Noct was surrounded by the undead from all directions. He knew better than anyone that there was no escape route left, and with all the assets he currently had in this battle, he was destined to die—overpowered by numbers and too many factors. He couldn't kill them.
'I really fucking hate these creatures… the most out of all Night World ones.'
Like slaying an undead was such a simple job—no, to truly defeat one, a person needed a class related to the light attribute, which was already too rare, or a magical artifact related to such an attribute.
And luck was always on his side—of course, in the worst way possible. He had neither of them, nor enough strength to carve his path like he used to with brute force.
'Just my damn luck… why of all places did it have to be this one…' he thought as his eyes moved across the undead surrounding him from every direction, their rotten flesh slowly falling apart.
The survival rate of a Witch Forest was almost near zero, and him being transported here for his Judgement was the worst luck possible.
His thoughts weren't in panic or anything—if one had to describe it, it would be calm… almost cold. How could a street dog, who never feared death even when facing creatures more terrifying than anyone could imagine, feel fear in a situation like this?
The distance between him and those undead creatures kept shrinking and shrinking, his mind racing as he tried to find a way out of this situation—like that was even possible.
Even if he never learned anything in his whole life, life itself had taught him harsh lessons, and one of the most important was to never give up—even if the whole world gave up on you.
He let out a breath and said, "I never liked dealing with you guys," his voice carrying no fear, just a hint of annoyance.
But soon his face brightened with a smile. "If I can't kill you… then I'll just use you—" he said, and the moment the undead closed in too tightly, he grabbed one of them, pushing off with all the strength in his arms and slamming it into the ground. Using that brief acceleration, he stepped over their bodies, running across them as if they were nothing but broken ground.
He thought, 'What's the shame in running…' He was used to it. He wasn't some righteous or prideful idiot who would stand his ground in a fight he knew he couldn't win—those kinds of people could only be called fools.
It was a simple solution he had come up with long ago—when surrounded, wait for the right moment, then use the enemy itself as a stepping stone to carve a path out.
Behind him, the undead tore into the one he had thrown down, biting and ripping its flesh apart without even realizing it was one of their own. But how could they? Their brains were half-rotten, hanging out of their skulls, their reactions slower than beasts that only knew how to hunt.
But the moment he broke free from the encirclement, it didn't take long for them to realize something was wrong. The thing they were devouring… wasn't human.
Too late.
Noct had already used that brief moment to run as far as he could.
---
Noct was huffing, his breath uneven—after all, he had used everything he had just to get that far. He knew it well, even if he pushed himself to his limits, he still couldn't do anything against them.
He looked around.
Nothing had changed.
The same barren land stretched endlessly, filled with dried trees, their red roots digging deep into the black soil.
"How the hell am I supposed to find an exit gate in a place like this where everything looks the same?" he muttered.
( Exit Gate — an altar that leads back to the real world. Every Night World has one. )
He didn't have much knowledge about the Night World. The only time he had entered one was during his Judgement in his past life. Most of his experience came from fighting these filthy creatures in the real world during night breakouts.
( Night Breakouts — when a Night World becomes overpopulated or unstable, its creatures spill into the real world, causing chaos. )
He kept walking, and walking, and walking, seconds passed, then minutes, then hours, yet still nothing.
"Damn it… where the hell is that altar!?" he snapped.
And then—
Finally, fate answered, and far in the distance something stood out—the altar.
The vast barren land had at least one advantage—nothing blocked his sight. He could see as far as his eyes allowed, and that was exactly how he had avoided the crawling undead along the way.
'Finally…!' he thought as his eyes locked onto it.
It stood tall and ancient, a structure unlike anything around it. Dark wooden pillars rose from the ground, worn and cracked with age, forming a shrine-like frame. The roof curved upward at the edges in a traditional style, broken in places yet still standing, as if refusing to collapse. Strange symbols were carved deep into its surface, faintly glowing, pulsing like a heartbeat. Around it, the ground was clean—no corpses, no rot, no corruption. A silent boundary. A place even death refused to step into.
A safe zone.
No one knew who made these altars… or why the creatures never approached them.
But right now—
That didn't matter.
He increased his speed, forcing his exhausted body to move, even though his stamina was almost gone.
'hmm… what's this…?' he thought.
The ground beneath his feet felt… different.
He slowed slightly, looking down.
'This is unusual…'
The soil had changed, it was no longer black, it was crimson—like the blood he used to see everywhere in his past.
The area had far more corpses than before—piled, scattered, half-buried. The land itself was uneven, slightly raised like a small hill, rough and unnatural.
Then—
It was already too late.
The ground trembled.
A deep, disgusting sound echoed from beneath, like something massive dragging itself through flesh and soil.
'This can't be…' he thought, his expression darkening.
The trembling grew violent as the land cracked and split apart.
And then something emerged—something massive, something deeply wrong.
A grotesque, towering creature tore its way out from beneath the crimson earth. Its body was a twisted mass of decaying flesh and hardened black skin, multiple limbs stretching out unnaturally, some dragging across the ground, others twitching like they had a will of their own. Thick, tentacle-like appendages coiled and uncoiled behind it, covered in rot and dripping with dark fluid.
Its torso was swollen and uneven, glowing from within—clusters of burning orange lights pulsed beneath its skin, like eyes… or something worse, staring from the inside.
Its head—
No.
There wasn't just one.
Deformed, fused shapes formed something that resembled faces, but none of them were complete. Hollow, glowing pits stared down at him, while a gaping, jagged opening in its chest pulsed like a living core.
The air grew heavier, rotten, suffocating.
Noct froze for a fraction of a second.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
His grip on the wooden sword tightened.
Because this—
This wasn't something he could run from so easily anymore.