Lazy Salvation Ash Without Flame

*

Ashen barely registered the chaos on their way back. His mind was already cooking up ways to handle Chris now that he knew he was the culprit.

'I've been aning to deal with him for a while anyway… this works just fine.'

Chris had spent months harassing Seraphine and spreading rumors about him. Now was the ti to pay him back for everything. His murder attempt included.

As they reached the academy grounds, Braun's voice cut through his thoughts.

"By the way, are you alright?"

Ashen blinked, confused for a mont before realizing what he ant.

"You an the news about being a cripple spreading?" He let out a dry chuckle. "Don't worry, man. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Doesn't matter anyway."

Braun gave a small nod. "Well, don't let it get to you."

He wasn't surprised when Jack exposed Ashen's condition back there. In the three days they'd been stuck together in that damn hospital room, they'd talked about a lot of things to pass the ti, including Ashen's damaged circuits.

Soon, they arrived at Block C, where Braun's apartnt was located.

"Well, this is ." Braun stretched, glancing back at him. "Goodnight, Brother."

Under the dim lamp glow, Ashen hesitated.

"...Hey, Braun."

Braun half-turned. "Yeah?"

Ashen exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"...I'm sorry for dragging you into this ss."

Braun's brow lifted in surprise.

Chris might've been the one who wanted them dead, but Ashen was the one who brought the pouches in the first place.

"I should've paid more attention." His voice dipped, thick with guilt. "But I fucked up. And almost got us killed."

Braun stared at him for a mont, then simply turned back toward his building. Raising a hand lazily, he waved it to his side.

"No worries, man. No one's perfect, and neither are you." He smirked. "Besides, you still saved us in the end. So no harm done."

But deep down, Braun felt his own weight of guilt.

Checking supplies, paying attention to details; that was supposed to be a group responsibility. Not just Ashen's.

And he was the oldest and most experienced in their team. He should've caught it, too.

That was why he never blad Ashen for what happened.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Because, in the end, they both had their share of mistakes.

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*

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Ashen slumped onto his bed the mont he got back.

Sleep tugged at him, heavy and inevitable, but before it could take hold, he activated Lucid Dreamweaving with a quick ntal command.

Monts later, he was inside his dreamscape.

The sa worn-out training ground greeted him. Up ahead, his older twin remained slumped atop his throne, sleeping like a lazy king who had already conquered his battles and earned his eternal rest.

Ashen shook his head.

Summoning his spear, he fell into the now-familiar stance.

He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes to focus. The hum of mana pulsed through his circuits as he began with the three fundantal spear moves—

Thrust.

Slash.

Parry.

Warming up, he started moving across the field, incorporating sweeps and sidesteps, his body flowing through the motions.

In his mind, he pictured beasts lunging at him; fangs bared, claws slicing through the air. He dodged their attacks, weaving through their assaults.

And then, the imaginary foes beca real.

Hyenas, Hircus, VileGrazers… every type of wild beast he'd ever encountered materialized, attacking from all directions.

Ashen paced around them, his movents precise. Sotis he dodged, sotis he parried. When an opening presented itself, he struck them down one by one, keeping their numbers steady.

But it didn't last.

Two hyenas lunged at him from opposite sides. He dodged hastily—

But he failed to account for the VileGrazer behind him.

Gluk.

"Ack—!"

The beast's horns pierced through his back, carving two deep holes before sending him hurling forward.

Thud.

Before he could recover, two Tunnelers burst from the ground, their jagged teeth sinking into his legs.

Pain shot up his body as they thrashed violently, their grip unyielding.

Ashen clenched his teeth. He knew he was done for.

With a single thought, he reset the dreamscape.

The monsters vanished. So did his injuries alongside his exhaustion.

But the frustration remained.

"...Damn it."

He slamd his fist against the ground, and a dull, useless sound echoed.

For a long mont, he didn't move. Just replayed the fight in his head.

This would've never happened if he had still possessed the Brilliantly Restless trait. His old self wouldn't have fallen for such an obvious ambush.

But now?

Now, mistakes like these had beco routine.

"...Let's try again." His breath ca out in a growl, irritation bubbling over. "I don't believe I can't do it."

He got back up and restarted the death dance.

But stubbornness alone wasn't enough.

Ten minutes later, he died even faster; his neck snapped between a hyena's jaws before he could even reset the field.

"Fuck! Again!"

He refused to let up.

Again.

And again.

And again.

"Again…"

Snap.

"Ughh—!"

One more ti.

Skiiirt.

"ARGH—!"

Over. And over. And over.

Until finally—

Thud.

"...Damn it!"

Forty deaths later, he lay there, panting, broken, and utterly defeated.

...And then, his eyes opened.

The real world bled back into focus.

He cast a dull, soulless glance at the clock. 5 AM.

For a long while, he simply stared at the ceiling, motionless.

Then, as if he were nothing more than a hollow shell, he numbly pushed himself off the bed and went through the motions.

Washing up. Dressing. Preparing breakfast. Eating.

Every movent was chanical, almost lifeless.

As if his soul had abandoned him entirely.

*

Ashen grabbed his spear and left his apartnt, heading for the training grounds.

But for the first ti in months… he couldn't muster the strength to do what he set out to.

His gaze road absently across the field until it settled on a bench at the edge.

Before he could even think, his legs moved on their own.

Dropping onto the seat, he set his spear aside and fished out a pack of cigarettes.

Tick… tick… tssh.

A flicker of fla. A slow inhale.

The first drag hit like a warm hug from a grizzled biker; pure, unfiltered dopamine smashing into his system like a truck after months of abstinence.

Leaning back, he exhaled in lazy spirals toward the rising sun, the taste flooding his mouth with a strange blend of nostalgia and filth.

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