'The journey is more important than the destination.'
That's a fucking lie.
Right now, Elion's only desire was to sleep in his own bed. It had been two months of trudging through the Depths and clawing their way back toward Nexus.
Those two months were the most exhausting of his life. And it still wasn't over. No city in sight, no sign of human life.
At least the number of powerful abominations had begun to dwindle. Along the way, they had fought countless Class IIIs, narrowly escaped a Class IV, and slain a handful of Class IIs. Now that they were First Fingers, those battles were easier, but never safe. One mistake, and death would collect its due.
Wounds had piled up, and Elion could no longer keep up with repairing his tapestry through thread surgery. The process was simply too long, too draining. Worse, the more he did it, the more his tapestry changed. Inevitably so—he was altering the connections of threads of light constituting his being after all.
He'd realized this the hard way during a brutal clash with a particularly vicious Class III. When he went to dodge an easily avoidable strike, his body faltered—like his own commands had been scrambled. The blow that followed nearly killed him. That day convinced him never to attempt repairing his tapestry again.
At least those battles fed his ascension. It was a slow process, but he could feel his body become stronger, more efficient after each creature he slew.
The line now read:
[Ascension: 6%]
Painstakingly slow progress. And truthfully, Elion wasn't sure he even wanted to reach 100%. Becoming a Second Finger meant facing stronger foes and being worked to the bone.
He had proof of that in his father. The man was a Third Finger—the strongest human alive—yet he was never home. Constantly dispatched to confront whatever great threat rose against the cities. Even with his unmatched power, he was little more than a tool.
Golden Thread was perfectly fine with it. He considered it an honor to defend Nexus against the waves of abomination crawling from the Depths to feast on the humans that lived there. But Elion didn't share such enthusiasm.
That difference in ideals had frayed their relationship—one of many reasons it was strained.
After observing Hela fight with her new and improved ability, Elion got curious. Apparently, the ability granted to her by the Wretched Hand allowed her to modify the DNA of plants, but there was no real way to use that in combat. She could make them grow faster and stronger, but it would still take several days.
To be honest, it was an incredible ability for humanity as a whole. Being able to strengthen crops and make them grow faster was an undeniable boon. But when you need to survive against harsh environments and monsters that defy logic, it wasn't exactly useful.
No, what really made it shine was the first chapter of her ability, granted by the First Finger.
Now she could directly manipulate plants—shaping and accelerating their growth at will. Taxing on her soul energy, yes, but invaluable in battle. The power to ensnare and restrain creatures was something their group had sorely lacked. With her, that weakness was gone. Their only remaining shortcoming was the absence of a healer—but healers had been incredibly rare ever since Horis fell.
Elion was lost in thought when he noticed movement up ahead. He raised his fist. The group halted, weapons ready.
"There are shapes ahead," he whispered. "I'll need to get closer to confirm."
He moved forward, dimming his other senses and focusing solely on his affinity. It was stronger that way, allowing him to map the surroundings more clearly.
As they approached, the shapes resolved into a group of humanoid figures locked in combat with a monstrous form.
It can't be… humans?
Elion grinned behind his mask.
"It looks like humans," he said, barely containing his excitement.
"Humans? Here?" Eshrod replied. "Well, let's go meet them!"
"Ready your weapons," Elion warned. "They're fighting something—and losing."
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his onyx blade and rushed forward.
The battlefield came into view: heaps of black stone lit by the crimson glow of Kellta's flames, claw marks gouged deep into the rock. Five humans were locked in a desperate struggle against a towering beast. One of them lay gravely wounded while the others barely held the creature at bay.
A woman with long navy hair swung her blade at the monster, her sword bent uselessly against the beast's scales. Another's rifle jammed mid-burst. Desperation had hollowed their eyes—they looked seconds from collapse—when Elion's blade carved a smoking line across the monster's shoulder.
It was a powerful Class II, a four-legged lizard-like abomination nearly two meters tall on all fours. Its tail lashed like a whip, keeping the humans at a distance. With a roar of pain, it swung the tail toward Elion—only for Eshrod to catch it with her bare hands and hold it fast through sheer strength.
Farha exploited the opening, driving her curved blade into its flank. The armor of scales resisted, but she forced it in regardless. At the same time, plants burst from the ground, rooting the creature's legs in place, while Leonard sent a surge of lightning down Farha's embedded weapon.
Electricity tore through the beast's nervous system. Shuddering violently, it collapsed to the ground, helpless. Eshrod hauled its body over her shoulder and slammed it down in front of Elion, who severed its head in a clean stroke.
[You have slain a Class II]
[Your soul is being empowered.]
[Ascension: 7%]
***
The four surviving humans stared, battered and bewildered, at the masked strangers who had saved them.
A masked, white-haired young man helped Agath up. A long scar ran down her shoulder to her chest. Blood seeped freely from her wound.
Who are these people?
Their appearance didn't make any sense. Some wore worn-down military uniforms. One had crude leather armor and a mask similar to the pale-haired young man's. One had some sort of uniform. It looked a little oversized for her. And the older man wore a suit and looked way too pristine compared to the others.
What the hell is that? A carnival troupe?
Really, none of it made sense. But they had just saved them all and they looked quite powerful.
Can't believe my prayers have actually been answered. I might start believing in God now… Well, The GOD.
Gods existed and were proven, but the one that granted miracles had always been more of a myth.
Agath's thoughts broke as she rushed to her unconscious companion, Gorn, who lay bleeding heavily from a claw wound.
A brown-haired woman stepped forward, pulling a small box from her pack.
"I don't have much left, but this should help." She handed Agath a roll of enchanted bandages.
"T—thanks."
Agath quickly wrapped Gorn's wounds. The enchantment glowed faintly, stabilizing his condition just enough. Relief washed over her as his breathing steadied.
She turned back to their mysterious saviors.
"I can't thank you enough. We'd be dead if not for your timely arrival. I'm Agath, from the third exploration party."
The brown-haired woman who had handed her the bandages smiled warmly. "I'm Hela. We're… survivors."
Survivors? Survivors of what?
Then it hit Agath. The worn military uniforms, the enchanted bandages usually given to new Unlocked heading for the First Finger, and their mention of surviving. Could it be? Were they the remnants of the expedition that had vanished two years ago?
Impossible. How could they have survived this long—and grown so powerful?
They were clearly close to ascension if they were that powerful…
"Are you guys… from the expedition that disappeared two years ago?" she was about to ask, but Jeihr, one of her companions, beat her to it.
"Two years?!" the black-armed woman exclaimed. "Time sure flies when you're having fun."
To Elion's group, less than a year had passed in the Depths—the time loop had fucked their sense of time. But Agath didn't know that.
What the hell do you mean having fun?! Nothing in this perilous hell is fun.
Still, this was salvation.
"We have been attacked by a powerful creature not too long ago. Most of our force died… your arrival is really timely." Agath explained. "We were on our way back to Goreth when we were ambushed by that Class II. Will you guys join us?"
"Sure," the pale-haired young man said, sheathing his dark sword.
Yes! Finally saved. I'll never set foot down here again, not even if they drag me back.
***
They look pathetic.
To struggle against a single Class II when there were five of them—five First Fingers, no less. Elion couldn't help but find them pitiful. Still, they could guide his group back to Goreth. The golden thread could lead straight to Nexus for all he knew, but following locals was safer.
His gaze drifted to Kellta. The fire-wielding imp had pulled her mask back on, her horns had begun regrowing, already peeking through lavender hair. Understandably, she hid her heritage—other humans didn't always react kindly.
Elion slipped her his jacket.
"Here. Use the hood to hide your horns," he said.
She accepted it gratefully.
It took them a full day to reach the city's outer ring. Along the way, Agath's group asked endless questions, but Elion's people gave little in return. Perhaps mistaking their reluctance to speak about their journey for trauma, they eventually stopped prying.
At last, the warm orange light of Goreth's sun spilled into the crevice they walked through, casting jagged shadows of buildings onto the stone walls.
They had made it back.
Elion took a deep breath.
"Finally," he muttered.
Behind his mask, he felt a tear of joy threatening to roll down his cheek.