It had been months. Dawn was bruised and battered. The endless desert had been nothing but torture.
At night, abominations of fallen and corrupted rank rose from the ground, and through the day, the scorching heat refused to let him rest.
He had survived by drinking the blood of the few abominations he could actually kill and feasting on their flesh. Though painful, it had come with its rewards.
His soul core was now halfway full, standing at exactly 536/1000 Dawn Fragments. He had learned that he could both kill and destroy the soul shards of nightmare creatures to gain fragments.
He had also obtained a few more memories—Ashrender and Gilded Rage Plate among them.
---
Dawn stood atop one of the highest dunes. His once-short hair now cascaded behind his back like a shower of silver liquid, waving in the wind.
Atop his beautiful hair, stained by blood, sat a crown of black obsidian, radiating soft silver light. His body was covered by the Gilded Rage Plate—its star-like white metal outlined by beautiful gold, acting as a stark contrast to the rest of his form, clad in a pitch-black bodysuit.
Atop his left shoulder sat the humanoid form of the small flame.
Dawn's eyes were sunken and tired as he gazed upon the raging war unfolding beneath him—the abominations that rose every night to continue their constant and endless battle.
---
"Hey, Flame… you see it, right? That weird black skull in the distance?"
"Yes, Master."
"I can feel it… stronger than before. It's still incredibly faint. Whatever is inside that skull—it has some weird emotion. It feels like solitude… but it's diluted."
The small apparition of the humanoid flame nodded in agreement.
As the sun began to rise on the horizon, the endless soldiers began to fall into the sands once more.
---
Calmly heading forward toward the black skull, Dawn's instincts screamed of danger. Yet, he continued.
Not too long ago, he had realized that no matter what he tried, he simply couldn't force himself to care anymore—as if a piece of him had been unknowingly taken.
Lifting the crown from his head and placing it before him as he walked, his raspy voice—dry from lack of liquid and nutrients—escaped his lips.
"This crown took my compassion to save my life. I don't know how to regain it… but I just can't make myself care anymore."
---
And so, night fell once more.
He fought his way through the army of soldiers, summoning his trusty Dawnbreaker to cleave through as many awakened enemies as he could. His body, enhanced by the small flame, radiated a beautiful light.
His once-aimless swordsmanship—once guided by the Titan—had now turned into a fluid dance. Though crude compared to any master, it proved that survival truly sharpened anyone.
Having learned from the many abominations he had slain, his combat style had become brutal but effective—deadly and sharp, unyielding and unwilling to die.
He was stabbed. He was caught. Yet, he fought.
---
After many awakened and dormant abominations had fallen to his blade, he tiredly looked up at the sky.
The sound of incoming abominations trying to surround him was familiar now.
With all the dormant and awakened abominations slain, the fallen and corrupted leaders of their armies had begun their march.
Standing once more, he knew he had no chance of killing a single one.
But he didn't care.
He was too tired.
His body was battered and bloodied. His once-beautiful white armor was stained with blood—not of his enemies, but of his own.
Many of his bones were broken. Blood leaked from his mouth.
Shakily, he readied himself for battle.
In the distant sandstorm, he saw the countless eyes of the incoming fallen and corrupted abominations heading toward his location.
The horrid beasts—ranging from mere creatures to devils, to even a few tyrants—surrounded him.
He activated Chronos Khaos once more.
Time slowed—for him and his enemies.
Yet the world continued.
And deep within his soul, he felt another ember extinguish.