Free Web NovelChapter 260: Worst Case Scenario
The group left the oasis behind with far less confidence than when they first arrived there. The brief period of comfort had done more damage than good. Water had soothed their throats, shade had cooled their skin, and a warm meal had dulled the edge of starvation just enough to remind them what comfort felt like.
Now that all of it was behind them again, the absence felt sharper, like the desert had only allowed them to breathe so it could make suffocation feel personal afterward.
The desert night was merciless in a different way than the day. Where the sun had scorched exposed skin and baked sweat into salt, the night gnawed at them through cold winds that slipped beneath armor, under cloth, and through every gap and opening. The sand itself no longer burned beneath their boots. Instead, it leeched warmth from them with each step, stealing heat slowly enough that the body noticed every grain.
Nobody spoke much, not because there was nothing to say, but because every conversation now carried weight. Every word felt like information being given away, and information had become dangerous. A tired voice meant weakness. A complaint meant fear. A stumble meant opportunity. A silence held too long meant someone might be thinking about who was worth killing later.
Kael walked near the middle this time, not the front, and that was deliberate. He had no interest in appearing like he was leading, especially now that leadership itself was a target painted in bright red. The old man held the supply bag close to his chest like it contained his beating heart, glancing over his shoulder every few minutes as though expecting a knife between the ribs. He probably was not wrong to expect it either, which made the whole thing even more irritating.
The skinny kid had drifted closer to him as the hours passed, though not close enough to be called an ally. He stayed just close enough to not be alone, which was a different thing entirely. The covered man remained separate from all of them, walking several paces off to the side, silent as ever, face hidden, posture straight, his movements measured and economical. Even his footsteps seemed quieter than everyone else’s, as if the desert itself was giving him permission to pass unnoticed.
Kael didn’t like him, not because he had done anything suspicious, but because that was exactly the issue. He had done nothing, said almost nothing, and showed almost nothing. A person like that was harder to read than an open threat. An enemy with a blade was simple. A quiet man with no visible motive was the kind of problem that waited until you stopped watching.
Christy walked beside Kael now, leaning less on the improvised cane with each passing hour. Her limp was still present, but less pronounced than before. The swelling around her ankle had visibly reduced, and her pace was steadier, though every few steps still carried a faint stiffness she was clearly trying to hide.
Kael glanced down at her leg and muttered, "Looks better."
"The wound?" she asked, following his gaze for a second before looking back at him.
"No. Your face." Kael kept walking as he said it, deadpan enough that it took her a moment to process whether he was insulting her or attempting humor.
She stared at him for a moment before snorting. "That was terrible."
"You’re smiling though."
"That’s because my standards are low." Her answer came with a tired edge, but the corner of her mouth still twitched despite the exhaustion hanging from her face.
Their quiet exchange earned them several glances from the others, and none of those glances were friendly ones.
Jealousy had long since curdled into irritation, and Kael could feel it each time Christy naturally gravitated toward him. He could feel it every time he walked without visible strain, every time he failed to sway like the rest of them, and every time his fracture remained insultingly low compared to theirs.
Above their heads, numbers hovered like curses. The old man had climbed to twenty-eight, the skinny kid was at twenty-six, the masked man sat at twenty-four, Christy had climbed back to twenty-five, and Kael was still at nine. That was the real reason they were beginning to hate him. Not because he was strong, and not because Christy was sticking close to him, but because he was enduring this floor too well.
His composure was offensive. His stability was insulting. Their suffering felt heavier by comparison, and people rarely enjoyed standing next to someone who made their pain look inefficient.
As dawn slowly approached, exhaustion began settling into everyone’s bones, though it was not the kind that came from combat. This was attrition, a slow grinding erosion of body and mind that made every step feel borrowed from somewhere else. Feet sank deeper into soft dunes. Legs felt heavier. Mouths grew drier. Breathing turned rougher. Even after rationing water carefully, thirst was already beginning to creep back, patient and familiar. The desert did not forgive. It simply reset your suffering and asked whether you wished to continue.
At one point, the skinny kid stumbled and nearly collapsed to his knees. The old man immediately took two hurried steps away from him, clutching the bag tighter as if the fall itself had been an ambush. That earned him a dark look from the kid, who straightened slowly and muttered, "No one’s killing you god damn it, chill."
The old man’s fingers tightened around the strap until his knuckles looked pale beneath the dirt. "That’s exactly what someone planning murder would say."
Christy groaned, dragging a hand over her face as if she could physically wipe the sound of them out of existence.
"Oh my god, can you both shut up?"
The bickering continued anyway, quiet at first, then sharper, then louder as the road wore them down. Small things began turning into arguments, from who drank slightly more, to who walked too slow, to who was not helping enough, to who was getting too comfortable. Fracture ticked upward one point at a time, and the desert seemed content to let them do half the work themselves.
Kael ignored most of it and kept his eyes fixed on the minimap. There were occasional red dots scattered around them, small clusters moving beneath the sand, while others circled wide around their path. A few times, Kael adjusted their direction slightly without explanation.
Nobody questioned him anymore when he did, not after the worm and not after Garron. That silence was useful, but it was also dangerous. Blind trust was never truly trust. It was only dependency, and dependency bred resentment the moment people remembered they hated needing someone.
They had to make it to the beacon this time with barely a bit of water left from having over drank while traveling.
By midday, the heat returned in full force. It slammed into them like a physical wall, wiping away the cool mercy of night and replacing it with a sun so merciless it made the air itself shimmer. Sweat returned, then evaporated too quickly to matter. Lips cracked. Skin reddened. Muscles tightened. The sand beneath their boots felt hot enough to cook flesh through thinner soles, and the group slowed considerably under the pressure.
Even Kael was beginning to feel it now, though not as true exhaustion. It was irritation more than anything else, built from persistent heat, dryness, salt gathering at the corners of his lips, and the sensation of sweat drying on his skin only to leave behind itchiness. His fracture climbed to thirteen, and Christy noticed almost immediately. "You finally human?" she asked, her voice dry enough that it almost matched the desert.
"Unfortunately." His answer got a tired laugh from her, short and rough, but real enough to cut through the dragging silence for a moment.
Hours later, Kael checked the minimap again and saw a small blue marker pulsing faintly near the next beacon. He exhaled quietly as recognition settled in. There it was. Another oasis, just as he expected, close enough to the beacon to practically force climbers toward it. Likely another trap disguised as salvation, because apparently this floor had a sense of humor and all of it was ugly. But they had little choice. They needed water, food, rest, and anything else that could keep them moving.
"The next oasis is close," Kael said, and that got everyone’s attention immediately. Heads turned toward him with the desperate sharpness of people who hated hope but needed it anyway.
"How close?" the old man asked.
"Close enough that if we don’t die first, we’ll make it."
"Comforting," Christy muttered, though despite the sarcasm, the information visibly improved morale. Not by much, and certainly not enough to reduce fracture, but enough to keep their legs moving. That was all they needed for the moment. Hope, even a disgusting, manipulative little breadcrumb of it, could still drag people forward when reason had already given up.
As the sun began descending again, the distant shape of the next beacon finally became clearer. It rose as a towering pillar of pale light piercing upward into the darkening sky, not close, but no longer impossible. The group collectively pushed harder, desperation replacing fatigue as they fixed their attention on the glow ahead. One more hour, maybe two. That was manageable, or at least close enough to manageable that lying to themselves became useful.
Then Kael noticed it. At first, it was subtle, only a shift in the horizon, movement where none should be. Then wind picked up, hot wind, like one from a hairdryer.
He slowed, his gaze narrowing as the distant line of the world changed shape. Then he stopped entirely.
"What now?" the old man snapped, but Kael didn’t answer immediately. He was staring into the far distance behind them. Watching as a dark wall rose across the horizon. It was not stone, not mountain, and not night. It was sand, an ocean of it, a towering mass stretching across the horizon and swallowing sky and land alike as it rolled toward them with terrifying inevitability.
The winds picked up more, growing stronger, then harsher. The air itself began changing around them, becoming dryer, sharper, and hostile in a way that made the body understand danger before the mind finished naming it.
Christy followed his gaze, and her face drained of color.
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The others turned one by one and froze. The sandstorm was enormous, not some passing inconvenience and not merely wind and dust. This was annihilation given shape, a moving wall large enough to erase everything in its path. The beacon, the dunes, them, and all of it together looked small beneath its shadow. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
"How far?" the skinny kid asked, voice thin.
Kael stared at the approaching storm, then at the distant beacon, then at the minimap. The closest oasis was still ahead, not behind and not beside them.
Ahead, and not nearly close enough. He tightened his gauntlets as the wind dragged sand across the ground in hissing sheets. "We run."
No one argued, because behind them was desert, ahead was hope, and behind hope came the storm.
