No one spoke for a long moment after the shadow disappeared. The only sound was the timer ticking down in their heads.
They moved anyway.
It wasn't bravery so much as the knowledge that standing still wouldn't save them. The ruined streets stretched ahead like a maze, broken concrete crunching under their feet. Burnt-out vehicles leaned against collapsed walls, their twisted frames casting jagged shadows in the crimson light.
Tom kept his eyes moving, scanning alleys and windows. Every creak of metal, every flicker of movement in the distance made his grip tighten on the bent steel pipe he'd scavenged from the roadside.
"Stay close," a woman near the front said. Her voice was steady, but the way her hands clenched told another story.
The group stayed tight, weaving through the skeletal remains of the city. The red sunlight gave everything an almost dreamlike glow, but it was the wrong kind of dream pinned in too sharp, too quiet.
Far above, the hourglass kept turning, the red sand sliding upward grain by grain.
The timer was already at 55:13.
And with every step, the silence felt less like safety… and more like something waiting.
They hadn't gone far when the air above them shimmered again. A massive translucent screen appeared, this time softer in tone, almost casual.
[ Hello, Hunters. How are you finding your first steps? ]
The words hung there for a moment, and the group exchanged uneasy glances. No one answered, but the screen didn't seem to care.
[ Before the Night Hunt begins, you need to understand something important. ]
A faint ripple passed through the display, and new text appeared.
[ You may be chosen to wield a Face. ]
The word hung there like it meant more than it seemed. The screen continued.
[ A Face is a special power—something tied to a legendary or mythical figure from history. It will appear as a ghostly figure beside you, visible only to other people with Faces. If someone has Anubis's Face then the person's figure might have a jackle head with Sickles with Kemetic bases.]
[ Your Face can make you stronger, faster, and tougher. The better you imagine its powers, the stronger it becomes. Its power depends on how user creatively interprets their abilities. Most of them can outran time and wind, break meteorites in punch.]
Someone in the group muttered, "So… like a game avatar?"
The next line appeared almost instantly.
[ Be warned. Push your body or mind too far, and you will break. This gift can also be your curse. It might cause mental collapse or physical breakdown. ]
The words faded, leaving behind an uneasy silence.
Tom stared at the fading screen for a long moment. His mind was still trying to make sense of this "Face" thing. Power tied to history? A ghost that only other "Facebearers" could see?
Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke up, his voice breaking the silence.
"How… do we get one?"
It was like the world itself had been waiting for the question. The screen blinked back to life, words forming in steady, deliberate lines.
[ To inherit a Face, you must find places connected to the figure you seek. Their ghost often lingers there. ]
The letters glowed faintly, as if each one carried its own quiet warning.
[ Or… if you are without a Face and enter a place where one wanders, and you share traits with the figure, the Face might choose you. ]
Tom's brow furrowed. "Traits? Like personality?"
The screen did not answer that. Instead, new words formed.
[ But remember this. To awaken a Face is to inherit the weight of the figure's life. You will feel their memories, their pain, their trauma. ]
A ripple of unease spread through the group. Someone whispered, "Trauma?"
[ If your bond with the Face is weak, its spirit may resist you. It might refuse to help in battle. It may try to take control. ]
[ Fail to control it, and your mind will crumble. Your body may follow. Many who failed ended in madness. Many died. ]
The words seemed to darken the air around them. Even the ruined city felt heavier, as if the buildings themselves understood the danger.
Tom thought about what it meant. Power that could save him… but at the cost of letting another soul inside his head. Someone who might not like him. Someone who had lived and suffered in a different time.
He tried to picture what kind of figure would even choose him. The idea of carrying someone else's pain clawed at the back of his mind.
The rest of the group was restless now. People shuffled their feet, muttered to each other, or stared at the ground. A few tried to sound brave, talking about what kind of legendary hero they would get. But the tremor in their voices betrayed them.
The screen gave no more answers. It faded away slowly, like mist dissolving in the heat, leaving them under the blackened sun once again.
Somewhere far ahead, between the broken buildings, Tom thought he saw movement. Just for a second.
The timer still ticked in his head.
49:15.
The Night Hunt was drawing closer and now he knew there were more things to fear than just what walked in the dark.
The screen came back without warning, its light cutting through the blood-red glow of the ruined city. The letters this time were short, blunt, and cold.
[ Rules of the Hunt ]
[ 1. Survive the night. ]
[ 2. Obey the quests given. ]
[ 3. Repeat. ]
That was it. No further explanation. No mercy hidden between the lines.
A low murmur rose through the group. Some cursed under their breath. Others just stared, silent, as if the simplicity of the rules somehow made them worse.
Then someone broke.
It was a thin man in a torn jacket, eyes darting wildly like an animal in a cage. He backed away from the group, muttering to himself. "No… no… not staying here… not doing this…"
Before anyone could stop him, he turned and sprinted toward a nearby well, half-hidden in the shadows of a collapsed wall. Without hesitation, he climbed the crumbling edge and threw himself into the darkness.
The sound of the fall never came.
Instead, the air shimmered faintly. Ash drifted up from the mouth of the well, curling in the dim light before scattering to nothing. A heartbeat later, the same ash fell where the man had jumped, except now it shaped into his lifeless, broken form.
A choked gasp escaped from somewhere in the group.
Tom's stomach turned cold. He swallowed and said what everyone else was too afraid to voice. "Death here… is permanent."
No one argued.
They moved on in silence, the image of the man's body burned into their minds.
After a few streets, they found it half-buried in rubble, its edges chipped but the carvings still clear. A stone slab, no bigger than a book, its surface scratched with old script.
One of the others knelt to brush away the dust. The words revealed themselves slowly, each one carved with unsettling precision.
"Don't Believe the Night"
The phrase settled over them like a shadow, heavier than the ruined city itself.
"What does that mean?" someone whispered.
No one had an answer. The wind rattled the loose metal of a nearby sign, a hollow, eerie sound that seemed almost like laughter.
Tom stared at the slab, reading the words again and again. His gut twisted. If the night was dangerous, why would it lie? And how?
The black sun hung lower now, its red light bleeding deeper into the streets. Shadows stretched long and thin, curling at the edges like living things. Somewhere far away, a sound resoumded—something like a howl, but stretched too long, too deep to belong to any animal he knew.
The timer in his head kept ticking.
46:02.
Above them, the giant hourglass gave a slow, deliberate turn. The red sand inside shivered… then began to rise faster.
The group froze.
It wasn't the speed of the sand that scared them. It was what they heard next—footsteps. Heavy ones. Coming closer.
And they weren't human.