Damon had been feeling a vague sense of unease before—but now, his danger sense was going wild. A maddening buzz screamed through his skull as the skill went berserk. He fell to his knees, clutching his head, shaking from the overwhelming sensation. He shut it off. Forcefully. The others didn't have a danger sense skill. But they had something just as primal—instinct. The kind forged in the fires of survival. And that instinct screamed at them now—warning them that death was imminent… Or that something far, far worse than death was drawing near. Damon's mind flickered with the image of that poor soul—the man who had turned part tree. He had failed to answer a question… and met a fate so vile Damon still felt the bile rise in his throat. He staggered back to his feet. The mist—the same one that had poured from the lips that once belonged to Valerie Sunwarden—was spreading. Fast. It had been black at first. Now it was turning a pale, sickly white. Damon's hands trembled as he looked up to the sky. And saw the horrors in the air… fleeing. Creatures—some bearing power of the fourth and fifth class advancements, monsters that could level entire cities—were flying away from this place as fast as their wings could carry them. Even the titanic beasts that lumbered in the distance—beings so massive they shook mountains—had changed course. As if desperate to avoid whatever was approaching. The earth quivered beneath his feet. And then came the roars. Screams. Countless abominations crying out in pure terror as they fled. Below, the green waters under the bridge churned violently—boiling, alive. The monsters that called it home were fleeing too. They weren't just scared—they were desperate. Damon's eyes rose to the rooftops. Even there, monsters stood frozen. Some he recognized. Others were unnameable. But one among them—a faceless horror—turned and fled like the rest. Damon gritted his teeth. His fingers curled around the lips of Valerie and gently slid them into a pouch. She was unresponsive. Still. But something told him she wasn't truly gone. No… the Ascendant had not surrendered yet. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖 Her will still clung to existence. After all, she had died a long time ago—and yet survived, a discarnate soul sealed within her own dismembered lips. Xander stood on the far edge of the road, spear braced against the ground. His gaze locked into the mist—unblinking. His eyes were wide. Too wide. A look of pure fear. The kind that stretches the eyes open so wide they beg to see—to comprehend—whatever nightmare looms. Damon sucked in a sharp breath. He felt the activated Remorseless skill and its effects. He didn't even consider winning. Because this wasn't a battle they could win. "What are you doing? Run, fool—!" His voice cracked through the others like a thunderclap—snapping them from the trance of paralyzing dread. "Equip your armors! At the awaken shell—move! Light!" But before they could decide which direction to run… the mist thickened. Choked everything. Damon didn't dare use Shadow Perception. He knew better. Whatever was coming… would strike him the moment it was sensed. There was no time for planning. He didn't even speak. He couldn't. Because in that instant, his heart clenched violently. His body seized. A terror so profound it felt like sleep paralysis flooded his nerves. He could see, feel, and think—but he couldn't move. Then— Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. They echoed from deep within the mist, still far, but every step deliberate—patient. The thing approaching didn't need to hurry. Because it knew. There would be no escape. Running was futile. "Arrrrgh!" Damon screamed. He forced his limbs to move—his body fighting against the pressure, as if submerged in an ocean of thick, leaden water. Every movement was agony. His muscles shredded. His bones cracked. Blood gushed from between his clenched teeth. "ARGHHHHH!" The scream became a roar as his body rebelled—his nerves lit with torment—but he kept moving. The others couldn't even see him through their fear. Couldn't register his defiance. He wasn't resisting because he thought he could win. It was never about winning for Damon. He always knew what came when you challenged a greater power. Pain… or death. Still. He would never kneel. Not to gods. Not to death. Not to fear. Not because he believed he could win— But because if he was going to lose… He'd do it his way. Because he must lose on his own terms. Only on his terms. That was how he would go. A defeated loser but one who chose his exit. He raised his hand—and unleashed Ashborn. Black flames exploded outward, burning the mist. He felt every moment of it—a pain ten times worse than being burned alive. But it cleared his mind. He turned. Grabbed Sylvia's arm—then kicked Leona with brutal precision, sending her flying toward the bridge. The impact knocked the air from both of them. He didn't pause. Fired the omnidirectional gear—it locked onto Xander's armor with a solid thunk. He grabbed Evangeline, slung her over his shoulder, snatched the paralyzed Matia in one hand, and fired the gear again—this time toward where Sylvia and Leona had landed. The gear yanked him forward, tearing him through the air. He had to move. If he stayed too long, the pressure alone would kill him. His heart would burst. His legs would shatter. He knew it. Still, the footsteps came. Closer. Calm. Unbothered. Damon felt the wind lash against his skin as he skidded towards the broken bridge. He let the others go. They landed hard—bodies shaking, breath ragged. They looked at him. No words came. Their mouths trembled, but no sound followed—as if their tongues had been robbed from them by fear itself. All they could do was shake. This fear… this presence… It was worse than the Whispering Forest. Damon's defiance shouldn't have mattered. Should've meant nothing. But he had mastery. [Mental Contamination Resistance.] More than that this entity was not trying to kill them, otherwise they would be dead already. Yet. But Damon felt it—the pressure climbing again. His heart on the verge of collapse. The footsteps kept coming. Closer. Right beyond the veil of mist. And still, his companions were bound—trapped in fear. Unable to even crawl. He feared too. But he wouldn't let it stop him. Behind them was the green water—infested, monsters, a path to gods-know-where in the dead city. A place of monsters and forgotten horrors. But even they were trying to flee now. There was no choice. No escape. So Damon stood. His black eyes filled with the fury of an insect that would spit in the face of a god. He bared his bleeding teeth. Tied the thin wires of his omnidirectional gear to the powerful armor of each party member. His fear was raw. Real. But his will remained unbroken. He jumped. Soared over the edge of the pavement— And pulled them all with him into the green waters below. The fleeing monsters had created a powerful current. It grabbed the party, dragging them—tied together—away. Damon's eyes fluttered. And just before his consciousness faded, he looked up… And saw the figure emerging from the mist. The last thing he remembered was the roar of the current, and the darkness closing in. And it's calm gaze on him.