Drip… drip…
Renji stirred. His body ached in places he didn't know could hurt. Everything was sore, but not in the sharp, screaming kind of way—more like his limbs had gone cold and heavy, barely remembering how to move. He didn't know how long he'd been lying there. Time didn't feel real anymore.
His eyes blinked open slowly. The dim glow of bluish light filtered through the cracks in the cave wall, casting soft shadows across uneven stone.
He tried to sit up—and stopped. Pain flared through his leg, radiating from somewhere near the knee. His right arm wouldn't move. When he glanced down, the sight of the twisted limb made his stomach turn.
"Still here…" he croaked, more to himself than anyone else.
A rustle nearby caught his attention.
"...Renji?"
The voice was hoarse, quiet. Hajime.
Renji turned his head slightly. Hajime was barely upright, slumped against the opposite wall. He looked worse than Renji did—pale, trembling, his clothes torn and stained with blood. One of his arms was just... gone.
Renji's stomach churned again.
"You're alive," he said, barely above a whisper.
"Yeah." Hajime leaned back with a sigh, as if the act of answering had drained him.
Silence settled again. A suffocating kind of quiet that filled the cracks between words.
Renji tried not to focus on the pain. He stared instead at the strange shimmer on the floor—thin trails of glowing blue liquid that pooled gently between the rocks. It was faint, but there was something calming about the way it moved, slow and sure, like it had all the time in the world.
He followed the trail back to the wall. Embedded in the rock was a massive, crystalline formation, softly pulsing with mana. Recognition stirred at the back of his mind.
A Divinity Stone.
They were rare, almost mythical things, formed over a thousand years by dense mana crystallizing underground. The ancient texts said they ranged from thirty to forty centimeters across, and after a few hundred more years, their inner mana would liquefy, seeping out like a spring. That liquid—Ambrosia—was sacred.
The elixir of life.
It couldn't grow back limbs, but it could heal any wound. Soothe pain. Prolong a life as long as it was drunk regularly. Renji remembered reading that the god Ehit once healed thousands with Ambrosia during the wars of old.
He blinked, dazed, as Hajime moved toward the pool. With shaking hands, he scooped a little and drank.
Then Hajime crawled over.
"Here," he said, voice low, offering Renji some of the shimmering liquid.
Renji hesitated, but let it fall into his mouth. It was cool—almost sweet, like springwater laced with magic.
Pain flared—then faded. His swollen leg eased, the burning throb dimming. His twisted arm cracked slightly, bones shifting into a better position. It still hurt like hell, but something had changed.
Renji exhaled, slow and shaky.
"What... was that?"
"Ambrosia," Hajime muttered. "From the stone."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Renji leaned back and let the quiet carry him. His body still ached, but it was no longer on the edge of collapse. He was alive. Somehow.
He glanced at Hajime.
And something in his chest tightened.
Hajime had curled in on himself, arms wrapped tight around his knees. His head was buried, shoulders trembling. He wasn't making a sound. He just sat there—completely still, completely quiet.
Renji had never seen him like this.
Not during training. Not during battle. Never.
It wasn't the physical pain—it was the look in his eyes earlier. Hollow. Distant. The kind of look someone had when the world had just taken something from them they couldn't ever get back.
Renji remembered the bear. The way it had looked at them—cold, unfeeling, like they weren't even people. Just things to kill. Meat to tear through.
He remembered Hajime's scream when the beast had bitten down.
Renji swallowed.
If it had been a regular monster, something they could fight, Hajime might've handled it. He'd always been strong like that—quiet, stubborn, ready to push forward no matter what.
But those eyes… That moment… It broke something in him.
Renji looked away, guilt and helplessness clawing at him. He couldn't even offer words of comfort. Not here. Not like this.
Someone... anyone... save us, he thought, echoing a feeling he knew Hajime was probably thinking too.
But no one was coming. They were too deep. Too far gone.
Renji leaned his head back against the cold wall and let his eyes drift shut. The slow drip of Ambrosia echoed through the cave like a ticking clock—soft, steady, and cruelly peaceful.
They were still alive.
For now, that would have to be enough.
Four days had passed since the fall.
Four days since everything shattered—bones, hope, sanity.
Renji could barely remember how many times he'd woken from dreams of fire and screaming, only to find himself still alive, still trapped in this lightless pit of stone and silence. His stomach had long since stopped growling. Now it only twisted in on itself, a hollow ache that left him breathless. His lips were dry, his throat like sandpaper.
They had nothing. No food. No real shelter. No rest.
Only the Ambrosia.
The liquid oozed from the Divinity Stone at the center of the cave, glowing faintly in the dark. It was warm, almost sweet on the tongue, and it healed their wounds. At first, Renji had believed it a miracle. He'd used it to close the gash on his thigh, to stop the bleeding in his shoulder, to keep Hajime from succumbing to infection.
But the miracle turned cruel.
Ambrosia didn't restore what the body needed. It didn't give back strength. It didn't fill your belly. It only made the pain sharper—kept them just healthy enough to suffer a little longer.
And so they endured. Awake. Cold. Starving.
Hajime hadn't spoken in over a day. He lay curled beside the stone, eyes unfocused, his breath shallow. His left arm was gone—bitten off. The stump had been sealed by Ambrosia, but the agony of it remained, ever constant. Sometimes he whimpered in his sleep, if he even slept at all.
Renji didn't know if what Hajime had now could even be called sleep.
His own body was barely functioning. Every joint throbbed. His muscles screamed with every movement. He'd scraped his hands raw trying to dig a way out, breaking fingernails on stone. All he'd earned was bloodied palms and dust-filled lungs.
There was no way out.
Every time he looked around the cave, all he saw was endless gray. A tomb. Their tomb.
Once, he had been the strong one. The one who crawled to Hajime when the boy was too broken to move. The one who whispered that they'd find a way, that someone would come. That they just had to hold on a little longer.
But even that lie was gone now.
No one was coming. No one even knew where they were.
The silence pressed in like a weight. No wind, no water, no birdsong. Just the faint drip of Ambrosia and the ragged sound of their breath.
He saw Hajime stir. The boy's cracked lips moved, barely a whisper:
"If all that awaits me is eternal pain... then I might as well..."
Renji's chest tightened. Not out of surprise—but recognition.
Because he'd thought the same thing.
He dragged himself over—his limbs unresponsive, like logs. His vision blurred. Every part of him screamed to lie down and never move again.
But he reached Hajime. Somehow.
He didn't say anything. Didn't have the strength to lie anymore. All he could do was sit beside him, lean against him, and share the silence. The ache. The hunger.
They were dying slowly. Alive, but no longer living.
All they could do now was wait—for something to change, or for the end to come.
Whichever came first.
Eight days.
The hunger had escalated again. Renji could feel it gnawing at his insides, sharp and unforgiving. Every muscle, every fiber in his body ached, and the deep sense of emptiness—physical and emotional—never ceased. His stomach twisted violently, but there was nothing to ease the pain. He had long stopped feeling the subtle pangs that once told him he was hungry. Now, it was a constant, violent pulse in his gut, reminding him of just how desperately he needed food.
But there was nothing.
His thoughts were muddled, shaky, growing weaker by the minute. Even the slightest movement felt like dragging himself through thick, suffocating mud. His body wanted to shut down, to sink into unconsciousness, but the pain wouldn't allow it. Every inch of him screamed, every bone and muscle yearning for relief.
Beside him, Hajime was barely moving. He had stopped speaking days ago, his breathing shallow, a low whimper escaping his cracked lips every so often. Renji could still see the twitching in Hajime's fingers, the way his body curled in on itself as though trying to preserve some shred of warmth, some semblance of humanity.
But it was hard to say whether Hajime was still truly alive at this point—if anything, his spirit was already gone.
Renji's thoughts drifted back to the past, back to when they had first come here—when hope wasn't a distant dream, but something they could almost reach if they tried hard enough.
But now? The hopelessness clung to him like a blanket, and he could feel it creeping into his very bones, making every breath more laborious, every blink more difficult to keep open. The Ambrosia no longer had the miraculous effects it once did. It kept them alive, yes—but at what cost? It made them feel every moment of their misery more acutely, and every passing day felt like a thousand years.
Renji's eyes flickered to Hajime once again. His once vibrant eyes were now hollow, staring blankly at the stone above them. The boy hadn't moved much in hours. And yet, there was something... darker about him now, as if the suffering had turned inward, feeding on something deep inside.
Renji couldn't take it anymore. His lips cracked as he finally whispered, his voice rasping from days without water, "Hajime… talk to me. Say something."
Hajime's only response was a low, strained groan, followed by the tiniest flicker of recognition. His hand twitched, but the boy's eyes remained vacant, lost.
But then the delirium took hold.
Hajime's lips parted in a jagged breath, words tumbling out in broken whispers:
"Why me...? Why... did this happen? What did I ever do to deserve this..."
Renji's chest tightened at the sound of his words, but he couldn't answer. How could he?
Hajime's voice grew more agitated, the words spilling from him faster, each one carrying the weight of his torment:
"Why is this happening? Why am I here? Why am I alive when all I feel is this... pain? My arm's gone... they... they took it... That bastard..."
Renji felt his own heart break a little, the weight of their shared suffering almost unbearable. Every word from Hajime felt like a hammer to his chest. He couldn't speak, couldn't offer comfort—because what did he have to give? Nothing but empty words. He could only watch as the darkness in Hajime's mind consumed him more and more.
"I just want to die... Please... why can't I die?" Hajime's voice cracked, a hollow sob escaping him. "I can't take this anymore..."
Renji couldn't stop the shiver that ran through him, his body growing colder with each passing second. He couldn't help him. He couldn't even help himself.
In the suffocating silence that followed, Renji felt the darkness creeping into his own mind, too. The hunger, the thirst, the endless cycle of pain—it was all becoming too much. And yet... He wanted to keep fighting. But fighting what? A fate they couldn't escape?
For the first time in days, Renji let himself think about the way out. The final way out.
Maybe there was no escape. Maybe there never had been. Maybe...
He glanced over at Hajime, his pain, his broken spirit. He saw the way his body trembled in the quiet, as if the smallest touch would break him apart completely. How much longer would they last?
If they even had a chance of surviving, it would have been long ago.
But the cold reality was that they were stuck here—together
Renji's breath hitched, his eyes drifting back to the stone. It glowed, but its light was dim. Not enough to banish the darkness inside them both. It was a sickening reminder of everything they had lost.
And still... they lived.
But for how much longer?
The tenth day arrived, and both Renji and Hajime stood at the edge of something terrible, something unfathomable. Their bodies had been hollowed out by hunger, by pain, by a suffering so relentless that it began to strip them of their very humanity. The physical torment was unbearable, but the emotional weight, the desperate hunger gnawing at their insides, was far worse.
The passage of time had no meaning here—only the agony of each moment, each breath, each heartbeat that drove them deeper into madness. Their bodies were frail, skin stretched tight over bones, their faces hollowed out, eyes sunken and dull. And yet, the hunger remained—a ravenous beast that clawed at their insides, tearing at the last remnants of their humanity.
The anger, the rage, the hatred—all had been burned away. There was no longer any point in clinging to those feelings. The unfair god that had thrust him into this world. The classmates who had betrayed him. The monsters that had torn his body and soul apart. Even the girl who had promised to protect him—the memories of them all vanished into the suffocating void of despair.
What remained was not the kindness Hajime had once known, nor the burning rage Renji had once carried. They were nothing but hollow vessels, their only desire to survive.
For Hajime, the transformation was complete. The last shred of humanity, the faint remnants of the boy who had once hoped for a better life, were gone. He had been reshaped, remade, in the fires of agony. There was no god to turn to, no future to hold onto, only the dark, insatiable hunger that consumed him. He didn't care about the betrayals, the monsters, or the friends who had abandoned him. There was only the need to survive. The need to feed.
And yet, despite the gnawing hunger that tore through his gut like a thousand daggers, despite the agony of his phantom limb, there was one thing—one thing—that kept him from the unthinkable. His attachment to Renji.
Renji had once thought of Hajime as weak—someone he needed to protect. But now, watching him transform into something feral, something that no longer resembled the person he had been, Renji began to wonder if that was the true strength. Was it better to give in, to stop pretending that they could stay human in a world like this? Was it better to embrace the darkness and become a creature of pure instinct?
Renji, too, had fallen into a dark place.
The hunger he felt was no less consuming. His body screamed for sustenance, and every day, every moment, the temptation to turn on his companion gnawed at him. The pain was unbearable, but even more so was the temptation. The thought of Hajime—his only companion in this hell—lay before him, his flesh ripe for the taking.
But Renji couldn't. Not yet. There was something inside him, a flicker of something human, something tethered to the boy who had once trusted him, who had shared his struggles and pain. They had been through this together. There was still some small part of Renji that refused to see Hajime as just food.
Hajime, too, felt the same. His eyes, wild and full of the desperation of a beast, flickered with the same thought—just a moment of weakness, just a single moment, and he could take Renji. But he didn't. The hunger screamed in him, but his attachment to Renji kept the edge of violence at bay, just barely. He couldn't bring himself to betray the only person who had been with him in this hell.
The dark thoughts had crossed their minds. The temptation was unbearable. Every cell in their bodies screamed for sustenance, for the release of their suffering. But something deeper, something more primal, kept them from crossing that line.
For a fleeting moment, both boys realized that their attachment to each other, however faint, was the only thing keeping them from cannibalizing one another. It wasn't friendship anymore. It wasn't camaraderie. It was something darker. A bond forged in mutual suffering. A bond held together by the sheer will to survive.
Hajime's will had hardened. His soul, shattered and reforged in the fires of hunger and torment, was no longer the same. He had resolved that he would kill. Kill anything, anyone, who stood between him and survival. He had no more room for pity, for compassion. All that mattered was the raw, unrelenting need to live.
As Hajime dragged himself across the ground to drink from the spilled Ambrosia, Renji's eyes followed him, unblinking. The desperation in Hajime's movements, the way he drank from the ground like an animal—it mirrored Renji's own thoughts. Renji was barely holding onto his humanity. His thoughts had become consumed by the hunger, the pain, and the suffering. He didn't need to think anymore; he needed to survive. And survival, it seemed, would only come through violence.
Hajime stood up after drinking, his body now brimming with a sickly new energy. He wiped his mouth roughly, and his eyes—those eyes that had once been kind, filled with hesitation and uncertainty—were now wild, feral. His grin twisted into something wicked, something cruel. He was no longer the boy who had fought so hard to keep his humanity intact. He had shed that part of himself long ago, and now, what remained was only the raw desire to live.
"I'll kill them," Hajime muttered, his voice low, empty of emotion. It wasn't anger. It wasn't hatred. It was simply the cold, detached declaration of a man who had resigned himself to the brutal fact of survival. His will had been sharpened to a single point, a blade forged in the deepest pits of despair. He would kill. And there was nothing that could stop him.
Renji stood there, frozen for a moment, and then something inside him cracked. He had watched Hajime break, had seen him slip further into the abyss, but now he understood. That's the only way. That's the only way to live.
Renji's mind, shattered and unrecognizable, took on a new perspective. The battle inside him was no longer about trying to hold onto the man he once was. It was about surviving. It was about finding a way out of this hell they were trapped in. And if that meant killing, then so be it. The moral lines he had once drawn so clearly in his mind had been erased. There was no time for ideals, for honor, for mercy.
Survival was all that mattered.
Renji's body was weak, but his mind was alive with the same ferocity that had overtaken Hajime. His eyes darkened as he turned to look at the boy he had once seen as a fragile, broken soul. Now, Hajime was the embodiment of what Renji had become—a creature fueled by hunger, by pain, and by the unyielding will to survive at any cost.
Renji stumbled over to the same cavity where the Ambrosia had spilled, his body stiff with the effort. His hands shook as he leaned down, sucking the liquid from the ground, tasting the bitter essence that had kept him alive this far. The hunger had not subsided; it never did. But with each drop, he felt himself growing stronger, the madness in his mind bubbling up like an uncontrollable storm.
When he finished drinking, Renji wiped his mouth just as Hajime had, his face hard and unmoving. His eyes were no longer filled with the confusion and guilt that had plagued him before. They were cold, focused. His once human self had been buried beneath the weight of his survival instincts. And like Hajime, there was no going back.
"I'll kill them," Renji said softly, his voice no longer his own. It was just like Hajime's—emotionless, devoid of compassion, and filled only with the singular desire to survive.
In that moment, the bond they shared was no longer one of friendship, or of loyalty. It was a bond forged in blood, in hunger, and in the twisted, broken minds they now inhabited. They were no longer human. They were something else—something far darker. And in the depths of that darkness, both Hajime and Renji realized they had become the very monsters they had once feared.
And they would kill. Kill without hesitation. Without remorse. To survive. To live. To escape the hell they had been thrust into.
There was no turning back now.
To be continued