Chương 155: Worse and Worser

The sad truth about being royalty was that sometimes people were out to get you, regardless of whether you were a benevolent leader or a tyrant. Greed, irrationality, pointing fingers; there were plenty of reasons that someone would want to kill another. Royalty wasn't always prim and just, but as Lilia looked around in horror, she recognized servants of non-noble birth lying still, unmoving... dead. She took in a stifled breath, only to be sent into a coughing fit as dust entered her sinuses abruptly.

Both Lilia's were used to discomfort; she herself, as a Dreamer, had to kill a few people from time to time in the name of self-defence, a vile experience shared by many Dreamers, in fact. But she in no way enjoyed the act of killing — or the act of hurting another. Sorrow filled her heart; this wasn't her first time in a terror attack. The toll of death seemed to never weigh less in her mind as she looked around; more and more potential survivors were confirmed as corpses.

One man had a piece of debris impaled through his hand and into his side. A pool of blood had formed where he lay, and his eyes remained deathly open, unfocused, staring through the world. Lilia knew that man as the one who gloated to her that he had found a fiancé after she had rejected him long ago; the man seemed truly happy not long ago. Her gaze moved over to another corpse, a woman, someone she had known for years; they never talked much, but always greeted one another.

The shockwave alone rattled her mundane organs, causing her to collapse and hit her head on the ground, dying not due to the blast or its aftermath, but due to falling. A sad, pathetic, and helpless death, one that reminded Lilia of the relevance of mortality. Lilia remembered sharing a glass of wine with her not too long ago while exchanging some shallow greetings; her life seemed to be heading in a good direction; however, she was now dead.

She stumbled through the dust cloud, readying herself to fight off a threat. A stream of cold blood ran down her arm as she now realized that a piece of debris had indeed struck her. Feeling cold, her hand hovered over the shard of stone stuck in her arm. She would survive if she tore it out; she was a Dreamer after all. The only reason she had survived in her current state was that she was a Dreamer.

A painful realization that her tragically dead peers would have still lived if they had, by chance, become a Dreamer.

"Tch." Stopping in her tracks, she oriented herself, realizing that she was aimlessly walking along a trail of bodies… and that the wounds on said bodies were different. Sword wounds marred corpse to corpse; gunshots sometimes riddled bodies, with the occasional single hole between the eyes; torn noble clothes and vagrant rags seamlessly mingled when blood was involved. There seemed to be no survivors like herself. Those who lived fled, and those who didn't…

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Dazed, her ears felt clouded, and her head felt heavy. The thought that her ears, like her other organs, had received a shock as well just occurred to her. A dull hum filled her ears, with a subtle ring— other sounds seemed to blur together, with little truly distinguishable.

'Whe-Where's Jun—' She fell to her knees and threw up a torrent of blood.

'T-take over… sister.' Her eyes twitched closed, and she began keeling over before suddenly waking. She stood up swiftly, swayed a few steps, and recalled where June had headed off to before staggering there.

In life, people died; it was one of the few absolute truths of life. When people died, did they go to their gods? Were they punished for their sins and truly rewarded for any virtuous deeds they had done? Was there another life awaiting them beyond? Or was there nothing — simply, absolute death. Both Lilia's wondered together, watching people they had met before, seen before, known before, lay still… lifelessly. Lilia walked around, poised for combat.

She had found a caked sword sticking out of an unidentifiable corpse — the wielder's hand still attached. Whether it was a guard's sword or if it belonged to one of the perpetrators, a blade was a weapon nonetheless. She was a mage, and while staffless casting was possible, at times, it was unsteady without a medium. A sword, on the other hand— would kill any mundane or Aspirant if cut in the right place, regardless of technique or skill.

'A gun would have been preferable' Navigating for what felt like hours, Lilia had found a small posse of past acquaintances holed up in a lavatory building. During her time navigating, her shaken senses slowly began to come back to her; however, the few survivors whom she had found seemed to be in far worse shape than her.

Unlike herself, the few survivors were farther from the initial blast, yet despite their distance, the shockwave had nearly deafened the Aspirant survivors, while the few mundane survivors, over time, had fallen left and right due to unresolved internal damage. She was the only Dreamer there. Lilia had come to the painful conclusion that the few Dreamers were powerful enough to protect the other attendees and were the first to leave.

Sounds of combat, screaming, and crumbling buildings still echoed outside the lavatory building; visibility had not improved since the explosion. In fact, it had worsened over time. Things had gone from worse to worser — time was of the essence, and unless Lilia was willing to abandon the surviving group to procure her own survival, a miracle had to happen sooner rather than later. However, disasters were more common than miracles… A booming voice angrily called out from outside the lavatory building.

"Come out! Come out! Wherever you are!? I know you're hiding in there, you damn nobles!" Bang! Bang! Pop! A few shots were fired off, as the assailant's voice, riddled with impatience, intensified.

"COME OUT NOW!!!"