Sword of Heaven staggered onward, desperate, along an unknown road; his body bore many wounds, and his left leg could no longer respond.
Yet he continued his lame walk; the silver light had drained from his eyes.
He turned onto his right side into an alley strewn with corpses along its length.
He looked up at the sky, now darkened by the sheer multitude of those demonic creatures.
There was no other choice; Sword of Heaven pressed on, striving desperately not to trample over the dead, out of respect for their dignity at least.
A mist began to cloud both his eyes, while his body swayed back and forth.
He could no longer stand; he collapsed to the ground, breathing with great difficulty, then propped himself on his hands, trying to rise again.
But the moment he lifted his head even slightly, tears poured down his cheeks like a waterfall in a final, hopeless outburst.
No wonder—before his very eyes lay the bodies of his brothers and his aunt, who had sheltered them until her last breath.
There were no bruises or blood—only ashen, pallid corpses lining the alley.
At first, Sword of Heaven paid no mind; he was exhausted, maimed, and unable to think of anything.
The tears refused to stop; they welled and spilled to the left and then the right—Sword of Heaven could bear no more.
He had endured countless hardships and trials—could there be yet more beyond what had happened today?
He rose to continue walking, saying, "I will return."
His silver hair had turned red with the blood of his friends. He wept, and at least wiped his face.
Above, the alley was blocked—it felt as if he were walking through an endless tunnel, yet at its far end there was always a light; was it false or not?
There was no answer to that.
Sword of Heaven trudged onward, spent of strength, toward that light.
Along the alley walls hung doors on both sides—back entrances to houses, it seemed, though every resident must have taken to hiding behind them from the rampaging demonic beasts.
He drew ever closer to the light, but did passing beyond it mean danger lay ahead?
That mattered not in the slightest to Sword of Heaven; so long as he survived, he would continue to survive wherever and whenever the peril.
His gaze was now serious and resolute, as if determined to alter destiny once he escaped.
At last, Sword of Heaven reached the exit, but he closed his eyes against the glare of the black sun, as though stepping out of a cell in which he had long been imprisoned.
Blood coated both his hands and left leg, and his hair was matted with it as well.
His vision intensified, darkness creeping around his eyes; he closed them and opened them again, to no avail—the blackness crept on slowly.
He had not tasted mercy once since that fateful day.
His body seemed to tumble toward the ground.
But what? Why did I not fall? Sword of Heaven wondered—then he heard a faint voice growing gradually louder:
"Are you all right? Can you hear me?"
It was a familiar female voice.
Sword of Heaven peered through the mist and discerned who held him:
"Maya—is that you?"
Then he lost his sight entirely, yet heard his wife's sobs, which gradually softened until he could hear nothing at all.
He collapsed, unconscious, against Maya.
She was alone, without companionship; she tried again and again to wake Sword of Heaven, but to no avail.
She hoisted him onto her back and carried him back into the alley of ashen corpses.
Gently and deliberately, she laid him on the ground, tore a piece from her white robe embroidered with red, and began to dress his many wounds as worry etched her face.
When she finally finished, she once more lifted him onto her back and set off quietly from the alley to ensure no demonic beasts lay in their path.
Once she saw the way clear for the moment, she emerged from the alley, walking with caution and pressing herself to the walls, her head turning from side to side in constant vigil.
The sky still teemed with monsters, though they were thinning out as they spread across the world in search of their prey—humans at the summit of their food chain.
Maya was somewhat fatigued, yet pressed on without weariness until she came upon the ruined fencing school—nothing remained of it.
Maya gazed at the devastation, when suddenly one of the students emerged from underground through a secret passage beneath the school.
The student spoke, "What are you doing? Will you just stand there and stare?"
Maya moved swiftly toward him, then followed as he led her down the steps while shutting the entrance behind them.
It was pitch-black inside, with only the light of candles along the walls faintly revealing the space.
Step by step, Maya descended until she reached the bottom.
Now the place was clearer, lit by many lanterns surrounding the four walls.
The chamber was crowded with countless students, some unharmed, others bearing minor injuries like fractures and superficial wounds.
All eyes turned to Maya as she carried Sword of Heaven on her back.
Joy and relief spread across their faces, and many rushed forward to check on her:
"Are you all right? Are you hurt? Is he all right too?"
These questions flew from their lips.
But the moment Raven appeared, everyone fell silent, parting to let him pass toward Maya.
He was stern and formidable, his expression cold and impassive, hands clasped behind his back as he strode forward to tend to his daughter and son-in-law:
"Are you all right? Has anything happened to you? You look tired—were you crying?"
Raven asked many questions, fearful for his only daughter.
Maya replied, "I'm fine, but he is not; I found him wandering lifelessly, as if devoid of purpose. He must have suffered terribly—his face is gaunt and his eyes bloodshot. It seems he hasn't eaten in some time."
Concern seized Raven, and he ordered a room to be prepared and began cooking.
Raven said, "Don't worry, my
daughter; he will be all right. He is strong—trust in him. Come on, take him to his room so he can rest a little.""