The air inside the Shatter Zone tasted like rust and old blood. It was a flavor Yoren knew too well.
Yoren crouched behind a slab of broken concrete, his breath steady despite the pain ripping through his left side. A deep gash ran across his ribs, soaking his black shirt in dark crimson. He ignored it. Pain was just noise. Noise could be filtered out.
Ahead, the Thornmaw paced in the dirt.
The creature was massive, resembling a wolf made of jagged iron and rotting flesh. Its mouth hung open, revealing rows of teeth that dripped acidic saliva. The ground hissed wherever the droplets landed. Smoke rose from the scorched earth.
Yoren tightened his grip on the hilt of the Obsidian Fang.
The silver ring on his right hand hummed against his skin. It was cold, colder than the wind blowing through the wasteland. He did not activate it yet. Not until the beast committed to the kill.
The Thornmaw sniffed the air. Its head snapped toward Yoren's cover. Yellow eyes glowed in the dim light.
Yoren said, Come get it.
The beast roared, a sound like grinding metal, and charged. Dust kicked up around its paws.
Yoren waited. He counted the seconds in his head. One. Two. Three.
When the Thornmaw was within three meters, Yoren moved. He stepped out from cover, not away, but toward the beast. The Obsidian Fang slid from the ring, materializing as a long black blade with a single red line running down its center.
He ducked under the snapping jaws. The acid sizzled past his ear, burning a few strands of his hair. The smell of singed protein filled his nose.
Yoren thrust the blade upward.
The steel pierced the soft tissue under the creature's jaw. He twisted the hilt. Black blood sprayed across his face. It felt warm and thick.
The Thornmaw convulsed. Its massive weight crashed down, pinning Yoren's leg for a second before he kicked free. He rolled away, standing up slowly. His leg throbbed, but the bone held.
The creature twitched once, then stopped. The light faded from its eyes.
Yoren sheathed the blade. It dissolved back into the silver ring, leaving only the faint scent of ozone in the air.
He walked over to the corpse. He did not check for loot yet. First, he needed to secure the essence. That was the priority.
Yoren knelt beside the dead beast. He placed his left hand on the creature's forehead. The black ring on this hand glowed faintly. A low vibration ran up his arm.
Yoren whispered, Harvest.
The ground beneath the Thornmaw darkened. A shadow peeled itself away from the corpse like wet paper lifting from a table. It rose, two dimensional and silent, taking the shape of the wolf.
The shadow wolf stood beside Yoren. It had no eyes, only empty voids, but it obeyed. It waited for a command that did not come.
Yoren stood up. He wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand.
He looked at the shadow. It was the third one.
Two other shadows hovered behind him, faint and silent. One was a Nullkin, small and jagged. The other was a Bloodfang, larger and lean. They floated just above the ground, tethered to him by an invisible thread.
Most hunters killed for money. Some killed for glory. Yoren killed because the shadows kept the hunger inside him quiet. When the shadows grew, the hunger slept.
He turned away from the corpse. The Shatter Zone was getting darker. Night brought out things worse than Thornmaws. Things that did not leave bodies behind.
Yoren began the long walk back to Verrath.
The city loomed in the distance, a massive silhouette against the gray sky. The Great Wall surrounding it was etched with glowing runes, pulsing like a heartbeat. It was the only safe place in Veldrun. Inside those walls, humanity pretended to be safe.
As he walked, the shadows followed. They did not make footprints. They did not make sound. They were ghosts bound to a living man.
A branch cracked to his left.
Yoren stopped. He did not turn his head. His senses picked up the shift in air pressure.
A voice called out from the darkness, You're far from the safe zones, hunter.
Yoren said, I know where I am.
A figure stepped out from behind a ruined pillar. He wore a gray cloak, and his face was hidden in shadow. Only a faint smile was visible beneath the hood.
The stranger said, That beast was A rank. You killed it alone.
Yoren said, It was weak.
The stranger laughed softly. It was a dry sound, like leaves crushing underfoot.
The stranger said, Modesty doesn't pay bills. What do you do with the cores?
Yoren said, I sell them.
The stranger said, And the rest?
Yoren did not answer. He started walking again. He had no time for games.
The stranger did not follow. He just watched. His presence lingered like a cold spot in the air.
Yoren felt the gaze on his back until he passed the tree line. He did not care. People watched. People always watched. Curiosity was a survival instinct in Veldrun.
The gates of Verrath came into view. Massive iron doors stood open, guarded by soldiers in heavy armor. They checked every person entering. They looked for infection. They looked for corruption. They looked for signs of the Fracture.
They did not look for shadows.
Yoren approached the gate. A soldier stepped forward, spear lowered. The metal tip gleamed under the lantern light.
The soldier said, Halt. Show your identification.
Yoren pulled a metal tag from his pocket. He handed it over. His fingers were stained with blood.
The soldier inspected it, then looked at Yoren's bleeding side.
The soldier said, You need a medic.
Yoren said, I'm fine.
The soldier handed the tag back. He hesitated, looking past Yoren toward the dark road behind him.
The soldier said, It's getting dark. You should hurry.
Yoren said, I will.
He walked through the gates. The city noise hit him like a wall. Engines, voices, music. Life. It was loud and chaotic and beautiful.
He moved through the crowded streets. People pushed past him, ignoring the blood on his clothes. In Verrath, blood was common. It was just another part of the currency.
He kept walking toward the lower district. The buildings here were tall and cramped, blocking out the sky. Laundry lines hung between windows like spiderwebs.
Behind him, the three shadows drifted silently. They passed through people without touching them.
A child pointed at them from a window above.
The child said, Mom, look at the dark things.
A woman pulled the child back. Her face was pale.
The woman said, Don't look. It's just tricks of the light.
Yoren did not look up. He kept walking. He knew what they saw. He knew what they feared.
He reached his apartment building. It was old, the paint peeling off the walls. He climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. The wood creaked under his boots.
Inside his room, he locked the door. He leaned against it, closing his eyes. The silence of the room was heavy.
The shadows settled in the corners of the room. They waited. They did not breathe.
Yoren looked at his hands. The rings were dull now, sleeping. They held power that could break the city.
He said, Not yet.
He walked to the mirror. His reflection stared back. Pale skin, dark eyes, nothing unusual. Except for the faint red lines fading on his neck. They pulsed slowly.
He touched the lines. They were warm. Warmer than human skin should be.
Yoren said, Soon.
He turned away from the mirror. He had materials to sell. Potions to brew. And a secret that could burn this city to the ground.
Outside, the sun set over Verrath. The runes on the wall glowed brighter. The night shift began.
Inside the room, three shadows stood guard. They were silent witnesses to his existence.
No one in the city knew what followed him home.
Not yet.
A/N Thank you for reading the first chapter of Ashes of the Twin Rings. This story will be updated regularly. If you enjoyed the dark atmosphere and Yoren's journey, please add this to your library and leave a power stone. Your support helps me write faster. See you in the next chapter.