Wonderful Insane World-Chapter 75: On the Edge of the Abyss

Dylan’s POV

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against a wall — well, it wasn’t really a wall. More like a giant rock, half-buried outside the wooded part of the forest. A massive hunk of stone that looked like it could topple into the nearby chasm at any moment... but it was so huge that even with their newfound strength, they wouldn’t have been able to move it.

To their right: the abyss.

To their left: the forest.

And with no faith left in their ability to defend themselves after the backlash from the core shock, the trio had chosen to camp right there — out in the open, at the edge of nothing.

Dylan felt paralyzed. Every limb numb, heat pulsing through his body like a slow-burning fire. Moving was out of the question.

"Never again..." he thought, gnawing on the idea that they were stuck in such a hostile place, with zero means of defending themselves. One of the worst-case scenarios.

Especially since Dylan was still marked — still being tracked by that twisted demon, the one who clearly got off on hunting them down like easy prey.

But he hadn’t had a choice. They’d been ambushed by a swarm of second-tier beasts, led by a fully awakened demon — basically the same as the Hystrix. The same nightmare that had terrorized them when they first stepped into the forest. And even though they’d grown stronger... they still didn’t have what it took to take on a creature of that rank.

Dylan suspected he’d have to rely on that "boost" more and more often. He knew it. But the damage it did to his body kept him from fully accepting it.

Night was falling. Hunger too.

They hadn’t eaten since the previous evening. They’d spent the whole day marching, then fighting off two dozen hellspawn. Now they were fried — paralyzed, no strength left to hunt. Hell, even heating up the leftover meat from yesterday was out of the question. No one had the energy to move, let alone gather firewood.

Dylan couldn’t help glancing at his teammates. Only his head could still move — the rest of him was a dead weight, frozen stiff. He looked at Maggie first.

She was leaned against the rock too, eyes closed, her face almost peaceful. Like she was asleep. But he knew better. She wasn’t. She’d felt this before. She knew better than to fight it. Just breathe. Wait it out. Let the body catch up.

"Now here’s someone who knows how to deal," he thought, a little impressed.

Then his gaze drifted slowly toward Élisa.

The elf with the shaved head sat cross-legged, hands resting on her knees, breath sharp and burning — like she’d run herself into the ground. You could see it in her every move: she was trying to channel the energy inside her. Stabilize her core. Keep her mind from slipping, despite the pain.

She was meditating. As if that alone could stitch her back together.

Dylan had tried it once. Just to see.

It had been hell.

He’d felt like he was dumping oil on the fire. Every breath, every attempt to align his energy only made the pain worse. And he wasn’t the type to torture himself just to prove a point.

Not when his whole body screamed to stop.

So he stayed there, quiet, almost clinically detached, watching the others. Each one had their own way of handling the aftermath. Élisa — calm strength. Maggie — silent brute force. And him? Just a kid. A lost boy who’d grown up too fast, too hard. Who had carved himself into a killer by breaking over and over.

"Most people my age are probably in college by now, huh?" he thought, his eyes drifting toward the sea of stars overhead, veiled by the growing dark.

He could’ve laughed — if he’d had the strength. But no. These kinds of thoughts never made him laugh. Not anymore. Regret was his specialty. And if there was a crown for it, Dylan wore it. He had enough regret to drown in. Way too much for someone that young.

Sometimes, in the heaviest silences, he imagined his parents. Long dead. He pictured them watching him from somewhere — anywhere — and seeing what their son had become. This wreck. This burned-out shell. A version of their child so twisted and worn, they wouldn’t even recognize him. A smudged photocopy of the boy they had loved. Raised. Dreamed about.

And every time, the taste came back. Bitter. Rancid. A flavor of ash that sat heavy in his throat. Like every memory was poison. Slow, methodical. A quiet suffocation.

"Vengeance is a dish best served cold, they say..." he murmured, closing his eyes and taking in a breath of cold air. "Well, I just feel like I’ve poisoned my whole damn life."

He stayed there a while longer, trapped in his own silence. Not really awake. Not really asleep. Just... gone. A shard of consciousness stuck in the dark, chewing on thoughts that meant nothing anymore.

Then he heard a voice. Hoarse. Faint. Like the speaker wasn’t sure they wanted to break the quiet.

"Getting all philosophical now, are we?"

Dylan cracked an eye open. Maggie.

She hadn’t moved an inch, still propped against the rock. But her face had shifted slightly — a half-smile, laced with fatigue.

He could’ve ignored her. Let the silence fall again. But something in her voice — that blend of soft irony and raw exhaustion — made him answer.

"Gotta be useful for something, now that breathing’s about all I can manage."

Maggie let out a short laugh. Rough. Dry. But not unkind.

"Don’t strain yourself, lieutenant. I doubt the stars are listening."

He shrugged — or tried to. His body barely obeyed.

"Good. Not sure I’d like what I’d have to say anyway."

Silence settled again. This time gentler. Not as heavy as before.

Then Élisa spoke, her voice calm, still seated in meditation:

"The stars listen. They even speak. You just need the right ears to hear them."

Maggie snorted.

"Great. Didn’t sign up for an esotericism class tonight."

Élisa opened one eye, slowly. She looked... peaceful. Empty, but in a quiet, settled way.

"And yet here you are. Glued to a rock, freezing your ass off, staring into the void. You still think you get to choose how this goes?"

Maggie grumbled something, but didn’t answer.

Dylan, meanwhile, smiled. A real one, this time.

Not because everything was fine.

But because at least they were still alive enough to throw jabs at each other.

And sometimes, that was enough.