Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst-Chapter 93: Too Alive to Be Dead, Too Dead to Be Alive

The further we went, the easier it became to detach myself from the reality we were slowly marching toward. While we were on the road, it was more like a bloody side-quest than some grand mission. It reminded me of road trips I had back in my previous life, where you would just be on the road for 12-15 hours. You know where you were going and there was excitement in the anticipation of getting there, but the trip itself was unique in itself. A couple of friends, some bullshit stories, stopping to take breaks in strange new locations–sometimes you just got stuck in the moment and what was yet to come didn’t matter, where you were before felt distant, you could just enjoy the moment. This wasn’t quite the same, emotionally, but it did serve as a mental reprieve from everything.

The towns we passed through–much like that first one–weren’t abandoned, not entirely, but they might as well have been. Town number two was nothing but burnt-out shells, the scent of charred wood and something sweeter–likely decay–still lingering in the air. Contrary to the scent, we never found any bodies, though. If this was a raid by bandits, or if the cultists came through, they would have left something behind other than the remains of structures. We did notice a few survivors, but they were merely going through the motions of living, none of them responded to our questions or even seemed to really notice us at all. Whatever they had seen and experienced was a special kind of trauma that I was glad to have missed out on.

The third town was much of the same, but the destruction was limited to the center of town. It was eerie running into another place that refused to acknowledge our existence, but it beat the hell out of having to beat the hell out of everyone. The people shuffled through the streets like the undead, except they had some glimmer of purpose behind their movements. They all had hollow eyes, slack jaws, torn clothing, but they still stopped to eat and mutter to one another. Definitely not normal human behavior, the way they went about it, but we didn’t have time to investigate. If nobody was going to willingly speak to us, or even acknowledge us at all, we might as well just keep moving through.

"Are they enthralled?" Nythera asked, her voice cautious and low as we passed a man hammering nails into a wall that had long ago reached its quota–looking as though it was some kind of timber porcupine at this point.

"Not fully," Vance murmured back. "Looks like some kind of partial corruption. Based on the destruction in the center of town, it’s looking like maybe a summoning occurred here and whatever was created, must have had some lingering affects on the people who didn’t outright die when it appeared," Vance didn’t quite seem confident in his explanation, but it was better than anything I could come up with.

Nythera’s hands twitched at her sides. I could see it clear as day—she really wanted to help these people. She managed to hold back, likely realizing that there was no obvious cure for this kind of thing, and it would only eat into our supplies. No potion, no spell, no warm hug and kind words could fix a soul injected with whatever had been dropped on this town.

I placed a hand on Nythera’s shoulder and she jumped slightly, pulling away before noticing it was just me and giving me an embarrassed look. Her shoulders relaxed, and I patted her back, sharing her gloomy feelings of helplessness.

Ronan led the way, eyes scanning constantly, body tense. Every time someone looked our way, he didn’t just see them—he assessed their movement, it was like he was waiting for them to jump out and attack us. There was one time a villager shambling toward us had tripped on a piece of debris. I could see the spark of flame ignite and go out within his hand as he realized it wasn’t a threat, just clumsy.

"This is strange behavior," he said after the third town. "We were initially attacked, and every town since then has seemed incapable of reacting to our presence, as though they were told not to engage. I believe the cult knows we are coming and will not waste resources to slow us down."

"Let them know." I spat into the dirt, my patience with subtlety long gone. "I want them scared."

They didn’t respond to the provocation, which pissed me off even more. I wanted one of these brainwashed bastards to leap out and give me an excuse to blow off some steam, but all they did was watch as we passed, like they were waiting for something.

The sun dipped low, shadows stretching long across the road. The forest pressed in tighter on both sides, the underbrush growing thicker, the air heavier.

"Camp or keep moving?" Vance asked.

I wanted to say keep moving, for every time we stopped meant we would be giving the cult time to prepare, to reach the key before we could. Unfortunately, I still wasn’t exactly in peak form, and Nythera looked ready to drop. Hell, Vance’s hands had been shaking all day—not enough for most people to notice, but I knew him well enough.

"Camp," I grunted. "Somewhere defensible."

We found a clearing near a rocky outcrop—high ground, decent line of sight. Not perfect, but better than sleeping in the middle of the road with a neon sign marking us as possible victims.

Vance and Nythera started setting up, Ronan just stood there until I gave him something to do, at which point he gathered firewood with disgusting efficiency. At one point, I assumed that he had just walked out of sight and used some conjure firewood spell before coming back with a large arm full of the stuff.

I sat with my back against the rock, my bones still aching, my body still barely holding together. The healing Nythera gave me had done its job, but there was only so much you could do for someone who’d been torn apart by void magic and his own self-loathing.

The fire crackled to life and for a moment, none of us spoke. The silence stretched too long, heavy with all the shit none of us wanted to say out loud.

Finally, Nythera broke it. "They’re not... people anymore, are they?"

Her voice was soft, hesitant, like she already knew the answer but needed someone to say it anyway.

"No," I said bluntly. "They’re flesh puppets. Souls hollowed out and replaced with just enough instinct to keep walking. They’re not alive, not really."

She swallowed hard, fingers curling into her lap. "Then we can’t save them."

"No."

Her shoulders shook, just for a second, then she went still. I didn’t tell her it would get easier, because it wouldn’t. You don’t get used to this—you just get better at pretending it doesn’t matter.

"We should set watches," Vance said, changing the subject before we all drowned in our own thoughts. "Three shifts."

"I’ll take first," I said before anyone could argue. I wasn’t sleeping anyway.

Vance gave me a look but didn’t fight me on it. "Ronan second, me third. Nythera, you rest."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off before immediately, "Healers sleep first. Non-negotiable."

She nodded, shrinking slightly under his gaze. Poor girl really had no idea what she’d signed up for.

The fire burned lower, the silence creeping back in as everyone settled. I changed spots, trying to get my night vision back as I sat with my back to the flames, staring out into the woods, waiting for something to come for us.

I almost hoped they would. At least that would be simple. Something I could stab, something I could kill. The more obstacles we removed now, the better. Though, we also needed sleep, so I guess I could wait.

The first hour passed without incident. My body ached, my mind spun, but nothing moved beyond the occasional rustle of leaves. If we were being followed, they were either too smart to reveal themselves, or patiently observing us from afar. Neither option really comforted me.

I could hear Nythera breathing softly behind me, her sleep uneven, restless. She was still new enough to this life where nightmares existed outside of your dreams.

Ronan sat perfectly still, in some kind of meditative trance. I was kind of surprised to find that Vance snored loud enough that I had to strain to hear anything else.

I sat in the dark, knife resting across my knee, watching the trees, and then the whispering started.

Soft at first, just faint murmurs carried on the wind. I tensed, fingers tightening around my blade. It wasn’t words—not real words. It was a kind of low, wet sound you might hear when something’s trying to form a language but doesn’t have the right equipment to vocalize it.

I scanned the treeline, but nothing moved. No eyes glinting in the firelight, no shadow shifting where it shouldn’t. Just the whispers, growing louder, circling the camp.

"Lucian."

The sound came from directly behind me. I spun, dagger raised—nothing there. Just Nythera, still asleep, her brow furrowed in some dream I couldn’t see.

The whisper came again, this time from the left. The right. Above.

They knew my name, of course they did. Who the hell were they though?

I bared my teeth, more snarl than smile. "Come on, then," I whispered back. "Show yourself." I was careful not to wake my companions, still not sure if I was having a mental breakdown, or if there was an actual threat just outside my perception.

The whispering faded, leaving only silence and the crackle of the fire. They were waiting, letting me know they were there and letting me stew in it.

I sat back down, dagger still clutched tight, and waited right back.

This was going to be a long fucking night.

The source of this c𝓸ntent is fr(e)𝒆novelkiss