Drip. Drip. Drip.
The sound of water droplets echoed faintly through the narrow tunnel, bouncing off the damp concrete walls like soft whispers. The air inside was cool, thick with humidity and the metallic scent of rust. Their footsteps—uneven from exhaustion—mixed with the steady dripping, forming a quiet rhythm that matched their strained breaths.
Jean walked behind the mysterious hooded boy, her backpack heavy with medicine. Ashlyn stayed close beside her, one hand hovering near Mina, who kept glancing nervously over her shoulder.
The boy didn't look back.
Not once.
Not even after saving their lives.
He walked with quiet confidence, lightning still faintly flickering around his fingertips, illuminating the dark path with short, electric flashes.
The girls exchanged looks several times—each silently urging the others to speak.
"Are we… going the right way?" Mina whispered.
Jean nudged Ashlyn gently. "You try asking him."
Ashlyn shot her a look. "Why me?"
"Because you're the least intimidating."
Ashlyn glared. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
Mina pointed at the boy's back. "It means we don't want to annoy the guy who shoots lightning."
Ashlyn groaned under her breath. "Fine… fine…"
She cleared her throat softly. "Umm… sir? Where exactly are we—"
Before she finished, the boy lifted a hand without turning around—a simple gesture telling them to stay quiet.
Ashlyn immediately shut her mouth.
Jean and Mina shared a look.
The tunnel sloped slightly upward, the dripping sounds fading as they walked. A faint breeze began drifting in from ahead—cooler, fresher. The boy ducked under a broken pipe and stepped onto a slanted ramp made of cracked concrete.
At the end of the tunnel, a patch of dim gray light waited.
The boy climbed up first, then motioned for them to follow.
One by one, the girls stepped out of the tunnel—
And the world opened before them.
They emerged into what used to be Emerald Park, a place Jean remembered visiting as a child. Back then, it was full of laughter and color. Families gathered under cherry trees. Children played in the fountains. Vendors sold snacks near the benches.
Now—
It was a graveyard of ghosts.
The sky above was the same dull gray that never brightened. The trees were lifeless skeletons, their leaves long gone and branches twisted. The fountain they once ran around was cracked open, filled with stagnant black water.
Swings dangled crookedly from their chains, creaking weakly in the wind like crying metal.
Ashlyn hugged her arms around herself. "It looks… haunted…"
Mina shivered. "It used to be so lively. I came here with my mom. Now it feels like something's watching us."
Jean swallowed hard, throat tight with old memories. "Everything feels that way now."
The boy finally spoke.
"This is the east side," he said without turning. His voice was calm, deep, and strangely emotionless. "Marcus's group usually avoids this area. We're safe for now."
Ashlyn stepped forward. "Thank you. For saving us back there."
He didn't respond.
He simply kept walking across the dead grass and cracked pavement, heading toward a broken statue at the center of the park.
Jean frowned slightly. "Where are we going now?"
This time, the boy finally looked over his shoulder. His hood shadowed most of his face, but his eyes—sharp and unsettlingly calm—met hers.
"This is as far as I can take you," he said. "The park is abandoned. No patrols come through here. It's the only place I can guarantee your safety."
He took one step back, clearly preparing to leave.
Jean quickly stepped forward. "Wait."
He paused.
Jean swallowed her nervousness and continued. "If you want… you can come with us. Our group isn't big, but we have shelter, supplies, and we look after each other. You don't have to be alone."
Mina nodded quickly. "You saved us. It's the least we can do."
Even Ashlyn, still breathless from the fight and the shock of seeing him wield lightning, added softly, "You'd be welcome."
For a moment, the wind was the only sound—rattling the dead branches and the rusted swings.
The boy lowered his gaze, almost as if the offer hurt him in a way none of them could see.
"…I can't," he said quietly.
Jean's brows furrowed. "Why not?"
He shook his head once, firmly. "Your group doesn't need someone like me. And I don't stay in one place. Ever."
Ashlyn stepped forward. "But—"
Before she could finish, electricity sparked around his arms—thin crackles of blue light jumping across his skin like living threads.
Then—
CRACK.
In the blink of an eye, lightning burst around him. A bright flash lit the entire playground, and the air vibrated with static.
When the girls' vision cleared—
He was gone.
Only a faint scorch mark on the ground remained where he had stood.
Jean stared at the empty spot, heart heavy in her chest.
*****
Night had nearly swallowed the sky by the time Jean, Ashlyn, and Mina reached the shelter. The moon—if it still existed—was hidden behind the thick blanket of gray clouds. Only the faint glow of distant street fires lit their path through the cracked streets.
The small hideout was tucked behind the ruins of an old library, protected by broken walls and a canopy made from torn tarps. It wasn't much, but it was home.
A warm light flickered from inside.
Ashlyn pushed aside the hanging cloth at the entrance.
"Carlos?" she called softly.
A familiar deep voice answered, "Girls… you're back?"
Carlos stood near the center of the shelter, leaning over a small fire pit arranged with three metal rods forming a triangular stand. A battered pot rested on top, steam rising from whatever stew he managed to create from their limited supplies.
His thick beard was streaked with gray, and deep lines marked his weathered face, but his eyes softened when he saw them.
Mina rushed to him. "Carlos!"
He opened his arms, and the girls huddled around him like children returning from a storm.
"I was starting to worry," Carlos said, patting their backs. "The south district is dangerous these days."
Ashlyn gave a tired laugh. "You have no idea."
Jean slipped off her backpack and set it gently beside the fire. "We found medicine."
Carlos's eyes widened. "You… did?"
Jean nodded and opened the bag. Bottles. Bandages. Antibiotics. Painkillers. Enough to last them for weeks. Enough to save lives.
Carlos exhaled shakily. "Bless you girls… bless you. You don't know how much this means to us."
The other refugees stirred at the commotion.
Jean looked around the shelter.
Old men lay on thin, worn blankets, their breaths uneven. Women with shaking hands sipped cups of warm broth. A few younger ones, injured from past fights, sat with their backs against the wall, watching the girls with small, grateful smiles.
Jean felt her chest tighten.
The faces around her—lined, tired, worn—reminded her far too much of the bodies at the factory. People trapped between living and dying. People who carried their pain with no chance of release.
Someday…
these very people
would be just like them.
Begging for an end that would never come.
Jean clenched her fists. "Carlos… did anyone…" She hesitated, but forced herself to ask. "…get worse while we were out?"
Carlos's eyes dimmed. He stirred the pot, not looking at her. "Old Mira collapsed again. Her heart's slowing, but she's still conscious. She keeps asking me why she can't pass on."
Jean's breath caught.
Ashlyn lowered her gaze.
Mina quietly wiped her eyes.
It was the cruelest truth of their new world:
People didn't die.
They didn't age.
Their skin didn't wrinkle.
Their hair didn't gray.
Bodies stayed frozen in time—
—but they still weakened.
Still felt pain.
Still crawled toward collapse.
No matter how much they wanted release…
death refused to come.
Jean stared at the old man lying against the far wall. His skin was pale, almost grayish. His chest rose and fell in sharp, weak breaths. But he was awake—eyes glassy, unfocused.
Just like the corpses at the factory…
but not dead.
Still alive.
Still suffering.
She whispered, "How long until we ends up like them…? Unable to move… only able to whisper and beg?"
Ashlyn murmured, "This world is cruel."
Carlos stirred the pot slowly, letting the steam rise and warm the cold air inside the shelter. The fire crackled gently, soft against the harsh silence of the ruins.
He glanced at the refugees resting in the shadows—old men clutching thin blankets, tired women sipping broth, the young ones staring blankly at the floor—and sighed with a heaviness that had grown inside him over the last two years.
"If only people cared for each other before all this," Carlos murmured quietly. "Maybe… maybe we wouldn't have ended like this."
Jean looked up at him, surprised by the emotion in his voice.
Ashlyn lowered her eyes.
Mina, usually the softest of them, spoke next—her voice trembling.
"If only we all died that day…" she whispered. "Two years ago. When it happened. Then at least we wouldn't still be suffering like this."
Jean froze.
Ashlyn's breath caught.
Carlos looked at Mina with a sad expression—not angry, not scolding… just heartbroken that a girl her age could say something so painfully true.
"I know," Carlos said softly. "Some of the old ones say the same. That dying would've been merciful."
Silence settled over them like a second layer of cold.
No one wanted to admit it.
But all of them thought it—at least once.
No aging.
No death.
No healing.
Just slow collapse.
Mina hugged her knees. "What even caused all this? Was it… really a war? Nuclear bombs? Something humans did to each other?"
Carlos shook his head instantly, firm and certain. "No. I've seen what nuclear war looks like. I was in the military when I was young. I know the signs."
He stared at the fire, eyes distant.
"What we saw that day… wasn't that."
Jean remembered it vividly—the sky turning white, the air shaking, the ground trembling beneath her feet.
Carlos continued, voice low.
"What we saw was like a thousand stars falling from the sky. Like the heavens cracked open and something spilled out."
Ashlyn whispered, "Some say it was an alien invasion."
Jean snorted softly. "If aliens did this, I want a refund."
Mina blinked. "A refund…?"
Jean shrugged. "Yeah, take your apocalypse back. It's defective."
Ashlyn groaned, but a small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. Even Carlos chuckled—a tired, worn-out laugh, but a laugh all the same.
For a moment, the air felt lighter.
Not fixed. Not healed.
Just… lighter.
Jean exhaled slowly, relieved to see even a flicker of normalcy in their faces. She opened her mouth to say something else—another joke, anything to keep the moment alive—
HOOOOOOOOOOOWL—
All four froze.
That sound wasn't human.
Wasn't Walker.
Wasn't anything they had heard before.
It echoed across the ruined park, deep and hollow, vibrating through the metal scraps and broken buildings. A sound so unfamiliar that even the fire seemed to shrink at its presence.
Ashlyn's face drained of color. "W-What was that…?"
Carlos rose slowly to his feet, one hand gripping the wooden spear he kept near the fire. His expression hardened, all traces of humor draining from his face.
"That…" he said quietly, voice tight, "…wasn't a Soul Walker."
He knew the sound of Soul Walkers.
He had heard them a hundred times—those hollow, echoing cries that froze the blood.
But this howl…
was deeper.
Thicker.
More alive.
Another howl rolled through the night—longer, closer, vibrating through the torn tarps and rusted shelter walls. Dust drifted from the ceiling with the tremor.
Mina clutched Jean's arm. "It's getting closer…"
Ashlyn stepped forward, palms trembling but ready. A flicker of fire danced along her fingertips, weak at first, then growing as fear fueled her power.
Carlos lifted the spear defensively. "Stay behind me. Don't panic. And don't run unless I say so."
The girls pressed closer together as the wind outside shifted—cold, sharp, carrying the scent of ash and something metallic… like blood.
Then—
A low growl came from the darkness beyond the shelter entrance.
Jean's breath hitched.
She couldn't see anything outside—only pitch black and the faint outline of dead trees swaying.
Carlos took a slow step forward.
"Ashlyn…" he whispered, "give us some light."
Ashlyn extended her hand.
A beam of fire erupted from her palm—thinner than before, shaky, but bright enough to reach the ruined park outside. The flames cast harsh light across the broken fountain, the twisted swing set, the skeletal trees.
For a heartbeat—
there was nothing.
Empty darkness.
Silent air.
Then—
Two silhouettes glided out of the shadows.
Even Carlos stumbled back a step.
"What… in God's name…"
The creatures stepped into Ashlyn's light—revealing shapes made of swirling black mist, bodies constantly shifting like smoke trying to take form. They were wolf-like in build—large, muscular, their paws heavy on the cracked pavement.
But they were not wolves.
Their eyes glowed red, burning like embers in a dying fire.
Two horns curled from the top of their skulls—sharp, twisted, similar to a goat's but longer and more menacing.
Their fur—if it was fur at all—flowed like dark vapor trailing behind them. The edges of their bodies bled into the shadows, making it hard to tell where they ended and the night began.
Mina let out a strangled sound. "W-What are those…"
The first creature stepped forward, its claws digging into the ground. The mist around its legs flowed like liquid shadow. Its breath came out in long, cold gusts that smelled of decay.
The second creature moved to its left, circling slowly, eyes locked on the fire—and the people around it.
Carlos gripped his spear tighter, sweat forming on his brow despite the cold. "Girls… don't move."
The creatures growled—deep, vibrating growls that rattled Jean's bones.
Ashlyn raised both hands, flame growing brighter.
"Get back!" she shouted, voice shaking.
The monsters didn't flinch.
Instead, the one with the larger horns lowered its head and scraped a claw along the ground, like a bull preparing to charge.
Jean felt her knees weaken. "Ash… they're not scared of your fire…"
"Then I'll make them scared," Ashlyn whispered, forcing her flames higher. Sweat rolled down her temple as the fire grew into a blazing beam, lighting up the entire shelter entrance.
For the first time, she saw the creatures clearly.
Their bodies seemed to fight against their shape—like shadows trying to escape. Their teeth, sharp and uneven, glowed faintly like burning coals. Their horns were cracked, scarred, dripping with black mist.
They were nightmares given physical form.
Carlos whispered, "In all my fifty years… I've never seen anything like them."
The creatures stepped closer—slow, deliberate, stalking.
Ashlyn trembled but kept her fire steady. "Stay behind me… Jean, Mina—stay behind me."
The first creature snarled, the mist around its body swirling violently.
Jean felt her breath catch.
This wasn't a Soul Walker.
This wasn't a mutant.
This was something else….
The creature's red eyes locked onto Ashlyn's flame.
And then—
It lunged.
Ashlyn screamed and swung her fire toward it.
The monster met the beam of flame mid-air, mist exploding outward.
But it didn't burn.
It didn't even slow down.
Jean's heart stopped.
"Ashlyn—LOOK OUT!"
The creature lunged, jaws wide, claws tearing through the air.
Ashlyn's fire beam struck its chest—but the flame barely slowed it. The monster's misty body absorbed the heat like smoke swallowing light.
Jean screamed, dragging Mina backward.
Carlos moved before anyone else could.
"GET DOWN!"
He sprinted toward the left side of the shelter—toward a broken slab of pavement as big as a door. With a raw, desperate cry, he wrapped both arms around it, veins bulging beneath his skin.
Carlos wasn't a young man anymore.
His back always ached.
His arms weren't what they used to be.
But survival could make even the weakest strong.
He heaved the chunk of pavement upward—lifting it with a strength Jean didn't know he still had—and swung.
"BACK OFF!"
With all the force in his body, he hurled the enormous slab straight at the charging creature.
The pavement chunk slammed into the monster mid-leap.
CRASH!
The beast flew backward as if hit by a moving truck, its misty form bursting and reforming in the air. It collided with a cracked concrete post outside the shelter.
The impact shook the ground.
Ashlyn's fire dimmed from shock. "C-Carlos…!"
Carlos stumbled forward, panting, wiping sweat from his brow. His arms trembled violently from the effort.
But the creature wasn't dead.
Mist swirled aggressively around its body. The thing twitched, then rose from the rubble, cracked horns scraping against the broken concrete. Its glowing red eyes refocused on them—angrier now, sharper, hungrier.
It let out a long, guttural growl that vibrated the very air.
The second creature paced to the side, ready to strike.
Carlos felt the danger tightening around them like a vice. He didn't hesitate.
He grabbed Ashlyn's arm and shoved her toward Jean and Mina.
"RUN!" he barked. "Take the others and RUN!"
Ashlyn pulled back, eyes wide and trembling. "No! I can help! I can fight—Carlos, I can—"
"NO YOU CAN'T!" Carlos roared, louder than the monsters, louder than the howls still echoing across the dead park. "Your fire won't stop these things! You know it!"
Ashlyn's mouth opened, but no words came out. Tears pooled in her eyes. She wasn't ready to leave him. She wasn't ready to abandon him.
But Carlos grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"You three brought back medicine," he said, voice shaking. "You saved lives today. You still can."
Ashlyn's breath hitched.
Carlos continued, voice fierce and trembling, "You have to protect the people inside this shelter. They can't run. They can't fight. I can stall these things."
Jean felt her heart twisting painfully. "Carlos… you can't—"
"I CAN!" he snapped. "And I WILL."
The creature he'd thrown snarled again and stepped forward, shaking off the debris. Its body pulsed with misty shadows. The second one lowered its horns, preparing to leap.
Carlos planted his feet firmly, lifting the spear with both hands.
"Go!" he shouted. "Get them out! NOW!"
Ashlyn's flames died completely as she stared at him in horror. "Carlos… please…"
But he shoved her again—so hard she stumbled back into Jean.
Jean grabbed Ashlyn and Mina with trembling hands.
Her voice cracked.
"Ash… we… we have to go. He's trying to buy us time."
Mina sobbed, choking on her breath. "But… b-but…"
Carlos didn't wait for their answer.
He turned back toward the approaching monsters, standing tall despite his shaking arms, despite the fear in his tired eyes.
A man in his fifties.
A man who had already survived what should have killed the world.
He raised his spear.
He faced the darkness.
Behind him, the creatures growled.
"GO!" he roared one last time. "GO AND SAVE THEM!"
Jean grabbed her friends and ran.
Ran toward the inner shelter.
Ran toward the others.
Carlos tightened his grip on the spear, feeling the weight of the world settle into his bones.
The girls' footsteps faded behind him.
He stood alone now—between the shelter and the monsters.
The wind howled through the dead trees.
The fire behind him flickered weakly, barely a whisper of warmth.
Carlos breathed in slowly.
Darkness never scared him.
Not even when he was young—barely twenty—serving as a soldier in the border conflict.
He had learned to walk through pitch-black terrain, where one misstep meant death.
This darkness…
this suffocating, unnatural night…
felt almost familiar.
He rolled his shoulders, forcing his aging muscles to obey. The ability he gained after the apocalypse—enhanced strength—buzzed lightly in his blood, dull but present. It wasn't flashy like fire or lightning. It didn't glow or spark.
But it made him unbreakable.
Or so he hoped.
The first creature—mist-body shifting, horns glinting red in the dying firelight—charged.
Carlos sidestepped into the shadows, crushing gravel under his boots. He moved faster than any man his age should've been able to. With a sharp grunt, he swung the spear in a wide arc.
The wooden shaft cracked across the creature's skull.
The monster's head snapped sideways.
Carlos didn't waste a second. He lunged forward and thrust the spear into its misty ribcage. The spear plunged in deeper than he expected.
"GRRAAAAH!"
The creature shrieked—mist billowing like smoke as it staggered back.
Carlos ripped the spear free and spun toward the second creature. This one leaped high—horns aimed like knives.
Carlos dropped to one knee just in time.
The creature soared over him, claws swiping the air. Carlos rolled forward, grabbed a fist-sized piece of rubble, and hurled it with all his strength.
The stone smashed into the creature's side—sending it crashing onto the broken pavement.
Carlos panted, sweat dripping into his eyes.
"Come on…" he growled. "I'm not done yet."
But the creatures were only getting angrier.
Mist swirled around them, thicker, darker. Their red eyes brightened to a burning crimson.
Then—
They attacked together.
One from the front, one from the side.
Carlos braced himself—but even with enhanced strength, he wasn't fast enough this time.
The first creature rammed into him, its massive head slamming against his ribs. Pain exploded through his side as he was thrown backward, rolling across the cold ground. His spear skidded out of reach.
Before he could stand, the second creature was already upon him.
Its jaws clamped around his left arm.
Carlos screamed as its teeth sank deep—not just tearing flesh, but ripping through bone.
With a sickening CRUNCH, the creature yanked back—
And tore his arm clean off.
Blood sprayed across the ground, steaming in the cold night air.
Carlos fell to one knee, vision blurring, pain shooting through him like lightning. His breath came in sharp gasps. He clutched the stump of his arm, blood slipping through his trembling fingers.
He wanted to collapse.
He wanted to scream.
But he pushed himself up, dragging himself toward the broken spear.
The creature lunged again.
Carlos shattered the remaining spear shaft against its face. The wood splintered, pieces flying. The beast stumbled back, howling.
But his strength was fading.
Pain hammered against his skull.
His remaining hand shook violently.
Every heartbeat pushed more blood out of his body.
"I'm… still alive…" he gasped.
"I don't die… none of us do… but God, it hurts…"
His knees buckled.
The creatures circled him slowly—snarling, mist swirling like black storms around their bodies. They were toying with him now.
Carlos wiped blood from his eyes and forced a weak laugh.
"Do it then…" he muttered. "Finish it…"
But they didn't attack.
Not yet.
Then—
A sound cut through the night.
FWEEEEEEEEEET—
A sharp, high whistle.
Instantly, both creatures froze mid-step.
Their red eyes flickered.
The mist around them stilled.
Carlos blinked, confused, struggling to focus. "What… the hell…"
The creatures turned their heads—
not toward him—
but toward something deeper in the darkness.
Something unseen.
Something they obeyed.
With low, rumbling growls, the two monsters stepped backward—melting into the shadows. Their bodies dissolved into the fog-like darkness until nothing remained but faint red glimmers that slowly vanished.
Carlos dropped to one knee, coughing, his vision dimming.
The howl was gone.
The monsters gone.
The threat gone.
But the pain—
The pain stayed.
He pressed his remaining hand against the dirt, forcing himself forward toward the dying fire. Warmth. Light. Even a little comfort.
He dragged himself inch by inch, leaving a trail of dark blood across the pavement.
His breath rattled.
His body trembled violently.
His vision pulsed, flickering between clarity and blackness.
He reached the fading fire at last. Its embers glowed faintly, casting soft orange light across his pale face. He collapsed beside it, breathing hard, chest rising in uneven jerks.
"I… can't die…" he whispered, voice cracking.
"No one can…"
He stared at the flames.
"But the pain… doesn't stop…"
His remaining hand shook as he held it close to the fire, trying to feel warmth—anything beyond the agony consuming him.
He closed his eyes, breaths shallow.
Carlos's breaths were ragged, uneven.
The fire crackled weakly beside him, flickering against the ruined concrete.
His vision blurred in and out—
but he still sensed movement.
Someone was there.
Watching.
Carlos clenched his jaw, lifted his head, and forced his voice to rise above the pain.
"I know you're there!" he shouted.
His words echoed across the silent park.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
clap… clap… clap…
Slow applause drifted through the darkness.
A figure stepped out from behind a crumbled wall—tall, slender, dressed head to toe in black. A long veil covered his face and trailed down his back like living shadow, fluttering slightly in the cold wind.
He moved with unnatural grace, each step soundless.
Carlos gripped the ground and spat blood to the side. "You like watching an old man bleed, huh?"
The veiled figure tilted his head slightly, amused.
Carlos gave a humorless laugh. "Come down here and fight me. Or is hiding in the dark your idea of being a real man?"
The figure stopped several feet away—close enough for Carlos to see the faint outline of a sharp jaw beneath the veil.
Then he spoke.
"You misunderstand," the man said, voice calm, smooth, almost gentle. "I wasn't here to harm you."
Carlos scoffed. "Yeah? Watching me get ripped apart by your pets is what, a hobby?"
The man chuckled lightly. "They are not pets. And I did not intend for you to die. I was… testing you."
Carlos narrowed his eyes. "Testing me for what?"
The man stepped closer. The firelight cast pale orange against his black clothes, giving him an otherworldly glow.
"To see," the man said softly, "how much humanity you still have left."
Carlos let out a harsh breath—half laugh, half growl.
"Humanity?" he gritted out. "You think fighting monsters to protect others somehow makes me less human?"
The veiled figure said nothing.
Carlos forced himself to sit up straighter, blood dripping from the stump of his missing arm.
"I'll tell you something," he said through clenched teeth. "I'm more human than you'll ever be."
The stranger's posture shifted—something sharp, almost offended, flickering beneath the veil.
"More human than me?" he repeated quietly.
Carlos spat at his feet. "At least I don't hide behind shadows and watch people suffer."
Silence stretched for a moment, heavy and cold.
Then—
"Unfortunately," the man said with a slow, chilling calm,
"I am not human."
The fire crackled.
The wind stopped.
The figure lowered his head slightly, the veil shifting just enough for Carlos to glimpse the faint glow of eyes—unnatural, ancient, and cold.
*****
The desert had changed colors again.
When night fell over the Ashen Dunes, the already gray sand turned almost black—rippling shadows stretching endlessly in every direction. There was no moon. No stars. Only a faint glow from the small bonfire Alex and Arte built, its orange light swallowed quickly by the thick night.
Alex poked at the fire with a charred stick, trying to keep his hands warm. The wind had grown colder since the sunless sky darkened.
"How long… are we staying here?" Alex finally asked, voice tight with exhaustion. "We've been out in this desert all day. And it's freezing now."
Arte sat across from him on a flat rock, tail curled around his paws. The flames reflected in his golden eyes, making them shine unnaturally bright.
"Until you learn to use your ability properly," Arte answered without hesitation. "And not rely on almost dying to activate it."
Alex groaned and dropped his head forward. "You say that like it's easy."
"It's not," Arte said. "Which is why you must practice. A Soul Harvester who panics is a Soul Harvester who dies."
Alex raised a brow. "You do know I literally can't die, right?"
"Pain is worse," Arte replied. "You've learned that by now."
Alex shuddered, remembering the sensation of the scorpion's tails nearly skewering him.
He hugged his knees closer and stared into the fire. "Speaking of that scorpion… have creatures like that always existed?"
Arte tilted his head. "No."
"So… it mutated?"
Arte's whiskers twitched thoughtfully. "Perhaps. Or perhaps the world itself changed. The Apocalypse altered more than humans. Animals, land, even the sky shifted. But…" He paused. "I have never heard of a scorpion with three tails. Not even before the Great Collapse."
Alex frowned. "So you don't know what it was?"
"I told you, it was a desert scorpion," Arte replied. "But the form it took… is not something recorded in any world I know."
Alex stiffened. "Any… world?"
Arte flicked his tail. "Slip of the tongue. Ignore that."
Alex did not ignore that.
"So there are other creatures like this? Strange ones? Dangerous ones?"
Arte nodded. "Many. All over the world. Some places worse than others. Some creatures… are nightmares given shape. Others were normal animals once, twisted by what fell from the sky."
Alex felt a chill crawl up his spine. "And you expect me to fight things like that?"
"You won't have to fight everything," Arte said calmly. "Just the ones that come for you."
"That's so comforting," Alex muttered.
A small gust of wind swept across the dunes, scattering sand into the firelight. Grains stung Alex's cheek, and he lifted an arm to shield his face.
"H-hey, careful!" he complained, rubbing the sand from his eyes. "This place gets worse at night—"
But Arte didn't respond.
His ears suddenly perked up—sharp and alert.
His tail stiffened.
He turned his head slowly toward the endless darkness beyond the edge of the firelight.
Alex felt his stomach tighten.
"What is it…?" he whispered.
Arte didn't blink. His eyes narrowed, glowing faintly.
Something was out there.
Something moving.
Something watching.
The wind howled again—longer, colder—and the desert seemed to hold its breath.
And for the first time since they arrived in the Ashen Dunes…
Arte's voice lost its usual confidence.
"…It's starting sooner than I expected," he murmured.
Alex blinked, confused. The fire crackled beside him, its warmth barely cutting through the cold desert air. He squinted into the pitch-black dunes, seeing nothing but shifting shadows and endless sand.
"Starting? What's starting?" Alex whispered, his heart quickening. "Is it the scorpions again? Did they come back?"
Arte didn't answer immediately.
His body lowered closer to the ground, muscles tense, fur bristling along his spine. His golden eyes narrowed into slits, fixed on the darkness as if something massive moved out there—something Alex couldn't see.
The silence stretched.
Too long.
Too heavy.
Alex swallowed hard, dread crawling up his throat.
"Arte… what are you seeing that I'm not?"
Arte's tail flicked once—slow, cautious, like a warning.
His voice was low when he finally spoke.
"Not the scorpions," he said. "Something worse."
Alex felt his stomach drop.
"W-Worse? Than that?!"
Arte's gaze never left the darkness.
"Yes. Much worse."
Alex's skin prickled. He strained his eyes, trying to catch any shape, any movement. But the desert looked empty—nothing but the subtle dance of firelight on gray dunes.
"There's nothing out there," Alex whispered.
But even as the words left his mouth, he felt it:
A pressure.
A weight in the air.
Like something enormous had awakened beneath the sand.
Arte's voice dropped even lower.
"You can't see it yet," he said, "because it's watching us from a distance. But it won't stay hidden for long."
Alex tensed.
"So… what do we do?"
Arte finally looked back at him, and the seriousness in his eyes made Alex's breath catch.
"We prepare," Arte said. "Because whatever is out there…"
A harsh gust of wind tore across the dunes, throwing sand into the air like a gray storm. The fire flickered wildly, almost extinguishing.
Arte's fur stood on end.
"…is coming for you, Alex."
Alex felt every muscle in his body freeze.
The desert was no longer silent.
It was waiting.