Chapter 4: "Maps, Meat, and Midnight Whispers"

Chapter 4: "Maps, Meat, and Midnight Whispers"

The sun was starting to dip, casting a soft orange glow through the cracks in the bunker’s ceiling. Damon sat on a wooden crate, chewing on dried meat that tasted like burnt rubber wrapped in regret. Hopper lounged beside him, eyes half-lidded but ears alert, always listening.

“Hey,” Damon mumbled, poking at his SPS device. “This thing says we’re ten clicks from the nearest Zone Outpost… which I’m pretty sure is code for, ‘You’re completely screwed if you go there.’”

I told you, Hopper’s voice echoed gently in his head, we’re not ready for zones yet. Too many eyes. Too many rules. Too many... teeth.

“Yeah, yeah,” Damon sighed. “Still—how are we gonna find anything useful without getting seen? Or eaten? Or both?”

He flipped through the old, cracked screen of the SPS. The device had started to warm up since he fixed the power cell earlier that day. Scanning maps, sensing distant magical pulses, even detecting when something nearby smelled too… monster-y.

Suddenly, a blinking icon popped up: Energy Signature Detected – Class D.

Damon raised an eyebrow. “Class D? That’s not terrible, right?”

Could be a broken drone… or a dead mage’s leftover sock. Hard to say, Hopper replied, tail flicking.

“Let’s go see anyway,” Damon said, already pulling on his patched boots.

The trail wasn’t far. Through twisted trees and whispering grass, Damon and Hopper moved with the kind of stealth only a guy terrified of stepping on monster poop could achieve. Every twig snap had him flinching, every rustle made his knife hand tremble.

Then they saw it—half-buried in the dirt, covered in vines, was a weird metallic pod. Damon knelt beside it, brushing debris off. It shimmered faintly.

“This… doesn’t look like a sock,” he whispered.

It’s not. It’s a Shard Vault. Probably left by a hunter.

Damon blinked. “Wait. A shard? Like—sky shard?”

Maybe. Or maybe it’s just another cursed trinket that’ll turn your eyebrows into worms.

“Comforting as always, Hop.”

He tapped the pod. It hummed. Then, with a loud hiss, it opened. Inside lay a knife—sleek, dark silver with a red line glowing faintly across the blade. Damon felt the hum in his chest as his SPS instantly scanned it.

> Weapon: Bloodcurve

Cursed Class: Minor

Status: Dormant

Notes: Requires contact with cursed energy to activate. May enhance user reflexes.

“Bloodcurve,” Damon muttered. “Sounds like a bad rock band name.”

Still, he reached out and lifted the blade. The moment his fingers touched the hilt, the red glow pulsed. His head buzzed with faint whispers—nothing clear, just emotion. Anger. Regret. Hunger.

Damon’s knees buckled. Hopper lunged, pressing against him.

Let it go! Hopper barked inside his mind. It’s not ready! You’re not ready!

“I… I’m fine,” Damon panted, tightening his grip. His shaky hands stilled—not entirely, but enough.

And then the blade dulled. The whispers faded. Bloodcurve was quiet again.

“You okay?” Damon asked, mostly to convince himself.

That knife’s seen things, Hopper said solemnly.

“No kidding.”

They packed up and made it back to the bunker by moonlight. Damon cleaned the blade, wrapped it in cloth, and laid it beside his old rusted knife.

Progress.

He sat on his bedroll and sighed, glancing up at the cracked ceiling. Somewhere above, in the real sky, the stars watched. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe the sky shards had changed more than just the ground.

“You ever wonder,” Damon said aloud, “why you didn’t leave me?”

Because you’re my human, Hopper answered simply. Weird. Fragile. Terrible with maps. But mine.

Damon smiled. “You're the clingy one.”

The night passed with the low crackle of firewood and the gentle hum of strange, cursed dreams.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***