Chapter 49: Escape or Fight
At the incoming numbers of Disasters beating down on Steven, his demeanor tensed, and all hope of killing the already wounded Horrid and stealing its skill vanished from his trail of thought like smoke in a storm.
Right now, he needed to escape.
Before the horde reached the ground at the very least—because he knew, the moment they were upon him, there would be no escape, only death and dissolution within the realm.
His face turned blue, breath hitching in his throat as panic crept into his bones. His eyes darted wildly, scanning the outcrop for options, any option, nearby or far, reasonable or mad. For a fleeting second, he thought of leaping into the clouds and praying he could somehow escape the long, drastic plummet down to his impending doom.
That was clearly not the solution.
And then...
His eyes locked onto the vast, terrifying stretch of empty air separating the outcrop from another sky island in the distance. It was a jump that, if he made it, would allow him to escape the outcrop, but the same could not be said for the Disasters.
At the very least, if he could reach that wide open space, there would be room to run, to breathe, or even to fight while he searched for another plan.
But the question remained—could he make the jump?
"Hell no!" he blurted out instinctively, before throwing his head back and yelling at the top of his lungs toward the Grey Knight still latched onto the Horrid’s throat, its arms locked tight as it slowly choked the monster toward death. "Nott! Throw me!"
The Grey Knight did not hesitate.
Digging its boots hard into the side of the Disaster, it twisted sharply and tore itself free, pivoting away from the writhing body. In the same fluid motion, it charged toward Steven, blasting past the other Horrid that stood firm, wings spread wide as it carefully guarded the injured creature from further harm.
The Grey Knight moved faster than it ever had before, unnaturally fast closing the distance in a heartbeat. It seized Steven roughly by the collar, iron fingers biting into fabric and skin alike, and without warning, without command, hurled him toward the distant island as though he were nothing more than a crude, living spear.
The sudden force ripped the air from Steven’s lungs.
His vision blurred as his body spun violently, the world becoming a smear of clouds and void as he went blue, tumbling helplessly through the open sky toward the island.
As he soared, a series of heart‑wrenching thuds echoed behind him, heavy, wet impacts that sent a cold shiver racing down his spine. He didn’t need to look back to know what they meant.
The horde had made contact.
A piercing rush of air screamed past his ears, and a pair of talons narrowly missed him, grazing his side and carving shallow scratches across his body as they tore through the wind. A Horrid one of the flock had tried to snatch him from the air.
He couldn’t see it.
Suspended helplessly in the rushing wind, Steven experienced what it truly felt like to be a thrown weapon—his senses overwhelmed, his body numb, his mind scrambling to keep up with the terror unfolding.
Then came the impact.
He crashed back‑first onto the hard, solid ground of the island, the force driving the breath from his lungs as his body bounced violently across the surface. Pain exploded through his spine, radiating into every limb, impinging his entire being as he finally came to a halt, staring up at the sky.
Steven groaned, his body trembling in protest, muscles screaming as they threatened to give out. Still, he couldn’t rest, not yet. He had escaped the outcrop, yes, but not the horde of Disaster‑ranked Shadow Eaters.
Forcing himself upright, he staggered to his feet and turned just in time to see Nott the Honourable, his Grey Knight; engaged against several Disasters at once. Its only saving grace was its experience, allowing it to narrowly evade fatal blows, but even so... there were simply too many. Too fast. Too powerful and deadly.
Nott had already lost an arm.
Within seconds of facing the monstrous numbers, the limb had been torn away, leaving behind nothing but a sizzling grey stump that crackled faintly in the air.
{Knight lv 1}
{HP 3/10}
Steven gulped as the notification burned into his vision. His chest tightened painfully. He forced himself to turn away from the ruthless slaughter unfolding behind him and focused instead on survival, on finding somewhere, anywhere, to hide on this forsaken, cursed island.
By some cruel miracle, luck struck.
Just beside a jagged stone wall several meters away yawned a steep, human‑sized hole, descending into a dark, grim passage that swallowed all light. Steven didn’t hesitate. Right now, with terrors clawing at his heels, even throwing himself off the island felt preferable.
All his thoughts dissolved into raw instinct.
Escape. Run. Hide.
He did not refuse them.
Pouring every shred of strength he had left into his legs, Steven sprinted toward the cave mouth with desperate speed, covering half the distance in mere seconds despite the pain tearing through his body.
As he ran, the system spoke again—cold, uncaring, and terrifying.
{Knight lv 1}
{HP 2/10}
His heart stuttered.
Nott was on its last legs, teetering on the edge of death. Steven had no idea what would happen if his summon truly perished, and he preferred to keep it that way. Without looking back nor allowing hesitation to slow him—he dismissed Nott before it could take any further damage.
He did not turn to face the demonic flock behind him.
He did not dare.
The enraged screeching of the Horrids tore through the air, thunderous wings beating violently as they closed in. Each flap echoed closer than the last, rattling his skull and flooding his veins with fear.
’I’m not going to fucking die!’
The scream tore through his heart as he hurled himself into the dark embrace of the cave, losing his footing and crashing down onto his backside after stumbling only a few meters inside.
Behind him, the cave walls trembled violently as the Horrids slammed into the entrance again and again, claws and beaks striking stone with furious desperation. Cracks spread across the rock, dust raining down in choking clouds.
Steven twisted around, staring at the entrance. He saw it, the hunger, the rage, the desperation burning in the eyes of each Disaster as the flock struggled to force their way through the narrow opening.
It was irritating, dreadful too.
He lingered on the sight for a moment too long before tearing his gaze away and turning deeper into the cave. The darkness beyond was thick, suffocating, and nauseating to stare at, as though it watched him in return.
Swallowing hard, Steven moved forward without hesitation.
Surely, whatever lurked within this wretched hole had to be better than a flock of starving Disasters waiting at the entrance.
He dismissed his longsword, the mighty blade shattering into dozens of flickering lights that dispersed into thin air. One hand pressed against the wound in his gut, drawing a sharp groan from his throat as fresh pain flared, but he continued onward, step after unsteady step, deeper into the cave’s cold embrace.
"Nothing can truly prepare you for the horrors of this damned Realm," Steven muttered, his words lingering weakly in the stale air.
Behind him, the screeches and vile shrills of the Horrids slowly faded, replaced by the low, oppressive hum of the cavern.
For today, he had survived, just barely.
As Steven disappeared into the steep, winding tunnels, he could only wonder what other nightmares the First Realm still held in store for him.