Rune of Immortality

Mathew stood still for a long moment, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing, the sound of his own heartbeat loud in his ears. He lowered his katana slowly, its edge still faintly glowing, and poured a thin stream of aura into his eyes, willing them to adjust. The darkness began to retreat, the black blur of the room taking shape until he could make out the full extent of the chamber around him.

If there was one thing he could say, it was that Joey was far stronger than he had imagined. While Mathew had managed to take down three of the creatures, eight bodies lay scattered around Joey's position, their blood pooling sluggishly on the stone floor. Joey himself sat among the corpses, his chest rising and falling heavily, his hand trembling slightly as he brought that strange flask to his lips and took a long, painful gulp from it.

Mathew frowned. He was still curious about what exactly that drink was, and though irritation stirred in him at the thought of Joey abandoning him earlier to go after that book, the reality was clear, Joey had handled himself well, better than he had expected.

Pride was something Mathew had plenty of, but he wasn't so deluded that he couldn't recognize strength when he saw it. If they were to survive whatever was left in this place, his best chance was to stick close to Joey.

Still, his gaze shifted toward where the statue had once stood, and froze.

It was gone.

No broken stone, no rubble, not even dust left behind. The statue, that massive and unnerving monument, had simply vanished as though it had never existed. Mathew stared at the empty space in disbelief, his mind refusing to process what his eyes were telling him. Slowly, his thoughts began to muddle, a hollow, sinking feeling spreading through his chest. The lantern, his lantern was gone. Just like that.

He clenched his fists. There was no way it had simply disappeared. It had to be somewhere. Unless—

His eyes turned toward Joey again. The man was sitting calmly against a bookshelf now, his head tilted back, breathing slow and even, as though the fight had never happened. Mathew's jaw tightened. Could he have taken it? Maybe greed had gotten the better of him. Maybe he had wanted everything for himself, the book, the lantern, all of it.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to push the thought away before it poisoned his focus. 'No,' he told himself. 'Joey didn't take anything. He was fighting the whole time. The lantern has to be somewhere else in the library. I'll find it.'

Forcing himself to calm down, he walked over to where Joey sat and lowered himself beside him, resting his back against the same shelf. For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint dripping of blood from some far corner of the room.

Finally, Mathew glanced at the flask still in Joey's hand and said quietly, "Medicine, huh?"

His tone wasn't confrontational, just laced with a mild, persistent curiosity, like an itch that refused to fade. He didn't really expect an answer, but he wanted to ask anyway, if only to distract himself from the gnawing thought of that missing lantern.

Joey turned the flask slowly in his hand, watching the faint shimmer of the rune inside before he spoke. "You ever heard of Abhorrents?"

Mathew frowned and shook his head. The word sounded strange to him, unfamiliar, like something out of a myth he had somehow never come across.

"Abhorrents," Joey continued quietly, his tone measured and flat, "are beings that are hated by mana. Not disliked, hated. The kind of hatred that kills. If one of them tries to use mana, it eats away at them from the inside. If they stay too long in a place where mana is thick, they die. All it takes is a heavy concentration of mana, and that's it for them."

He paused, raising his hand slightly. A faint stream of orange energy began to flow across his skin, flickering and unstable. "If you were a knight, you'd use aura, and it wouldn't matter much. But if you're a mage…" He trailed off and let out a small, humorless laugh. "Then you're basically killing yourself a little every day. Hence the medicine."

Mathew said nothing for a while. He stared at Joey's hand, then at the flask again, his mind turning the information over and over. He had never heard of anything like that, no rumors, no stories, not even vague whispers among other knights. A mage that mana itself rejected? It sounded impossible. Didn't mana have to accept you for you to even learn how to control it?

The fact that he had never heard of such a condition told him just how rare it must have been, perhaps something that shouldn't exist at all. Still, he couldn't bring himself to care much. Joey was just a man he had met a few days ago, someone he barely knew. They had fought side by side, but that didn't make them friends. And truthfully, Joey was too different from him, too careful, too quiet, the kind of person who always seemed to be thinking five steps ahead.

Mathew was beginning to reconsider whether it was worth staying together when a sound reached them, high-pitched, jagged screeches echoing down the corridor, dozens of them, growing louder with each second.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Without a word, they exchanged a glance, an understanding forged more from instinct than trust and broke into a sprint in the opposite direction.

The corridors twisted sharply, their walls narrow and uneven, forcing them to weave and duck as they ran. The shrieks followed them, sometimes fading, sometimes closing in again, always there, a reminder that they were being hunted. The air was thick and hot with their breath, and the pounding of their boots mixed with the echo of the monsters' claws scraping against the stone.

Rounding a corner, Joey, who was slightly ahead, suddenly stopped short, because one of the creatures was already there, waiting.

It lunged the moment he appeared. The blow came fast and heavy, its fist driving into Joey's chest with a deep, sickening crack that echoed through the passage.

He was thrown back violently, slamming into Mathew, who staggered under the impact but didn't hesitate. With a shout, he shoved Joey aside, raised his katana, and leapt forward in a single motion.

Aura surged through him, sharp and bright, and his body moved faster than his mind could fully follow. The blade came down in a clean, powerful arc, slicing deep into the creature's back before it could react. A spray of green blood burst outward, thick and hissing as it struck the wall.

Mathew twisted in midair, his muscles burning as he forced his body to spin just enough to avoid the splatter, landing in a low crouch beside the beast. Before it could even collapse, he brought his sword around again in a swift, controlled motion and cut through its neck, ending it cleanly.

The body hit the ground with a heavy thud, and for a brief second, the corridor fell silent again, just their ragged breathing filling the air.

Mathew turned, his breathing uneven, and his eyes fell on Joey's crumpled form lying a short distance away. The man was hunched over, clutching his chest with both hands, every breath labored and shallow, his expression twisted with pain. For a moment their eyes met, Joey's gaze uncertain, questioning, as if silently asking what Mathew intended to do next.

And what was he going to do?

He could leave him there. It wasn't as though they were bound by loyalty or friendship. Joey had chosen to abandon him earlier, and Mathew hadn't forgotten that. Carrying him would only slow them down. Yet there was the other side of the argument, the practical one. Joey was strong, stronger than he had first assumed, and even injured he could still be useful. Whether or not that usefulness outweighed the risk was the only thing that mattered.

He stood there a little longer, sword still in hand, before finally breaking the silence. "Why should I save you?"

Joey grimaced and took a long, shaking breath before forcing the words out. "I have the materials… to move to Rank Nine anytime I want……. It could be our trump card."

Mathew's eyes sharpened at that. He knew what Joey meant immediately. The site's limit was Rank Ten, and if Joey ascended he would be able to stand against whatever creature guarded the core, at least before the site forced him out. That was more than a trump card; it was a lifeline, maybe their only one.

Decision made, Mathew moved without another word. He crouched beside Joey, hoisted him onto his back with some effort, and activated his artifact. He had already tried it earlier after the statue vanished, but it hadn't responded at all, no sound, no reaction, as though the statue had never existed in the first place. The same thing happened now, leaving him to rely purely on instinct and judgment to choose their path.

It turned out his judgment wasn't particularly good.

They hadn't yet run into large groups of the creatures, but the isolated ones they did encounter were enough to wear them down. Even though Joey was hurt, he still managed to help, his spells were quick, precise, and layered, casting both offensive and defensive runes at once. His ability to multi-draw made him worth several mages working together, and Mathew found himself grudgingly impressed in between battles.

Still, every fight took more out of them. Their pace slowed. The air grew heavier, the corridors darker, and the silence that filled the space between skirmishes felt far more dangerous than the fights themselves.

Mathew couldn't help but wonder, as they pushed forward through those narrow, dust-choked corridors, how someone like Joey, a man so evidently gifted, so precise with his runes, could possibly be hated by mana itself.

The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. Joey's spells never faltered; even when his body trembled and his skin grew paler with every passing hour, his hand remained steady, his focus unwavering.

The only real sign of his struggle was the way he drank from that strange flask of his, more often now, in desperate, almost pained gulps. It never seemed to empty. And despite everything, despite his weakness and that supposed curse, Joey was still remarkable.

But it was too much. The exhaustion, the endless fighting, the weight of tension that never left their shoulders, it all came to a head when they rounded a corner and found only a dead end waiting for them.

Another wall lined with decaying books, another useless path. Mathew turned, ready to run the other way, but stopped when he saw them, two of those creatures, their silhouettes emerging from the shadows, closing in without sound or hesitation.

He let Joey slip from his back, the mage landing softly against the floor, and raised his katana. His hands trembled as he tightened his grip. He wanted to move, to fight, to do something, but when he tried to take a step forward his leg gave way beneath him.

It happened in slow motion, his knee folding, the blade slipping from his fingers, the monsters already lunging toward them. In that frozen instant he felt everything, the shudder of his heartbeat, the strain of his muscles, the heat in his veins, and he understood, in a quiet, detached way, what it felt like when the thin thread keeping him alive finally snapped.

He didn't even close his eyes when he fell.

Then, between the two monsters, a light burst into existence, a rune, bright and sharp, flaring with orange fire. It activated almost instantly, too fast for the creatures to react. Chains, forged entirely from flame yet moving with the weight and solidity of metal, shot outward in a dozen directions.

The spikes at their tips sank deep into the monsters' flesh before tightening, pulling taut with a sound like molten iron cooling in water. The creatures screamed, their bodies thrashing as the chains wrapped tighter and tighter, coiling around them like living things.

Mathew hit the ground hard, a flash of pain shooting up his leg, his ankle might have broken but he barely registered it. He lifted his head slowly, eyes wide, searching for the source. Even Joey looked uncertain, confusion written plainly across his face.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

Soft, deliberate, echoing faintly in the confined space. Mathew turned his head and saw him, a boy not much younger than himself, walking calmly through the haze of light and smoke. Black hair, brown eyes, expression unreadable.

There were many with black hair in the world, but none with that particular pairing, not outside of one family.

A Skydrid.

Jacob Skydrid.