she uncorked the vial and put it between her lips, downing the contents. Warren and Zabo looked on, confused but understanding that the vial contained Ambrosia, a rare and potent elixir capable of healing anything. But Maize was not giving the elixir to Sabir. She was doing something entirely unexpected.
Gently, she took hold of Sabir’s face. She let her fingers brush against his clammy skin. Then, without an ounce of hesitation, she went down and locked lips with him. Her slow and controlled manner of transferring the contents of the vial into his mouth was something he would remember for a long time.
Zabo blinked, his expression mixing with surprise and embarrassment. “Uh... is this part of the healing process?”
Now more serious, Warren quickly knelt beside Sabir, pulling open his shirt to get a better look at the veins spreading across his body. They had been blackening. As the Ambrosia had worked its way into Sabir’s system, the black veins had seemed to hesitate, then slowly retreated, creeping back toward the center of his chest.
However, there was something that felt off.
Maize pulled away, wiping her mouth as she looked at Sabir in disbelief. “What the hell is wrong with him? Ambrosia should’ve healed him completely by now.”
The veins caught Warren’s attention. He stared at them, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Could it be... that the Ambrosia’s healing power works slower than whatever’s causing him to die?”The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Maize’s eyes shot back to Sabir’s face. She was no longer worried, and her expression was fierce. “What is killing him?”
Warren’s head shaking revealed how intensely he felt about this situation. “We don’t know. Something’s been spreading through his body since we were captured, but it’s a total mystery to us what it could be.”
Maize and Warren exchanged worried glances as Sabir’s vision blurred. The world around him softened at the edges and dimmed into an indistinct haze. For Sabir, his body felt heavy and then suddenly weightless, almost as if he were sinking deeper into the earth—away from the pain, the voices, the confusion. Breaths that had come slowly to begin with were now coming less and less. Each one was harder to take than the last; and finally, even the burning in his chest seemed to fade.
Yet the dark environment swirled around him. First, it was only the air shifting and the ground beneath him vibrating. Then it happened. It began with platforms and soon turned to walls.
He pulsed with energy as the very cells in his bones felt as if they were quaking. Gradually, something filled this cursed chamber: what sounded like the echo of an old-world song. With that, the gold, warm liquid sunshine flowed into the world at every corner, transforming the blackness surrounding him. And he was resting in that world now, or so it felt, with open eyes drawing in deep gulps of not air but the radiance of life that hung coiled in every fiber of this strange room.
Sabir gazed around, baffled. This place—this house—was nothing like the world he knew. The brutal wasteland, the never-ending fight for survival, the violent Espers and their politics, of a sort—these were the things that filled his world. Here, though, there was nothing but peace and serenity. The walls were a soft beige. The pictures that hung on them showed nothing but the calm and serenity of this world. In one frame, he was sure Cynthia was smiling as she held a child. But in the next frame, it looked like the same child was standing in an apocalyptic landscape.
Where am I? Sabir thought, trying to shake off the lingering confusion. But as he turned, he saw her—Cynthia, standing by the kitchen counter, her long brown hair tied back in a loose braid, with an apron on, her face glowing with warmth. Next to her, little Mia—her daughter—was bouncing on her toes, her hands reaching for the whisk that Cynthia held.
“Cynthia?” He whispered, disbelief laced in his shaky voice.
She looked up at him; her smile widening. “You’re home early, Sabir. Did everything go well at work?”
Her words caught him off guard, but the scene’s dream-like quality, the perfection of it all, made him too uneasy to question it. He felt at ease, like this was where he was meant to be. Sabir blinked again, trying to understand it. But the more he tried to understand it, the more it made sense—everything felt so natural.
“Yeah,” he replied, unsure of what else to say. “Work was fine.”
He walked over to her, the feeling of the polished wooden floor cool against his bare feet. The more he moved, the more his mind settled into this new reality. All the memories of pain and struggle washed away, replaced by new ones that felt so real—so possible. This was his life now, wasn’t it? Working at Kajima Labs in Tetra City, coming home to his sister and her child, living a life of comfort and safety. Yes, this was his life.
As he came closer, Mia let out a shriek of joy, dashing toward him with her arms wide open. Sabir laughed, picking her up and spinning her around while her delighted, infectious laughter echoed off the walls.
“I missed you, Uncle Sabir!” she shouted, her small limbs latching onto his throat.
“I missed you too…Mia,” he replied, his heart swelling with an unfamiliar warmth.
The days slipped by in a blur. Each morning, Sabir awoke in his snug bed, the sun rays coming through the curtains, the scent of breakfast wafted from the kitchen. He walked downstairs to find Cynthia, as always, in the process of making breakfast, while Mia, her ever-active daughter, zapping around the house, almost always knocking Sabir over in her path of dizzying, playful energy. They’d spend their mornings together before Sabir would head off to work at Kajima Labs, a prestigious research facility in the heart of Tetra City.
At Kajima Labs, Sabir was held in high regard. He had coworkers who appreciated his contributions, a role that pushed him just the right amount but wasn’t demanding, and a mission that didn’t just pay the bills but also made him feel like he was doing real, important work. He was happier now than he’d been in a long time—hell, maybe ever. In the afternoons, he’d return home to Cynthia and Mia, the three of them enjoying quiet dinners and long conversations, or sometimes simply sitting together in silence, content in each other’s presence.
Occasionally, he would gather with Max and Samantha. They would occupy a small, cozy cafe. They would, in that space, talk about the past and school life. Every single time the conversation would derail into a conspiracy ridden rant thanks to Max.
One particular day, he and Samantha were walking home. At the bottom of a bridge, Samantha stopped them in their tracks. She grabbed him by the hands and pulled him into a kiss that left Sabir red with embarrassment.
For several weeks, life unfolded in a delightful routine. Sabir, with Mia, spent his days constantly playing outside in the garden. He delighted in teaching her how to build makeshift forts out of cushions and blankets. They had so much fun at the nearby park, feeding ducks by the pond or swinging together on the playground. Cynthia and Sabir would shop in the bustling Tetra City markets, walking through the wide, tree-lined streets, picking out fresh produce, and enjoying being loud as if there were no public.
One day, Sabir sat in the living room, watching Mia as she played with her dolls on the carpet. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Cynthia sat beside him, a contented smile on her face as she watched her daughter.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” she asked gently, casting a sideways look at Sabir.
He smiled, not able to prevent the expression from showing on his face. “It really is... yeah.”
Cynthia put her weight on the couch as she exhaled. “You’ve come a long way, Sabir. I never doubted you.”
Her words, a flicker of a memory that felt crucial yet remote stirred something inside. Sabir tried to hold on to it, frowning, but it slithered away before he could discern its detail.
“Thank you,” he spoke, despite his brain beginning to feel unwell. Something strange was afoot, something that involved him, and yet he couldn’t grasp what it was or why it was so vital.
Cynthia got up and moved to Mia, who was just emerging from the stage. She gently picked her up and carried her toward the stairs. “It’s time for bed, Mia,” Cynthia said. “Tell Uncle Sabir goodnight.”
Mia pouted, but did as she asked, sleepily waving at Sabir. “Goodnight, Uncle Sabir.”
“Goodnight, Mia,” Sabir said, feeling his heart warm at the sight of her sleepy face.
While Cynthia took Mia upstairs, Sabir sat in the living room, growing more and more uneasy. He couldn’t totally shake the feeling that this was all off, that there was something wrong with this perfect life that he somehow was living. But he didn’t want to think about it. He was finally happy. Cynthia returned, her face calm, but her eyes held something Sabir couldn’t quite place.
He found himself suddenly the center of attention that he was not quite ready for. She sat across from him, observing him. He glanced down and away from her gaze. His mind bounced around to all the ways this moment could go. The tension grew with each passing second.
Sabir leaned slightly forward, frowning. “What is it?”
Cynthia closed her eyes before reopening them with a sombre smile. “Sabir,” she began, her voice soft but serious. “I need to tell you something.” She inhaled slowly, her fingers folded in her lap. “You’ve recovered... for now.”
The words hit him like a shockwave, and suddenly, the surrounding room seemed to shift. The walls, once sturdy and warm, cracked, thin lines spreading across the surface like spiderwebs. Sabir’s heart raced as he looked around, the uneasiness transforming into a rising sense of dread.
“What are you on about, Cynthia?” he asked, not quite keeping his voice from trembling.
With a melancholy smile, the kind that made Sabir shiver, Cynthia replied. “I’m sorry, Sabir. I’m sorry for everything that happened. But you need to know that... I’ll always be with you.”
The cracks in the walls widened, pieces of plaster falling to the ground with soft thuds. The house, their perfect home, was crumbling around them. Sabir stood up, panic gripping him as the floor beneath his feet began to shift and crack.
He pressed, his voice filled with anxiety. “Cynthia, what’s going on?”
Cynthia continued to sit and remained calm amid the chaos, never diverting her eyes from his. Please... don’t seek revenge, Sabir. Don’t let it consume you. Do what you want with your life. Live it for yourself, not for me."
Sabir’s breath caught as the living room came apart, the ceiling groaning under the load of falling debris. The floor surged up toward him, and he stumbled, grasping for something or someone.
“Cynthia!” Sabir bellowed, but his voice sounded far away, muted by the sounds of destruction enveloping him.
Cynthia rose, her form shimmering, her borders softening, as if she were a mere optical illusion. “Goodbye, Sabir,” she breathed, her tones resonating in the din.
“No!” Cried Sabir, stretching out toward her, but his hand went right through space. The dust that had settled over everything blew away, as if a strong wind cleansed the place. He could see nothing, but he was no longer afraid. He was alone in the dark again, but this time it was okay.
The weightlessness came back, and Sabir felt himself gliding, the dream evaporating like mist in the morning sun. Cynthia’s words rang in his head, reverberating through the long night, counting down to dawn.
“Please don’t seek revenge.”
But the ache in Sabir’s chest was already intensifying, a yearning that rebelled against all requests to ignore it. He couldn’t let go. Not now.
Gasping sharply, Sabir opened his eyes and returned to the bitter reality of his body. The remnants of the dream lingered in his mind as he returned to the harsh reality of his body. The pain, the black veins—they were still there, and the world was just as cruel as it had been before.
But now, something was different. Cynthia’s words weighed heavily on his heart, and as he lay there, gasping for breath, he wondered if he could ever truly let go of his desire for revenge.