Seyfe collapsed onto his back, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. The cold, gritty sand clung to his sweat-drenched skin, and the weight of the battle finally hit him. His body felt like it had been dragged through a storm—bruised, bloodied, and exhausted beyond measure. The air was thick with the stench of the creature's decaying flesh and the acrid scent of burnt metal and electricity. His limbs felt like lead, each breath labored, each muscle screaming in protest.
The creature's massive form was now motionless, its body still twitching in the aftermath of its destruction. The black ichor that had spilled from its eye pooled around it, sizzling as if the ground itself rejected its presence. The battle was over, but the cost had been high—Seyfe's entire body ached, and every breath he took seemed to tear at his lungs.
His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the weight of everything crashing down on him. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, the sounds of the world around him seeming to fade into a dull, distant hum. His mind struggled to focus, his thoughts clouded by the overwhelming fatigue, but in the back of his mind, a single thought remained—the baby.
Slowly, his eyes flickered open. His vision swam with dizziness, but he forced himself to sit up, his hands trembling as he braced himself against the sand. The sun—if it could still be called that in this twisted realm—hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow across the ruins. He scanned the area, his heart racing as his gaze locked onto the basket where the baby had been hidden.
It was still there. Still alive.
Seyfe's heart skipped a beat as he slowly crawled toward the basket, every muscle protesting against the movement. He reached inside, gently lifting the baby from the safety of the makeshift shelter he had found. The child's soft, innocent face was still as calm as before, its tiny hands clutching at the fabric of Seyfe's torn sleeve.
He didn't know how he had done it. How he had survived. But somehow, despite the blood and the pain, he had made it. They had made it.
Seyfe let out a shaky breath and, with one final, exhausted sigh, collapsed back onto the ground, the baby still held protectively in his arms.
The baby cried. Not just a whimper or a fuss, but a full-bodied wail that rattled Seyfe's already aching skull. His eyes snapped open, and he instinctively held the child closer to his chest, whispering soft, hoarse murmurs, "Hey... hey, it's okay… we're alright now. It's over."
But the baby wasn't soothed. Its tiny fists flailed, its mouth open in desperate need. Seyfe rocked the infant gently, shifting his weight onto one elbow, trying not to wince at the pain in his side. He checked for wounds—none on the child, thankfully. No sign of fear in its wide eyes either, just something deeper. Need.
Hunger.
Seyfe stared down at the child, then at his own dirt-covered hands. "Of course you're hungry…" he muttered under his breath. "We've been running for—hell, I don't even know how long."
His own stomach groaned in agreement, a dull ache that had been drowned out by adrenaline now roaring back with vengeance. He hadn't eaten since… before the shift. Maybe even longer. The fight had taken everything out of him—physically, mentally, emotionally—and now, in the aftermath, there was nothing but a baby in his arms and a gnawing emptiness in his gut.
"No food. No water. No damn clue where we are," he said to no one in particular, glancing at the broken towers and the strange shifting desert around them. The gears in the sky still spun slowly, creaking with rust and decay. The mechanical ruins whispered with faint echoes, like they were watching.
He looked back at the baby, who was now hiccuping between cries, cheeks flushed red and tiny lips trembling. "You really picked the worst time to show up in my life, kid…"
Seyfe sighed and pushed himself to his feet, the baby cradled carefully against his shoulder. "Alright. Let's find something. Anything. Just don't die on me after all that."
He scanned the ruins ahead—metal carcasses of buildings, half-buried vending terminals, rusted transport husks. Somewhere in this twisted place, there had to be remnants of sustenance. Even a scrap.
And with that, he began walking again, each step a battle of its own, but with a determination in his chest that burned just bright enough to keep going.
The barren landscape offered little more than twisted metal, sand, and silence. But as he scoured through the remains of a half-buried vending shell, useless and gutted from the inside, a memory surfaced—unwanted but suddenly vital.
He remembered the scum—two of them, greasy voices leaking from a stolen radio he'd once eavesdropped on while hiding inside a drainage pipe near the Outer Rings. They were drunk off scraps and too loud for their own good. "During a shift," one had said, "that's when the crates crack through. Gov sends 'em in—designed to tear right through the fold and land near scouts or whatever freaks they send in."
"Yeah," the other had grunted, "usually land in key points—cleared roads, beacon zones, or near high-anomaly heat. Only problem is you gotta be alive long enough to find one."
Seyfe's eyes narrowed. That meant there was a chance—slim, but real—that somewhere nearby, one of those crates could've broken through the veil during the layer shift. And if it did, it would have food. Maybe even medical supplies. Maybe…
He looked up. The sky above was still warped, spinning with rusted gears and smog, but as he turned in a slow circle, scanning the horizon, a faint shimmer caught his eye. A soft gleam—brief, but distinct—reflecting off something half-buried near a collapsed antenna tower to the north.
Hope flared.
"Hang tight, kid," Seyfe muttered, adjusting his grip on the infant. "If those bastards weren't lying, we might just get lucky."
He picked up the pace, feet dragging through the thick sand, adrenaline reigniting beneath his exhaustion. He didn't know what condition the crate would be in—or if it was even real—but it was better than praying to a dead sky for mercy.
The glint he saw earlier became clearer with every trudging step. What he found wasn't majestic or promising—it was a mess. A broken, half-buried supply crate cracked open like a crushed ribcage, its reinforced frame torn from the violent entry into the layer.
The impact had mangled the outer shell, and whatever beacon it might've used to ping its coordinates had been shattered. The internal compartments were partially melted, some contents reduced to sludge or twisted by exposure to this realm's warped nature. But it was still something.
Seyfe dropped to his knees beside it, propping the baby gently against the less-scorched side. "Alright… let's see what you've got," he muttered, digging through the wreckage.
Most of it was useless—shattered vials, burst packages, and burnt-out rations. But beneath a warped thermal lid, he found a sealed canister miraculously intact. The label was half-erased, government-issued, but the faint smell it emitted when he cracked it open told him it was some form of protein-rich soft blend—mild, maybe even intended for wounded personnel or children.
He dipped a finger inside the lukewarm mixture. It wasn't exactly appetizing—pale, slightly grainy, and strangely gelatinous—but it wasn't spoiled. He tested it himself first, letting it sit on his tongue. Tasteless. Bland. But no burn, no sting. It would do.
Turning to the baby, Seyfe sat cross-legged and cradled the child into the crook of his arm. Gently, patiently, he scooped a bit of the mixture onto his finger and offered it to the infant.
The baby hesitated, then suckled.
Seyfe let out a shaky breath, almost laughing, his body finally slumping with some relief. "Yeah… that's it. Not exactly gourmet, but you've got better taste than me, I'll give you that."
He continued feeding the child in slow motions, careful not to give too much too fast. The child's tiny eyes, once clouded with distress, began to ease. As if that one simple, warm gesture had sparked something ancient—comfort. Safety.
Seyfe sat there in silence as the ruined realm twisted quietly around them, and for a fleeting moment, the nightmare paused. Just a boy and a child, clinging to scraps in a world that had forgotten how to be kind.