CHAPTER 59: THE ONE WHO CRAWLS

The man stood over Avin, his shadow swallowing him whole.

That same wicked grin crawled back across his bloodstained face as he tilted his head, the crimson of his eyes reflecting against the edge of his sword.

"Do you want to give it to me," he said softly, "or do you want me to take it off your corpse?"

Avin’s heart pounded against his ribs like it was trying to escape.

He could feel the sharp kiss of cold steel digging into the hollow of his throat — just deep enough to draw a single line of blood. A droplet slid down the blade and fell onto his collar.

The man’s smile widened. "No answer?"

He sighed mockingly, as though disappointed. "Then I’ll take that as permission."

He lifted the sword high, its point catching the sunlight that trickled through the forest canopy — for an instant, the blade glimmered like a divine thing, a weapon of finality.

Avin’s eyes shut tight. His fingers trembled around his sword hilt.

This is it... he thought. Again. I’m really going to die again...

Then came the sound.

A sharp, wet stab — followed by a horrific ripping noise that sent flocks of crows scattering from the trees.

The world seemed to stop breathing.

Avin’s eyes flew open.

No pain.

No darkness.

The man was still standing before him — but something was wrong.

Two thick, blackened spires had pierced through his chest from behind. His eyes went wide with shock as blood bubbled out of his mouth. The two spires began to pull apart from each other, spreading his chest cavity wider, the sound of tearing muscle and bone echoing like fabric being ripped in two.

In one horrifying motion, the man’s body split from chest to skull — a clean, vertical dissection that ended with both halves being hurled in opposite directions.

Avin froze, staring as the halves of his killer hit the trees with sickening thuds. His breathing hitched; he couldn’t even form words.

From behind the remains emerged the monster — a colossal, nightmare-shaped centipede that filled the air with the sound of chittering mandibles. Its armored segments gleamed in dark green and brown, each plate larger than Avin’s torso. Rows of glossy black legs rippled in unison as it reared up, towering over him like a grotesque monument.

Two serrated mandibles — the same that had just torn a man apart — clicked together, dripping with dark blood.

The thing hissed, a low, vibrating sound that made the air quiver. Then, as if roaring in triumph, it threw its head back and unleashed an earth-shaking screech. Birds scattered again. Trees bent from the force of its cry.

Avin’s throat went dry.

He dared not even breathe.

He glanced at the ground, eyes catching the red waistband of the fallen figure — the one who’d almost killed him.

"Oh... shit."

Moving on instinct, Avin scrambled forward on his hands and knees, fingers snatching the waistband from the dirt. It crumbled instantly into dust, scattering into glowing embers. Beneath him, a faint crimson light shimmered — his own waistband number shifting.

He didn’t have time to check it.

The millipede’s head snapped downward, its multiple eyes locking onto him. The forest dimmed under its shadow.

The creature raised its front body high into the air — dozens of legs flailing wildly — and then it slammed down with enough force to make the earth quake. Avin rolled to the side just in time. The creature’s mandibles plunged into the ground where he had been, gouging a hole so deep it might as well have been a grave.

"Shit!" Avin gasped, getting to his feet and sprinting through the undergrowth.

The monster followed instantly, the thunderous drumming of its countless legs filling the forest with chaos. Each step crushed roots and rocks alike, splintering trees into fragments.

Avin dodged between trunks, leapt over fallen logs, and ducked under snapping branches. The air behind him was filled with flying bark and dirt as the millipede plowed through everything in its path.

It didn’t go around obstacles — it erased them.

His lungs burned. His legs screamed. The rhythm of his heart was deafening in his ears.

"Why does it always have to be me!?" he shouted breathlessly, weaving between two trees as the beast smashed through them, splitting them apart like twigs.

Every step he took felt heavier than the last. His body was running on fear and instinct. His mind screamed at him to keep moving, even as his vision blurred at the edges.

Then his foot caught a stone.

He fell — violently.

"Ah, shit!"

He tumbled down a slope, sliding through mud and leaves before crashing into the bottom of a wide, unnatural pit.

"Ugh—" He groaned, forcing himself to his knees. The pit was deep, its walls steep and smooth — artificial, almost.

Above him, the beast loomed, its shadow stretching across the pit’s walls. It reared up higher than before, segments scraping against each other with a metallic rasp. The faint green light on its carapace shimmered with each motion.

Avin looked up, eyes wide.

"Oh no..."

The beast was charging.

He could hear the hiss in its throat, the grinding of its mandibles. It was going to strike — and if it did, the pit would be his grave.

He reached for his sword — his only weapon, his only chance. His hands shook, blood slicking the hilt from the cuts he’d earned running through the woods. He didn’t have time to think.

He just swung.

The air around him rippled — faintly, but enough to make his skin crawl. His sword flashed, its metal glowing brighter as it elongated mid-swing.

The familiar hum returned — that same energy that once turned the tide against the Abyss Scorpion. Only now, it felt unstable, incomplete — as if he hadn’t given it the right command, as if the blade itself was trying to remember its power.

The arc of the swing released a weak but concentrated slash of golden energy.

It hit the millipede square in the head, slicing off one of its massive mandibles.

The creature screamed — a high-pitched, bone-rattling cry that shook the ground. It twisted violently, flailing its legs in pain. Its remaining mandible snapped open and closed with a wet crack as it thrashed.

Avin didn’t wait. He didn’t think.

He turned and bolted into the forest again, leaving behind the echo of its scream.

He didn’t know where he was running to — only that he couldn’t stop. His body felt hollow, his legs moving on pure will.

Branches whipped against his arms and face. Mud clung to his boots. He stumbled, caught himself, and pushed forward again.

Finally, through the chaos, he saw it — a dark shape in the trees.

A cave.

He didn’t question it. He sprinted for the entrance, diving inside just as his legs gave out.

The air inside was damp and cool, thick with the scent of moss and earth. The walls shimmered faintly with mineral deposits that caught what little moonlight seeped through the cracks. The floor sloped inward, littered with dry leaves — surprisingly clean, no sign of bones or beasts. It felt almost safe.

Avin collapsed near the back of the cave, his breath coming out in shallow gasps. His whole body ached. He pressed his palm to his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat begin to slow.

He turned his head weakly, eyes catching the faint red glow of his waistband.

The number had changed — 105.

He blinked, barely processing it. A small, incredulous smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Oh... yeah..."

And then sleep took him — not the gentle kind, but the heavy, collapsing kind that comes after escaping death.

The last thing he heard before the darkness claimed him was the faint echo of the millipede’s distant roar — muffled, furious, and hungry.