Ruok stood there for a while. Stared…just staring.
The battlefield below looked smaller now. Quieter. Calm. Like the camp was at the eye of the storm.
"…Right, I need to go back now," he muttered.
Then he looked behind him.
Nothing.
Just rocks, dry ground, and a few trees that looked like they had given up years ago. No signs, not even an arrow pointing this way to camp.
Ruok slowly turned back toward the edge of the cliff.
He leaned forward just enough to see—
Then immediately leaned back.
"…Yeah, no."
It was deep.
Very deep.
Too deep.
If he had to guess—
"…That's like… a thousand meters," he said.
He scratched his head.
Then sighed.
"Of course, he didn't tell me how to get down," he added, glaring at the empty air where Edgard had disappeared.
He raised his hand slightly.
"Great job, old man. Very helpful. Ten out of ten."
The wind answered him.
Ruok clicked his tongue.
He slipped the red vial into his pocket, patting it twice, just to make sure it was still there.
Then he looked at the glass in his hand.
"…Well."
He tilted it and drank everything.
The burn came slower this time. It spread warm through his chest, then settled like something heavy and familiar.
He exhaled.
"…Still strong."
For a moment, he just stood there.
Then—
His thoughts drifted.
When he's Richard, not Ruok—leaning back in a chair that creaked every time he moved. Hand held a bottle of beer in one hand and a pizza slice in the other.
"…Man," he murmured at the air. "I wish I had pizza right now."
He paused.
"…Or fried chicken."
He smiled.
"…Better, both."
The wind brushed past him again, colder this time. Pulling him back to reality.
That he was still on the cliff.
"…Yeah," he said softly. "This is my life now. Life without pizza."
He crouched down and set the empty glass on the ground.
That's when he noticed it.
The bottle was still there, half-full.
"…Oh."
He picked it up.
Weighed it in his hand.
"…You know what," he said, "you're coming with me."
He stood up, adjusted his cloak, and took a deep breath.
"…Alright."
He turned toward the edge again.
"…Let's find a way down before I accidentally become a fallen corpse."
It took him thirty minutes.
Thirty long minutes of walking along the edge, slipping on loose gravel, and muttering complaints under his breath.
Then—
He found it.
A narrow path.
Barely visible.
Carved along the side of the cliff like someone started building it, then gave up halfway.
Ruok stared at it.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
He crouched slightly, peering down.
The path twisted along the cliff face, uneven and thin.
One wrong step—
"…Yeah. Death is almost certain," he said.
He straightened.
Took a breath.
Then another.
"…Well," he muttered, "I died multiple times already."
A pause.
He shrugged.
"Adding one more doesn't really matter now."
He stepped forward.
The first few steps were fine.
Manageable.
Then the wind came back.
Stronger.
A sudden burst slammed into him from the side.
"—Whoa!"
His foot slipped.
Gravel scattered.
For a split second, his body leaned outward—
Then he grabbed onto the rock wall.
Hard.
His fingers scraped against rough stone.
He froze.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't move.
"…Okay," he whispered. "Okay… okay…"
Slowly—
Very slowly—
He pulled himself back toward the path.
His heart pounded against his ribs.
"…I'm not dying like this," he muttered.
He adjusted his footing.
Then continued.
Slower this time.
More careful.
**
By the time he reached the bottom—
The sky had turned dark.
Not fully night.
But past dusk.
The air felt heavier here.
Damp.
The ground softer.
The path behind him disappeared into shadow as if it had never existed.
Ruok looked up once.
"…Never again," he said.
Then turned toward the faint lights in the distance.
It's from the camp. His only guide.
The walk back was quiet.
Too quiet.
Ruok took a drink from the bottle as he walked.
The warmth helped.
A little.
Then—
His eyes stung.
"…Huh."
He blinked.
Wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"…Really?"
He laughed softly.
"…Now?"
The tears didn't stop.
His vision blurred as he looked ahead.
Darkness.
But not the current darkness in his vision—it was the darkness buried deep in his memory.
Darkness broken by flashes of light came from gunfire.
**
"…Harry," Tom's voice came through, almost casual. "I thought intel said no hostiles here."
Ruok—no, Richard—pressed his back against a cracked concrete wall, rifle tight in his grip.
Outside—gunfire roared, sharp, fast, and relentless.
Each burst slammed into the walls like fists. Concrete cracked. Dust rained from the ceiling in thin streams.
Richard leaned out just enough—
Fired a short burst.
He pulled back as bullets answered immediately, tearing through the edge of the wall where his head had been a second ago.
"…Still no hostiles, huh," he muttered.
Across the room, Tom crouched near a shattered window. The frame was half gone, jagged edges catching the dim light. He peeked out, then ducked as rounds ripped through the opening.
"…Yeah," Tom said, grinning like this was all a joke. "They're very friendly. Just shooting to say hi."
Another burst.
Glass shattered further. Splinters scattered across the floor.
Tom laughed under his breath and reloaded.
Harry stayed near the corner, one knee on the ground, working the comms with steady hands. His face was calm—but tight. Focused.
"…I'm trying to reach them," Harry said.
Gunfire rattled the building again.
Closer this time.
Richard fired another burst, forcing a group outside to take cover.
"…You might want to try faster," he said.
Harry didn't answer. He finally got a response.
For a moment, everything went quiet on his end.
Then— His jaw tightened.
"…Understood."
His voice was quiet almost whispering.
He lowered the comm slowly.
Then threw it.
Hard.
It hit the wall and cracked apart.
Tom glanced back. "…That looks bad."
Harry exhaled once, controlled.
"The intel was fabricated," he said. "The officer who sent it—he's a spy."
Silence filled the room for half a second.
Then Richard let out a dry laugh.
"…So we got double-crossed."
Harry nodded once.
"…Yes."
Gunfire surged again, louder now.
Chunks of concrete broke off the wall near the door. Dust filled the air, thick enough to taste.
Tom glanced at the bodies scattered around them.
Their fallen teammates.
"…And reinforcements?" he asked.
Harry didn't look at him.
"They'll arrive in an hour."
Tom blinked.
Then leaned back against the wall, letting out a slow breath.
"…An hour."
Another pause.
Then he grinned.
"…You think they'll bring snacks?"
Richard snorted, firing another burst.
"…Yeah. Maybe pizza."
Tom laughed.
"…Or fried chicken."
Harry didn't smile.
But his grip on the rifle tightened, steadier than before.
"…We hold," he said. "Until they arrive."
Tom raised his weapon again, peeking out.
"…Well," he said lightly, "if we're dying, at least we're doing it together."
Richard shook his head.
"…Idiot."
Tom's grin widened.
"…You love me."
"I love myself," Richard shot back.
Gunfire exploded again.
This time—
Closer.
More aggressive.
The enemy was advancing.
Richard could hear boots outside. Shouts. Metal clinking.
They were closing in.
Time slowed.
Each second stretched.
It felt like eternity.
"…Before I die," Richard muttered, reaching for his vest, "I'm sending some ahead."
He pulled a grenade.
Thumb hooked the pin.
Pulled.
He leaned out just enough—
Threw.
The grenade arced through the broken window.
A second.
Two—
BOOM.
The explosion shook the building. Dust fell in thick clouds. The ground trembled beneath them.
Tom let out a whistle.
"Nice throw."
"Focus," Harry snapped.
Richard frowned.
"…Did you hear that?"
Tom tilted his head slightly.
"Hear what?"
Harry's eyes widened.
"…Bomb—!"
The word barely left his mouth—
When the world exploded.
BOOM!!
A deafening blast tore through the structure.
Light swallowed everything.
Then—
Nothing.
**
Sound came back slowly.
Muted.
Distant.
Like he was underwater.
Richard blinked.
His ears rang. Something wet and warm dripping.
He lifted a hand—
Blood.
"…Ah…"
He tried to move.
Pain answered immediately.
He looked down.
His leg—
Twisted and broken.
A piece of rebar pierced through it, pinning him to the ground.
He forced himself to move.
Crawled.
Each motion dragged pain through his body.
"…Harry…"
Harry lay a few feet away.
Face down.
Still.
Richard reached him first.
Hands shaking, he flipped him over.
And froze.
Harry's eyes were open.
Empty.
Blood covered his face, his vest soaked through.
"…No…"
Richard's vision blurred.
He shook him once.
"…Hey…"
No response.
"…Hey, come on…"
Nothing.
His breath hitched.
Then he turned.
"…Tom…"
Tom was slumped against the wall.
Head hanging low.
"…Tom," Richard called, dragging himself closer.
He reached out.
Tapped his shoulder.
Tom's body shifted—
Then collapsed sideways.
Richard's eyes dropped.
And stayed there.
There was nothing below his waist.
Just—gone.
Only pool of blood remained.
Richard didn't speak after that.
Didn't think.
Didn't process.
Something inside him broke quietly.
He grabbed his rifle.
Turned toward the door.
And fired.
Wild.
Uncontrolled.
He screamed as he pulled the trigger again and again, bullets tearing through the entrance as shadows moved closer.
"…COME ON—!"
Gunfire answered.
Louder.
Closer.
Then—
A new sound echoed.
Low and heavy.
A helicopter.
The enemy paused and looked up.
Then—
Bullets poured from above, shredding the ground outside.
Richard's grip loosened.
The rifle slipped from his hands.
His body gave out.
He collapsed.
Vision fading.
"…Took you long enough…"
Darkness took him.
**
Ruok blinked.
The memory faded.
The camp lights flickered ahead.
His grip on the bottle tightened slightly.
"…This time," he muttered.
"…I'll succeed."
He took another drink.
Then kept walking.