Runebound Reverse Tower of The Dead

Chapter 262: Legend

’There is only one way,’ Kael cursed under his breath as he realized the only way to avoid the trap, is to actually cross it.

Momentum had turned the world into a tunnel, sand in front, sand behind, and the storm chasing all of it like a living wall. The beacon was still ahead, a dark shape swallowed by the hazy brown churn, and between here and there his minimap had painted the problem in a way the naked eye couldn’t: a cluster of red dots buried under the surface, perfectly placed where a tired group would try to cut straight through.

Turning wasn’t an option. At this speed, turning would be a joke the desert would finish for him. Stepping aside would mean slowing, slowing would mean the storm eating them, and letting the storm catch them meant suffocation at best, being sandblasted into nothing at worst. The trap was a mouth waiting under the ground.

So, instead of trying to turn, or step aside, he did the opposite, he pushed himself further.

The air was already tearing at his ears. He could feel the weight of bodies clinging to him shift with every stride, Christy’s arms locked tight, the skinny kid strangling him from behind like a terrified scarf, the masked man’s grip steady but heavy, and the old man dangling under his arm like an angry sack of bones that refused to admit it was afraid. Every bounce threatened to yank someone loose. Every stumble would turn them into debris.

Increasing his speed more, and moved his hand enough that it almost crushed the old man hanging under it to press Second Wind.

The old man wheezed something that might have been a curse, might have been a prayer. Kael didn’t apologize. He couldn’t. He just forced his fingers to find the belt’s center through grit and vibration and the way his own muscles kept trying to seize from how hard they were working. His thumb hammered the spot.

Kael’s speed multiplied, and now was almost blinding fast. The second wind allowed him to replenish and push his body more, but the cost will haunt him later, he didn’t need to care about later if he was going to die now if he didn’t act.

The world lurched. Not forward, sideways. Like the desert itself had slipped under his feet and decided to move in a different direction. His stomach tried to crawl up his throat. His breath came too sharp, too hot, and he felt the strain catch in his tendons like a hook. Second Wind didn’t feel like relief. It felt like permission to ignore damage for ten seconds and then get billed with interest.

Everyone felt vertigo and nausea from the sudden rush, but they couldn’t even shout or speak from how fast Kael was walking, the moment they dared open their mouths sand would go in and fill it.

They weren’t even breathing right anymore. It was the kind of speed where your lungs didn’t get a choice, they just took what they could. Christy’s grip tightened until her nails bit through fabric. The skinny kid’s forearm pressed into Kael’s throat like a panicked chokehold. The masked man’s weight shifted once, corrected once, and then stayed locked as if he’d decided falling wasn’t an option.

Sand whipped past them in needles. It found every gap in clothing, every seam, every place skin could be punished. Kael kept his mouth shut, teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached, and he focused on one thing only, distance. The red dots were right under their line now.

So with the newly increased speed, Kael kicked the sand and leapt forward.

The ground vanished from under his feet and the weight of four people tried to tear him apart midair. For a fraction of a second the only thing holding them together was Kael’s grip and the cruel fact that letting go meant death.

It was dangerous, suicidal, and certainly foolish, especially with four people hanging onto him. But it was better than try and step onto the territory of the sandworms. They were fast at lunging at their prey, and by jumping over the majority of their hidden trap, Kael was able to delay their reaction by a fraction of a second, which was all he needed when he made it to the further side of the red point on his minimap.

His boots hit sand again like hammer strikes. The landing jolted up his bones, reverberating through knees, hips, spine. He didn’t slow. He couldn’t. He forced his legs to take the impact and keep going, forced his core to stay tight so the human cargo didn’t whip him off balance.

Sand blew up behind him

The eruption behind them sounded like the desert tearing open. A roar of shifting grit and a wet, hollow suction that made Kael’s skin crawl. Even without looking back, he felt it, the movement beneath the surface, the hungry recalibration as the worms snapped at where he had been, not where he was. When they burst, it was all violent mouths and ridged mandibles, blind heads arcing up through air thick with sand, then crashing back down with fury because they’d missed.

Kael didn’t give them time for a second try.

Looking at the distance, he could definitely make it if he kept running, but the moment he stops he’ll have to pay the price of exhaustion. The longer he ran, the more taxing Second Wind became.

His muscles were already screaming in a language he’d learned too well on the mountain, micro-tears, heat, the warning shiver that came right before cramps became locks. Second Wind was letting him push past the warning signs, which meant the real damage was stacking quietly in the background. He could outrun a storm, sure. He could also outrun the lifespan of his own legs if he was careless.

So, he pressed both runes again, once again the old man almost choked from Kael moving his hand to his belt.

Kael felt ribs under his grip and didn’t like how easily they could be crushed if his hand slipped at this speed. Still, he hit the belt again, harder this time, because finesse was a luxury the desert didn’t offer.

And the speed began decelerating as the power of Momentum and Second Breath began lessening.

It didn’t stop all at once. Thank whatever cruel god of physics still existed. The acceleration bled away in a long, miserable taper, like a wagon wheel grinding down after being set on fire. Kael’s legs went from impossible velocity to something merely inhuman, then to something that could be called running without sounding like a lie.

Slowly but surely Kael slowed a normal trot then a slow walk.

The storm was still coming. He could hear it now, a constant hiss and roar like the world being sanded down. But for the moment, they’d bought distance. The worms had missed. The beacon was closer. And Kael’s body finally got to remember it was flesh.

His muscles shuddered, his body heaved, his hair drenched in sweat.

Sweat ran into his eyes and stung. His lungs felt raw. His thighs trembled with every step like they were deciding whether to keep working or simply seize and drop him. The old man slid off his grip first, then the masked man, then the skinny kid nearly fell when his legs touched ground and he remembered he’d been doing nothing but clinging for dear life. Christy stayed on Kael’s shoulder a second longer than necessary, like she didn’t trust the sand to hold her.

He was paying for the cost of that stunt while everyone got to ride for free.

The unfairness of it should’ve annoyed him. It didn’t. That was the sick part. Kael’s brain was too busy keeping him upright to waste energy on resentment. All that mattered was water and not collapsing.

"Water," Kael said.

The word came out rough. Not a request. Not a plea. A command dragged out of a throat that tasted like dust and bloodless heat.

The old man looked at him, frowned, then pulled one waterskin as the rest of the group began descending from on top of Kael’s body.

His eyes weren’t kind about it. The old man’s face said ration and fairness and I’m not dying because you decided to be heroic. But his hands still moved, because even he understood the simple math: if Kael dropped, they all dropped.

It was humiliating, but it saved them.

Kael didn’t comment on the humiliation. He couldn’t afford pride right now. The only pride he cared about was the kind that kept his spine straight when his legs wanted to fold.

Everyone looked at Kael, they realized one thing, this guy was a monster.

They weren’t saying it, but it sat in their eyes. A year ago, Kael would’ve needed to worry about that look. Now, it was just another thing in the world, like heat, like thirst, like the way people always started counting your usefulness the moment they thought you were above them.

Outrunning a Sandstorm on foot was something that could be saved for tavern talk, outrunning a sandstorm carrying four people at the speed of a highway racing car, that was the stuff of legends.

Kael didn’t feel legendary. He felt like a man whose muscles had been wrung out like cloth, and whose bones were still buzzing from impact.

Legends didn’t shiver when they stopped running.

Legends didn’t need to swallow bile and pretend they weren’t about to collapse.

Legends didn’t need to worry about survival.

Kael was not a legend, not yet, right now, all he wanted was to survive, live, climb and go back to his own world. A small dream. A human dream.

A dream that is not fit for a legend.