Together Damned

Buck stared in disbelief at the face that once held beauty, now irritating and unreadable in his eyes.

He thought there must be something hidden between the lines, perhaps she was weaving intense truths with pretentious lies, trying to normalize her words over time. He was well-acquainted with this tactic, a favorite among the high-ranking managers he had dealt with.

Buck considered crossing his arms but decided against it. Instead, he blew a strand of messy hair away from his face and locked eyes with the girl.

— Before you fill this calm and peaceful ravine with your madness and impossible goals, could you at least tell me your name and which battalion you belong to?

A genuine smile slipped from her lips, cracking the dryness and drawing a small cut that bled with the sudden movement.

— I'm sorry, you just said something funny. My name is Akritene. But no, I don't belong to any battalion. Here in Sufuria, it's easy to escape the law thanks to the lack of structure.

Buck's confusion deepened, as if her words were a joke without a punchline.

But something else caught his attention, more important than her tasteless humor. A fact that might be the solution to all his potential problems: he wasn't in a deep, unknown layer of the Abyss. He was in Sufuria—a foreign kingdom but one where humans lived. That alone made it far better and likely easier to survive than any level of the Abyssal Hell.

Noticing Buck's sudden silence, Akritene furrowed her brows and looked directly at him.

— Now that you understand we can't get out of here unless we work together, I'd like to propose a temporary alliance.

This was dangerous. It was hard to figure out what she was hiding, and even harder to suppress his own feelings. A strange, excruciating sensation lingered. But he had no choice.

Given what he had witnessed earlier, surviving alone in a place like this was impossible. And Buck valued staying intact—both physically and mentally.

An alliance would benefit them both and remain unbroken for some time. Even if she was concealing something important, Akritene had not only helped him recover but had spared his life while he was incapacitated. All he needed to do was prove himself more valuable than mere monster bait.

Besides, she had basic knowledge of herbal remedies and first aid. That could be critical, especially in such a hot climate where infections were common and often led to amputations among the poor.

— I accept. On one condition.

Her eyes lit with curiosity as she studied Buck, intrigued by what he might say.

— I need to know every single detail of your plan. When I say everything, I mean down to why you'd choose a quartz cup over a clay one. Any question I ask about our survival must be answered immediately. Understood?

— Ha… you're too prepared, even for a merchant. But I agree—I was planning to explain the plan anyway. But I also have a condition.

Buck looked at her in confusion, his upper lip twitching slightly. What could she possibly want from a supposed merchant, stripped bare and penniless?

— It's not exactly a condition—more of a tip. If you want us to survive the desert, do as I say during critical moments, and you can question me about it later if you must.

He swallowed hard, his mouth as dry as the desert around them. The wilderness was teeming with dangers Buck couldn't comprehend. Knowing what a Cackling Nightwing looked like was already a stretch. The only thing holding back the tide of the unknown from sinking its teeth into his flesh was this unreadable girl his age. There was nothing he could do to change that, except give his all.

Apparently, Akritene wasn't affiliated with any military group, and she even seemed to view them with mild disdain—a strange stance indeed.

In his mind, Buck believed he had been the sole survivor of the vaccine. As a child of the Abyss, she should have been under the military organization's control—unless the vaccine wasn't administered universally but selectively, leaving some Abyss Children completely free from the poison. After all, if they controlled every Abyss Child, they wouldn't allow one to simply escape and vanish.

What a headache… I miss the days when the only things I had to think about were the stories I read and whether I'd hunt for strange fungi to eat or manage to buy bugs with my work money.

— I'll do what I can. To make communication easier, call me Buck from now on.

Akritene glanced at the detailed, opaque black horns on his skull with a hint of doubt.

— Understood, Buck. Some people call me Aki. Feel free to use it.

— Aki… like the Iron Guardian of the First Nest? People must really hate you.

— Welcome to the world of people like me. I didn't have the privilege of protective parents, as you probably did.

For the first time in his life, Buck saw someone who might have been as miserable—if not more—than he was. His already confused emotions grew even more tangled. He didn't know what to do.

— My condolences for your shitty life… I guess?

Buck wasn't used to being treated like a person. No one had ever looked at his face without a hint of disgust, shortened conversations to the bare minimum, or avoided him outright. Because of this, his unfiltered thoughts spilled out before he could even judge them.

— It happens. Fate's a bitch.

He nodded. After all, he harbored the same kind of bitterness for the events of his recent life.

— So, you've got a plan to get away from those damned ants, right?

She gazed toward the ravine's exit with an unreadable expression.

— Yes. I know a bit about them, I've been observing their behavior for a few hours now.

Akritene pulled out a kind of syringe with a thin needle and a strip of leather she had taken from Buck while he was unconscious.

Damn it, she looted my prized possession while I was out! Leather is expensive.

She abruptly stopped what she was doing, which involved a process similar to tattooing. This technique was often used to create book pages from specific, lightweight leather.

— We're going to do a lot of running, so I'd like to make some boots using this leather. Four of the strips tied to your waist should suffice.

She's not satisfied with just one strip—she wants to leave me practically naked!

— I need at least one to keep my cloak in place.

She paused for a moment, reconsidering something Buck couldn't comprehend. Then, she grabbed a shard of stone from the ground and cut a piece of her own rudimentary dress, made of thin white fabric.

— Here, use this as a belt. That way, we can use the leather, and you stay dressed.

With his eyes hidden beneath his hood, Buck stared at Akritene for a few seconds, his eyebrows raised. But by some greater force, he quickly snapped out of it—for his own good.

Reluctantly, he removed all his poorly cut leather rags, replacing them with the white fabric around his waist. He discreetly tucked his relic inside his hood, securing it at the back of his neck. The leather wouldn't move out of place since his horns had impaled it, giving it extra stability and maintaining his anonymity.

Meanwhile, Akritene seemed focused on tying one of the leather strips around her foot, using a raised stone for support. Her efficiency was impressive—each loop of leather touched only the essential parts of her foot, protecting the sole while tying the ends securely at the top of her Achilles tendon. She repeated the process with her other foot in the same precise, deliberate manner.

Buck wanted to ask Akritene why she was alone and barefoot in the middle of the desert—his curiosity was eating away at him. But deep down, he already knew the answer. He didn't want to touch such a sensitive subject, especially when they barely knew each other.

Besides, what did it matter to him? They were strangers. Her problems wouldn't change Buck's life. His survival was the key, the only thing that mattered to unlocking his future. Playing the good Samaritan now was out of the question. No one had ever helped him in his life—so why should he help someone else?

To him, it felt unfair. He had never received care, never had anyone worry about his well-being. No one probably even cared that his body back in Farad-ay was most likely lifeless, pulse gone, discarded like useless trash into a river of lava. Why should he extend his hand when no one had done the same for him?

Then why does my heart feel so tight, my chest so heavy, and my skin prickled with chills? Why are my hands and feet so cold?

He bit his lip in frustration. His survival had always come first—that was the only way to make it. The only way to avoid being used. He'd learned that through countless mistakes in his life.

So why do I want to hold her, to listen to her, to tell her it's going to be okay? Why do I feel sorry for what I imagine she's been through? Why do I fantasize about how much better her life could've been if she'd just had one good person in it?

For the first time in a long while, Buck felt sadness—not for his own anguished and meaningless life, but for someone else. Another child of the Abyss.

— So, what happened for you to end up alone and barefoot in the desert?

She paused, her hands halting as she made the final adjustments to her improvised leather sandals. She stared in the same direction for too long, as if frozen in place.

"My group was protecting historians and researchers exploring relics and ruins here," she began, her voice low and measured. "Twice, while we were stationed, creatures that don't normally come this close appeared—alongside Cackling Nightwings. I had to strip off my gear because the metal had stopped cooling me and was heating me instead. We stayed here far longer than we were prepared for."

Her gaze dropped slightly, her lips tightening into a faint, inverted smile.

— I won't go into details, but that's what you need to know. I assume that's the information you wanted.

Buck didn't want to know that—not really. Deep down, he wanted her to vent, to curse her circumstances, to spill her heart out to a listener who might actually care. But he didn't say that. Not only was he unaware of these feelings, but his petty, selfish pride refused to show he might care.

What unsettled him most was how similar their situations were. Akritene was someone like him. A kindred soul who might understand—and maybe even be understood. That realization shattered the hardened, defensive exterior of stone he had built around his heart.

Both of them were trapped in delicate, precarious situations, yearning for genuine comfort they had never felt before. The world had always been cruel to them—that was the nature of the Abyss, a relentless and overwhelming malice.

"You know," Buck said softly, "to many, Aki was the demon of the first floor who killed thousands of soldiers. But to me, she was just protecting herself and what she cared about—her home, her territory. She never left her nest to attack, not even when larger Abyss creatures descended to invade civilization. No creature from her nest was ever documented. She was always alone. Just the solitary guardian. The queen of the nest. Just Aki."

It was true. Many claimed she had been an infertile queen, with no soldiers or progeny. But others speculated her offspring were either hidden or fled after their queen was killed.

Akritene's expression was a subtle contradiction, like a sky split between heavy clouds and rays of sunlight. Her reddened, weary eyes carried a depth of pain that seemed freshly uncovered, each breath a reminder of what she'd endured. Yet, deep within her gaze, there was a nearly imperceptible warmth, a flicker of light from distant memories.

Her posture was withdrawn, as if carrying an invisible weight, but a hesitant smile occasionally broke through—brief and fleeting, like the light of a falling star. She gently touched the surrounding rocks, her fingers brushing them as though they were fragile echoes of a time long gone.

"…I didn't know that," she murmured, her voice touched with unexpected gratitude. "Thank you, Buck."

As Buck tied the leather around his own foot, an unspoken sense of calm and fragile comfort settled between them. Though strangers, an inexplicable bond began to form. It was as if, in this desolate ravine, their broken destinies had intertwined like threads of a shared constellation—etched across a star-filled sky in soft, cursive lines.