Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst
Chapter 96: I’m Not Dying on an Empty Stomach

Chapter 96: I’m Not Dying on an Empty Stomach

I didn’t sleep, though I didn’t expect to sleep, so it wasn’t exactly a shock, but the complete absence of rest still hit me like a sledge to the jaw. My head throbbed with every heartbeat, a slow yet dull reminder that even if my body wasn’t ready to give in, my mind was dancing on the edge of it.

The shadows didn’t bother us, or rather, they didn’t bother the rest of the group. They still gave me shit throughout the night, and even so, they didn’t actually press into my mind. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, because maybe that was worse. If something attacks, you can fight back. When it just sits there, lurking at the edge of the firelight, you can’t do shit but wonder what happens when the fire dies.

The flames had burned low, barely enough left to cast a flickering halo around our camp. Nythera was curled up so tight that I thought she would produce some golden barrier of protective energy. I watched as her hands were still glowing faintly even in sleep, like she was still prepared to send off healing spells left and right, as though she wanted to subconsciously protect us all. I appreciated the notion, but with everything around us, mana was not possible, and she too likely knew that despite everything going on.

Vance was snoring, which was somehow both reassuring and deeply irritating. If someone can snore like that, they either feel safe enough to sleep, or they’re so fucked they don’t care anymore. Either way, it was grating. I knew that I personally snored, even still, this was unacceptable. One should be better than I, not adopting my ridiculous mannerisms, despite the fact that Vance in himself, was essentially I.

Ronan, of course, hadn’t moved an inch. He just sat there, knees up, arms resting on them like a machine waiting to boot back up. At some point during the night, I’d stopped trying to understand him. It was easier that way. Still, with his recent bout of humor, it was hard to dismiss him as merely an autonomous parasite that obeyed my every command. The way he interacted with Vance was far beyond anything i had understood of him in the prior months I had spnet with the man.

I stretched—which was a big mistake—and pushed myself up to standing with all the grace of a newborn calf on stilts. My bones creaked, my ribs felt like they were held together by spit and spite, and every muscle burned from the inside out. I was in top adventuring form, truly, if not for the raging agony in my body. What I wouldn’t give for the elf’s healing prowess, but given where we were, that wasn’t something that would be given to me with such ease. .

The Scar stretched out ahead of us, an endless expanse of misery and silence. The ground still crunched uncomfortably underfoot, like walking on ancient paper stretched too thin. Every time I stepped, I expected something beneath the dirt to snap or scream.

I gave Ronan a gentle nudge with the toe of my boot. "Your turn for guard duty."

He glanced up. "I was already on duty."

"Yeah, well, you can keep doing that while I try to return to any sense of normality. I gotta say, buddy, my humanity is showing, and it isn’t something I’m terribly excited to advertise."

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. He just stared ahead like the world beyond the fire was showing him something the rest of us couldn’t see, and honestly I wondered what exactly it was Ronan was seeing through those eyes. I always felt like he was off, but with everything going on, the threat of magical nullification and his willingness to just charge on into the one thing that could counter everything he seemed to have spent his life building up to... Shit was fucked up, and i needed answers. Still, my experience with Ronan told me that I wouldn’t get what I wanted by simply asking him. He wanted to remain a riddle that needed to be soilved, so if I were to figure anything out, I would need to do it myself.

I shuffled over to Nythera, crouching beside her, hand hovering awkwardly over her shoulder. Waking up a fragile, traumatized healer in a cursed wasteland felt like the kind of thing that could earn me a black eye, or at least some creative swearing.

"Nythera," I said softly. Nothing.

"Nythera, time to get up." Still nothing.

I gave her the gentlest shake I could manage, and she startled awake so violently I nearly fell on my ass. Her eyes were wide, breath coming in sharp gasps as she scrambled back before her brain caught up and realized I wasn’t a cultist or a monster. Just me. Unfortunately for her.

"Sorry," she whispered, smoothing her hair back with trembling fingers. "Nightmares"

"Yeah," I said. "I get it, and I’m sorry to bother you, but if you’re anything like me, it may have been a reprieve from the terrors."

She managed a thin smile, but the exhaustion in her eyes made it clear that whatever rest she got, it hadn’t been worth it. She was as haunted as I was, if not more. I still hadn’t gathered the courage to ask her exactly what had happened those few days ago, because I knew that I, myself, wouldn’t have wanted to talk about it. However, it could be cathartic... The point was that shit had happened to all of us, and if she wanted to share, she could, but now maybe wasn’t the time.

Vance woke up next, because I kicked him in the boot out of pure spite for a combination of his snoring and the several boots he placed in my gut. I still wasn’t over what he did to me, despite it perhaps being justified. Ronan played a joke on us, and it was a legitimate delight–if Vance couldn’t understand that, he didn’t deserve to be a part of our group. I think he might have been one of the few people who knew how serious Ronan was, so honestly, the bitch needed to get over it. Still... He grumbled some colorful curses, flipped me off, and then stood, looking like absolute hell.

"Good morning, sunshine," I said.

"Go fuck yourself," he replied, which was how I knew we were still friends. I couldn’t expect him to get over everything overnight, and the fact that he was so hostile towards me, told me that we were still on the same page.

We packed up what little camp we had and set off again, deeper into the Scar. The further we went, the more it felt like walking through someone else’s nightmare. The shadows still lurked at the edges of my vision, but they didn’t draw closer. They didn’t need to. The weight of them was enough to make the air feel heavier with every step. I wanted to reach out to them, but every time I considered it, flashes of Morgana glimpsed in my vision and I felt the need to distance myself as much as possible.

Even the horizon was fucked up—like the land itself bent away from us, refusing to let us see too far ahead. Every so often, the ground would dip, and I’d get this stomach-turning sense of vertigo, like the earth itself was working against us, dipping down to swallow us and prevent the party from seeing the glory of a sunset or sunrise. It was as though the scar wasn’t satisfied with absorbing mana alone, it needed to take in all of our hopes and dreams as well.

Nythera tried casting a minor light spell at one point, to give me a little lift as well as show the party that this strange land didn’t have total dominion over us. Unfortunately, as expected, it fizzled out halfway through, barely managing a flicker before it collapsed in on itself like a dying star.

"I don’t get the point of this place," she muttered, mostly to herself.

"Same," I muttered back. "To be fair, magic and I haven’t been on great terms for a few months now. Even my teacher was an abusive asshole, so I’m not terribly broken up about not being able to cast at this point."

"Yet here we are," Vance said, deadpan. "The healer, the sorcerer, the swordsman, and the bastard that created most of us, infusing your own god damned mana into our forms. Y’know, I bet a large amount of the suffering we are dealing with–."

I had to interrupt him, Nythera had no idea what our backstory was and I’d rather keep things off that way, "First of all," I said, "I’m not made of mana, and neither are you."

Vance caught on quickly and forced back his response, "Whatever," he muttered, leaving it at that.

We walked for what felt like hours. Time didn’t work right here. The sun didn’t shift in the sky the way it should. Everything felt suspended, stretched too thin, caught between worlds.

And then, at long last, we saw it. The dungeon entrance.

It wasn’t what I expected—not some massive, looming gateway carved into a mountainside. No grand archways or ominous stone doors. Just a hole in the earth, a yawning maw where the Scar itself seemed to collapse inward, swallowing light and sound into absolute blackness.

No sigils. No warnings. No guards, just a hole.

"Well," Vance said. "That’s not much of a welcome.."

Nythera swallowed hard, unsure how to respond to the source of her woes, and what would likely be the death of all of us.

Ronan just walked forward, seeing it as an opportunity rather than an ominous entry to hell itself.

"Hold up," I called. "We can’t just charge in there blind."

Ronan stopped, barely.

"What’s the plan then, fearless leader?" Vance asked, arms crossed and eyes ablaze..

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"Step one," I said. "We’re gonna eat. I’m not going into a cursed hole on an empty stomach."

Vance blinked. "That’s the plan?"

"Step two," I said, "We go into the cursed hole."

"That’s the whole plan."

"Unless you’ve got a better one."

Vance groaned. "We’re all gonna die."

"Probably," I said, dropping onto a rock to dig through my pack for whatever sad excuse for rations I still had left. "But at least we won’t do it hungry."