Chapter 6

  The creature stood motionless atop the broken wall, its bright chitin gleaming faintly under the twin suns.

  Raime had barely turned from the kill when he spotted it — perched like a vulture, limbs tight against its body, tail coiled behind. Its head tilted slightly, and though it had no eyes Raime could see, he knew it was watching.

  But not him.

  It was staring at the twisted corpse on the floor.

  Its kin...

  The realization settled like a stone in his gut. Not just a random encounter. This one had come for something. Maybe drawn by the sound. Maybe by scent. Maybe something else.

  He took a slow step back, the lever gripped tightly in both hands.

  I can’t run. I’ll get cut down before I hit the corner.

  The creature lowered its head and gave a sharp, stuttering twitch. It looked at its dead kin, then without warning, a shriek erupted from it — not from a mouth, but from within.

  Raime flinched, gritting his teeth as the psychic scream tore into his thoughts like glass.

  It wasn’t as intense as the one from Earth. Not like that creature. But it was still enough to stagger him, enough to fuzz his vision and send a spear of pain through his temples.

  He reeled—

  Then grit his jaw.

  No. Not again.

  He stared at the creature, still screeching — and then at the corpse on the floor.

  You’re distracted, aren’t you? Focused on the dead. You’re mourning, or angry, or territorial — doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re not ready.

  His grip shifted.

  And then he moved.

  He lunged forward, grabbing the dead beast’s limp arm and dragging it across the ground with surprising ease. The strange gravity worked in his favor — the corpse, despite its size and bulk, was awkward but not impossible to lift. He grunted, twisted his hips, and threw.

  The body of the dead creature flew across the space in a low arc — legs trailing, head flopping bonelessly — and slammed into its bigger counterpart.

  The impact knocked the perched creature from the wall.

  Its psychic attack ceased and instead it screeched in alarm, tumbling backward in a tangle of limbs before slamming into the ground just outside the ruined chamber. Dust got thrown up around it.

  Raime didn’t hesitate, he couldn’t, this was his only chance.

  He ran through the entry door, the lever held with both hands like a spear, point-first. The creature was scrambling to rise, pushing the body of its kin off with two limbs while its back legs kicked wildly at the dust.

  Raime struck.

  He drove the tapered end of the lever into the creature’s chest — he was aiming for center of mass but the thrashing creature made him miss slightly, he pierced where the ribs should be, missing the heart, if it had one. It screamed again, this time in a mix of mind and sound, but the lever sank deep, and then went through its back, pinning it to the rocky floor. He let go of his weapon and took some steps back from the beast.

  Its limbs flailed wildly, trying to hit him, when it understood that he was out of range it tried to get purchase, then to push the lever free — but Raime had put his whole weight on the strike, it was stuck fast, and the anatomy of the monster wasn’t working in its favor. The thing twisted violently, arching its body to free itself and getting more injured in the process.

  It’s not dying!

  The creature was losing ichor but not that much, it was too thick, not at all like blood, and evidently he didn’t pierce anything vital.

  He looked around, frantically.

  There — a chunk of broken masonry half-buried in the ground.

  He reached for it and pulled the stone free with some difficulty. It was heavy. And big as a watermelon. A brick once, long ago. Now a weapon.

  The creature screamed again — less piercing now, more desperate.

  Raime circled around it, avoiding limbs and claws, raised the stone over his head and brought it down.

  Once — a loud crack as it struck the creature’s skull.

  The stone fell to the side so he picked it up again and roared before using all his strength to smash it on the monster head.

  Twice — purple ichor sprayed all over his jacket and face.

  The creature stilled. Going limp on the dusty ground of the ruins.

  He sat back, breath hitching.

  His chest burned from exertion. His hands ached. His left side throbbed from a cut — he hadn’t noticed until now. But he didn’t move. Not yet.

  He stared at the dead creature beneath him, his pulse pounding in his throat.

  I won. Hell I won, and I’m still alive. I can do this, I will do this.

  Pride and determination were mixed together with the joy of victory in his mind.

  He did it again, and not with the advantage of an ambush.

  It was brutal. Messy. Clumsy.

  But effective.

  The distraction worked. And once it was pinned, it couldn’t do anything else. Am I just lucky? Or maybe not, since it’s the third fucking monster that I have to deal with in less than two hours. Probably… who know how much time has passed. If only I had kept my phone with me. Doesn’t matter, I don’t have it, and the battery wouldn’t have lasted long anyway.

  He sat for a few seconds longer, letting the wave of adrenaline ebb slowly. The suns glared above, though one had begun to dip lower — or shift, in whatever orbit this place followed. The shadows were longer now.

  Raime wiped the ichor from his face with the sleeve of his jacket. The thick, violet sludge had sprayed across his mouth and cheek when he crushed the thing’s skull — hot, metallic, and reeking like ozone and wet stone.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  He spat once. Then again.

  And then he paused.

  A strange clarity was blooming behind his eyes. Subtle, but distinct. Like the mental fog from earlier — the pressure from the suns — had lifted even more. His thoughts felt tighter. More aligned. But different from the vine’s water effect. He could recall the fight, moment by moment, with an almost unnatural precision. Every moment, every twist of the creature’s limbs, every footfall echoing off the broken stone.

  ...Am I thinking faster?

  He narrowed his eyes at the corpse, still leaking its mind-goop onto the floor.

  Okay. That’s disturbing.

  He ran his tongue across his teeth and grimaced.

  So what now? Alien blood to boost cognition? Is that what we’re doing? Eat brain, get brain? Like a fucked up version of a zombie?

  He gave a soft snort, half amusement, half unease.

  If that’s how this place works, I really hope it’s not a one-time offer. But I’m not licking anything else until I know it won’t turn me into a walking fungus.

  Still… the mental sharpness remained. And it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

  He leaned back and muttered under his breath, “Ten out of ten alien supplements. Side effects may include increased IQ and mild existential dread.”

  I’m going to become crazy by the end of this tutorial.

  He checked his side, the jacket got torn a bit more, and the shirt under that too, but his skin only showed two long cuts, very shallow at that.

  I can deal with this later, it’s not even bleeding that much, infection is the only thing to consider about this wound.

  Raime finally stood, blood-spattered and sore.

  Two down. I don’t know how many more there are… but I’m not going to get taken by surprise like that again. Fuck I’m so tired.

  He retrieved his lever, yanked it free from the body with effort, and wiped it off against a patch of moss-covered stone.

  Then, with the calm of someone who’d crossed a line and couldn’t go back, he started to look around for the place that last creature came from. It left easy traces to follow, marks in the dusty floor.

  If they have a nest or a cave, maybe I can block the entrance and stop having to deal with these bastards. Then I’ll be able to explore the ruins and make it my base of operation, the System required for me to get a shelter after all. And I want to be able to sleep in a modicum of safety. There’s work to do.

  Raime followed the traces in the dust with slow, deliberate steps.

  The creature’s path was clear now that he knew what to look for — shallow gouges where claws raked against stone, broken moss and brittle crystals scattered from its passage. The trail curled around a leaning monolith, down a gentle slope toward a fractured corner of the ruin that dipped into darkness. Rubble flanked the descent, like the collapsed edge of a foundation — or the mouth of something long buried and unearthed.

  A basement. Or a crypt.

  Raime stopped at the edge and crouched, one hand resting on the cold stone. The heat of the fight still throbbed through his limbs, but it was fading now, replaced by caution. The entrance gaped before him like a mouth in the earth. The opening wasn’t large — just a broken segment where the ruin had caved in, forming a slope of debris leading downward into blackness.

  He squinted, letting his eyes adjust. Pale glimmers reflected from within — soft glows on smooth surfaces, just barely visible, but further ahead he could see brighter light.

  Mmm let’s see…

  He brought a little mound of heavy stones near the entrance, and a big slab was prepared resting on top of it, ready to slide down and close it at a moment notice. Then he started making a ruckus, hitting dark brick with the lever for more than five minutes trying to attract whatever could be inside, the beasts already showed interest towards sounds. But nothing emerged from the hole.

  His heart was beating like a drum, this was extremely dangerous, but it was highly probable that nothing else lived inside. So he went in.

  The air changed instantly. The moment he ducked under the broken lintel, a strange stillness swallowed the world outside. The pressure from the suns eased — blocked, perhaps, or simply unable to reach this far underground. It was cooler here. Damper. Dust hung in thick motes, swirling with each step.

  Raime descended cautiously, lever in hand. The floor angled downward steeply, paved in old tiles — or what remained of them. Some were cracked and loose, others completely shattered. Roots had grown between the stones in places, black tendrils crawling along the walls like veins. Moss shining with inner white light managed to pierce the darkness enough to let him see even without waiting for his eyes to adjust.

  He scanned the room but nothing more was obvious except dust and stone.

  Then, as he rounded a low corner, he saw them.

  Eggs.

  Dozens of them.

  Oblong shapes clustered along the far end of the chamber, slick and translucent, faintly pulsing with a slow internal glow. Some were bigger than his torso, others small and still forming. They hung like swollen fruit from a thick mat of vine-like growth along the rear wall. The same kind of vine as above — but older. More gnarled. And pulsing with that faint, rhythmic beat that felt far too much like breath.

  Raime froze. His skin crawled.

  Each egg trembled slightly, twitching in time with some unseen impulse. A few had shapes inside — shadows against the membrane. Shapes that shifted. Moved.

  They’re alive. Of course they are. But I think I just killed their parents.

  His grip on the lever tightened.

  He stood there for what felt like minutes, heart pounding, mind racing. He counted at least forty — maybe more, hidden in the corners. If these things hatched…

  No. Don’t get ahead of yourself. They might not hatch for weeks. Or maybe they’ll never hatch at all. You don’t know.

  But he had to decide what to do. Now or later.

  Burn them? Smash them? Seal the room? Leave?

  His jaw tensed.

  I’m tired. Not thinking straight. Not yet. There’s no sound. No motion. No other creatures. I can come back to this. I need to know more before I make that kind of choice.

  He turned away and cautiously began exploring the rest of the basement chamber.

  More hallways extended from it, partially collapsed or blocked by debris. He passed one filled entirely with sand and dust, another choked with roots and broken stone. But a third remained partially open — the air drifting from it carried a different feeling. Cold. Both in temperature and in sensation. Like a place sealed off since long ago.

  The stones here were smoother, carved. He passed broken plinths, shattered remains of furniture or altars, long since swallowed by the earth. And here and there, objects remained — old tools, rusted metal frames, a twisted metal bowl. Most had been ruined by time, but he tucked one shard into his belt — a curved piece of dark metal, sharp on one edge. A potential knife.

  At the far end of the corridor, he found a wall.

  Not a dead end — a mural.

  Carved into the black stone in low relief, surrounded by lines of unfamiliar symbols, the scene depicted tall, spindly figures gathered beneath a triangle of light. Their bodies were emaciated and elongated, arms outstretched, and each bore a single eye in the center of their heads. No mouths. No ears. Just that singular, dominant eye — like the creature from Earth. The first one. The worst one.

  Beneath the figures, more carvings. Something like a ritual. Circles drawn on the ground. Smaller beings kneeling before the taller ones. Shapes rising from their foreheads like mist.

  Psychic energy? Worship?

  The carvings made his skin prickle. He traced one with his fingers, careful not to press too hard.

  A temple. That’s what this place had been.

  Not a house. Not a bunker.

  A sanctuary. Or a prison.

  And now it was his.

  He backed away from the wall and returned upstairs, eyes still scanning for movement. But the ruins remained still. Only the low wind sighed through the broken walls. No more creatures emerged. No new signs of life.

  He moved quickly to gather what he needed.

  First — water. He sought the same kind of vines he’d drank from before and found a thick coil not far from the ridge’s base. He cut three segments, tying them off and slinging them over his shoulder. The fluid would keep him sharp. Awake. Alive.

  Second — his wound.

  The gashes from the creature’s claw were shallow but ugly. Two ragged tears just above his hip, crusted with a smear of dried blood and bathed in black ichor. The skin around it was still fine for now. Infection — that was a risk. Even if the creature’s fluids hadn’t been outright toxic, the conditions were a perfect breeding ground. For a moment his mind went back to Earth, the years of studying medicine… he wondered what would happen to that future, was it already gone?

  With a sigh he unwrapped the old binding — a strip torn from his shirt — and winced as it peeled away. Then he reached for the half-drained vine. The liquid shimmered faintly under the bioluminescent light, pulsing with a slow rhythm, like breathing.

  No antiseptic. No real idea what the sap would do. But so far, it hadn’t poisoned him.

  “Better than festering,” he muttered under his breath, and poured it over the wound.

  It burned — not like acid, but more like cold fire, a tightening heat that raced under the skin and made his teeth clench. He stripped another piece of cloth, the cleanest he could get, pressed it against the wound, and leaned his head to the wall, breathing through the flare until it dulled into a steady throb.

  That’ll have to do.

  Third— the bodies.

  Grimacing, he hauled the corpse of the first creature down into the basement, both parts. It was lighter than expected. The second came next. He kept an eye on the eggs the whole time. They didn’t move more than before. No response.

  He would deal with them later.

  Finally, with one more glance at the ruins’ horizon, he found a thinner slab of cracked stone and dragged it across the entrance to the chamber, wedging it in place with the lever. It wouldn’t stop something determined — but it would buy him time. And it might hide the scent from whatever else stalked the hills.

  Then he closed the inner door to the eggs room — a half-intact stone door — and jammed it shut with old vines and a couple of rocks. Makeshift sure, but secure enough.

  He sat down in the gloom, leaning against the cold wall, and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  For now, the ruin was his.

  It wasn’t totally safe, of course. But it was shelter.

  And after resting he would decide what to do with the eggs.