Eater Blade: Grinding in Apocalypse
Chapter 27: EYES OF THE NEMESIS.

Chapter 27: EYES OF THE NEMESIS.

Back in the present, Johnquis stared at the magazine that exact one. Now perfectly restored and neatly displayed in the corner of a newly rendered bookstore.

It was open to the same page:

SEASIDE MALL—Where Magic Meets Memories! Ride the carousel, dance on the ice, and taste a rainbow!

A warm drop hit his knuckles.

Blood.

He snapped back to reality. The Runner lay beside him, trembling.

Its breathing was ragged, sharp wheezes pulling in air through its torn lungs. One arm was completely gone ripped off from the shoulder down. The other was mangled, barely responsive. Its legs were worse. The explosion had torn them apart, tendons flaring open like shredded rope. Black blood pooled around it, staining the carpet of the fake casino.

It couldn’t move.

Not anymore.

Johnquis knelt beside it, gripping the edge of the roulette table for balance. His own body was stable now. The pulsing in his throat was fading, though it still throbbed from where Rex’s blade had kissed. But the Eater blood inside him had sealed it in.

The Runner, though...

It was dying.

And the look in its eyes. Not wild. Not savage. Just... tired.

Johnquis’s chest tightened.

"No..."

He moved closer. Its breathing hitched. The glow in its eyes dulled.

"No, you don’t get to die here. Not like this."

He bit down hard, steadying himself, then reached out and grabbed the side of the Runner’s face. Its skin was hot, boiling. Muscles twitching with pain. It flinched weakly.

Johnquis stared into those violet eyes, his voice breaking.

"You saved me. Over and over again. Even when they came at you... when they tried to kill you for it... You still chose me."

He looked down at the wounds. There was no time. No potions. No medkits. Just instinct.

He pulled his glove off. Then rolled up the sleeve of his arm.

"You need blood."

The Runner blinked slowly, dazed.

"You protected me, now I protect you. You hear me?"

He raised his forearm and held it out.

"Take it."

The Runner didn’t move.

Johnquis gritted his teeth. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

"I said take it!"

He slashed the inside of his arm open with a sharp piece of casino glass. Blood welled out in thick, crimson lines. The smell hit instantly.

The Runner’s nose twitched. Its eyes widened. But it didn’t move.

Johnquis whispered, his voice trembling.

"You’re scared, you think you’ll lose control again. That you’ll go back... to what you were before."

The blood dripped down his fingers. Onto the carpet. The Runner shook.

"Because I trust you. Because we’re not just leash and monster. I’m not just your master, and you’re not just my slave. We’re partners."

He pressed the bleeding arm to the Runner’s mouth. It whimpered barely audible. Its fangs grazed his skin.

"Please... drink. Not just for you. For me. Without you, I’m nothing. So please... trust me. Drink."

For a heartbeat, nothing. Then—

The Runner opened its jaws and sank its teeth into Johnquis’s arm.

He gasped in pain but didn’t pull back. The blood flowed fast. And with it, so did everything else.

Heat. Rage. Memory. Hunger. A flood of something deeper than instinct poured from him into the Runner and something else returned, like a tether snapping tight between them.

The Runner’s body arched violently. Its muscles twitched, convulsed. The stump of its severed arm spasmed and then the bone burst forward like a growing root, muscle weaving back around it in real time. Its legs began to reshape. The broken skin closed.

But its jaw...

It clenched tighter.

Johnquis felt the pressure spike. Fangs pushed deeper into his flesh.

"Gh—nghh—!"

His whole body seized with pain.

The Runner’s breath turned frantic, like panting between growls. Its claws scraped the floor. Its other hand shot up, grabbing his elbow, pinning him in place.

Johnquis’s vision flickered.

"Nghh—no, no, no—stay with me—"

The Runner’s eyes were wide now, blood haze drowning out all reason. The violet glow burned wild and unstable, its fangs trembling, its whole body trembling.

It was losing control. Drinking too much. Taking too much.

"You have to stop."

He stared into its eyes. It reminded him, that night. The first time they met.

Lex’s voice echoed in his head.

"Yeah, another squad got wiped last week. Completely gone. All dead. Turned into food for the Eaters."

Johnquis had answered, "The Runner... the famous one. They say it’s the nemesis of all rookies in the South Zone. Every new Eater Blade that enters this hellhole ends up as meat for it."

"Yeah, that thing’s not just fast. It plays with you. Like it enjoys watching you panic before it rips your chest open."

Randy had added, "If you saw that squad last week, leash boy? Just bones left. Suits torn open from the inside. One guy had his head ripped right out through his body. So you better get ready. Could be you next."

Lex had laughed. "Come on, don’t scare the kid. He already looks like he’s about to piss himself."

Back in the moment, Johnquis choked out,

"Please..."

He reached up with his free hand, fingers shaking, pressing against the Runner’s jaw. The side of its face.

"I know you’ve changed. My Eater Blade... it formed into a chain for a reason. This chain—it’s to tame. A chain that connects us."

He stared deeper into its eyes. The eyes of the nemesis. And it pulled him back to that night. Randy’s body, half-swallowed, head in the Runner’s jaws. Mars, throat slashed, head twisted off.

Lex... ripped open, screaming until the Runner tore through her.

Still, Johnquis held its gaze. Still believed.

"Please... please come back. You’re not that anymore."

The Runner shoved him to the ground, raised its claws. Too close. Right above his eyes. Johnquis didn’t blink. He just stared, into the monster’s eyes.

"I’m not afraid of you."

His voice was husky. Barely there. But the words echoed louder than any roar.

"You can kill me right now. Tear me apart like you did them..."

A pause. His vision blurred, tears mixing with blood.

"But I chose to believe in you."

For a second, the only sound was the labored, wet pull of its drink.

Then it stopped.

A twitch.

The Runner froze, eyes locked to his.

Its pupils constricted. The haze began to pull back. Slowly, agonizingly, it opened its jaws and let go. Blood ran in thick streams down Johnquis’s arm, soaking into the fabric of his bodysuit. His breath came in gasps. But he didn’t pull away.

He wouldn’t.

Because he saw it.

The Runner’s shaking hand reached out not for violence but to brace itself beside him. Its breathing slowed. The frenzy faded. And then the healing finished.

The wounds sealed. Muscles rippled as the reconstructed limbs flexed again. The monstrous form stabilized.

Johnquis collapsed beside it, clutching his half-healed, torn-up arm, his voice a whisper.

"You’re back..."

The Runner stared at him. Then, for the first time...

It gently pressed its head against his shoulder.

Like a dying animal that had remembered what it meant to feel safe.

And just for a moment, despite the horror around them despite the glitching walls, the screeching carousel, and the unholy jingle bleeding through the speakers—

Johnquis smiled.

Because the monster hadn’t just chosen to live.

It had chosen him.

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