“UUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

  Ereth fell through the air at terminal velocity, gales of wind obscuring his vision. Though his father may have granted him access to the human world, he made no mention of where he would be teleported or in what orientation.

  Unfortunately for Ereth, he had found himself 98,000 feet in the air with no manner to cushion his fall. To add onto his mounting fortune, he was no longer within the domain of the Eternal Twilight, thus, his immortality had been rendered null and void.

  In 4-6 minutes, the boy would promptly hit the floor and die.

  Okay. Think clearly. Do I have any options to survive this situation?

  Under ordinary circumstances, he’d be dead no matter how durable his body. However, he was granted a stint of luck — his landing area was a desert.

  When it came to surviving a great fall, impact angle and surface material were everything. Winds at high altitudes and body control could cause forward drift. Striking at the slopped face of a tall dune, preferably between 50-100 feet tall, would convert vertical velocity to lateral motion.

  Sand as a material also has a strange property — it behaves like a liquid under pressure. The sand liquifies and flows around the body rather than crashing against it, allowing grains to absorb the energy through friction and displacement. It doesn’t just break all at once like hard material.

  His plan was set in motion, now all that was left was to pray to lady luck that the various internal bleeding, hairline fractures, and broken bones wouldn’t be too bad.

  This sucks…but I don’t really have another choice.

  Ereth fully extended his arms and legs in a skydiver position, granting him increased stability and steering. As he transitioned from the stratosphere to the troposphere, the thin air had noticeably thickened, lending Ereth even greater air resistance. Even a 0.1% increased survival rate meant life and death in these scenarios.

  40,000 feet.

  30,000 feet.

  10,000 feet.

  5,000 feet.

  The delicate thread between life and death wavered and swayed, threatening to toss Ereth to the abyss. Would he face certain death, or would he be saved by the grace of lady luck?

  3,000 feet.

  1,000 feet.

  500 feet.

  100 feet.

  The ground was close, dangerously close. There was no time to think. There was no time to hesitate. All Ereth could do was have faith in the rigidity of his mind, body, and spirit to aid him in the coming impact. Just seconds before contact, he turned his body 45° relative to the slope, ensuring a prolonged fall.

  He struck the dune just below the chest. Sand violently gave way as it exploded outward. His body tore into it. The slope collapsed beneath him. A roaring avalanche dragged the boy down until the desert swallowed him whole.

  It was not a crash, but a transition. His velocity slowly bled off as the sand dune flowed, ensuring that the fall never stops.

  Everything went black for the moment. The sound deafened, then muffled. Weight presses all around him with sand in his mouth, nose, and lungs. From this position, he has no way of knowing which way is up.

  I…I survived!

  Though his survival was, quite frankly, a miracle of nature, he had no time to celebrate. He was currently trapped under God-knows how much sand, and if he doesn’t move quickly, he’ll suffocate to death.

  Instinctively, he places his hand over his mouth and nose to prevent any more sand intake, and places his remaining forearm on his forehead to create a small pocket of air. With this, he’s spared some time, but it’s not enough to guarantee survival.

  First, he tested his body’s functionality based on mobility and pain.

  I've got a few cracked ribs, some broken fingers, and my left leg is completely broken. My right leg and arm have a few fractures, but the pain isn't enough to be immediately debilitating. I can still keep moving, if only barely.

  His condition was passable at best, but passable was good enough for the situation. He used his finger to probe the sand’s density. The denser areas indicated down while the lighter areas indicated up. Thankfully, he wasn’t trapped upside-down. All hope had not been lost.

  Slowly. Deliberately. He moves one limb at a time, pushing sand downward and outward using his elbows and knees until breaking through the layers of sand.

  “GHAK! Ghuh…Ah…!”

  He coughed and heaved up sand from his lungs. It was unbearably painful, but as long as it’s only pain, Ereth would get used to it in time.

  Can’t talk, it’ll just waste more energy. I need to keep crawling…!

  While Ereth was falling through the sky, he noted several geological features that may aid him in his adventure, particularly a large crumbling mesa with glowing sigils and scrap metal carved into its gaping maw. Tall, arching scaffolds jut into the air like ribs with plumes of smoke billowing from an unknown source. There was clearly some sort of civilization present there, he just needed to make the distance.

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  I think…I lost my sword on the impact. It’s probably under that mountain of sand. There’s no way I'm digging it out anytime soon.

  Perhaps he could not physically find the Sword of Promised Victory, but that did not mean that the blade was lost from him entirely.

  When I inherited the blade from my father, I felt a strange light envelop me. It’s hard to explain, but I can hear the blade beating, sort of like a heart beat. What if I used the same technique as my father to summon the blade to my hand?

  He closed his eyes and concentrated on recreating the image of the Sword of Promised Victory in his mind, tracing over every crevice, curve, and edge of the sword. The more accurate the image, the stronger the connection between the wielder and the sword.

  Come to me, Divine Sword!

  Bands of golden light emerged from his palm before taking the shape of a massive blade. The light shattered, revealing the sword in all its glory.

  Holy shit, that actually worked! I’m awesome! I don’t exactly like the idea of using a Divine Relic as my walking stick, but I suppose this will have to do.

  As expected, using a sword as a crutch was incredibly awkward on loose sand, but it was better than having to deal with a broken leg. He inched his way across the sand, one limb at a time in the exhaustive heat. Temperature alone wasn’t an issue, it was the sheer distance from the encampment.

  From this position, it would likely take several hours of walking to make it to the crumbling mesa in one piece, and to top it off, a certain foe would emerge shortly after Ereth began his pilgrimage.

  “...?”

  The earth rumbled. Sand dispersed as a massive invertebrate emerged from the earth. Its figure was enormous, eclipsing the sun and ushering in a sea of darkness. Just how tall was it? 200 feet tall? 300 feet tall? Its mass was simply unreasonable by every metric.

  It must be a Duneworm, Ereth recalled. They’re blind, territorial invertebrates who use vibrations in the sand to navigate. My crash likely disturbed it enough to warrant an attack.

  The duneworm opened its gaping maw, revealing its layer of serrated teeth. Anything caught within its embrace would be met with a gruesome death indeed, and its primary target was Ereth.

  I can’t exactly say my body is up for the challenge right now, but I suppose I have no choice!

  He readied himself for battle as well as he could despite the hopeless circumstance. ‘Last Stand’ scenarios were common for any hero, and Ereth was prepared to play his part. However…an unexpected element came into the scene, stealing the would-be hero’s spotlight.

  It was a figure cloaked in black, racing across the sky like a bullet. The creature was too far for a proper discernment of appearance. Despite this, Ereth could feel only one emotion emanating from its visage — hatred.

  Festering hatred, akin to a wildfire that threatened to consume everything in its wake. It was nauseating, repulsive, and more than anything, powerful. A bomb that could only be triggered by the presence of another. From the moment it felt the duneworm's presence, an inescapable poison erupted from its being, corroding the world and all its inhabitants.

  “Invocation — Release”

  The mysterious figure muttered those enigmatic words like a demonic prayer. His voice was hoarse and dry as the arid sands, yet it contained a certain bass that evoked fear in all dared remain in his presence.

  “Tatara Sidastra!”

  In an instant, blood erupted from every inch of their body. An invisible force mangled, contorted, and violated them until the black figure was doused in a crimson red. It let out a blood-curdling roar, a cry mixed with both hatred and visceral pain, before raising its blade overhead.

  “Don’t get conceited, scum. You don’t die a painless death.”

  The mysterious figure unleashed dozens of slashes. They were unrefined, brutish, and ugly to their core, yet they cut down the massive beast nonetheless, spraying endless viscera across the pale dunes.

  “...What the hell..?” Ereth said in confoundment. He had never seen such a violent, yet dominant power before. It was nothing like his father, who used quick thinking and strategy to overcome a strong opponent. One could not even call such a fighting style ‘swordsmanship.’ It was something far closer to swinging around a hunk of iron and hoping an attack would land. The fight had left a bitter taste in the boy’s mouth.

  The mysterious figure landed. They were covered in countless wounds just a moment ago, yet they appeared to walk just fine.

  “What…what the hell are you…?” Ereth had expended too much energy. Their consciousness was fading in and out. His eyelids were heavy and his breathing scarce.

  “...” The mysterious figure gave no reply, instead reaching out to Ereth with an open hand.

  Was it an attack? Was he being kidnapped? Ereth could not discern the truth, nor did it really matter. He was already injured to a point bordering death, so he had no choice but to submit himself to the situation and follow along.

  Just before he passed out, he gave his savior(?) his last words. “Take me…to the crumbling mesa…”