The night wind outside howled like a wounded animal, pushing dry sand through the cracks in the ruined structure I'd made my shelter.
But I couldn't hear it.
All I could hear was the sound of her voice, the weight of her stare, and the images still burned into my mind—the ones that felt more like prophecy than memory.
Scarlett. The other girls. That pile of corpses.
I stared into the dying embers of the fire I'd built, fists clenched so tight my knuckles cracked. The edges of my vision still pulsed red from the Essence residue that hadn't fully calmed down yet.
Something in me had changed. That dream—vision—whatever the hell it was—had left more than just fear in its wake. It had shaken something loose.
I stood up slowly, my joints stiff from a restless night. My body still ached from the last fight, but it wasn't pain that drove me now.
It was clarity.
I packed my gear in silence. Voidscar slid into its sheath like it had been waiting—anticipating what was coming. I reached out with my senses, trying to feel anything, any trace of where I needed to go.
The world was silent. But inside me, there was motion.
I couldn't explain it, but my instincts were screaming one thing over and over again.
Go. Now.
The sun was rising when I finally left the shelter, casting long shadows across the Wastelands. The red sky bled into the sand, painting everything in hues of death.
Every step I took echoed with weight. This wasn't just about making it to The Underground anymore. This was about intercepting a future I refused to allow.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, Nyxia's voice lingered.
Unleash what you were. Reclaim what was taken.
I didn't know what that meant. Not fully.
But if the path forward led through hell, I was already walking barefoot.
Three days passed like seconds.
I ran harder. Rested less. Every meal was a rush, every breath a countdown. The terrain blurred underfoot—cracked canyons, broken highways, long-dead cities filled with rusted bones.
I saw no one. Not a single soul.
Until I felt it.
That static in the air. That pressure just before a thunderclap. That's how I knew—they were near.
The Dracus.
They didn't hide their trail well. Clawed footprints, dried blood, and the faint stench of Null. It wasn't hard to follow.
But I wasn't chasing them.
Not yet.
I knew how this worked now.
They'd be watching me.
It was the fourth night when I found the first outpost.
Half-buried in the sand, camouflaged with ancient tech and modern stealth fields. But Essence could feel past that. It hummed when I got close.
The camp was quiet. No torches. No guards.
That's how I knew they were there.
I dropped low, slow breathing. Listened.
Voices. Four of them. Dracus tongues, but I'd heard enough by now to pick out keywords. One voice stood out—deep, gravel-lined, too measured to be anyone but a squad leader.
And he was reporting.
"…he's not registered. No Interlogue signature. He's something else."
I moved before the next sentence left his lips.
I didn't wait.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't think.
I moved like a ghost through the dark, Voidscar already in hand. My body burned, but it was focused. Cold. I reached the perimeter just as one of them stood to speak—
—and I was on him.
One clean motion. Blade in the skull. Twist. Silence.
The other three turned, roared, reached for weapons, but I was already moving again.
No mercy. No delay.
I wasn't just killing them.
I was sending a message.
"Release."
Essence exploded from within me like an atomic detonation. The air around me warped, shimmered, and cracked. The sand lifted from the ground. Time slowed.
They felt it.
Their snarls twisted into fear.
The fight began.
The first charged—fast, low to the ground, claws poised for a gutting swipe—but I was faster. Voidscar slashed upward in a clean arc, catching his forearm and cleaving straight through. He screamed, tried to reel back, but I was already behind him, driving the dagger through his spine.
He dropped.
Another came from my right—heavier, armored, smarter. He didn't swing—he pounced. I caught the impact with my shoulder, both of us tumbling across the sand. His claws slashed down, narrowly missing my face. I rolled, drove my elbow into his throat, then reversed the grip on Voidscar and stabbed upward under his chin.
Blood sprayed.
Two down.
The third didn't rush. He backed up, calling something in their language, probably to the leader—if there was one.
That meant I was out of time.
I darted forward, feinted left, then moved right. He swung where I wasn't, and I took his leg out from under him. One stomp. One stab.
Three.
And then I heard it.
Clapping.
Slow. Deliberate.
A silhouette stepped from the ruins behind the campfire, his smile full of broken teeth, eyes like molten silver.
"Well done," he said, voice like rusted steel. "You're exactly what they said you were."
I took a step back, keeping Voidscar ready.
"And you must be the leader," I said.
He nodded, still smiling. "Not a lieutenant. Not even ranked. Just smart enough to live this long."
He drew a weapon from his back—some sort of Null-infused axe, pulsing with violet energy.
"You're not leaving here alive, Grimson."
I smiled.
"Wanna bet?"
We lunged at the same time.
The real fight had just begun.