It's been a week since Scarlett and I went our separate ways.
And honestly? Being alone is starting to f*** with my head.
She and I weren't close. Hell, half the time she looked like she wanted to punch me in the throat. But still—she was someone I could talk to. Someone to bounce ideas off of, even if most of our conversations ended with her rolling her eyes.
Now? Silence. Just me, my thoughts, and the endless dead stretch of the Wastelands.
The desert wind howled around me as I jogged through the emptiness. Sand whipped at my face, dry and biting. This place wasn't meant for the living. It was a graveyard for the forgotten, for the lost, for those who didn't have the strength to keep moving forward.
But I wasn't dying out here.
Not yet.
I ran harder, forcing my legs to keep pace with my thoughts. Every step burned, but I needed the pain. It kept me grounded. Focused. I wasn't just trying to stay alive—I was training. Sharpening my body like a blade before I reached The Underground. When I got there, I wanted to be ready. Physically, mentally, spiritually—ready.
Eventually, exhaustion caught up to me. I found shelter in the ruins of a long-dead outpost—twisted metal, shattered glass, and stone structures half-swallowed by sand. I got a fire going with some old tech scrap and collapsed beside it, arms folded behind my head.
The silence was deafening.
"Interlogue… INTERLOGUE ENGAGE…" I said, waving my hand dramatically in front of me.
Nothing.
"Damn. Well… worth a try."
I smirked to myself. A little dark humor to break the tension. It didn't help much. My body was still running hot, my thoughts circling too fast to find rest.
Eventually, though, sleep took me.
And that's when the nightmare started.
—
I was sprinting down a corridor. Blood smeared across every wall. The floor slick with something I didn't want to identify. Screams echoed from every direction—raw, guttural cries of pain and panic. It was chaos. But it wasn't just a dream. It felt familiar.
The building around me was ancient but functional. I couldn't tell what it used to be—military base, medical facility, research compound? All I knew was that it stank of death.
I turned the corner and froze.
What I saw made my stomach lurch.
A pile of corpses—humans—stacked like garbage in the center of the atrium. Torn apart, violated, chewed down to bone and viscera. Blood painted the walls like graffiti. And surrounding the mound were a dozen Dracus—fully armored, hunched over like feral beasts, feeding.
They were laughing.
Tearing muscle from bone. Ripping out spines and gnawing on limbs like dogs fighting over scraps.
Then I saw them.
In that mountain of dead… I saw their faces.
White hair, faintly glowing purple strands tangled in blood.
Black hair. Crimson eyes wide with terror.
Golden locks matted with gore.
A small girl with short brown hair, her green eyes lifeless and glassy.
People I knew. People I had cared for. People I had failed.
A scream tore from my throat, but it wasn't grief.
It was rage.
Pure, molten rage.
My Essence surged before I could stop it, pouring out of every pore like a tidal wave. My vision blurred. My heartbeat sounded like war drums.
And then… I stopped thinking.
I just moved.
I blitzed the first Dracus. My arm went straight through his chest, snapping ribs and spine like twigs. As he staggered, choking, I blew his head clean off with a concentrated Essence blast. Brain matter sprayed the wall behind him.
The others reacted too late.
The second one tried to flank me, but I was already behind him. I locked his arms back and tore them off like they were made of paper. He screamed. I beat him into a pulp with his own limbs until there was nothing left but a wet stain.
The third stepped up—hesitation in his stance.
Mistake.
I hurled one of the arms like a javelin, catching him off-balance. Then I hit him.
Once.
Twice.
Ten times.
I didn't stop. I shattered bone. Collapsed lungs. Ripped flesh from his skull until his entire body folded inward on itself.
I turned to the last two.
They rushed me.
I let them.
They clawed and screamed and thrashed—but none of it mattered.
My eyes were glowing crimson, Essence spiraling around me like a storm. I was beyond humanity now.
I seized both by the throat and slammed their skulls together. Over. And over. Until bone gave way and their heads turned to pulp. Then I dropped the bodies like trash.
All that remained was the last one—their leader.
He was crawling, arm broken, ribs exposed. Still alive, barely. But not for long.
I walked up slow, knelt down beside him, and looked him dead in the eye.
"Who ordered this?" I asked, voice low, deadly.
He chuckled. Blood poured from his mouth.
"It was… Demi—"
I snapped awake.
My whole body was soaked in sweat. My heart racing, breath coming in ragged gasps. I grabbed my face, trying to hold onto reality.
It was just a dream. Just a—
No.
Not a dream.
That was a memory.
A real one.
I'd seen them. The cloaked girls from the Wastelands. The ones who had helped me. They were in that pile. Dead. Torn apart like animals.
And if what I saw was real, it hadn't happened yet.
That means…
My stomach twisted.
"Scarlett…"
I sat up, grabbing my gear. My pulse still pounding in my ears. If those visions were more than echoes—if they were a warning—then I had no time to waste.
I had to find her.
I had to get to The Underground.
Because if I was too late…
Then everything I'd just seen was going to come true.
And I wasn't losing them again.