The Broken Halo

Chapter 884 - 883: The Man Who Waited

Simon lifted his face from the stone and spat out grit mixed with blood.

A shallow gully stretched below him. Dry grass clung to its edges, and a crooked boulder leaned over the bend. Behind the ridge, dust from the destroyed staging ground climbed into the sky.

No tents. No soldiers within sight.

For the moment, nothing was falling toward his head.

”Fuck.”

He tried to move his right arm, but pain travelled into his shoulder, and the Chaos Wraps tightened before the damaged wrist could bend beneath the sword.

His escape had torn open injuries that had barely begun healing. Blood ran from his nose onto his lips, and one leg trembled when he drew it beneath himself.

’Should have landed somewhere softer.’

The thought earned him a bitter smile.

He had not chosen this place for comfort. It had been the first usable destination his failing perception caught while Heavenfall Arsenal descended.

Simon looked toward the crooked boulder.

”The gully beyond the supply lines...”

He had passed it while walking around the camp’s outskirts before the raid. At the time, he had paid it little attention. But a faint spatial impression of the place had remained with him.

Teleportation required a destination, not merely the desire to be elsewhere.

Places Simon had visited left impressions of the space he had occupied. He could use those impressions to locate a destination again, then briefly connect it to his current position and move between them.

Remembering a building was not enough. The memory had to lead him to the actual place in space.

He could also establish a destination through sight.

A distant patch of ground seen clearly enough could serve just as well as somewhere he had stood before. Sky Eye made that particularly useful. Where ordinary vision offered only a blurred hillside, Simon could distinguish a ledge with enough room for his body and fix his spatial perception upon it.

Both methods required power.

Greater distances demanded more energy, and unstable or obstructed space made the connection harder to form. Familiarity could help him find a destination, but it could not force a sealed passage open or make a dangerous arrival safe.

The rift had already taught him that.

He had other places he could reach toward, including Velmora. But knowing where to go did not mean his injured body could endure the energy needed to get there.

’No more jumps. Not yet.’

Simon steadied his breathing and directed a thin current of his demonic energy toward the pathways beneath his shoulders. UnholyRegeneration worked beneath the wraps, reconnecting tissue while he kept the damaged sections from receiving too much energy at once.

He spat out another mouthful of blood.

”Legs first, then. I need to walk.”

For several breaths, he remained crouched, listening to the distant screams carried from the camp.

The crooked boulder gave him his bearings. Following the gully would take him toward the road leading back to Velmora.

He did not know what the city could offer against a god. The commanders who should have helped him had already tried to hand him over.

Still, Velmora had roads, buildings, medicine, and places where he might find another option. This slope offered a clear view of whatever came to kill him.

Simon looked behind him.

Nothing moved along the ridge.

He extended Shadow Sense into the shaded hollows between the rocks. Small living presences scattered beneath the grass, but he found nothing that resembled a pursuer.

The wind gave him the scrape of loose stones and the distant collapse of something enormous.

But there were no footsteps.

’That doesn’t mean he’s gone.’

Simon forced himself upright.

His knee nearly folded. He waited until it steadied, then began walking down the gully, keeping the Chaos Blade low and his injured arms close to his body.

He tried running, but it only lasted three steps.

A sharp pain caught beneath his ribs, and he stopped before the next stride could worsen it.

”Wonderful,” he muttered.

He continued at a measured pace. Every few steps, he checked behind him. Shadow Sense followed the bends before he reached them, while his wind brushed across the higher ground.

He had just begun to breathe more easily when he rounded the crooked boulder.

Someone stood in the path.

One hand rested behind his back. The other arm ended at the elbow.

Darius’s red hair stirred in the breeze.

Simon stopped.

”You took longer than I expected,” the God of War said.

He stood directly between Simon and the road to Velmora. There was no sign that he had hurried to get there.

Simon’s instincts finally caught up with his eyes.

The god’s presence filled the narrow gully.

’Nothing. I sensed nothing.’

”You could have kept waiting,” Simon replied.

The god smiled.

”I have been patient enough.”

His gaze passed over the blood beneath Simon’s nose.

”Your regeneration is slowing.”

”It has had a busy day.”

”And you insist on making its work harder.”

The god took a small step toward him.

Simon’s expression became solemn. There was a flat shelf beyond the bend, visible above the god’s shoulder. He fixed his gaze upon it.

Not far. Just enough to leave this reach.

He began forming the connection.

Pain lanced through his shoulders.

Before the space could join, fingers closed around his throat.

The God of War stood directly before him.

Simon had not seen him cross the distance.

His feet left the ground. He tried to bring the Chaos Blade upward, but the movement sent a spasm through his ruined wrist. The wraps kept the sword in his hand without giving him the strength to complete the cut.

The god watched the attempt.

”I have been considering whether your secrets are worth this irritation.”

Simon’s left hand closed over the wrist holding him.

It did not move.

”You wounded this body, concealed your secrets behind insults, and made me follow you through another realm.”

The fingers tightened.

Simon’s next breath stopped against them.

”I could keep your sword, take your wrappings, and examine whatever remains of you. It would be less troublesome than waiting for an honest answer.”

Blood gathered against Simon’s tongue. He forced a thread of demonic energy around his throat, resisting the pressure where he could.

’Damn it.’

The god lifted him higher.

”You have mistaken my curiosity for something that cannot end.”

Suddenly, a voice came from above.

”Take your hand off him.”

It was quiet, without urgency or the careful respect everyone else had used when addressing the god.

The God of War stopped speaking.

Simon strained to turn his head as those iron-grey eyes lifted.

High above the gully, a solitary figure stood in the air. Drifting dust left his features indistinct, but nothing obscured the ease with which he watched the god holding Simon.

Lord Enigma.