Death 24: A Race Against…
Death After some time of traveling through the shadowed forest, Nyx eventually pulled herself free of the memories that had occupied her thoughts.
The weight of the past loosened its grip only when the small group finally came to a halt in a secluded hollow where the canopy grew dense enough to hide the bloody light of the sun.
There they established a new camp, modest and carefully concealed, the one hundred ashen-skinned members of what remained of the Osmos Clan settling onto bedrolls and soft patches of moss with quiet exhaustion.
Nyx and the Matriarch sat close together beside a low, carefully tended fire whose flames cast a soft orange glow across their faces.
Right now, the fierce coldness that usually marked Nyx’s expression had almost disappeared, leaving her looking far more vulnerable than the warrior who had cut down Night Walkers only hours before.
For those who knew her—and that meant only the people in this camp—they understood that moments like this, with her mother, were the only times she allowed herself to feel anything at all.
It had been this way since birth, and even more so once she began to show the full extent of her intelligence.
She leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder, the short black hair mixing with the longer strands of the older woman, and watched the fire burn.
The wood cracked and settled in the silence, sending occasional sparks upward into the dark leaves, while the scent of smoke and damp earth filled the small clearing.
For a long while, mother and daughter remained that way, the crackle of the fire the only conversation between them.
Nyx let out a soft sigh of frustration, the sound gentle but laced with the determination that never seemed to leave her.
“It’s time we come up with a real plan,” she murmured, her head still resting on her mother’s shoulder.
The Matriarch smiled warmly at her words; no further explanation was needed to understand exactly what Nyx was implying.
Their world had been locked in the Existential Game for twenty-two long years, and by now, it had become so real that calling it a game felt like a cruel joke.
Everyone knew only one clan could survive….
Somewhere among the many inhabitants of Raeth lurked the Game Controller, and the only way to end the nightmare was to kill them.
At this stage, there were only two paths left: keep killing until only they remained, or find and eliminate the Game Controller once and for all.
The Matriarch’s fingers moved gently through Nyx’s short black hair, the gesture slow and affectionate as she spoke in a light, slightly teasing tone meant to ease the heavy quiet that had settled around the fire.
“Have you finally made up your mind, then?” Nyx fell quiet, the words lingering in the space between them.
She wasn’t sure what to say; the truth was, she genuinely didn’t know.
For nineteen years, she had raced against time—or, more accurately, against death itself.
Throughout existence, the Existential Game required individuals to stay active or accomplish remarkable feats to gain more power.
But under a rule that thrived on conflict and chaos, life was anything but simple.
All Nyx had ever known was the endless cycle of killing and shielding the remnants of her clan from every nightmare the world of Raeth hurled their way.
Through those relentless days and nights, she had grown deeply attached to the distant relatives who still relied on her to keep them alive.
And…
the idea of leaving them, of spending long stretches of time far from the people she had sworn to protect, weighed heavily on her heart.
“What if I stay?” she asked after a long pause, her head still resting on her mother’s shoulder.
“Maybe one of the other major clans has already found leads on the Game Controller…” She was painfully aware that they were one of only six clans left on Raeth that weren’t Night Crawlers, and in terms of both strength and numbers, the Osmos clan had fallen so far from their former glory that they were likely the weakest clan in the entire world.
Given that, the thought of the Game Controller being discovered and taken down by the other clans didn’t seem all that far-fetched.
“If you want to stay…
then stay,” the Matriarch said with a soft chuckle.
Those words made Nyx sit up straight, her gaze locking onto her mother’s purple eyes in shock.
Normally, whenever Nyx hinted at the idea of lingering—of cherishing the moments and bonds she had built with her clan—her mother would send her away, driven by the hope of ending the Game.
Over time, this had shaped Nyx into something like a cold, relentless killer, with her sole purpose being to protect her clan and bring the Game to its end.
So now, hearing this unexpected permission, she was caught off guard.
But before she could even form a reply, the Matriarch spoke again.
“Go ahead,” she said with a beautiful smile, reaching forward to caress Nyx’s cheek.
“Spend the last year with us… and watch them all die, one by one.” In that moment, as Nyx reached up to her mother’s hand to truly feel her warmth…
she froze.
The words sank into the camp’s stillness and echoed in her mind with merciless clarity.
‘Die… one by one.’ Nyx slowly turned her head, letting her gaze travel across the quiet camp and the one hundred ashen figures who rested in the flickering firelight.
Each of them lay or sat with the same depleted stillness, their pale, grayish skin and hollowed faces making it very clear how close they already stood to their ends.
‘One…
by one’ The words kept echoing, and for the briefest moment her eyes trembled—a fleeting, unguarded flicker of the attachment she had worked so hard to carry without letting it break her.
Then, just as quickly, the emotion was sealed away, and the deep purple of her irises hardened into an icy, unfeeling cold once again.
She rose to her feet in a single fluid motion.
She knew that technically her clan members could survive as long as she remained alive, but with only a year left before they drifted back into their incomplete states, time was running out.
For nineteen years, she had watched them decline, slipping from their peak condition to the point where they could no longer even access their paths properly.
And if she stayed, she would be giving up her one chance to possibly change the rule and restore her clan to their former selves.
As she stood above the campfire, the black battle dress draped over her, and her short black hair framed a face of smooth, pale skin, now devoid of the vulnerability she’d shown just moments before.
The chain blade stayed wrapped around her right hand and forearm.
“Contact me if you move camps,” She said without looking back at her clan.
She began walking toward the edge of the clearing.
“I’m going to the Bastion of Humanity.” With that, she stepped beyond the firelight’s reach and into the deeper shadows of the forest, while her mother watched her go with a warm, motherly smile.