Just like that, they were back on the move.
Every corpse left behind them, abandoned to burn.
Neon wished he could’ve given them a proper burial, but he also understood the desire was little more than empty sentimentality —a gesture that would appease no one, least of all the dead.
Rituals were for the living. A means to soothe guilt, to pretend some final act of respect could somehow balance the scales for failing when it mattered. This cruel jungle didn’t afford such conveniently grasped absolution.
All he could do was apologize. For making them think he and Nomine could be trusted. For being powerless, unable to help spare a single life. For still breathing, while they were not.
And then keep walking, vowing the same thing wouldn’t happen again.
Beneath his feet, the vegetation parted reluctantly to carry him further from the crime scene and deeper into the blankets of darkness. Both firelight and bioluminescence faded to the periphery, swallowed by a penumbra that allowed only rough silhouettes to take shape ahead. Nomine navigated it effortlessly, and Neon used his proximity as guidance.
It wasn’t like they had a destination. Or at least, not one that Neon knew of.
But he didn’t bother asking. Same way that he also didn’t ask for further advice. Neon just followed Nomine’s silent lead, trusting that —for now, in their unspoken ceasefire— the veteran would at least have the decency to warn him of any immediate danger. That much seemed reasonable to expect.
Most of his attention went to tinkering with his interface instead, measuring which development for Ours to Steal would serve them best. He read each one carefully, pushing past a fatigue that made his thoughts feel like wading through mud.
<>
Ours to steal can be activated two times with independent cooldowns.
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On physical contact with a target contestant, Ours to Steal may be activated to disable an Augment instead of copying it.
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Ours to Steal can be activated to re-copy any 1 Skill from the last 3 successfully copied Augments.
Out of the three options, Neon immediately discarded Memory. Not because it lacked utility, but simply because at this stage the other two held more practical potential.
He could always count on having Black Metal nearby if he needed a reliable weapon in a pinch, and that meant the only thing he’d really gain was access to Serpents Unleashed and If I’m Burning. None of their tactical applicabilities outweighed what the other development branches promised.
Hasten was good. Very good, even. If he chose it, he’d no longer feel that crushing pressure of needing to make his one shot count. Copying a dud skill wouldn’t mean a potentially life-threatening blunder anymore. No more gambling it all on a single roll.
It was like having two skills for the price of one augment… Technically.
But he chose Denial anyway. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest choice. The fact that he had to touch his target to put the thing in effect was no-small caveat, and yet…
Neon’s thoughts kept going back to Stormy Weather. A skill that wouldn’t do him any good to copy. A skill that had somehow, miraculously, reduced Nomine from unstoppable lethality into forced inactivity —imposing unbreakable rules onto someone who otherwise operated beyond them entirely.
Having the ability to shut down an oppressive augment like that made him feel more secure than doubling his activation chances ever could. There was little he hated more than stumbling on the same stone twice.
Besides, rookies appeared to drastically outnumber veterans and sponsors. Sure, he’d only been at it a single day, yet there had already been six rookies counting himself, two veterans, and only heard mention of a single sponsor.
At this stage, most rookies would probably still be running lean builds. Taking away their augments had insane value in the case his calculations were right.
[Skill: Ours to Steal Lvl 2]
Modesty pays in a world without limits.
<>
There it was. Locked in and permanent. No take-backs.
As for the remaining 50 credits, all he could afford with them were utilitarian, boring-looking clothes or depressing pieces of food that looked about as appetizing as compressed cardboard. Good to know they existed, in the case of an emergency, but any actual worthwhile equipment remained firmly out of spending range.
Interesting how non-augment resources were priced higher than the immediate power progression built into the system itself. Pulling for a new skill or trait sat around 100 credits —but it was pure gambling, just like Nomine warned.
The system was clearly designed to funnel contestants up the augment ladder instead of stockpiling gear. Unless you were rich enough to ignore it entirely.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
He did get something, though. Water. One measly water bottle with a 15 credit price tag. The description read that it would replenish itself every 30 minutes, so it would prove itself useful eventually. Rather soon, in fact, since Neon immediately summoned it from the techno-ether to soothe his dried throat from breathing so much fire and ashes.
"You done?" The indulgence prompted Nomine. Was he thirsty, too? He’d been going all this time without anything, after all. Neon guessed he could offer him a sippi…
No, wait. That’d mean an indirect kissu, wouldn’t it?
His brain short-circuited for half a second before rebooting into indignation. What was he even thinking about!?
If Nomine wanted water, he could damn well buy his own! Screw him! He hadn’t forgiven him yet, so absolutely no sharing!
"I'll take the silence as a yes." Nomine cut through his overthinking, a hidden edge concealed behind his calm tone. “What were you and that woman doing outside?”
Huh.
The question had an unexpected weight to it, part curiosity part territorial suspicion. Was he the controlling type? Guess he did kinda give out those vibes.
Part of Neon didn’t put it past Nomine to already know everything. That, by some system trickery, it had been him all along who set up the whole distress call as bait. And while the idea wasn’t entirely discarded yet, answering his question seemed harmless enough.
"I have zero obligation to tell you." Still, attitude first. He’d take every single chance he got to remind Nomine he wasn’t some obedient, submissive loser. “What are you, my boyfriend? Even if you were, I still wouldn’t tell you, creep.”
Whoa. First time he felt a glare in complete darkness!
Kind of impressive, actually.
"So not even death will make you grow up."
"You could try asking more nicely.” Neon took another sip, the final one before letting the bottle disappear from his hands. “Maybe drop a please in there, too. Do that and I'll reconsider."
"Forget I asked anything.” The exasperation deepened. He was such a child. “Couldn't have been anything worth listening to, anyway."
"Aww, are you sulking? Don’t cry on me now... I'll tell you if it hurts you that much." It was bittersweet to have this kind of conversation with Nomine again. Like a thorn stuck in his heart. Teasing him was so fun... And that made it all the more tragic that they could never see each other eye to eye. “Teitai and I were on our way to attend a distress call.”
>> "We never made it there." Neon’s voice lowered as he spoke, reminded of everything Nomine had done. Things Neon could never fully forgive nor forget. "You were faster than us."
As expected, Nomine refused to engage with the human side of the equation. He only cared about the specifics. Everything else was in the way.
“Distress call? Whose?” He asked, stopping his march mid-stride to turn towards his direction. Did that pique his interest?
Neon’s nature was to needle him for how suddenly chatty he’d become, but any impulse died somewhere between brain and lips. He didn’t feel like making fun of him anymore. Maybe he just needed some sleep. Maybe the joke had stopped being funny after watching four people die.
“Hm? Their name was… Levia, I think.” The reply came out flat, mechanical. “Some sponsor contestant.”
Those words created an immediate shift in Nomine.
One second he was himself. Controlled, distant, and so perfectly economical in movement that you could forget all he was capable of. The next, something inside him cracked its way out, pouring through a fissure that held no frost at all. Even without full sight, Neon could feel its intensity.
Nomine’s entire presence coiled tight, like the spring of a loaded firearm with the safety off. His breathing changed into a sharper rhythm, muscles tensing with an eagerness that made every one of Neon’s survival instincts blare an internal alarm.
“A sponsor, you said?” Nomine’s voice remained soft, but it crawled and slithered its way under Neon’s skin as he recognized its intent. Hunger beyond his calculating cruelty. Hunger stronger than his cold efficiency. “Do you remember the team name? Is the signal still available?”
Neon’s pulse kicked up despite himself, giving him a sensation comparable to swimming too close to a shark that had just caught a blood scent in the waters. Nomine wasn’t asking out of curiosity, or because he had any interest in the bounties of doing some random rich sap a favor.
He wanted their heads. And getting between him and that objective would be the stupidest mistake he could ever make.
“Uh, yeah. I remember. DrachenTech.” Fumbling with urgency, Neon’s eyes darted across the translucent map quickly pulled up on his interface, stomach dropping as he found only empty space where the crimson dot had pulsed an hour ago. “The beacon is gone… But we got close to it.”
>> “I remember where it was. Maybe they died or something?”
The question robbed an amused chuckle out of the veteran, a dreadful sound that made every hair on Neon’s neck stand on end. Nomine looked up, for a moment, catching some impossible sliver of light before his gaze returned.
What Neon saw in the faint gleam of those silver eyes wasn’t emptiness anymore. For the first time… It was joy. Terrible, monstrous, and utterly sincere joy.
“No. They’re not dead.” His denial carried malicious certainty. A ravenous smile appeared on lips that had perfected neutrality —and it looked wrong. So fundamentally wrong. “Take me there.”
>> “That’s our final prey in this hunt.”
Ours. As if there wouldn’t be any question he’d assist him on this. As if their conflict was past history. As if nothing else mattered now that something more important was at stake.
Neon stood frozen for a heartbeat, processing everything he’d just witnessed. The transformation had been so drastic that it felt like staring at an entirely different person using Nomine’s face. Reality caught up to him soon, and he realized he had to move.
Nervously, he corrected their course towards the river. Nomine didn’t follow him at his usual measured distance —he surged forward, every wasted second an offense. His silhouette thrummed with genuine energy instead of his characteristic apathy, taut with barely restrained anticipation that he found a victim worth chasing.
This was how terrifying Nomine looked like when he was excited.
Deluding himself was pointless. Neon knew he was letting himself get swept up by a dangerous current, dragged down an even deeper darkness. Just seeing Nomine like this should’ve sent him sprinting in the opposite direction, to try and put as much jungle between himself and this bloodthirsty monster as physically possible.
Instead… Neon steered him forward, onto whatever massacre awaited at the coordinates of a distress call turned death warrant.
Because if he was being honest —brutally, uncomfortably honest in the way that only happened at three in the morning after the world had already ended twice over— there was a part of him that wanted to see.
Wanted to watch what kind of people were behind all of this.
Wanted to watch Nomine get his hands on them.
Maybe that made him a monster too.