Belial took a break, the weight of his sword dragging his shoulders down as he ducked behind the crumbling wall of rock, seeking shelter from the unnatural sounds that whipped through the Dark Catacombs. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself a rare respite. The air, thick with methane, felt stifling, but there was something oddly soothing about it as it filtered through his nostrils. It was a small comfort in a world that offered none, a fleeting reminder that he was still alive, still breathing, even if every breath felt like a struggle.
He took a big whiff of one of the glowing plants that had sprung from the damp, methane-scented ground. The plant's luminescent petals cast a soft, eerie glow in the darkened world, their faint light illuminating the shadows of their surroundings. The scent was strange, musky, but strangely comforting, and for a moment, it dulled the hunger gnawing at his insides and provided slight relief to his lungs. It wasn't much, but in this place, even the smallest reprieve felt like a gift.
Belial leaned back, resting his head against the cold stone, letting out a soft, almost content sigh.
"Ahh… sweet air," he muttered, his voice low and weary, the words barely escaping his cracked lips. He passed the plant to Raven, who stood guard nearby, his obsidian armor battered but still intact. Raven took the plant and, without a word, inserted the stem through the helmet's slit. He inhaled deeply, and the faintest sound of relief came from behind the mask, a rare crack in the stoic facade he always wore.
Belial glanced over at Raven. He wasn't sure what kept the man going, but he knew Raven had become indispensable. There was a quiet strength in him, a resilience that seemed unshakable, even in the face of this relentless hell. Belial envied that, even as he relied on it.
"It's been almost two Months now," Xin added, his voice tinged with a quiet bitterness.
He sat slumped against the wall, his once-proud posture now broken by exhaustion. His hands trembled slightly as he clutched his knees, his fingers stained with dried blood and dirt. The methane was suffocating, time was slipping away, and they had been on this hellish journey far too long. Every step felt heavier than the last, every breath harder to take.
A silence stretched between them. The air was thick with more than just the scent of the plant. There was the unspoken understanding of their predicament, the gnawing sense that things weren't going well. It was hard to ignore it anymore. The weight of their situation pressed down on them, a constant reminder of how close they were to the edge.
But there was one thing that no one could deny: the biggest problem—the problem—was that they had no water.
Belial wiped a hand across his brow, feeling the sweat mix with the grime that had accumulated on his skin. He could feel the weight of fatigue pulling at him, a deep exhaustion that no amount of rest could seem to relieve. His lips were dry, his throat parched, but the worst of it was the constant ache inside him. He could feel his body weakening, starting to betray him. Every movement felt like a battle, every thought a struggle.
They had been surviving off the raw meat of the lesser mirror monsters, the grotesque fiends that inhabited this twisted world.
At first, the idea of eating the flesh of such creatures had turned Belial's stomach. The first few times had been unbearable—he had thrown up on the spot, his body rebelling against the disgusting, bloody mass he'd forced down. But Xin had adapted quickly, his stomach now able to tolerate the vile meat, though there was no denying it still bothered him. The taste lingered, a constant reminder of how far they had fallen.
Xin's gaze dropped to the dirt, his fingers digging into the grime as dark thoughts invaded his mind.
Should I just end it?
He clenched his jaw, the sense of hopelessness pressing down on him.
I'm sick and tired of being stuck in this catacomb. I eat, sleep, wake up—not knowing when I'll die...
He shook his head, pushing the thought away, but it lingered, like a whisper in the back of his mind. He glanced at his companions, at the exhaustion carved into their faces, at the way they moved—like shadows of themselves. It wouldn't be long before one of them broke. Maybe he already had.
Xin… he had proven himself resilient. Despite his frail frame, despite the odds stacked against them, the guy had adjusted far better than Belial had anticipated. His quick adaptability in the face of such an unforgiving world was a testament to his determination. But even Xin, for all his strength, couldn't completely mask the toll it was taking on him. His eyes were hollow, his movements sluggish, and his voice carried a weariness that spoke of more than just physical exhaustion.
They were all Relevant to Balancer rank, after all. Regular humans. If they had been anyone else—any lesser rank—they would have been dead by now. Living off nothing but the raw, bloody meat of monsters while fighting for their lives. But somehow, by sheer will alone, they kept going. It was a testament to their strength, but also a reminder of how fragile they truly were.
It wasn't just the hunger, though.
Fighting monsters, dodging falling debris, avoiding death at every turn… it had started to take its toll on their minds. The lack of water, the constant exhaustion, the never-ending battle—it was all beginning to break them down. The line between reality and hallucination was blurring, and Belial wasn't sure how much longer they could hold on.
At some point, hallucinations were becoming more frequent, moments of blurry vision, distorted sounds, strange feelings in the pit of their stomachs.
Hell, Belial even started nibbling on Xin's horn, thinking it was some type of roasted beef. The memory made him grimace, a bitter reminder of how far gone they were. And for some irritating reason, Raven seemed to be the most stable of the three of them. Aloof and unreadable under that obsidian armor, which, despite being battered, remained largely intact, he was somehow the anchor in this storm. Belial couldn't quite understand it—Raven seemed unaffected, as though none of this fazed him.
Maybe it was the nature of the man. Maybe it was the armor. Or maybe, just maybe, Raven had come to terms with this world in ways the rest of them hadn't yet. Whatever it was, Belial was grateful for it. Raven wasn't their tank. No, Belial knew better than that. Raven was their shield. Their defense—keeping them safe, protecting them from the worst of it. It was a role he played without question, without complaint, and Belial had come to rely on that.
The thought lingered in his mind as he sat back against the rock, watching Raven carefully. They were making progress, yes—just over halfway through the surface, as far as Belial could tell—but the end still felt so far out of reach. They had seen enough of this world to know that things were only going to get worse. The deeper they went, the more twisted and dangerous it became.
How much longer?
The question burned in his mind, just as it had for the last few days, was it weeks? Belial didn't know anymore. Time had lost all meaning in this place. The days blurred together, each one indistinguishable from the last. The only thing that mattered was survival, and even that was becoming harder to hold onto.
"How much longer do we have?" Xin asked weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. He had staggered up to join them after picking through some of the shattered rubble, his hands cut and bleeding, though he barely seemed to notice. His face was pale, his body haggard, and he looked as though the weight of the journey was finally beginning to crush him.
Belial sighed, his breath heavy as the question echoed in his ears. He leaned forward, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He didn't have an answer. Truth be told, he wasn't sure if any of them would make it out. They had already been pushing their limits, surviving on little more than scraps and a few glowing plants that didn't even come close to offering what they needed to truly survive. Water was nowhere to be found. They couldn't even remember the last time they'd had anything to drink.
And that was the problem.
In the game, it had all been easier.
There had been cutscenes, checkpoints, and even if he had died, there was always a way to return, to start fresh. But here? Here, there was no reset button. No respawn. Every moment they fought for their lives was real. And every time they took a step forward, it felt like they were walking on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the ground to give way beneath them.
This was worse than anything Belial had ever gone through.
The game hadn't prepared him for this. Nothing could have prepared him for this.
"Don't know," Belial muttered, looking up at Xin.
"Could be days. Could be weeks. Could be—" He stopped, unable to finish the thought. There was no guarantee they'd survive long enough to find out. The uncertainty was a weight on his chest, a constant reminder of how fragile their existence had become.
He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep pushing forward. The world around them was unforgiving, and their bodies—no matter how strong—could only endure so much. The air tasted bitter, the hunger was gnawing at them, and the hallucinations had begun to blur the lines between reality and nightmare. There were no answers, no guarantees. They were just stumbling through, doing their best to hold it all together.
But the longer they stayed in this harrowing catacomb, the more Belial realized that surviving wasn't enough.
He had to persevere.