Eater Blade: Grinding in Apocalypse

Savier looked out over the bridge again. "So this is it, huh? That's the way to the Middleland."

Johnquis nodded. "System said so. Once you hit Steel rank, the wall lifts. You're allowed to cross."

He stepped closer to the railing, staring out at that distant land. "Middleland's where the real grind starts. Bigger nests. Smarter eaters. Deadlier classes."

A beat.

"Everything's leveled up… and evolved."

Savier was quiet.

Then he chuckled, dry and shaky. "Man… I just met my best friend. And he's already graduating to the next apocalypse."

Johnquis turned to him, expression warm but firm. "Hey. Don't look like that."

Savier wiped at his eye and tried to act casual. "What? I'm not crying. I'm sweating from the eyeballs. It's emotional humidity."

Johnquis laughed gently. Then he stepped forward and placed a hand on Savier's shoulder.

"You're Bronze now. And I've seen how you fight. You grind like crazy when you stop talking."

"Rude."

"I'm serious. You're going to hit Steel in no time. And when you do… let's meet somewhere in the Middlelands. Fate always throws us together."

"Yeah, I still remember how we first met back at the school… You know, that time when—"

Johnquis cut him off, flustered. "You better stop right there."

They both laughed.

Savier wiped his nose, sniffed hard, then took a step back and cracked his neck. "Alright. So. I've made a decision."

Johnquis raised a brow. "Oh boy. Should I be worried?"

Savier pointed dramatically at the Tanker, who was still sitting calmly, watching the waves roll in.

"You. Me. Duel. Middlelands."

The Tanker turned his head slowly, blinking like he didn't quite process that.

Johnquis blinked. "What?"

Savier nodded firmly. "That's right. Not here. Not now. Middlelands."

He stepped forward, posture straight, tone uncharacteristically steady. "I thought about it. I could force a fight now. Try to prove something. But truth is… I want it to mean something."

He looked at the Tanker dead-on. "I know you're not even close to your full power yet. You're growing. And honestly… so am I."

The Tanker grunted, standing slowly.

"I want to fight you at your best," Savier continued. "Not in level 2. Not in that state. Full strength. All-out. I wanna earn that duel, not just take it."

Johnquis gave a small smirk. "So… this is your grind goal?"

Savier grinned. "Damn right it is. Everyone needs something to chase. And I'm chasing him."

He jabbed a thumb at the Tanker. "A duel between the loudmouth eater blade and the earth-punching wall of doom. Middlelands arena. We'll tear the sky in half."

The Tanker stared at him for a moment.

Then he stepped forward slowly, and extended his massive rocky fist.

Savier hesitated, surprised. "Wait—this your way of saying 'deal'?"

The Tanker gave a small, low growl. Not hostile. Something closer to… respect.

Savier smirked, then bumped his own fist against the Tanker's.

A solid thunk echoed between them.

Promise made.

Johnquis smiled. "Well… now I have to survive just to see that fight."

Savier laughed, turning to Johnquis. "You better be there, front row. I want a whole cheering section. Fireworks. Maybe confetti."

Johnquis rolled his eyes, grinning. "You'll be lucky if I don't sell tickets."

Savier turned back to the Tanker. "Train up, big guy. Evolve. Become whatever monster you're meant to be. When we meet again…"

His grin sharpened.

"I want to give everything I've got. No holding back. No regrets."

The Tanker didn't speak but his massive hand curled into a tight, slow fist. He thumped it against his chest twice.

Boom. Boom.

A vow.

Savier nodded. "Good. Then it's settled."

The wind picked up around them, warm and salty, carrying with it the scent of sea and soil and something else.

Hope.

Johnquis looked between the two of them, then back at the horizon.

"This man was just a wreck a day ago… and now he's grown."

He let out a breath, eyes on Savier. "I thought it was just about revenge for his weird shoulder patch. But a duel…? He saw the Tanker as a real fight worth chasing."

He smiled faintly. "Good, Savier. You really are the savior you're always mouthing off about."

The he looked out at the bridge again, sun glittering on the ocean. He took a breath, deep and steady.

"Next step's ahead," he said.

Savier put his hands behind his head, smiling at the sky. "And the grind begins."

The three of them stood there a moment longer—no longer just survivors.

But brothers. With something to fight for. And promises to keep…

The trio moved away from the ruined nest and the bridge behind them, the collapsed husk of the old transport hub growing smaller with each step. They made their way somewhere in the Sector 6—one of the more isolated and dangerous regions of the Southland's border. Vegetation had overtaken much of the cracked infrastructure here, twisting around broken towers and sunken bunkers. Shattered vehicles, overgrown rails, and rusted signs marked the long-abandoned area.

Savier kicked at a chunk of twisted rebar as they passed an old checkpoint gate, eyes scanning the shadows. "So, tell me again why we're walking into what's basically a loot graveyard for dead hopefuls?"

Johnquis kept his gaze steady, the faint glint of his Steel-ranked Eater Stone glowing on the back of his hand. "Because I need to be full when I hit the Middlelands. Three months minimum. Full sync. No stops. No starvation."

Savier raised a brow. "Three months? That's a hell of a stockpile. You planning to eat like a king out there? Or trying to bulk up into a tank like him?"

He thumbed back at the Tanker, who followed a few paces behind, quiet and alert.

Johnquis chuckled. "Not trying to become him. Just trying to survive out there. Sector 6 is barely touched. Too many new Eater Blades die before they get ten steps in. That means the loot bags are still here. Untouched. Unclaimed."

"That's why it's perfect," he added. "Less competition. More scraps for the bold."

Savier snorted. "Only the desperate or the stupid come here."

Johnquis gave a faint smile. "Bit of both."