Long-press a paragraph to send danmaku
"You’re not walking away from this until I know exactly what you are," Selene said. Her voice was like a razor blade—thin, cold, and designed to cut.
She didn't just have me pinned; she had her forearm pressed against my windpipe, shoving me back against the jagged rock wall. The cold steel of her dagger wasn't touching my skin yet, but it was hovering a fraction of an inch from my carotid artery. I could smell the faint scent of ozone and something like winter pine coming off her gear.
"I'm just a guy who hates being squeezed," I wheezed, trying to find a pocket of air. "And I'm pretty sure threatening me with a knife doesn't make the lock on that crate open any faster."
She pressed harder. My vision flickered at the edges. "The Sigil on your chest. It’s not a standard Hunter’s mark. It’s glitching. Now, tell me who gave it to you before I decide your tongue is unnecessary for the trip back."
I let out a jagged laugh, which sounded more like a choke. "Who gave it to me? Lady, I woke up in a hole in the ground with this thing burning a hole through my shirt. I’m as clueless as you are, just with better hair."
Selene narrowed her eyes. She didn't believe me. Of course she didn't. I was a scrawny kid in a world where power was measured in ranks and blood, and she was an elite who looked like she could snap me in half without breaking a sweat.
She shifted her weight, her thigh pressing against mine to keep me immobilized. The proximity was suffocating. I could see the gold flecks in her iris, the absolute certainty of a predator who had already won.
"The crate," she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. "It’s an Ancient-grade lock. My squad spent three hours trying to crack it with a Rank 4 decryption key. Nothing. Then you stumble out of the brush, touch it for two seconds, and the seal turns green. Explain that."
"Maybe I'm just lucky?" I tried to smirk, but it came out as a grimace. "Or maybe the crate just likes me more than it likes you."
"Wrong answer." She slid the blade a millimeter closer. I felt the cold sting of the edge. "Last chance. Who are you working for?"
I stopped joking. The air was getting too thin, and the panic was starting to override my sarcasm. I looked past her shoulder at the crate—a heavy, obsidian-black box etched with glowing violet runes. It was humming, a low-frequency vibration that I could feel in my teeth.
"Look," I gasped, "I don't know anyone. I don't have a boss. But I know one thing: that crate is a beacon. You saw the runes flare when I touched it. Every monster within ten miles just got a dinner invitation, and we're the main course."
Selene paused. Her gaze flicked toward the tree line. The silence of the forest had changed. The birds had stopped. The wind had died. In the distance, a long, guttural howl ripped through the air, followed by the sound of something heavy crashing through the underbrush.
"Damn it," she hissed. She didn't let go of my throat, but the pressure eased just enough for me to breathe. "How long until the breach?
"Ten minutes? Five? I don't know the physics of magic crates, but usually, when things glow purple, bad things happen fast," I said, my voice regaining its edge. "Now, you can either kill me and spend the next hour trying to figure out how to open that box while a pack of Void-Hounds eats your legs, or you can let me open it, we split the loot, and we get the hell out of here."
She stared at me for a long beat. The power dynamic was still heavily in her favor—she could end me in a heartbeat—but the clock was ticking. She hated the idea of me, but she hated losing the loot more.
"Split?" She scoffed, finally pulling the knife back, though she kept it gripped tight. "You're a rookie with no rank and a broken Sigil. You get ten percent. And that's only if you don't try to run."
"Twenty," I countered, sliding down the wall until I hit the dirt. "And you carry me if I pass out from the effort. This thing," I pointed to my chest, "doesn't just open locks. It drains me. I’m basically a human battery for that box."
"Ten percent," she snapped, though she stepped back to give me room. "And if you lie to me, I'll use your skin as a map for the next expedition."
"Deal. God, you're a romantic," I muttered.
I stood up, my legs shaking. Every step toward the crate felt like walking through molasses. As I approached the obsidian box, the Sigil on my chest began to throb. It wasn't a gentle glow; it was a violent, rhythmic pulse that felt like a second heartbeat trying to push its way out of my ribs.
I reached out. The moment my fingertips brushed the cold stone, a spark of violet electricity jumped from the crate to my skin. I gasped, my back arching as a surge of raw, unfiltered energy tore through my arm.
"What's happening?" Selene demanded, stepping closer. Her hand moved toward her sword, her eyes scanning the perimeter. "Is it triggering a trap?"
"It's... it's just... hungry," I groaned. The Sigil wasn't just unlocking the box; it was rewriting something. I could feel a strange, parasitic connection forming. The crate didn't just open—it surrendered.
With a heavy *clunk*, the lid slid back, revealing a shimmering, iridescent organ floating in a suspension of translucent fluid. A poison sac. But not just any poison—this was a concentrated Void-Core, a Rank 5 catalyst.
Selene’s breath hitched. "A Core. We actually found one."
She moved instinctively, reaching into the fluid to grab the sac. But as her fingers closed around the glowing organ, the crate emitted a sharp, metallic hiss. A hidden needle, thinner than a human hair, shot out from the rim of the box, piercing her wrist just as she lifted the prize.
Selene didn't even flinch at first. She held the sac high, a look of triumph on her face. Then, she froze.
I watched in horror as a single vein in her wrist turned a deep, ink-black. The darkness didn't stop there. It began to crawl upward, racing toward her elbow like a living shadow under her skin.
"Selene?" I asked, stepping forward.
She looked down at her arm, her expression shifting from victory to sudden, sharp alarm. She tried to shake her hand, but the black veins were accelerating.
"It's a parasitic lock," I whispered, remembering a scrap of info from the glitchy data stream in my head. "The crate doesn't let you take the loot without paying a price."
Selene staggered, her knees buckling. The elite huntress, the woman who had almost slit my throat five minutes ago, suddenly looked very fragile. She slumped against the crate, her breathing becoming ragged, shallow gasps.
"How... how long?" she managed to choke out, her eyes wide with a sudden, visceral fear.
I looked at the Sigil on my chest, which was now glowing with a steady, predatory hunger. I could feel the connection. I knew the answer, and it wasn't good.
"Sixty seconds," I said, looking at the black ink now reaching her shoulder. "Sixty seconds until that poison hits your heart and you drop dead."
Selene's grip on the poison sac tightened, her knuckles white. She looked at me—really looked at me—and for the first time, the power had shifted. She didn't have a knife at my throat anymore. I had the only key to her survival.
"Fix it," she rasped, her voice breaking as she collapsed onto her side, the black veins pulsing in time with my own heart.