Luciel might've spoken bravado, but his body was a mess. Even though there wasn't any critical injury, the pain he felt might be several times worse than a broken limb. He'd overused his abilities dealing with the Alpha—his body burning up, his hands trembling, his vision dimming.
Ever had your bones simmer like meat over fire? That was Luciel now.
He'd heard that other Resonators who wielded flame didn't have any backlash, just typical physical and mental exhaustion. But then again, even Luciel could tell that his flame looked unique.
'Let's not dwell on it. I have a bigger problem here.'
Ignoring his injuries, he gazed forward. Five Skulkers were menacingly standing on the flat plain, their heads and mouths convulsed while producing eerie and inhuman noises.
But they weren't the ones approaching Luciel. No.
He was the one walking up to them. They had no eyes. Yet somehow, he saw fear wash over them. He'd seen that look far too many times in the Outlands—the fear of death.
While he wasn't sure if that was the case, what he was certain of was that without a leader, these Skulkers were nothing more than easy prey. Much like soldiers without a commander, normal Skulkers couldn't coordinate without the high sensitivity of the Alpha. It was like being lost in the woods in the dead of the night for them.
But unlike humans, these monsters had low intelligence. Luciel deduced that they'd charge at him without hesitation.
Even so, his mind simply didn't want to let the opportunity slip, commanding his legs to march towards the clique. The Skulkers had probably noticed him. Not only was his body producing more heat than usual, but the blood and flesh of the Alpha also draped over him. The smell was undoubtedly awful.
Of course, Luciel wasn't a fool to take on five creatures simultaneously. Sure, he had defeated the Alpha, but that was never a reason to be conceited. A battle of life and death always favored those who used their wits.
'Let's play a game, shall we?'
He conjured up a ball of fire and shot it towards the tall grass behind him. Immediately, the dry grass caught fire and spread chaotically. Scarlet red painted the ground as black smoke billowed.
In an instant, the Skulkers launched themselves towards the crackling flame as if they'd completely forgotten the death of their leader. They even passed through Luciel like he was invisible.
'I figured that they're stupid, but not this stupid.'
Turning his heel, he started running with them, blending in with the party of Skulkers. His eyes darted around to find his first prey.
'Found one.'
One Skulker was running much slower than its peers. Not missing that moment, he tensed his leg muscle and burst towards the lone Skulker. One swift jump followed by a quick thrust to the back of its neck, ending its life instantly. Just like the other two dead Skulkers, it stood still.
'Four more.'
However, by this point, Luciel was considering a tactical retreat. That jump and thrust combo nearly made him vomit. He'd truly overexerted his capabilities.
His knees buckled just slightly. A pulse of nausea climbed his throat again. It felt like blood was about to spurt out.
'This isn't sustainable.'
He glanced ahead, not minding the sharp pain twisting in his nerves. The Skulkers were thrashing through the field of flames like nutcases, some even bashing into each other.
If he didn't have to face the Alpha, he would've given those insects tickets to hell.
'Don't be greedy.'
Realistically, Luciel overachieved. He didn't expect to kill three Skulkers, let alone the Alpha. He'd underestimated himself—but that was better than overestimation. He had to remember to always keep himself grounded.
He gritted his teeth and wiped off the blood on his face. He'd decided to come back and collect the corpses tomorrow.
Then, with a firm pivot, he turned and walked in the opposite direction, his vision scanning the terrain ahead. As he walked, the ground sloped into a shallow ditch, half-concealed by rusty steel beams and concrete debris.
'Oh, this place.'
He recognized the ruins further down the hill. As an Outlander, he had explored most of the territories in the area. There were many parts of the Outlands that weren't connected to each other due to rugged mountains and large bodies of water separating them.
He'd wanted to go beyond what he was used to, but he deemed the endeavor too dangerous. Besides, it wasn't like the Outlands had varying cultures in different parts of the land. The Outlands was just the Outlands. Nothing more, nothing less.
In any case, the ruins down the hill offered good cover. He'd heard that it was an attempt to build some kind of a road system connecting the Districts and the Outlands—an overpass, possibly, but the military scrapped the idea soon after.
Without hesitation, he slid down into the gully, avoiding sharp debris and scouting the terrain at the same time. The heat behind him had long disappeared, though he could still see smoke clouding the skies.
He reached the flat terrain below in a crooked slide and drew in a painful breath. However, he kept walking. The night offered no light on this day, so Luciel had to squint his eyes and trust memory more than sight as he pressed deeper into the ruins without rest.
After dragging his wrecked body for ten minutes, he finally saw a makeshift shelter with twisted steel beams as its roof. He'd been here before when exploring the ruins last year. This was only one small part of the ruins—it stretched out even further to the north, almost like an abandoned city.
Reaching the shadowy hole, he crouched down to enter deep inside, where the broken stone blocks opened up a more spacious path. The concrete beneath his feet was uneven, littered with rusted bolts.
Luciel cleaned up the ground before finally leaning his back against a slanted slab of concrete wall. He collapsed immediately, allowing himself to release all the tension his body had been maintaining. He could still hear the horrendous shrieks of those damned Skulkers. They were faint, distant—but he disliked how they clung to his ears like mosquitos.
Other than that, the night didn't seem that bad. He'd have to regain his strength and start planning how to transfer the materials into the District. He didn't even consider the surviving Skulkers. Once the sun revealed itself tomorrow, he would wipe them out.
For now, however, he wanted to pass out—but he chose not to. If he were to leave himself in this state as he slept through the night, recovery was impossible.
"I need to do this," Luciel muttered.
Then, he straightened his back and folded his legs into a lotus position. He calmed his breathing and stilled his mind. His focus heightened, allowing him to examine his internal state.
He then channeled his flame energy throughout his blood veins. As the flame spread, his fingers twitched in pain, his body jolted endlessly, emitting faint wisps of scarlet energy.
Some would see this as self-inflicted torture. Well, they wouldn't be wrong, but they wouldn't be right either
It scorched his veins, his bones screamed—but he didn't hate it. It wasn't just pain. It was purification.
When Luciel first obtained the scarlet flame, he looked at it not as a weapon of destruction but as an embrace of love. The flame found him when he needed it most, so if it wasn't out of love, what else was it?
Wherever the flame passed, the aches dulled. Slowly and steadily, the pain started to ease—only the faint warmth remained; the flame had disappeared.
He opened his eyes and looked at the status of his body.
'That hurt like hell.'
His muscles quivered from the tension release. He was drowned in sweat. Not just normal colorless sweat—but the murky droplets you'd find in an oil rig.
He took off his clothes and hung them on a metal bar for them to dry.
Luciel felt several times better now that he'd gone through purification. It was a method he only used as a last resort—such as when adrenaline reached its peak. He thought he could never get used to that kind of pain no matter how many times he did it.
Now he could finally get some rest. He comfortably lay down on the uneven concrete ground, his head using a bag of cement as a pillow. Suffice to say, Luciel was in his natural element.
Silence lingered, broken only by the distant crackling fire from afar. He watched the clouds make way for the stars to appear.
If only the Federation could build a small town in the Outlands instead of leaving it to die. All he could see was a land of opportunities—open fields, ancient labyrinths, dense forests, and so on. Yet, how did the Outlands end up like this?
'Forget it. Let's get some shut-eye.'
Luciel closed his eyes, trying his best to dream about a different and meaningful life again.