Chapter 40: Escape "Gh—!" Nightingale’s vision fractured into shards of red and black. His ears rang with the sound of tearing fabric, threatening to split apart. It felt as though someone had reached into his skull and twisted his very nerves, shredding both mind and body from the inside out.
For a fleeting moment, he regretted his reckless act of defiance but the feeling didn’t last. Painful as it was, it was still preferable to the grim alternative.
Then again, every action carried a consequence, and this was simply the price he had to pay.
Losing the strength to support his own weight, Nightingale dropped to one knee, gasping for breath. Blood streamed from his nose and eyes, sizzling as it struck the ground. It was obvious that he had suffered tremendous backlash from stopping that demonic strike.
Still, he smiled.
"Hah... I’m still alive...? It actually... worked."
By some divine intervention or perhaps sheer luck, he had narrowly escaped the clutches of certain death.
He hadn’t expected his ability to work. In fact, he was sure his [Flatten] would be instantly overwhelmed, but the outcome was both shocking and oddly satisfying. Coincidentally, the demonic strike had barely met the criteria of a "small object" for his [Flatten] to take effect, though the cost had been immense. His body felt as if every cell had been crushed and reassembled in the wrong order.
"Haa... damn it. If that had lasted even a fraction longer... I’d be dead."
Nightingale rasped and clutched his chest as another surge of pain rippled through his body. Everything ached all over, his vision blurred and the overwhelming urge was prominent.
Of course, he didn’t fall for the deadly trap. He already knew what would happen if he dared to sleep here.
Putting that aside, he wasn’t completely out of danger because movement stirred once again.
It seemed like the Pale Terror did not anticipate its attack because the myriad of eyes trembled in silent fury and glared at him in resentment. Additionally, as a representation of its anger and hatred, the gaping maw above convulsed, and a black mass appeared on the tip of the abominable tongue.
Nightingale’s pupils contracted to pinpoints.
’...Oh, come on! It’s preparing another attack?!’
Just nullifying the first strike had already reduced him to this pitiful state. What would happen if it unleashed another one? Most likely, his body would disintegrate from the immense backlash or worse, his [Flatten] might fail altogether.
Either way, he no longer had any viable means of defense. The only thing left for him to do was...
"Get out of there, right now!"
Flaming Rose’s voice rang out sharply. She had entered a state of shock, perhaps disbelief, upon witnessing his miraculous survival, and her cry came the instant she realized the worldscape was preparing another assault.
One didn’t need to be a genius to understand that the next strike would be far stronger than the last.
Indeed, running away was the most logical decision.
"Tsk! Argh! Damnit!"
Driven by desperation, Nightingale disregarded his aching body and forced his trembling legs to move. Every muscle screamed in protest, but he didn’t stop. He staggered to his feet, half-running, half-limping toward the gateway where Flaming Rose stood.
Each step felt like wading through a mire of molten lead. His lungs burned, his vision spun, and his head pounded with the weight of the Pale Terror’s gaze pressing down on him. The worldscape seemed to twist in defiance of his escape, warping and folding in on itself like an ocean trying to drag him under.
Above him, the gaping maw convulsed again. The black light gathering at the tip of its tongue condensed into a single point, smaller than a marble, yet radiating a pressure so immense that even space seemed to recoil from it.
The second strike was coming.
’C’mon, c’mon. Move your ass! Run like a bitch!’
Nightingale didn’t glance back, pouring every ounce of strength into his desperate retreat. The gateway loomed just ahead, barely five meters away.
Step! He stumbled, his foot barely catching the warped surface beneath him. The worldscape trembled violently, and the ground rippled like a disturbed reflection. The overwhelming pressure behind him intensified as though declaring that this was the end.
A guttural roar erupted from above, shaking the very air.
The black sphere hanging from the Pale Terror’s tongue pulsed once. And then twice.
Then...
BOOM! A blinding flash devoured the landscape. Reality itself seemed to bend under the impact, accompanied with colors collapsing into a flood of black and red. The shockwave howled like a thousand storms tearing through the void.
Nightingale was thrown off his feet. Along with a scream, his body flew through the air like a rag doll caught in a hurricane. The world became a blur of pain, heat, and deafening noise.
But even as his body screamed in agony, his mind clung to a single thought: the Gateway! Fortunately, the force of the shockwave had thrown him toward that direction.
It was a stroke of luck or perhaps a cruel twist of fate that somehow decided to spare him this once. His body spun helplessly through the air as chaotic breath entered and scorched his lungs.
The pressure closed in. The shockwave was still expanding, devouring everything in its wake. The twisted terrain around him disintegrated into nothingness, and the roar of the Pale Terror was swallowed by the collapse of space.
"Move—!" Nightingale roared hoarsely, forcing his battered body to respond. He twisted mid-air, stretching his hand forward, reaching for the symbol of his damned starvation.
Gritting his teeth, he poured every ounce of strength, every remaining fragment of will, into dragging himself through.
"Gh—AARGH!"
With a desperate yell, he thrust his body forward and finally forced himself through the gate just as the explosion consumed everything behind him.
The instant he crossed the threshold, the augmented worldscape shattered like broken glass.
CRAAASH! Fragments of twisted reality broke apart and vanished into darkness. A wave of heat followed him through the gateway before it sealed shut with a violent snap, leaving only silence in its wake.
Nightingale hit the ground hard.
His body skidded across the stone floor before coming to a violent stop. He coughed, choked, and rolled onto his side, barely managing to breathe. Blood trickled down his chin, and his whole body trembled uncontrollably.
"...Haah... haah... haah..."
He stared at the ceiling, his vision still spinning, his mind blank except for one simple thought:
He was alive.
He had made it.
He had survived the adversity!
The air here was cool, fresh, and mercifully real. The contrast to the suffocating void he’d just escaped was almost euphoric. A faint smile tugged at his lips... only to twist into a grimace as pain coursed through his body a heartbeat later.
Needless to say, he wasn’t feeling too well.
His body was a wreck from the inside out. The tremendous backlash from nullifying that sure-kill strike had ravaged him, shredding his insides and leaving his organs barely functional.
Unless a miracle occurred, his death was inevitable. To begin with, surviving that ordeal had already been nothing short of an act of providence.
𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶 He coughed out a handful of blood.
[Congratulations, Climber. You have passed the 2nd Floor, the Fresh Domain.]
[You have survived the Gaze of the Pale Terror.]
[A noteworthy feat...!]
The Mire’s voice echoed uselessly in his ears. For some reason, the beautiful, monotone voice sounded distant, distorted and almost unreal.
’I’m tired. Feeling... sleepy.’
Nightingale closed his eyes, letting the world blur around him. The pain in his chest, his head, his limbs — practically every part of his body — was just too unbearable. However, in that moment, the simple act of existing, of still being alive, outweighed all the agony.
The rhythmic echo of his own ragged breathing was almost comforting but it didn’t matter.
Just as his consciousness began to leave this reality, two soft hands gently touched his chest...