Ichor Cell-Chapter 25: Departure

Alex woke to silence.
His body twitched before his mind caught up, every muscle tensing in panic. For a moment, he thought he was still in the middle of the fight—still surrounded by burning air, pounding fists and flashing lights.
When his vision steadied, the world was dark and still.
Or as dark as his night vision allowed it to be.
Alex let out a breath, slowly calming down. He had figured out a while ago that his new form suppressed his emotions to an extent, at least the negative ones. Souped up on adrenaline as he had been, he hadn’t really had time to hesitate or think about his actions. But thinking back on it now…
He trembled, remembered the pain of the fight, of getting ripped apart over and over and over and OVER AND OVER AND-
‘Stop.’
He slapped himself, clenching a shaking fist to his forehead.
‘It’s ok now. It’s over.’
For a moment he just lay there, appreciating what it was like to be alive.
He tried to sit up, and pain lanced down his spine. Something cracked, then popped back into place. His breath came out ragged, shaky, but alive.
“Still breathing.” He muttered to himself, half a laugh, half a sob.
Rain had fallen recently, leaving the cobblestones slick and shining. The cloudy, moonless sky felt like an accurate representation of his own mental state. A breeze rustled over him, drawing out a shiver that reminded him that he was once again naked.
‘I should really invest in some self-repairing clothes.’
He thought to himself.
‘But… what happened?’
Alex looked down at his hands.
He only remembered bits and pieces of the end—explosions, the old woman’s voice, the captain’s strikes, the taste of iron filling his mouth. The hunger. The way his body had taken over. The way it had
enjoyed
it.
He’d been fast, strong, unstoppable.
He didn’t remember fleeing; he only knew that he must have, to end up here. His instincts had led him to this random corner of the city, and now that they’d quieted, he realized he had no idea where
here
was.
They’d agreed to regroup at the mass grave if things went wrong. He’d made bold claims about being able to find it if shit hit the fan, but now that the fan had truly been shitted, he had no idea where to go.
“Fantastic.” He muttered, pushing himself up. “Lost again.”
The alley opened into a maze of side streets. No lamps, no people, just the occasional shutter slamming in the wind. It seemed that he had escaped the noble district while in his frenzy—he could see the wall off in the distance, and the impossible cube mountain of the Acropolis towering further behind it.
Though that didn’t really help, since you could see it from just about any point in the city.
‘Welp, we’ve already been here once before.’
He shrugged, letting out a shaky breath.
‘Now where’s that high ground?’
When you don’t know where you are, go up.
He scaled the nearest building. Well, he didn’t scale so much as he jumped. The short, single-story construction offered minimal improvements to his line of sight, though it did give him enough to identify his
real
target.
Hopping off, he made his way down the street. After turning a few corners, he found a modest park, with small, well-trimmed bushes lining the sides and a few small wooden contraptions scattered here and there. In the center, a large, thick tree soared well over fifty feet into the air.
A playground.
Alex paused briefly in surprise.
It was strange, seeing something so ordinary after the night he’d just had. The
week
he’d been having.
He passed through the bushes, boots squelching in the wet grass, and reached the tree. Up close, he still couldn’t tell what kind of tree it was, though that could have just as well been due to his non-existent tree knowledge, rather than it being some unknown species.
He jumped. His claws bit into the bark as he climbed, feet finding small notches between the gnarled roots and branches. Despite the slickness, he moved easily—his body handling the task almost automatically. A small smile graced his lips.
A curse though his powers may sometimes seem, moments like these made it all worth it.
He quickly reached the crown and crouched on a thick branch, gripping it tightly as he peered out over the city.
From here, the rooftops stretched in every direction, dimly lit by the occasional gas-powered lamp. Not like the noble district; that was easy to spot—the faint, pale white glow of mana lamps pervaded the entire area, lighting up the night like a beacon.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, the violation.
‘Even here, light pollution is a problem. What a shame.’
He shook his head.
But his attention was soon directed at something else entirely.
There, beyond the rooftops, framed faintly by the clouds, a familiar shape rose in the distance. Just barely visible behind the cover of the Acropolis loomed the sheer cliff faced wall of the mountain he had seen on his first night here, its summit crowned by a tiny temple.
For a second, Alex just stared at it, confused.
“…Wait.”
He slowly lowered his head, looking from the mountain to the Acropolis, then down to the streets below.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He let out a humourless laugh, rubbing his face with both hands. “How the hell did I end up
here
?”
Somehow, during his frenzy, he’d crossed half the damn city. Maybe even more, since he’d apparently gone fully around the Acropolis and out the other side.
“Brilliant.” He said flatly. “Absolutely brilliant.”
Still, the sight gave him something he desperately needed: bearings. At least now he knew a general direction in which to head, even if it would be a longer trip than expected. He would need to hurry; he wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d gone feral, but the night was going to be over soon no matter what, leaving him only a few hours to find shelter.
But first, he paused.
He leaned against the trunk for a moment, letting the wind cool his face. The exhaustion was still there, gnawing at his bones. Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel the phantom sensation of being torn apart—the old hag’s light, Adamantios’ fists, his body ripping and knitting itself back together until the world went white.
“Don’t think about it.” He whispered. “Just move.”
He climbed down, slower this time. His hands shook, but not from fear—just sheer depletion. When his boots hit the ground, he took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and started walking.
He kept to the alleys, slipping between shadowed courtyards and empty plazas.
Once, he stopped at the sound of boots. A patrol was moving along a nearby street, their torches flickering as they swept their light across the walls. He waited, motionless, pressed against the side of a crumbling house until they passed.
He could have fought them. Part of him
wanted
to—the part that was nothing more than a rabid animal, eager to tear into anything that moved to replenish his energy, but he forced the thought down.
He kept going.
By the time he saw the mass grave ahead, his legs felt like lead and his head was spinning from fatigue to the point where even the smell didn’t bother him.
He stopped at the edge, scanning the shadows. The grave was still—same leaning markers, same gnarled trees. It almost felt like it was waiting for him.
He stepped through the gate, closing it softly behind him.
“Alright.” He said under his breath. “Let’s see if there was a point to any of this.”
Taking a deep breath, he half walked half stumbled into the hellscape, calling out the other’s names.
After a few minutes of this, just when he was starting to get worried, a faint rustle came from behind a small hill.
Alex turned immediately, every muscle tightening. His body protested the sudden movement, sending waves of fatigue through his body, but he ignored it.
“Alex?”
The voice was soft, careful.
He exhaled slowly. “Oh thank god- ack, cough.” He had forgotten to hold his breath in his relief, catching a lungful of rotting death.
She stepped into view, her cloak drawn tight around her shoulders. Her face was pale under the weak light, strands of damp hair clinging to her cheeks. Behind her came Duran, carrying Grenil slumped against his chest like a child. The old man’s breathing was shallow, but steady.
“You did it.” Alex said, relief threading through his exhaustion.
Elara nodded once. “Barely.”
He rushed past her, helping Duran gently set the old man down. Although beat up and unconscious, the shopkeeper’s breathing was smooth and stable.
“He’s just asleep.” Duran confirmed with a reassuring nod.
Alex finally allowed himself to relax, falling on his ass as his legs gave way. He didn’t even care that he was sitting naked in a graveyard.
‘I’m sure my healing will take care of any nasty diseases I might get… probably.’
Elara still stood where she’d emerged, arms crossed over her chest like a shield. She hadn’t come closer since she’d stepped out of the dark.
When Alex finally looked at her, she flinched—not visibly enough for most to notice, but he saw it. Her eyes flicked to his hands, then to his face, then away again.
She hesitated. “You look… awful.”
“I feel worse.” He tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “You should see the other guy.”
Her mouth twitched but didn’t quite curve upward. “I did.”
“Oh.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant patter of rain and Grenil’s shallow breaths.
“You saw.” he said quietly.
She nodded. “I saw.”
The way she said it, soft, distant, hit harder than if she’d screamed it.
“I didn’t have a choice.” He said.
“It’s not a matter of if you had a choice, Alex, if that’s even your real name.” Elara’s voice came low, trembling despite her best effort to steady it. “I watched someone I knew, someone I considered a friend, turn into a… a monster!”
A silence settled over them, heavy as the fog rolling through the trees.
After a long moment, Elara spoke again. “What are you going to do now?”
“I was planning on leaving. Running away somewhere where they can't find me.” Alex said, though even as he said it, his heart dropped into his stomach.
She hesitated, and when she looked up at him again, her eyes were wet. “I… I can’t go with you.”
His stomach sank. “Elara-”
“You don’t get it.” She said sharply, taking a step back before she caught herself. “When I close my eyes, I see you tearing those men apart. I can
hear
them. You weren’t defending yourself, Alex. You were
enjoying it.
”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
He tried to step toward her, but she raised a trembling hand
.
“Please,” she said. “Don’t.”
Alex froze.
The look in her eyes wasn’t anger. It was fear.
And it hurt just as much as any wound he’d taken that night.
“I’m staying.” She said after a long pause. “They didn’t see me. There’s no need for me to uproot my whole life and run away gods know where.”
“You think I’d hurt you?” He asked quietly.
Her lips parted—then closed again. She didn’t answer. That silence said everything.
He exhaled slowly, the air leaving his lungs in a long, unsteady breath. “Alright.”
“I’m sorry.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You have nothing to apologise for.”
They looked at each other for another moment.
“Take care of yourself.” He said finally.
Elara nodded, though she couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “And you.”
She turned and walked away, her figure quickly disappearing behind a dirt mound. Alex stood there until even the sound of her steps was gone.
Alex looked down at his hands. Blood, gore and dirt covered them. He flexed his fingers once, then let them fall to his sides.
Duran came close, Grenil held in his arms. “We should move.”
Alex looked up at the faint glow of dawn creeping over the rooftops. The air was cold, clean, and full of the quiet promise of pursuit. “Yeah.” He said, turning away from the city. “Let’s get out of here.”
For a moment, Alex glanced back. The mass grave was still. Empty.
Then he faced forward again and started walking.