Asrel got ready and took one last glance over the ruins behind him before continuing on. The silence was as heavy as ever, the sky still choked in gray, but something in the air had changed.
He could feel it.
Then, without warning, a streak of blue light cut through the air like a spear, hurtling toward him at terrifying speed.
His instincts fired.
Asrel snapped his arm upward, forming a barrier of Chaos energy just in time. The projectile smashed against the curved surface of his shield, scattering light across the terrain in a shower of sparks. The barrier held firm, humming with condensed power.
"An attack," he realized instantly.
He didn't hesitate.
Tracing the trajectory backward with his sharpened senses, Asrel pivoted and sprinted across the cracked earth, weaving through debris and jagged stones with fluid precision. His Chaos-infused body moved like a ghost, fast and balanced, every motion refined by days of survival and testing.
Then came the follow-up.
A sudden barrage of long-range projectiles, pulses of blue energy rained down on him in rapid succession.
But Asrel was faster.
He dodged, twisted, slid, using the terrain as cover where he could, and formed barriers mid-motion to intercept shots that came too close. Each attack revealed something to him, timing, spacing, angles. He was calculating.
"Five distinct sources," he thought, tracking each origin point. "They're trying to box me in."
He surged forward toward one of the positions he had pinpointed.
As he closed the distance, two figures emerged from cover, dashing toward him at speed. Their faces were hidden behind heavy gas-mask-like helmets, complete with tinted lenses and breathing filters. Their bodies were covered head to toe in reinforced protective suits, designed to guard against exposure to the harmful energy saturating the air. The fabric was thick, functional, and sealed, faintly pulsing along the seams where insulated channels helped filter whatever toxic force they moved through
"Humans." A surge of emotion flickered in Asrel's chest. "Finally."
Both assailants wielded curved blades, each one faintly glowing with a pale blue light, possibly a new energy source, unfamiliar to him. They closed in fast, moving with coordination and practiced precision.
They struck together.
Twin blades slashed down at him, but Asrel raised his arm and expanded a layered barrier of Chaos. The swords scraped against it with a high-pitched whine, failing to cut through.
With a shift of weight, Asrel countered, his fist trailing a crimson flare of Chaos as it slammed into the chest of one attacker. The hit launched the masked figure back through the air, crashing into a cracked pillar with a sharp thud.
The second fighter backstepped immediately, disengaging to reassess.
From the ridge above, the remaining three attackers unleashed another volley, energy bolts raining down in arcs meant to suppress and obscure.
Asrel reinforced his shield, wrapping himself in a cocoon of swirling Chaos. The blasts struck one after another, boom-boom-boom, shaking the ground, kicking up dust and broken stone.
The world went quiet for a heartbeat.
Only the wind, and the soft crackle of energy lingering in the air.
The smoke settled.
When the dust cleared, the attackers saw him, Asrel standing unharmed at the heart of the impact zone. His frame glowed with faint crimson veins of power, and in his hands, three charged bolts of Chaos energy swirled and pulsed, alive and trembling with destructive potential.
He grinned.
With a flick of his arms, the bolts surged forward, dark red trails slicing through the air like spears. The projectiles slammed into the rocky outcrops where the long-range attackers had taken cover.
Explosions tore through the ledges.
Stone shattered.
Dust clouds surged upward.
When the light faded, three more masked figures were exposed, scrambling to recover from the blast.
Now all five stood in the open.
Asrel was the first to move. The moment tension rippled through the air, he blurred forward like a streak of smoke, kicking up gravel and ash underfoot. His eyes locked onto the nearest figure, one of the masked attackers, stance firm, blade already raised in anticipation.
The opponent swung to intercept, but Asrel slipped beneath the strike with uncanny precision, his body twisting mid-motion. In the same breath, he pivoted, unleashing a swift spinning back kick that crashed into the attacker's abdomen. The blow landed with a hollow thud, reinforced by the controlled strength of his augmented body. The figure crumpled backward, crashing into the dust with a grunt before falling still, unconscious.
Asrel's boots hadn't even touched the ground before he sensed the others converging. The remaining four were closing in fast, their movements sharp and synchronized, blades reflecting what little light remained in the barren land.
A coordinated four-on-one began.
They moved as a unit, two engaging head-on while the others flanked from both sides. Their formation was tight, practiced. But it wasn't enough.
Asrel ducked under the first cross-slash, his body gliding between strikes like a shadow breaking apart the air itself. He delivered a sharp elbow into the ribs of the flanker to his left, using the rebound to flip over the second attacker and sweep him into the dirt with a heel-hook mid-air. His motion never stalled, each step fed into the next like flowing current.
The third assailant hesitated, a moment too long. Asrel capitalized with a palm strike to the chest, disrupting the attacker's balance before hooking the leg behind the knee and forcing him down. The last one rushed in, yelling behind the mask, but Asrel spun behind him and struck a nerve cluster at the back of the shoulder, dropping him instantly.
Within seconds, all four lay groaning or unconscious in the dust.
Asrel stood amidst them, breathing steady, expression unreadable behind the faint shimmer of chaotic energy dancing along his skin. He had fought with restraint, efficient, targeted strikes that disabled without killing. Drawing on his newfound attunement, Asrel raised one hand and summoned a filament of Chaos. It shimmered in the air like molten thread, warping the space around it as it unraveled from his palm. With a practiced sweep of his arm, he wove it around each fallen attacker, binding them with thin, glowing strands that pulsed with energy. The threads didn't sear or crush. They held, tenuous yet firm, requiring his continuous focus to maintain their form.
It was a delicate task. Chaos was volatile, ever hungry to lash out. But Asrel's grip had grown steadier since the incident. He could feel it, his control deepening with each use.
It took some time before the fallen figures stirred. One by one, they groaned back to consciousness, shifting slightly beneath the glowing crimson threads that bound their limbs. The soft pulse of Chaos energy still hummed in the air, holding firm despite their attempts to move.
Asrel hadn't touched them since the fight ended. He hadn't even examined their gear. The faint glow woven into their suits, the airtight masks, the subtle hiss of sealed regulators, all of it made clear they weren't dressed for combat alone. These were suits meant to survive in hostile environments. The air here was heavy, thick with unseen poison.
Asrel sat cross-legged in front of the restrained group, calm and unthreatening, yet unmistakably watchful.
"Who wants to talk first?" he asked, voice neutral.
The masked figures stirred, glancing at one another. Then they realized their situation. Chaos threads coiled around them like ethereal restraints, unbreakable, weightless yet firm. One struggled. Then another. But the bindings did not yield.
"Don't waste energy," Asrel said, his tone quiet but steady. "We'll ask each other questions. One at a time. I'll begin."
He leaned slightly forward, eyes narrowed behind wind-stirred strands of hair.
"Why did you attack me?"
A pause. Then a mechanical voice broke the silence, the mask distorting what might have once been a young man's tone.
"We thought you were a monster. Nothing human survives in the open this deep."
Asrel let that sit. It wasn't hard to believe. The air felt wrong even to him, shifting subtly, like something alive. Their assumption made sense.
"Your turn," he said.
A second voice asked, more cautiously this time, "Why are you here?"
Asrel met their gaze evenly, though his mind burned with truth he couldn't reveal.
"I don't know," he lied. "I lost most of my memories."
They fell quiet. Whether they believed him or not, none of them pressed further.
"My turn," Asrel said again. "Where is this place?"
They hesitated. One of the masked figures studied him, eyes unreadable behind the silver lenses. Finally, someone answered.
"We're in a Dead Zone. Miasma-contaminated territory. Space is unstable and monsters roam freely. This land was abandoned for centuries."
Asrel absorbed the words. So that's what they called this, a Dead Zone. A poisoned world of fractured mana and mutated life.
'They call the energy Miasma…' he noted silently.
Then the next question came.
"How are you even alive without protection?" one of them asked. "You'd be dead in hours."
"I don't know the full answer," Asrel replied, honest in part. "Something changed in me. I feel the Miasma... but it doesn't harm me."
Murmurs passed among the group. One nodded slightly.
Asrel continued, "What is that blue energy you used in your attacks?"
A different voice spoke this time. "Flux. It's refined from Miasma. A stabilized energy. It powers our weapons, gear, and some abilities. It can fuel cities."
Then the speaker leaned forward, curious.
"What about you? That red energy you used, it was different. What is it?"
"I don't fully understand it yet," Asrel admitted. "But it seems connected to whatever mutation happened to me."
He let a few seconds pass, then said, "Last question from me."
He looked directly at the one who had spoken of Flux.
"What is mana?"
That stopped them. Silence stretched out. The captives exchanged glances. One of them, likely the most educated, finally raised his head.
"I never thought I'd hear that word spoken aloud," he said quietly.
He continued, voice softened by something close to awe.
"I read about it once... in a damaged scroll. One of the old texts, half-destroyed. It said that long ago, the world was rich with a force called mana, something pure and alive. It sustained the balance of life. But it's gone now, replaced by Miasma after the world changed. The text didn't say how or why. Just... that something massive happened. And nothing was ever the same."
The others were silent. Even behind their masks, they seemed moved by the memory of a world none of them had ever known.
Asrel bowed his head for a moment, thoughts racing.
So it's true.
I'm in the future.
A world without mana. A world drowning in rot.
The realization struck him with a sharp weight. He felt his chest tighten, not from fear, but from the loss of something he couldn't reclaim. Whatever had happened… it had erased his time, his people, his place in the world.
But he masked the emotion quickly. This wasn't the time to unravel.
"I'll release you now," Asrel said, rising slowly. "But don't try anything. You won't like what happens."
"We understand," one of them replied. "We think... we know what's happened to you."
Asrel paused, cautious. "What do you mean?"
"You're one of the Blessed," the voice said. "Some people exposed to Miasma mutate. Most die. Some go mad. But a rare few... adapt. Gained strength and abilities. When it benefits them, it's called a blessing."
"And when it doesn't?"
"Then it's a curse. Or death. Sometimes... the side effect isn't visible. Some lose parts of their minds. Others, their memories."
Asrel nodded slowly, playing along.
"Is there a way to recover what's lost?"
The masked figure hesitated. "We don't know."
Asrel's hand moved with intent, and the crimson strands of Chaos unraveled from the captives' bodies like smoke drawn back into still air. The bindings dissipated harmlessly, leaving faint ripples in the dust where they'd once coiled.
The masked figures sat up slowly, rubbing at sore joints and glancing cautiously at one another, but they made no sudden moves. The tension between them and Asrel had thinned, not vanished, but something close to understanding now hovered in its place.
One of them finally broke the silence.
"If your memory doesn't come back…"
The voice hesitated, still mechanical, but a touch less wary now.
"…that's okay, I suppose. You handled yourself well. You'll figure it out."
Asrel offered a slight nod. "That's okay. I'll figure it out."
It was simple, but there was steel behind his words.