Chapter 6 : Crawl.
Pain was all he knew.
It gnawed at his side, each heartbeat squeezing more blood out of him, soaking the dirt under his back. Conner gasped, clutching the torn scarf tighter around his abdomen, trying—begging—to hold himself together. The metallic taste of blood coated his tongue, sharp and bitter.
Above him, the system window still hovered.
But something was wrong.
[OBSERVERS ACTIVE: 1]
[YIGGVAATH - GOD OF LUNACY AND SUFFER—]
[Y????????????????????I???????????????????????G?????????????????G???????????????V?????????????????????A???????????????A????????????T????????????????????H????????????????????????]
The name twitched, split apart by glitching characters and stuttering distortion.
A second later, it snapped back.
[OBSERVERS ACTIVE: 1]
Conner stared at it, dazed, chest heaving.
But the wound was too much.
He groaned, head lolling back against the cold, cracked wall. His fingers trembled, slipping in blood and grime.
Their names.
He started murmuring them between ragged breaths, voice cracking.
"Jane... Rick... Cathy...."
Blood dripped from his lips, thick and warm, staining his chin.
He tried to sit up, but his body refused. Darkness tugged at the edges of his vision, a deep, cold pull that threatened to drag him under.
And then—
SKKRREEEEEEE
A sound like a rusted blade on glass shrieked through the air.
The system window shattered into broken code, and a voice—nor humane, neither sane—howled into his mind:
CRAWL.
It wasn't a suggestion.
It was a command.
Pain lanced through Conner’s skull like a spike. He cried out, clutching his head as the broken screen flickered and twitched.
[CR?A?W?L?]
He dropped flat onto the mud, instincts overriding thought.
One broken breath at a time, he dragged himself forward—away from the fallen Knight Captain's body, away from the open street. Each pull smeared blood and dirt beneath him, the wound in his gut screaming with every inch.
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The world blurred. His arms buckled.
Blood squeezed from between his fingers.
He gasped, coughed—more blood—and the ground spun.
And just as his vision began to go black again—
A touch.
Soft. Warm. Fingers brushed his cheek, lifting his head from the dirt.
"Conner," a voice whispered. Gentle. Familiar.
Aunt Cathy’s voice.
He blinked through the haze and saw her—her kind smile, her soft eyes. She knelt beside him, framed in a halo of gentle light.
"Aunt... Cathy...?" he croaked, voice raw.
He reached out with a trembling hand, desperate to hold onto her.
But it was just mud and empty air.
A mirage.
A trick of the blood loss.
"I... I can't..." he whispered, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks. "I can't die here. Not... not yet—URGH!"
He jammed his hands into the dirt and pulled.
One agonizing drag at a time, he moved.
Not for himself. Not for survival.
For them.
The fear for his own life had long since burned away, leaving only a hollow, raging need.
Find her. Save her.
His vision tunneled. His teeth ground together so hard they threatened to crack.
He gritted them harder, the muscles in his jaw spasming.
Hand after hand.
Inch after bloody inch.
The broken shell of a building loomed ahead—an old apartment complex, its front door barely hanging on its hinges.
Closer.
Almost there.
Conner’s arms trembled violently. His whole body screamed to stop. He reached for the cracked steps, stretching fingers raw and slick with blood.
And finally—THUMP
He collapsed against the bottom stair.
No strength left.
Nothing but will.
He tried to lift his hand again—tried to grab the next step.
It slipped.
Everything blurred.
And then—CLUMP.
A hand—rough, strong—grabbed his wrist and pulled.
Conner gasped as he was dragged across the threshold. His eyes fluttered open.
"Aunt... Cathy...?" he mumbled, delirious. The warm hand holding his own felt so real.
Was she here? Was she alive?
Was he dreaming again?
Was it even real?
Who was Yiggvaath?
Was this even real?
The thoughts spun wildly, out of control, but then—
Nothing.
No pain.
No blood.
No fear.
Only darkness.
Only peace.
"Wake up."
A voice. Soft at first. Urgent.
"Conner—wake up! Come on!"
Jane.
Her voice, cracking with fear, pulled him back.
Conner's eyes snapped open.
He gasped, chest rising and falling like a drowning man breaking the surface.
Above him — a cracked, water-stained ceiling. Peeling paint curled like dead skin, and a single broken light fixture dangled overhead, swaying gently with each creak of the building....
But somehow... Safe.
He tried to sit up too fast—
"ARGH!"
Pain flared white-hot through his side, and he crumpled back down.
He blinked rapidly, disoriented.
Bandages. Clean ones. Wrapped tightly around his torso and arms.
Someone had tended to him.
Cautiously, he swung his legs over the side of the makeshift bed, trying to move quietly—
DING!
The sound stabbed into his ears.
[MINOR REGENERATION ACQUIRED (C)]
[CO???????N??????????N????????E??????R????????? ????????T????????H?????????E???????? ??????F???????A?????????L????????L???????????E?????N????????]
The text flickered. Twitched.
Then stabilized.
Conner flinched, breath hitching.
CREEEAAAK—
The door to the room creaked open, slow and cautious.
Standing in the doorway—
A woman.
Tired eyes. Hands bandaged like his. Clothes patched and bloodstained, but her face lit up with relief the moment she saw him awake.
"You," she said, voice breaking with emotion. "You're finally awake."
