Swoosh!
The sound was a constant, maddening companion. It was the sound of the abyss swallowing him whole. He had lost count of the times consciousness had flickered like a dying candle—flaring into brief, terrifying awareness before being snuffed out by the sheer, overwhelming reality of his fall.
Each time he woke, the sensation was the same: a nauseating lurch in the pit of his stomach, the violent flutter of his torn clothes whipping in the wind, and the endless, weightless plunge.
He had no idea how long it had been. Hours? Days? Time had lost all meaning in this lightless descent. The initial, gut-wrenching terror had been a living thing, clawing at his insides. The fear of the impact, the primal dread of annihilation—it was all magnified a thousandfold by the absolute blackness that was now his world.
He couldn't see the ground rushing up to meet him; he could only imagine it, and the imagination was a far more potent torturer. In that consuming darkness, a sliver of profound, bitter pity for those born blind surfaced in his mind.
To live an entire life in this… this nothingness… It was a testament to a strength he wasn't sure he possessed. If this were his permanent state, he knew with chilling certainty that the revolver back in his room would have been a mercy.
He had waited for the end, braced for the final, shattering stop. He'd hoped it would be quick, a blissful obliteration. But the end never came. There was only the fall. Eventually, even the fear burned itself out, leaving behind a numb, hollowed-out shell of a person. The bottom was a myth. And if it wasn't, so what? What more could it take from him?
A dry, rasping chuckle escaped his raw throat. "Now… I really look like a fallen angel, don't I?" The words were torn away by the wind. A being cast out of heaven, wings brutally shorn, condemned to an eternal descent. The irony was so thick he could taste it, metallic and bitter like blood.
"How ironic…"
He drifted in and out. Sometimes, he slept, a fitful, nightmare-ridden escape. Other times, he simply existed, staring into the void with his sightless eyes, a king of nothingness. The ultimate act of madness: finding a perverse sort of peace while hurtling towards an unknown doom.
Finally, the cycles of waking and sleeping ceased. He did not wake up again.
—
"Caw! Caw!"
The sounds were sharp, intrusive, piercing the deep, comatose silence that had claimed him. They were abrasive, real.
Bradley's eyelids felt like slabs of stone, glued shut by days of sleep. He struggled to lift them, the effort Herculean. A sliver of awareness returned, and with it, the urge to sink back into the welcoming oblivion. He let his eyelids fall.
"Caw! Caw!" The calls came again, louder, more insistent, as if the creature knew he was trying to escape back into unconsciousness.
A frown etched itself onto his grimy face. "So noisy…" he muttered, the sound a dry croak. He forced his eyes open.
And saw nothing. The same absolute, impenetrable darkness. A spike of panic, sharp and immediate, lanced through him—a ghost of a feeling from a time when sight was a given. Then, memory crashed down, a cold, brutal wave. The priest. The chains. The tearing. The blinding.
Right. I am blind now. The thought was a lead weight in his soul. He let out a shaky breath, and then his brow furrowed in confusion.
His hands, which had been memories of searing pain from the manacles, were free. He flexed his fingers, then pressed them against the ground. It was solid. Unyielding. Cool earth and rough, pebbled stone met his touch.
"I am on the ground? How?" Disbelief colored his hoarse voice, giving it a strange, reedy quality.
"How am I still alive? That fall… it should have…" The sentence died in his throat. It was an impossibility. A body falling from an immeasurable height does not simply land unscathed. There was no logic, no reason. Unless some unseen force had intervened, a notion that seemed just as fantastical.
But then, he was living in a world where the impossible was rapidly becoming the baseline.
"Fucking hell," he cursed, the anger a familiar, warming fire in his chest. "I swear I'm going to skin that priest bastard and feed him his own eyes." The vow was a anchor. "But now… what the fuck am I supposed to do? I can't even see where to take a piss!"
The sheer, utter hopelessness of his situation threatened to crush him. This wasn't a trial; it was a sadistic joke. The difficulty was set to 'impossible'. A bitter laugh escaped him. Fairness? The world has never heard of it. Your choices are simple: adapt or die. Crawl or be consumed.
He sat on the cold ground, a statue of despair. To move was to invite a swift, unseen death. He was marooned on an island of stone in a sea of unknown terrors. And he had forgotten something. Something crucial. A piece of advice, a key… it danced at the edge of his memory, maddeningly elusive.
"Fuck, why can't I remember…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he could physically squeeze the memory out.
"Caw!"
The sound came from his left, startlingly close.
Bradley's heart hammered against his ribs. He scrambled backwards, his legs, unaccustomed to movement without visual guidance, tangling beneath him. He fell hard on his backside, a jolt of pain shooting up his spine.
"W-what the fuck? Who's there?" His voice was tight with a fear he hated.
He did not know what it was, but he was scared. How could he not when he could not see what was out there, knowing the world that he was in, monstrosities definitely awaited him. After all, humans feared what they could not see, the fear of the unknown.
The shadow priest or whatever he was called had said that he was to be sent into the hollow lands, and if he is guess was correct, it was probably where hollow creatures inhabited—the creatures Adrian had talked about in the orphanage.
"Shit! Whatever you are, stay back!" he yelled, his hands frantically patting the ground around him. His fingers closed around a heavy, jagged stone. He hurled it blindly in the direction of the sound, knowing it was a futile, pathetic gesture. A blind man throwing rocks at a monster.
"Caw! Caw!" The creature called again, and he heard the soft, scuffing sound of its approach.
"I'll be damned with this shit!" He tried to stand, to run, but his body betrayed him, stumbling and falling. Desperate, he began to crawl, a slow, humiliating retreat across the rough ground.
A sudden flutter of wings, a displacement of air, and he knew it was upon him. The distance had been closed in an instant.
He froze. This was it. After everything, it would end here, eaten by some unseen horror in the dark. A strange calm settled over him. It's fine. I wouldn't have lasted long anyway.
He closed his eyes—a pointless habit—and waited for the tearing of flesh, the crunch of bone.
It never came.
Instead, a small, surprisingly light weight settled gently on top of his head.
Huh? I'm… alive?
"Caw!" The sound came directly from above.
He went rigid. It's on my head.
But then, his mind, ever working, processed the sound. It wasn't a growl or a hiss. It was a… caw. A crow's caw.
Slowly, hesitantly, he raised a trembling hand. He expected a sharp peck, a tearing beak. Instead, his fingers met something soft, warm, and undeniably feathered.
It was a bird. A simple, ordinary bird.
The tension drained from his body so fast it left him dizzy, and he burst into a hoarse, ragged laugh that was half-sob. "Hahahahaha… no way… I was just scared of a fucking bird…" He carefully brought the creature down from his head and into his lap. It was small, its body warm and surprisingly solid.
"Caw!" it agreed, as if sharing the joke.
"You're a crow, aren't you?" he asked, stroking its head with a finger. The feathers were sleek and smooth.
"Caw! Caw!"
He smiled, a real one for the first time in what felt like an eternity. "So you came to find your lost crow brother, is that it?" The priest's slur now felt like a badge of honor. This little creature was his only ally in this hell.
"Now I wonder, do I turn into a crow as well? That would be fucking hilarious."
Suddenly, the crow hopped off his lap and fluttered away.
"H-hey! Where are you going?" Panic, a different kind now, laced his voice. Don't leave me alone in the dark.
"Caw!" The call came back, a promise of return.
He heard a soft, scraping sound, like something being dragged through dirt or sand.
"Hey, what are you doing over there?" he called out, feeling a fresh wave of absurdity. I've finally lost it. I'm having a full-blown conversation with a bird. My other self would be pissing himself laughing.
After a few minutes of listening to the peculiar rustling, the crow returned, landing with a soft thump in his lap. "Oh, so you're back. Done with your project?"
"Caw!" The crow pecked gently at his leg, then fluttered back to the ground.
Bradley remained seated, head tilted in confusion. "What now?"
Seeing his incomprehension, the crow flew up to his arm and gave him a sharp, reprimanding nip.
"Ow! What the hell was that for?" He rubbed the spot, wincing.
"Caw! Caw!" The crow was back on the ground, its tone impatient.
A dawning understanding broke over him. "What… do you want me to follow you?"
"Caw!" An affirmative.
The situation was beyond peculiar. This was no ordinary bird. Its intelligence was unnerving. But it had been his only source of comfort, his only guide. He had no other options. "Fine," he sighed, the word heavy with resignation and a sliver of hope. "Lead the way."
He began to crawl, following the sound of its caws. It was slow, undignified work, his knees and hands scraping against the rough terrain. But he didn't have to crawl for long.
"Huh? Is this it?" he asked, stopping.
"Caw!" The crow was at his hand now, its beak gently tugging at his index finger, pulling it downward. "What are you trying to show me, buddy?" he murmured, allowing the bird to guide his hand to the ground.
His fingertips brushed against the earth. Then, they encountered something else. Not just random grit, but deliberate, carved lines. Grooves and curves etched into the soil.
"No… not just lines…" he whispered, his breath catching. "These are… letters!"
He traced the shapes with a frantic, reverent touch, his mind working to decipher the message his fingers were reading.
"Sy… em… sp…" he muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then, it clicked. "Spirit system! How could I have been so stupid!"
Midas's final instruction roared back into his memory. Check your Spirit System. It's your lifeline.
"You genius! You brilliant little crow!" he exclaimed, scooping the bird up and crushing it against his chest in a wave of pure, unadulterated relief.
"Caw! Caw! Caw!" it protested, struggling in his tight embrace.
"Oh, right, sorry! Sorry!" he laughed, setting it down gently. "I got a little carried away."
He took a deep, steadying breath, the first that felt truly full in a long time. The despair had receded, replaced by a flicker of purpose. "Okay. Let's check my system now."
He didn't know what to expect. A list of skills? A map? He prayed for anything, anything that could be a tool for survival in this forsaken place.
"Spirit System," he commanded, his voice calm and clear.
For a moment, nothing. A cold dread seeped back in. No… it's a visual interface. I'm blind. I can't see it! Is it just floating there in front of my empty eyes?
But then, it wasn't his eyes that saw it. It was his mind. A screen, crisp and clear, manifesting not in his vision but directly in his consciousness, as if projected onto the back of his skull.
He looked at it.
Name: Bradley
True Name: —
Titles: [The Child Who Cheated Death], [Treacherous Crow]
Bloodline: —
Spirit Rank: Dormant
Spirit Core: Dormant
Soul Rank: —
Relics: 1 item
Affinity: Darkness
Abilities: [Crow Companion]
"Fucking hell." Bradley cursed.