The Well

"Ngh…" Ambrose touched his head as he winced in pain. 'Pain, but how? Do I have a soul injury?'

"Why're you slowing down?" Moriarty asked, glancing back at Ambrose, whose pace had considerably dropped.

Ambrose shook his head, and the faint pain slowly faded off. It felt like he had a split-second headache, strangely enough.

'Weird.' He thought and followed after Moriarty as they headed towards a small, dilapidated town in the middle of the barren wasteland.

It was a desolate place, filled with broken buildings and dead-looking ground.

It was the half-way point between the starting line and the mountain in the distance.

They had already run over eight hours to reach this spot, and the ending was still nowhere close.

The night also started to creep in, casting long shadows over the weary runners.

After eight hours of running, gaps had started to form between the lead runners and the ones at the back.