MTLNOVEL Chapter 10: Crossover
After confirming that it was indeed the Stream of Darkness.
His eyes widened in astonishment.
"I'm finally free from this wretched world... Damn."
At the very least, its appearance suited its name—a true stream of darkness, shifting and flowing like liquid night.
A thrill ran through him as he eagerly searched for a way across.
Dane looked up.
Beyond the stream, the black forest did not seem to continue.
In the darkness of night, he had not noticed this.
But now, under the soft glow of dawn, he could see it clearly.
Glancing around the black canyon, he spotted several stone outcroppings.
However, they were all too far to reach.
To his right, a narrow path of black stone stretched towards a protruding rock.
From there, a single jump would bring him closer to the other side.
But first, he had to reach the path.
"Oh Lord, please let this bloody thing be steady enough to hold me," he prayed inwardly.
Dane only sought divine help in moments of peril. Ordinarily, he was not a believer.
He studied the narrow path intently.
It was thin—no wider than his foot—and uneven, with jagged edges.
He carefully gauged its stability, checking for any loose stones or weak points.
In the soft morning light, he could see more detail, but uncertainty still gnawed at him.
Only when he felt sure of his footing did he prepare to jump.
The moment his feet landed, the rock shifted beneath him. He nearly lost his balance.
His heart lurched as small fragments crumbled away, tumbling soundlessly into the eternal Stream of Darkness below.
"Fuck! That was terrifying."
His breath was unsteady. His gaze remained locked on the path ahead, unwilling to glance at the abyss beneath him.
Dane steadied his breathing and moved forward with measured steps.
The narrow path was uneven, with loose fragments that shifted underfoot.
He tested each step before committing his weight, ensuring the stone could hold him.
The surface was rough, though parts of it crumbled at the slightest pressure.
His footing had to be precise.
He kept his arms slightly raised for balance.
A faint breeze passed through the canyon.
Though not strong, it was enough to remind him of his precarious position.
He moved forward with careful deliberation, each step placed with exacting precision.
The path curved towards the protruding rock, where a wider ledge awaited.
The distance was not far, but every step required care.
He maintained his pace, focused solely on reaching the next point.
'...I'm almost there. Heh-heh-heh.'
A smile crossed his face.
A few minutes later, he traversed the final stretch with brisk intent.
His heartbeat became a relentless drum within his chest.
"I cannot believe my heart is still functioning. Remarkable..."
His gaze settled upon the large stone protrusion ahead.
He measured the distance, carefully considering the trajectory required to reach it.
A deep, aching fatigue had set into his back and legs.
The soles of his feet burned with a pain so sharp it was almost maddening.
Without delay, he positioned himself to jump, drawing one foot back while fixing his stare upon his target.
He launched forward.
The landing was imperfect.
His foot slipped upon impact, and for a fleeting second, the world tilted dangerously.
Instinct overruled thought—his hands struck the stone, splaying out against its rough surface as he arrested his fall.
He remained crouched, pressing his weight downward, his breath uneven.
Only once his balance was fully restored did he rise, inch by inch, until he was standing once more.
"This place is a death trap. I wonder where the Descent's caravan is by now..."
A troubling thought.
If they had taken the longer route over the mountains, they should have arrived at least two hours prior.
Unless they had perished.
A shame, if that were the case.
Exhaling slowly, he muttered a quiet thanks to the heavens for his divergence from their path.
Had he remained with them, he might have met the same fate.
Casting the thought aside, he refocused.
With swift precision, he propelled himself towards the next outcrop, his footing more assured.
Now, he stood near the centre of the canyon, edging ever closer to the far side.
A slight smirk tugged at his lips, his brow furrowing with the satisfaction of progress.
Another leap.
A clean landing.
His smirk deepened.
"Heh... Yes."
He indulged in the moment briefly before pressing on.
His movements were methodical.
He navigated the treacherous terrain with measured efficiency until, at last, he reached the far side of the canyon.
Now, the ascent remained.
The previously lurking shores had either vanished or were lingering somewhere unseen.
But could creatures like them exercise such patience?
There was no certainty.
Still, for now, there was no sign of them.
He turned his gaze upwards. The climb would be arduous.
His blade was ill-suited to the task—too large, too unwieldy for scaling rock.
He would scarcely manage three strikes before fatigue set in.
He would have to climb by hand, seeking out stable holds in the jagged walls.
And so he began.
The stone was coarse beneath his injured fingers, its sharp edges biting into his skin, but he pressed on, ascending inch by inch.
Then, on his fourth hold, the rock fractured.
A sharp crack, then a sudden shift beneath his grasp.
His body lurched downwards, his stomach twisting violently.
For a fleeting instant, the void threatened to claim him.
Desperation sharpened his instincts. His hand darted to the nearest ledge, grasping onto the rough surface just in time.
His breath came in shallow, uneven bursts.
He remained still, gathering his composure before resuming his climb.
Nine feet remained.
"Curse mountain climbing and the fools who revel in it," he muttered through gritted teeth.
"They make it seem effortless on camera. Charlatans."
After several agonising minutes of climbing, Dane's hands finally grasped the edge of the cliff.
Summoning every ounce of strength, he hauled himself upwards.
He dragged his body over the ledge, first planting a leg, then pulling himself up entirely, collapsing onto the solid ground like a discarded rag doll.
Relief washed over him—until the stench hit.
Thick, suffocating, and unmistakable—the air was heavy with the scent of blood and decay.
"Shit. What is this? Can't a man have a moment of peace?"
Still lying on his back, he stared at the dull, sunless sky before forcing himself upright.
He pinched his nose, cursing at the stench.
Then he saw it.
Limbs strewn haphazardly across the ground.
Blood pooled in grotesque patterns, painting the earth in a macabre display.
His gaze locked onto a set of shattered Demonsteel chains, broken and discarded amongst the carnage.
A cold dread crept over him.
"They're all dead..." he murmured.
His chest tightened.
The Enshires—were they among the dead?
He had never considered it possible, for the battling enshire, though.
Yet, if even it had fallen…
A weak voice broke through his thoughts.
"Help me..."
Dane froze.
His keen hearing caught the words clearly, the accent was oddly familiar.
'It can't be…'
A strange hope stirred within him as he turned towards the sound.
He hoped the imbecile was among the dead.
There, slumped in a pool of blood, was the short one—missing a hand, barely clinging to life.
Dane approached, his gait slow and deliberate.
He held himself like a rescuer, though, in truth, he had little interest in saving the fool.
"Help me..."
'Heh. So, even you can beg for your life.'
Dane crouched, watching as the darkness in the man's face began to fade—a sign of the world's natural cycle, the effects of death to a Descent.
Then something else caught his eye.
A stone rested beside him.
Not just any stone—the Gate Stone.
It was the only way out of this forsaken realm.
Normally, it remained in the possession of the Enshires during the first Night Shift, but if they died, another person entirely could claim it.
So, they truly were dead.
And since they had fallen across the Stream of Darkness—where the Gate Stone held its effect—they would not reincarnate here.
Their deaths were final.
Back to the underworld.
Dane wasted no time.
He reached for the stone, eager to claim it.
A bloodied hand clamped onto his ankle.
Dane halted, his expression darkening.
He exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath.
Then, without warning, a searing pain erupted through his arm.
Black ice crept up his flesh, spreading rapidly, freezing and fracturing bone with ruthless precision.
The pain was blinding.
He tried to wrench his arm away, but the grip held firm.
'This bastard has a special sense...? A Descent? How?'
The dying man's voice came again, hoarse, laced with venom.
"You will die here, with the rest of us."
Dane's patience snapped.
"Let go, you miserable bastard."
Summoning his Creed Blade, he swung with his free hand.
The blade sliced clean through the short one's throat.
Blood spurted.
Dane's expression twisted in frustration.
"You still have blood in that wretched head of yours? Damn you."
Rage overtook him.
He hacked at the body repeatedly, the blade carving through flesh with brutal efficiency.
Then, with one final strike, he severed the frozen limb that had ensnared him.
His own flesh tore in the process.
The pain was instant, excruciating.
He staggered back, clutching what remained of his arm.
Blood poured freely, staining the ground in thick rivulets.
"Ahh!"
There was no time to dwell on the agony.
Gritting his teeth, he dismissed the blade and seized the Gate Stone.
His fingers trembled as he whispered the incantation—words rumoured to awaken the portal.
"Last breath drawn in blood..."
The stone reacted instantly. His blood surged forward, drawn from his wounds, merging with the artifact.
It pulsed with a sharp crimson glow before bursting mid-air, forming a fractured portal.
His vision blurred, his body weakening.
His legs barely carried him forward, each step sluggish, weighed down by blood loss.
He pressed on.
The moment he stepped through, a blinding white light consumed him.
Then—
Reality shifted.
He collapsed onto solid ground, his body sprawling at the edge of a hill, mere metres from a vast, verdant forest.
The sun bathed him in warmth, a stark contrast to the cold horrors he had just escaped.
Then came the sound—whirring, mechanical.
Small medical drones emerged from the distance, zipping towards him from the city. Their metallic limbs clicked as they deployed an extendable stretcher.
He barely registered the sensation of being lifted.
His mind drifted, consciousness slipping.
The last thing he heard was a robotic voice, calm and assured.
"You are safe now."
...
[Seeker has reclaimed Glory!]
[You have obtained a Special Sense: Black Ice, Third Formation.]
[You have earned 800 Caculs.]
[Healing internal injuries...]