Realm Lord
Chapter 193: Almost There

Chapter 193: Almost There

Arthur did not sleep that night. The combination of his restless nerves and his designated turn keeping watch meant that he barely even allowed his eyes to close for more than a few seconds at a time throughout the endless darkness. Each moment stretched like an eternity, filled with the constant awareness of that growing malevolence within his skull and the hypervigilant attention to every shadow and sound that might herald approaching danger.

During his watch shift, he had positioned himself at the edge of their makeshift camp with his back against the cool metal of their vehicle, his eyes scanning the desolate landscape with mechanical precision. The night air was crisp and carried the familiar scents of dust and decay that had become the omnipresent perfume of their broken world. In the distance, the twisted silhouettes of dead trees stood like sentinels against the star-filled sky, their gnarled branches creating an intricate web of shadows that seemed to shift and dance with each subtle breeze.

Every sound made him tense—the soft whisper of wind through hollow structures, the distant cry of some nocturnal creature, even the gentle breathing of his sleeping companions. His hand never strayed far from his weapons, and more than once he found himself unconsciously reaching for the familiar weight of his odachi before remembering that he couldn’t trust himself to summon it anymore. The memory of his uncontrolled manifestation during his episode made his skin crawl with shame and fear.

The hours crawled by with agonizing slowness, each minute marked by the steady progression of stars across the heavens and the gradual shift of shadows as the night deepened around them. Arthur’s exhaustion was bone-deep, a weariness that went beyond simple physical fatigue to encompass the very essence of his being. Yet sleep remained impossible, held at bay by the twin barriers of necessity and terror.

When his watch finally ended and Cara quietly took his place, Arthur had retreated to his designated resting area with the grim knowledge that he would spend the remaining hours until dawn lying motionless in a parody of sleep. His body ached for rest, his mind screamed for the temporary oblivion that unconsciousness could provide, but he dared not surrender to those needs. The risk was too great, the potential consequences too severe.

As he lay there in the darkness, staring up at the vehicle’s worn ceiling, Arthur could feel the thing in his head continuing its relentless growth. The sensation was becoming more defined with each passing hour, more impossible to ignore or dismiss as imagination. What had once been a vague awareness was now a constant, throbbing presence that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat, as if it were somehow feeding off his life force to fuel its expansion.

The pain had intensified as well, evolving from a dull ache to sharp spikes of agony that would suddenly lance through his consciousness without warning. Each pulse brought with it waves of nausea and disorientation that left him gripping the edges of his blanket with white-knuckled desperation. But worse than the physical discomfort was the growing certainty that whatever was happening to him was accelerating, that time was running out before he crossed some invisible threshold from which there would be no return.

Before he knew it, the first pale fingers of dawn began to creep across the eastern horizon, painting the sky in soft pastels that gradually brightened into the familiar golds and oranges of sunrise. The sight should have been beautiful, a daily reminder that their world, despite all its horrors, still retained some measure of natural wonder. Instead, Arthur found himself viewing the approaching day with a mixture of relief and dread—relief that he had survived another night without incident, and dread at what the daylight hours might bring.

His companions stirred as the light grew stronger, their bodies responding to the ancient rhythms that governed human sleep cycles even in their broken world. Cara was the first to fully awaken, her years of survival experience having taught her to transition from sleep to full alertness with remarkable speed. She stretched the kinks from her muscles and began the familiar routine of breaking camp, her movements efficient and purposeful.

Myah and Aziel followed suit, gathering their scattered possessions and preparing for another day of travel. The routine was so well-established that it required little conscious thought or discussion—each person knew their role and executed it with the smooth coordination that came from months of shared hardship and mutual dependence.

They made it through the night without encountering any external dangers, which in their world was always cause for cautious celebration. No corrupted creatures had stumbled across their camp, no hostile human survivors had attempted to rob or harm them, no environmental hazards had threatened their safety. By the standards of their daily existence, it had been a remarkably peaceful evening.

Well, unless you counted the ticking time bomb that was Arthur himself.

But either way, they were back on the road as the sun climbed higher in the sky, their vehicle once again carrying them across the endless wasteland toward their destination. The familiar rhythm of travel settled over them like a comfortable blanket—the steady hum of the engine, the gentle swaying motion as they navigated the uneven terrain, the occasional burst of conversation to break the monotony of the journey.

Today held special significance for all of them, a sense of anticipation that made the miles seem to pass more quickly than usual. They were finally set to reach their first major destination: Fort Breton. The very name carried with it promises of safety, comfort, and normalcy that had become almost mythical concepts in their daily struggle for survival.

They were all excited and eager to reach a place that offered some semblance of safety, even if it was only temporary. The prospect of spending even one night sleeping in a real bed, protected by actual walls and guarded by organized defenses, was almost too wonderful to believe. For months they had made do with whatever shelter they could find or create, always sleeping with one eye open and one hand on their weapons. The thought of truly relaxing, even for a few hours, was intoxicating.

Arthur shared in this general excitement, but his eagerness to reach Fort Breton stemmed from completely different reasons than his companions’. While they looked forward to rest and respite, he could wait no longer to see a doctor and finally try to figure out what the hell was happening to him. The military installation would surely have medical personnel, people with training and equipment who might be able to shed some light on his condition.

The hope that answers might finally be within reach gave him strength to endure the growing agony in his head and the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him at any moment. He clung to that hope like a drowning man clinging to driftwood, knowing that it might be the only thing standing between him and complete despair.

Hours went by in this state of tense anticipation, the landscape gradually changing as they drew closer to their destination. The familiar scenery of desolate grass plains and distant forests that had surrounded them for days began to give way to something different. The vegetation became sparser, the terrain more varied, and the occasional signs of past human habitation more frequent.

Soon, the ruins of a large town began to appear on the horizon, growing steadily larger as they approached. What had once been a thriving community was now a testament to the devastating power of whatever catastrophe had befallen their world. The skeletal remains of buildings stretched out before them like broken teeth, their walls blackened by fire and their roofs collapsed under the weight of years and neglect.

The burnt and destroyed houses passed by their windows in an endless parade of devastation as they drove through the city. Each structure told its own story of tragedy and loss—homes where families had once lived and laughed and loved, now reduced to empty shells that housed nothing but shadows and memories. Destroyed cars sat where they had been abandoned, their metal frames twisted and rusted into abstract sculptures of despair.

Debris littered the streets like the bones of a massive corpse, creating obstacles that Cara had to navigate around with careful precision. Chunks of concrete, twisted metal beams, shattered glass, and countless other fragments of civilization created a maze of destruction that spoke to the violence and chaos that had consumed this place.

But what caught Aziel and Arthur’s attention much more than the houses and destroyed cars and all the debris scattered throughout the ruins were the bodies. So many dead bodies.

They lay everywhere—in doorways, sprawled across sidewalks, crumpled beside overturned vehicles, scattered through what had once been parks and playgrounds. Some were mere skeletons, picked clean by scavengers and bleached white by years of exposure to the elements. Others were in various states of decay, their clothing and flesh telling stories of more recent deaths.

The sheer number was staggering, overwhelming in its scope and implications. This hadn’t been a gradual evacuation or a planned withdrawal—this had been a massacre, a sudden and complete annihilation of an entire population. The positioning of the bodies suggested panic and chaos, people fleeing in all directions before being cut down by some overwhelming force.

Arthur felt his stomach clench with nausea as they passed through this graveyard of human civilization, each corpse a reminder of the fragility of life and the terrible price that had been paid for whatever had transformed their world into this hellscape. The sight triggered memories of his own close encounters with death, the moments when he had come within heartbeats of joining the ranks of the silent dead that now surrounded them.

Beside him, Aziel had gone pale, his usual stoic composure cracking under the weight of witnessing such comprehensive devastation. His injured arm throbbed in sympathy with the pain that seemed to emanate from every broken building and scattered bone, a physical manifestation of the horror that pressed against their consciousness from all sides.

The vehicle continued its steady progress through the ruins, carrying them deeper into this monument to human mortality while they all struggled to process what they were seeing. Each turn revealed new scenes of devastation, new evidence of the terrible forces that had swept through this place like a tide of destruction, leaving nothing but death and desolation in their wake.