SECTION II: Corpse Collector

  The gathering zone was located beside the gates that checked for infection. The walk from the main street had been long, just under an hour, and Ian's legs burned. He wouldn't last out here, he knew, not with his current capabilities.

  Once again, like a haunting visage, that tall and powerful Esper flickered in his mind. He would last months in the barren lands as predator, not prey.

  Ian scorned his inability as he glanced around at the ground, clustered behind the supply truck. The combat team would take a truck in front of them, not as protection, but so they could drive away if an attack were to come.

  He passively followed the barked orders of the commander, shoved into the back of the truck with William and Sylvan. They crouched against the walls in the darkness, and the wheels rumbled to a start.

  A clatter of metal, quiet under the vehicle's noise, sounded near him. He glanced down at a strayed silver necklace.

  In seconds, a small hand snatched it up.

  Ian stared at the boy who wore a tattered hat with a rippled hole at the side. The boy stared back fiercely and tucked the necklace away before curling up in the corner.

  "He's young," muttered Ian quietly.

  Sylvan peeked his head over, squatting between Ian and William. "Anybody can register if they're a registered Guide or Esper. Regular civilians can too, but there are more requirements for them."

  William nodded. "You'll see many young teenagers taking on foraging tasks. It makes decent money and little skill—only luck."

  "Hey, hey!" Sylvan tapped Ian's shoulder rapidly. "Look! We're leaving the protective dome!"

  Ian swung his head toward the front window, to the electricity sparking along the radioactive dome that covered the city. Delicate strings of pink and blue bounded off in a dance of entanglement.

  That was salvation, the Center preached. He'd been told since birth.

  Look at the beauty that protected humanity, the strongest base that imprisoned Earth's survivours. Everything was for the sake of humanity's salvation.

  The only price to pay was the lives of the less fortunate.

  "Ian, I've got to warn you now. Keep your head low, try not to talk, and just harvest the materials from corpses, or any materials inside the Rift," Sylvan said solemnly, drawing his attention back. "You want to reach the Center, and honestly, I think it's delusional."

  "Sylvan," reminded William softly, sighing. "I'm sorry, Ian, but it's true. The Center summons the strongest Guides and Espers, and it's not impossible, but it's unlikely."

  A middle-aged man with his arms covered in thick lines of ink and a head so bald they could rub it for good luck, scoffed. "Bah, mad, more like it. Keep it down, won't ya? Your nonsense grates on the ears."

  Ian didn't care who heard of his goals, because it was true. And if he reached that peak, he would stand in the center of hundreds of scrutinizing gazes.

  He spoke decisively. "I'll reach the Center."

  There, he'd wring the truth out of the system and grab that flippant Esper's collar by force and demand his aid. For now, it would remain a faraway delusion, but he could taste the rush of excitement, the strum of power that would surge through his body.

  He imagined shaking the life out of that arrogant face and leaned back, satisfied.

  Six months to become somebody worth claiming—no, at some point, that singular goal continued to twist and warp into something much more sinister.

  The old man sneered. "Dream on!"

  But in the swamped darkness of enclosed walls, the young teenager had turned to stare at Ian with clear, reflective green eyes. Ian felt the weight of his stare and glanced over briefly before looking away.

  The truck rumbled over uneven ground, entering the ruins of an old city that no longer had a name. The back doors swung open, and the commander of the foraging team—a B-rank named Paul—crossed his arms.

  "We're here. Hurry up and make haste."

  He directed the group of 5 through the city, navigating past torn fences and overgrown sidewalks. They passed a yellow bus with chipped paint and vines that crept along cracked windows.

  Bang—!

  A fleshy figure slammed against the glass, moisture and dark liquids smearing inside. A low gurgle wrestled out of its throat as the bus rattled.

  Further down the street, a strange bird with a skinny and long neck swooped down, revealing rows of straight, human-like teeth. It bent its tiny head and gnawed a mound of melted goop made from unknown substances.

  The young teenager tethered away, stepping closer to Ian.

  Paul glanced back at their hesitation. "The city's overrun with escaped Rift creatures. A low-level like isn't worth bothering. Keep moving."

  Sylvan grimaced, tearing his gaze away. His feet bumped into something soft, and he looked down at a torn stuffed rabbit. Stuffing bloomed at its neck, and dirt darkened its coarse fur. Naturally, he tossed it into his backpack.

  When he caught Ian's gaze, he grinned. "See? Little treasures—the kids love them. I'll give it a clean and a fix when we're back."

  William laughed softly. "And then instead of making money from materials, his bag ends up stuffed with random scraps for the children."

  "Hey! That's why you're here, dear," grinned Sylvan shamelessly. "To collect enough for two."

  Behind, a certain small face stared after the rabbit toy intensely. Sylvan sniffed, glancing around before noticing the young teenager. He tilted his head and smiled. "What, are you curious about the toy?"

  The teenager blinked rapidly and slowly inched away without a response.

  William sighed teasingly. "Oh dear, Syl. You've lost your touch, scaring children."

  "No way, I'm great and you know it! Not every kid wants to be talked to. Anyway, it's good to be cautious."

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  The group turned into an abandoned building of concrete walls and passed a torn door that led down a dark stairway with a fenced railway. A faded exit sign was plastered above an open arch, and they descended into a basement.

  Paul swept his flashlight across the room, landing on a cylinder plate on the ground. He bent down and swung it aside, metal clattering loudly in the echoes of silence. A putrid stench wafted, mingling in the air.

  Inside, an unknown darkness stretched far beneath. Light couldn't reach its depths.

  The teenager once again inched towards Ian, who glanced sideways. A trickle of sweat rolled down the covered forehead, and his pupils trembled lightly. The older man opened his hand, and the boy peered up and then down at the hand.

  He blinked and latched onto the hand, drawing closer to Ian's body.

  The middle-aged man in the group took a step back. "No way, down there? I can't even see the bottom! You're mad!"

  Paul stood impassively. "The combat team has already entered. If we delay any longer, they'll close the Rift before we can collect materials. I understand that you are aware of the consequences and the unpredictability of the Rift's location."

  "Ha...! But this is a sewer! What if I fall into something—"

  "Then that would result in your death."

  The man trembled and took a step back, swinging his head at the other members. "Come on, say something! That darkness reeks of something sinister!"

  Sylvan scratched his face awkwardly. "Yeah, well, we've seen some pretty bad ones. There was an entrance in an old outhouse that people definitely used to use. I had to take five showers when I returned."

  William nodded. "I'm afraid we have already predicted the worst, and the possibility of immediate death. However, sir, this is only a C-level Rift."

  Their nonchalance stirred rage in the man as he spun around again, looking for an ally. However, the only other two members had already moved to the hole, staring into the darkness.

  "I just jump inside?" inquired Ian, still holding the teenager's hand.

  Paul nodded. "Either you get in, or you wait out here. But I'm not obligated to leave you any resources, so it's your call."

  "Understood."

  Ian squeezed the young teenager's hand reassuringly, feeling the small grip curl around his fingers. His little sister had done the same, clinging onto him desperately whenever he was summoned elsewhere. She'd cry and screech like a banshee, but it never worked.

  He gently released the small hand and took a step toward the darkness.

  Outside, eerie screeches and rumbles dragged along the cracked pavements. Only death awaited loners beyond the Base's biased protection.

  How many trembled as they wrote their names on the application, only for their fleeting courage to abandon them at the entrance to the Rift? How many fell prey to death the second they emerged, or to the flooded creatures that claimed the earth?

  Sylvan rushed forward, grabbing his arm hurriedly. "Hey, I'll go first. Will can go after you, and that kid, too."

  Ian lowered his eyes to the shorter man, and his determined, fierce loyalty extending to a mere stranger. Most were unwilling to enter the Rifts first, with an unknown terrain and an enemy awaiting inside.

  He didn't hate those types; the foolish, silly types that were easily used and manipulated for the sole crime of wanting to help.

  Lightly, he patted Sylvan's arm, and looking at the bewildered eyes, he ruffled the soft pink hair habitually. "Thank you," he said. "But this is only a C-rank Rift. I plan to go in far worse."

  If that distant pull of anxiety seized control of his actions, then he would amount to nothing. Ian thought that would be more terrible than the creatures roaming the streets.

  So he jumped.

  The wind whistled past him, and his body submerged in a state of superposition, in the betweens of reality, and jolted the marrow of his bones. His cells accelerated, breaking into pieces and tearing together in never-ending—

  —until he crashed onto the ground. A warm, soft ground that squelched under his hands. The stench became overpowering, filling his orifices.

  All Rifts had a single rule; an ironclad law.

  The preparation classes taught him that in the case of an Esper's inability to succeed, the Guide would have to determine the rule. The rule that disturbed attempts to close the Rift.

  It could be crude, simple, or complicated. It could erase existences, mimic a human game, or guarantee at least one person's death. The Base couldn't determine the development of the rules, only that the higher-ranked Rifts either contained a terrible or obscure rule.

  Ian groped at slick, rock walls, narrowing against his sides. His mind spun, and he sucked in a breath before squeezing into the slit. Darkness stole his breath, and his lungs screamed in agony, but the pressure against his body kept him stable when his foot slipped.

  He scrambled further when his knee wedged between two protruding stones, refusing to move when he yanked it.

  Ian swallowed, and his ribs expanded against the caged walls. He tugged lightly, gritting his teeth as he adjusted his posture. Finally, he dragged out his leg with a painful scrape that tore through his pants, slicing skin.

  He gasped, but it only made it harder to breathe. He moved his hands to brush away his hair, smearing a warm, slick liquid across his face. The stench of iron and blood intensified. He froze, his fingers slowly curling before he lowered his hands.

  Could he survive? He was merely an older brother who failed to protect his beloved little sister, a wasted Guide worth little more than some fun.

  No, Ian gritted as he focused on the pain to bring back clarity. He couldn't blame himself for his sister's death, because it was the base—the praised Last Civilization—who buried the truth of her death.

  If death came, all he would lose was his vengeance. But if it didn't, all he had was rage.

  With a final burst of strength, he tore himself through the space and fell into an opening. A droplet of water collected against the concave walls, dropping one by one. Ian's eyes adjusted through his squint.

  Countless corpses flowed from several crevices along the rugged walls, a sea of flesh and bodies pressed together. Ian grimaced and walked forward.

  Strewn between were several monster corpses. The combat team had entered and likely cleared the area earlier. This was the Rift. This was the future he coveted and needed, no matter what he encountered.

  Thus, he knelt by a monster's corpse and dug through its hardened exterior. The Base collected energy cores to maintain the protective dome and for continuous research. Humanity had progressed immensely since the Rifts opened, but it wasn't enough.

  Would it ever be enough?

  He shoved his hand and rummaged through string-like membranes that clung to his skin before he wrapped around a smooth, solid stone.

  One core. He didn't know when the rest would arrive, but the narrow passages seemed to all lead to this center. Further, an open cavern lay before him with twisting and tight paths.

  He bent down and started on the next corpse, accidentally brushing past several human bodies. A limp hand unrolled onto his shoe, and he moved away with a slow breath.

  Repulsion crawled up his skin, and he felt the tangles of his energy fluctuate wildly. He pressed a hand against his chest, felt the throbbing pulse of terror, and seized it. Slowly, his terror shivered and fell flat.

  Hollowness replaced the burning in his chest.

  When Sylvan and William arrived through a smatter of crushed rock, they saw the single figure sitting in the center of dozens of corpses. A small pile of stones was neatly laid beside him, and scarlet smeared his clothes and face.

  A pickax dangled from Sylvan's hand. Ian looked up, and only then did the former come to his senses, scurrying forward.

  "What the hell, you're a mess! Did you lose your bag? Ah, I guess it wouldn't have mattered; we can't afford three pickaxes, but I should've left it with you." He grabbed Ian's face, squishing it and smearing the blood further. "But seriously, what are you doing?"

  William followed closely behind, crouching down to examine Ian. "Any injuries? Is that blood yours? It's everywhere. Are you alright?"

  "I'm fine." Ian nodded to the pile of energy cores. "I'm completing the task."

  "Who cares about that—this is disgusting, I haven't seen anything like it. You have the worst luck. Anyway, you're not shaken? This is... even for us, it's pretty awful. If William hadn't fallen with me, I would've thrown up."

  William smiled lightly, but his shoulders remained tense. "You would've withheld your nausea for me?"

  "Babe," drawled Sylvan with a mischievous laugh. "Your beauty scared the barf back down."

  "I'm not sure that's a compliment."

  "It isn't? It's meant to be." Sylvan spun back to Ian, pale pink hair plastered to his face as he frowned deeply. "The others haven't come through yet? Don't tell me you've been sitting alone, rummaging through corpses?"

  "The combat team has likely gone ahead. We'll waste too much time here collecting the rest of the corpses," said Ian calmly.

  But he hadn't been fine, and he knew it. Felt it. That coiling anxiety and nausea rumbled in his stomach, threatening to immobilize his movements and thoughts. The desperation that hitched his breath and suffocated his lungs.

  Yet, with that pedestal spotlighted over his head, he'd swallowed all thoughts and fears. Perhaps Espers like Victor or Guides like Lucian were born with brilliance.

  He was older than both and lacked the unstoppable talent coursing in their veins.

  The solution remained simple, remembered Ian as he stared ahead through unwavering black eyes. If life hadn't blessed him with the ability to reach his goals, then he would steal that ability at his own cost.

  His movements shifted, and his hand brushed against a pulverized mound connected to a wrist. His stomach twisted, but he blinked once, and the nausea disappeared.

  Only apathy reflected in his dark gaze.