The Clock Never Ticked #Ambush - Read The Clock Never Ticked Ambush Online - All Page

Ambush

The dream starts with falling.

Not through air, but through nothing—a void so black it claws at my eyes, where cold seeping into my bones and the darkness itself seems to breathe; something coils around my chest, squeezing.

You're mine.

The voice isn't a voice—it's as if spiders skitter down my spine. I thrash, but the void holds tighter.
Mine.

I wake gasping, drenched in sweat, to find the campfire's embers glowing faintly outside the tent.
Elysia's barrier—a golden dome humming like a distant hymn—shimmers overhead, while her crucifix glints in the firelight as she murmurs prayers, the relic pulsing softly with each verse.

Just a nightmare.
Just—

Before I can dismiss the remnants of terror, a subtle rustling in the bushes pricks my senses, and I pause, heart pounding, convinced it is only the wind. But then, from the shadows, a sickening crunch unfolds—a bandit silently slits a horse's throat, as blood sprays and the animal collapses with a wet gurgle.

Crunch.

A twig snaps. Too close.

The horses stamp, eyes rolling white, while firelight glints on a blade as it slips into the nearest mare's throat. In the ensuing chaos, I catch sight of bandits hurling oil onto the campfire, as thick smoke billows and twists our vision into shifting, obscured shapes.

AMBUSH!
Jorin's roar shreds the night.

I stumble out of the tent, half-dreaming and weak from my near-death reverie.
Ambush? Ambush what—

Chaos erupts.

Bandits pour from the trees, blades glinting in the dim light, while through the swirling smoke hidden archers appear as mere silhouettes. Jorin's greatsword arcs through the dark, cleaving a bandit's torso in two as blood mists the air. Another lunges—and Jorin parries his blade shearing through the man's neck until the head rolls. He's not human. He's a machine.

Amara's staff erupts with flame, lighting the camp's edge, as she bellows
Eat this, you rats!

Elysia clutches her crucifix, chanting, as the barrier brightens, its golden light repelling arrows with a steady thrum—thrum, thrum—until one arrow dares to defy it. A black-shafted arrow slices through the barrier like smoke. It pierces Amara's shoulder.

Fuck—!
She staggers, her flame snuffed out.

I stand there, numb. This isn't real. This is—

A bandit lunges; I duck, but his dagger grazes my arm, and pain slices through the fog.
Real.
Real.
REAL.

He grabs my collar with a predatory grip, and I stagger forward, panic surging through my weakened body as my hand slips on the blood while I fumble for a jagged rock.

I drive the rock into his skull—once.
The wet, sickening crunch of bone and flesh echoes in my ears.

Twice.
The impact sends a shudder through my arm as his face contorts in agony.

Thrice.
His skull caves in; his body twitches before collapsing.

I stare at my fingers, slick with blood, as my stomach churns with revulsion. This isn't like the games or stories I once knew—it's raw, it's messy, it's horrifying.

And then, a cold, insidious pulse stirs from within—a purr in my ribs, a low, curling satisfaction that isn't entirely my own.

Naoto!
Elysia screams.

Another bandit charges, and for a heartbeat I hesitate—staring at the crimson smears on my trembling hands—until in that split moment, his blade finds its mark at my throat, leaving me pinned and vulnerable. My own weapon lies just out of reach.

A surge of primal survival jolts me awake; I kick him off with desperate force, scrambling for any weapon. My fingers finally close around a dagger lying on the ground—the fallen bandit's—and as he lunges again, I stab without thinking. The blade sinks deep into his side, eliciting a guttural grunt as his body jerks. A sharp, cold pulse, like a second heartbeat, explodes within me as something dark and hungry stirs, reaching out from the void inside.

I feel it take over—consume—and then, overwhelmed by revulsion, I throw up.

Jorin carves through bandits like wheat; as a man swings an axe, Jorin parries, splitting him from hip to shoulder, and when another tries to flee, his greatsword pins the man to a tree—
Effortless.
Brutal.

Amara leans on her staff, clutching her shoulder, as Elysia cries out, desperate:
Are you alright?

I force a shrug, too shaken to answer.

The barrier!
Elysia gasps as the golden dome fractures.

Jorin snaps an arrow shaft—it must be some kind of special poison. How could an arrow breach our barrier like that?

Amara swings her staff weakly, still fighting, as the flame gutters and the staff cracks a bandit's jaw.

Jorin hefts Amara over his shoulder and shouts
Run. NOW.

We sprint through the night, with branches clawing my face as the Void thrums—hungry, eager.

Amara's blood drips onto Jorin's armor.
First kill… rough, huh?

Jorin's gaze burns into me—a silent admonition I cannot ignore.

Amara manages a bitter chuckle even in pain:
Welcome to the party, newbie.

First kill's a bitch, huh?

I keep running, barely able to steady my breathing. Elysia tries to draw closer, concern in her eyes, but I shrink away—still trembling.

Later, as we race toward Eldaroth, I keep touching my chest, still feeling the lingering pulse of the Void. In a brief pause, I catch my reflection in a puddle along the road, and for a split second, my eyes look darker—as if the Void has left its mark.

A thought echoes in my mind:
Did I just feed it?

Status:

Name: Naoto Kurotsuki

Age: 22

Title: Novice Adventurer (Unofficial)

Magic: Unknown

Abilities: Combat Instincts (Raw, Survival-Driven)

Species: Human

Location: Fleeing the forest to reach Eldaroth

Condition: Physically exhausted, mentally fractured, Void's presence amplified by violence

Equipment: Tattered bloodstained modern clothes, a scavenged bandit's dagger

Mental State: Traumatized by first kill, guilt-ridden, terrified of the Void's growing influence