In the span of a moment, feelings of dread turned into ecstasy. Although it was not Oscuridaon whom his sword of gold would devour, a faerie would suffice as a small appetizer. Hurling the dead body of the Vultureman aside, he turned his head to look in all directions. The beam of light that had pierced through the fierce demon was surely the magical arrow of a Sanritem Elite. Having trained and fought alongside those mighty incarnates of power, Myungsoo was more than aware of their attacks, those gleaming beams and blasts with which they kill.

 A smile that bespoke of a maddening euphoria stretched upon his face. His bloodlust had not been sated by the onslaught it had unleashed when his sister died. Now was the perfect time to satiate his thirst for Sanritem blood. Yet, it behooved him to consider why such a one would save his life. Did they not know of the massacre he had wrought? Myungsoo mused this for a second.

The third of the Vulturemen interrupted his stream of thought. He met its eyes and as it were, his delirious smile and widened eyes inspired a fear in the winged demon.

Adrenaline surging through his veins, Myungsoo parried the slash of its claws and quickly beheaded the fowl demon with a single upward cut, its blood spurting on his face like a warm and welcome summer rain. He relished in the act of killing. The sensation of his sword slicing through meat made his whole body tingle with electricity. This was not so before, when his sister was still alive. No, back then it was different.

He would kill only when he was ordered, when he confronted insurrection, or when he felt a statement was necessary. The feeling of his sword hewing a body in two filled him with a disgust, a distinct kind of horror his mind bypassed in order to protect what was most important to him, Myungeun. Whispers of his conscious had to be ignored in order to listen to the melodic cantor of his sister.

But that was when she was still alive. Now she is dead and he walks alone.

Myungsoo repeatedly stabbed his sword into the convulsing body of the Vultureman. "How does it feel now?! You full yet?!" 

In his peripheral vision, his eye had noticed the remains of the presumed Adamah slave. He groaned as a sobriety overcame him. He stood silently with a cold breeze blowing across his face, his gaze fixed on the corpse. Slowly walking over to the remains, he could sense his sister, though impossible it may sound, prompting him to bury it. "I know. I know." 

He sighed as he looked into the empty eye sockets of the corpse. He was a fool to not recognize the obvious: that body that was decaying, that corpse that reeked of death, that ugly picture of life's inglorious end was a mirror image of his own soul. His soul, whatsoever remained of it, was dying and giving way to a distorted, corrupt semblance of what it once was.

Another rain began to fall, Myungsoo finished covering the grave with sand and patted it with his foot to check his work. Tilting his head up and meeting the drops of rain with a welcome, he cast a wistful smile, remembering his sister, thinking he made her proud. Then he was brought back to reality when he remembered the beam of light that had killed the second of the Vulturemen.

His eyes quickly searched for the killer, sword ready and in hand. The sound of rain deafened his ears some, but not enough to drive him to a panic. All of his senses were concentrated on finding the presumed Sanritem Elite. He spotted a curious thing. A bowshot away, he was stunned to see someone running to him.

It was a figure clad in a golden cuirass, a male for sure, running toward him with a beaming smile. Myungsoo was perplexed and maybe disturbed by the person's smile. Why was he smiling so broadly? Maybe it was a Sanritem Elite that wound up lost in the desert and was glad to finally meet up with him?

Impossible. He would've been notified of such a report when still general of the army. Whatever the case, Myungsoo clutched the hilt of his sword and grinned, soon enough he would taste the blood of his enemies. 

As the man finally entered the range of his sword, Myungsoo felt his breath stolen by the sight of the golden armor the man wore. It was covered in curious knobs and switches, with wiring peaking from several cracks that stretched across the armor. His hand loosened his grip on his sword's hilt. Who was this man, Myungsoo questioned. Why was he wearing the same protective armor his father once wore?

Over one century had passed since his eyes last laid hold on the golden sheen of his father's armor, but the memory had been branded, seared into his mind and was unequivocal when it came to identifying it. Who was this man? A time traveler? A savior? Or a simple scavenger that luckily found the armor under who knows where?

His knees buckled with a weakness and his breaths became sharp. "Who are you?!"

He swallowed his spit as his eyes took in the whole range of the man standing before him. He was tanned by many suns, a stature similar to his own, wearing furry trunks much like him, and with other things strapped onto his body that shouldn't be there, namely two weapons of "arcane origins".

Myungsoo felt his heart beat in his ears as memories of his father perforated his mind. "Who are you?!"

 "I am Dongwoo, faithful servant of Nesher!"

 "What?!"

His soul was struck by lightning. Myungsoo dropped to his knees and began to laugh uncontrollably. The two miserable orbs he had for eyes on his face were fully opened and glassy; thin trails of slaver streamed down his mouth and his whole body spasmed. Most sane people would have run away from such obscene and unhinged hysteria, but not the person standing in front of him.

Dongwoo knelt beside him and did his best to imitate Myungsoo, thinking it was some weird sort of welcome. Myungsoo paid him no heed, his sick laughter was the only thing that entered his ears. The demons lurking in his soul had finally claimed his sanity. The naming of the deity known as Nesher, his former god, had driven him over a pit of lunacy.

Dongwoo stopped laughing, his jaw and cheekbones sore and tired. He moved a little so that he could sit in front of the deranged man. He didn't catch his name, so he patiently sat with his legs neatly folded over each other and waited for him to stop laughing. The rain had stopped, but his laughter was unceasing. Dongwoo yawned and waved his hand in front of the man, no response.

He gently closed his jaw shut and laid him down on the sand. His laughter was finally halted and his eyes stared ahead as if they were looking to a person beyond their reach. Dongwoo craned his head and looked up, in the same direction the man was looking but saw no one there. He had fallen asleep, signaled by his slow breaths. Dongwoo followed suit, laying next to him like a loyal dog.

 .......

The sun's intense light and heat washed over Myungsoo who was lying supine on the desert sands. It was the unbearable heat which made his skin burn and blister that awoke him. He sat up and processed all of last night's events as best as he could, fighting back an intense headache that would incapacitate others.

Turning to his left, he found the stranger he met last night, Dongwoo, asleep with his mouth gaped open. Myungsoo was considering several possibilities. He could kill him and rob him of his out-of-place belongings, or let him live; perhaps he held some valuable information he could use.

Quietly standing up, he raised his golden sword; he had opted for the former choice. He couldn't stand seeing a Sanritem wretch in armor belonging to his father. With his sword at the apex of its reach, reflecting blinding rays of sunlight, Myungsoo cursed the Sanritem under his breath. He sliced through the air but then something peculiar transpired. Right before his blade beheaded Dongwoo, his arms were frozen in place.

Myungsoo struggled with all his mighty thews to kill him, but he couldn't. A strange force had frozen his arms from moving. It was the ghost of his sister that told him not to do it. Myungsoo scowled and cursed at the meddling phantom. 

Dongwoo awoke to the swearing of a madman and gasped when he saw the gilted edge inches above his jugular. He slowly lifted the blade and crawled backwards. Much too frightened to speak a word, Myungsoo was the first to engage. "Who are you?"

 Calming himself as best as he could manage in that precarious situation and answering with a bewildered tone, his vision focused on the long-haired man who loomed over him with his shadow casted down at him, "Dongwoo, servant of Nesher."

 Myungsoo scoffed defiantly. "What do you mean by that? Sanritem filth!"

 "What? I-I," he stammered. "I'm Adamah, see-" he indicated his ears, short and not at all like the pointed ones of the Sanritem.

Myungsoo sheathed his sword and growled, "I see now." He was talking to Myungeun. Only he could see her. 

Dongwoo heaved a little, uncertain of what to do. Last night he was happy to finally meet another Adamah, thanking Nesher with all his being for granting him a long enough life to see another of his kind- it was a moment of mixed emotions for him, running with joy to speak to his new friend while simultaneously fighting back the tears that came from nostalgic memories of his mother. But presently, he was cold to the touch with the hairs on his body pricked up. Why was he met with such apprehension?

Dongwoo mulled over whether he had done something offensive to warrant such hostility, whether he stepped on a boundary he shouldn't have stepped on. He just didn't know, and that irked him badly. He wanted conciliation.

 "Did I do something wrong?"

 Myungsoo turned his back and replied with words as frigid as his gaze, "No! Go away before my sword cuts you in two! I've a bloody business to carry out!"

Dongwoo was perplexed, his chest still heaving from the image of the sword above his neck, of its radiant and dazzling shimmer blinding his eyes. Why was this man so angry? As the man began to walk ahead, leaving him behind in a pool of confusion, Dongwoo scrambled to get up but found his knees too weak to support him.

"Help me, Nesher."

There was a mystifying gravity to the long-haired figure Dongwoo could not readily assess. There was something about his sombre eyes, or rather the glimpse into his soul that they provided that beckoned Dongwoo to follow him. It was more than mere curiosity for sure, almost an instinct or a reflex, it was like an irrepressible magnetism that drove him to follow after him. 

 "What is your name, friend?"

 Myungsoo, a scowl on his face, turned to look at Dongwoo. "Friend? I am no friend of yours. Nor do I have need of one."

 Dongwoo boldly sped up his pace and began to walk alongside him. "Your name? Mines is Dongwoo."

 "Myungsoo. Now leave! Before my sword hacks you apart limb by limb!"

Myungsoo was incapable of actually realizing his threat. It was an impossible reality. He couldn't even if he wanted to. Not while the ghost of his sister strode alongside him. Her apparition made him fume with a hellish anger. He had done his part and buried her body as best he could. He even buried the body of a random slave and killed the Vultureman who dared to feast on its rotting flesh. He even spared the nuisance that called himself Dongwoo! What more did she want?

 It was unfair. He lived all of his life for her, and now even after death, she still asked more of him. His open hands turned to fists and his teeth began to grind away as her lithe phantom seemed to smile at him, as her stride became like that of a young child, happy and eager to reach her most favorite place, her steps more of a dance than anything else. He knew, or at least he had a vague feeling that her illusory manifestation was not actually her real self, coming back from beyond the grave.

He wasn't a dumb idiot who trifled with superstitious beliefs, who bent the knee to silly fables as though they were deities. No, he sensed her phantom was a trick of the mind. Still, this knowledge did not aid him at all. It held a real power and it was all because of how real it looked, how convincing it was. The impotency, the inability to act against the desires of this "ghost" drove him mad.

 "I saw you from afar and tried to help. The demon nearly killed you!"

 Myungsoo stopped in his tracks and locked eyes with Dongwoo. "It was you then... Why did you help me?"

 "Because- have I need of a reason to save?"

 Myungsoo smirked. "No, nor do you need much of a reason to murder. Now leave!"

Dongwoo tried to make sense of Myungsoo's remark, but couldn't really understand what he was trying to convey; he just kept walking alongside him. "Where are we going?"

 Myungsoo ignored his question. He, too, was unsure of where to go. His immediate concern was to leave the desert, staying there for an extended amount of time was dangerous, it was to knock on death's door. The intense heat brings both physical and mental exhaustion, food is severely lacking, water- there was no oasis besides the capital city, and there was always the chance of encountering more Vulturemen or other diabolical beings that prey on those stranded in the fatal wonderland.

He was also uncertain whether the Sanritem guards knew of his survival- whether they perceived him as dead or living. If they saw him as dead, then there was no other thing he could ask for. They would be unaware like slumbering sheep when he would come as a terrible wolf and tear their bodies asunder. All this was mere speculation, but he couldn't risk being discovered alive.

 "Where do you live?"

 Myungsoo brandished his arms and mocked, "Here! Are you so blind as to not see? I make my bed here in this hell, in this valley of death!"

Dongwoo froze and stood in quiet cogitation. He was awed by his words. Nesher's words, when he told him to meet up with another echoed in his ears. Myungsoo had repeated the very words of Nesher. He mused if whether this strong urge to follow the man of ruthless words was all an act of a god, if it was the god to whom he prayed every night that had planted this desire in the soft soil of his heart. Dongwoo felt goosebumps, his skin crawling with the tingling sensation of hairs becoming small prickly needles and his blood running cold through each individual blue vein in his body.

Myungsoo pressed on without looking back. Whether Dongwoo stayed behind and died of starvation or dehydration, it mattered not. He was steadfastly determined to make it to less hostile grounds by the next morning. His own stomach growled for food and he was surely not going to deny himself food as Myungeun did those forty days. He scorned the idea of praying for help.

Unlike his sister that believed she would be answered, he knew better. He knew that the only one that could help him was himself. He'd be damned if he accepted help from someone else. The sweat on his brows, the pains and aches in his muscles- that's what he believed in. The two walked alone for hours until Myungsoo halted. Dongwoo was stumped by his sudden stop.

He dropped to the ground and pressed his ears against the sand. 

 "What is it?" Dongwoo asked, quite loudly.

 "Quiet or I'll cut your tongue!"

 Dongwoo, at first stunned, proceeded to copy Myungsoo. "What are we doing?" he whispered.

Myungsoo growled, "I will hunt. The ground shakes from underneath, the telltale sign of a wyrm moving beneath the ground."

 "What's a wyrm?"

 "You wear the armor of an advanced race and have slush for brains? To wit, the brains of a troglodyte? From whence cometh you to not know of desert perils like the wyrm?"

 "Laroo."

 "The devil is that? I've not heard of such a city in my hundred years!"

 Dongwoo's eyes bulged out at Myungsoo's claim of living a century. Such a thing sounded alien to him. Not wanting to anger him, he succinctly answered, "It's a jungle."

 Myungsoo, now on one knee, began to draw his sword from off his back. The setting sun bathed the landscape in lurid reds and yellows, and the warrior also bathed in its light, reflecting off him with an ethereal glow of incomparable beauty. Dongwoo could not guess the reason why he was drawing his sword. Still, he braced himself for a battle unknown and clutched his light-ray shooter holstered on his hip.