Grey's legs burned with exhaustion as he sprinted through the dense jungle, the thick canopy above offering no respite from the heat that clung to his skin. Four hours had passed since he had started running, pushing himself to the brink of collapse. The wild terrain blurred around him, but his mind was focused on a singular thought: How did they find me?
He came to a sudden halt, his body sagging against the trunk of an ancient tree, its bark rough and weathered. The faint scent of damp earth filled his nostrils as he fought to catch his breath. The world spun for a moment, dizziness overtaking him. Blood, once a trickle, now flowed sluggishly from his hand, the wound inflicted by that damned summoned beast. His gaze dropped to his palm, the crimson stains stark against his pale skin.
How? he thought again, frustration bubbling within him. I changed my name. I wore masks, concealed myself as best as I could, How did the church find me?
Grey's mind raced, a storm of thoughts clashing within him, but no answers came. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger, an instinctual move, but the pain from his hand flared sharply, a reminder that his strength was not what it once was.
This injury... He winced as he flexed his fingers, will I ever be able to use my hands again the same way?
The weight of that thought almost crushed him, but there was no time to linger on it. His only focus now was survival. He had to keep moving. He needed food. Water. A place to heal. And perhaps more importantly—he needed to evade the church. They could strike at any moment, and he knew they would not show mercy. Not after what he had done.
Grey stood slowly, muscles aching, and forced himself to move once more, heading north with grim determination. He didn't allow himself to rest for more than a few minutes; the jungle had no mercy, and neither did the people chasing him. Each step took him deeper into uncertainty, but survival was all that mattered now.
Hours passed without a single break. The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, distorted shadows over the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of decay, the jungle's own essence wrapping itself around him like a suffocating shroud. Yet, Grey pressed on, his eyes scanning the darkening landscape.
There. A village.
A faint glow from the distance flickered like a beacon, guiding him through the dense underbrush. His heart surged with cautious hope. It was a small settlement, no larger than a few dozen houses. Grey's pulse quickened, but he remained calm, instinctively crouching low and moving with silent precision. The church's reach was vast, and he knew better than to trust anyone in these uncertain times. This town could be a trap, an outpost for the church's agents.
He waited, watching from the shadows as night fully enveloped the land. Only once the last rays of daylight faded into the inky blackness did Grey make his move. He closed his eyes, activating his authority—a strange, almost palpable force that surged through his body, rendering him invisible to the world. No one could see him, not even the most discerning eyes.
He slipped into the village without a sound, his footfalls barely disturbing the dust on the ground. He moved with purpose, careful not to draw attention as he approached one of the homes. From within, voices carried in the still night air.
"Dr. Atlas, thank you for the treatment," a middle-aged man said as he stepped out of a small cottage. His tone was warm, almost reverential. "I'll pay the second half of the payment soon, I promise."
A voice, gravelly but kind, responded. "I trust you. Go now, rest. We'll settle the rest another time."
The man nodded and turned, leaving the house. Grey's keen hearing caught the tail end of his thoughts as he walked away. Dr. Atlas... he's the only healer in the area who lets us pay in installments. Truly, the God of Light has blessed us with such a good soul.
Inside, the door clicked shut. The room beyond fell into silence, save for the faint sound of footsteps on wood. Grey's senses tingled. He wasn't alone.
His body moved before his mind caught up. In a flash, he was inside, the door creaking open under his power. The figure of Dr. Atlas sat by the bedside, his tired eyes drifting shut. But the moment the door opened, he looked up in alarm.
Grey was already moving, his hand flashing out with brutal precision. A single strike, and Dr. Atlas collapsed unconscious to the floor, a ragged breath escaping his lips before he fell still.
Grey stood over him, his breath shallow, as he surveyed the room with sharp, calculating eyes. Silence pressed in around him, but he spoke, his voice low, a mockery of civility. "Dr. Atlas... I would like to book an appointment."
There was no response. The old man was already lost to the darkness, and Grey was left alone with his thoughts, as cold as the night itself.