Altered Intents

Demian sat hunched beneath a sloping dune, his breathing shallow, conserving what little strength remained in his battered body. The sun hung mercilessly overhead, a white-hot glare against the endless ocean of sand. His throat was parched, his limbs heavy. Moving now would only worsen his state. He needed to wait.

The desert stretched before him, shimmering under the oppressive heat. He knew that trekking under the sun would only drain him further. If he collapsed now, he wouldn't rise again. No. He had to be patient. He tucked himself beneath the meager shadow of the dune, keeping as still as possible, forcing his mind to quiet the thirst and hunger gnawing at him.

The hours crawled by. Slowly, the sky shifted. The blinding light dulled to gold, then to deep orange. The temperature plummeted, the heat retreating, leaving behind the sharp bite of desert cold. Finally, the time had come.

With stiff limbs, Demian rose. He needed to move while the night lasted. Scanning the horizon, his sharp eyes locked onto something—a silhouette in the distance, partially buried in the sand. A structure.

It wasn't just his best chance—it was his only chance.

Slowly Demian descended the dune, moving carefully. The ground felt treacherous, shifting beneath his weight with each step. He could feel the dryness settling into his bones.

Every step had to count.

The structure lay far, but he had no choice. He trudged forward, forcing his body to obey. He knew he had to reach the place within this night; he had to. He could not afford another day in this unforgiving desert. The thought of potentially finding dry wells within the structure, where he might be able to dig and discover a drop of water, spurred him on.

Thinking this, he started to move forward when suddenly the ground trembled.

A deep, guttural rumble pulsed through the earth. The sand quivered beneath. Then, suddenly—

A colossal form burst from the desert.

A monstrous sandworm, its segmented body coated in jagged, armored plates, erupted from the dunes. It arched into the sky before slamming down with a thunderous crash, sending a shockwave of sand in all directions.

Demian barely threw himself behind a dune before the impact reached him. The sand beneath him shifted violently, some of it cascading down the sides of the dune like a miniature avalanche. His heart hammered in his chest as the world seemed to tremble.

It was a sandworm, not a monster he could afford to fight right now in his state.

He couldn't fight this thing. A direct confrontation meant death.

Keeping his breathing steady, he remained hidden, watching. The sandworm slithered across the dunes, its massive form carving ridges into the landscape. It moved slowly, but with terrifying power, its body undulating and sending ripples through the sand.

Demian could feel the ground vibrating with each colossal shift of its form. He clenched his jaw, trying to control his breath. If it noticed him, he wouldn't stand a chance.

He had to stay out of its sight. He had to move carefully.

As Demian crouched behind the dune, listening to the worm's distant movements, something else caught his attention.

Crack.

A splintering sound. From behind him.

Demian turned sharply, muscles tensing.

Something moved in the shadows.

Then—a blur of motion.

A gaunt, insectoid creature lunged toward him. Its elongated limbs, covered in chitin, gleamed under the moonlight as it lunged with unnatural speed.

Demian twisted, narrowly dodging the first swipe. Claws sliced the air where his head had been.

He reacted immediately—his body moving on instinct. He ducked low and drove his gauntleted fist into the creature's ribs with a brutal uppercut.

A sickening crack rang out as the monster staggered back.

The creature hissed and lunged again, its limbs moving in unpredictable, jerky motions. It slashed at Demian's chest—he twisted just in time, but the claws barely grazing him.

He gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of exhaustion beginning to drag on his movements. His body screamed for rest, but he couldn't afford to slow down now. He had to survive.

As the monster recoiled for another attack, Demian seized the opening.

He stepped in—fast, ruthless. His gauntleted fist slammed into the creature's jaw.

It screeched, stumbling.

Demian didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, bringing his elbow down on the creature's skull.

A sickening crunch.

The creature twitched—then collapsed.

Silence.

Demian stood over the motionless body, his breath ragged, blood dripping from his hand. He wiped it off with the back of his sleeve, barely noticing the sting. His mind was already elsewhere—focused on the urgency of the situation.

His gaze fell to the creature's chest, where a faint glow pulsed.

The mana core.

He crouched down, yanked it free, and clutched it tightly. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. The creature had been weak, so its mana core wouldn't be substantial, but at least it was something to help restore his strength.

Finally, he had something to stave off his exhaustion—a sliver of hope against the relentless desert.

The lifeless body of the insect creature seemed almost tempting, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He knew that consuming the goo dripping from the creature could be fatal. A magical creature body was poisonous to humans. He couldn't afford that risk.

The sandworm still loomed in the distance, its enormous body twisting through the dunes.

Demian knew he couldn't afford another fight. His only option was to move—slowly, carefully. He had realized he wasn't the only creature to have come out at night.

Clutching the mana core, he started forward, keeping his steps light and measured while breathing through his nose to avoid further dehydration. Every grain of sand shifted underfoot, but he kept his breathing even. Silent. Invisible.

The worm didn't turn.

He continued his silent journey across the dunes, one step at a time, knowing that any wrong move would end him.

The structure was still so far away. Every step felt like it could be his last. He had to reach it before the night ended, or he wouldn't survive. He could only pray there might be something inside to help him survive the coming days, something—anything—that might give him a chance.