The snow never stopped. It fell in fine gray flakes that swirled across the frozen wasteland and clung to Ashfall's hood, his breath curling white in the frigid air. He had been walking for hours, his boots sinking into the drifts, his stomach gnawing with hunger, his fingers stiff even through the gloves. Every step toward the silhouette of the ruined city in the distance felt heavier, but he kept moving, because stopping meant freezing.
World Nine. The ice planet. Of course I'd get thrown into the one place that looks like a graveyard stretched to the horizon.
The endless emptiness gnawed at him worse than the cold. Aethra Prime might have been gray and rotten, but at least there had been noise; voices, sirens, machines humming through the walls. Here, the silence was thick, pressing against his ears, broken only by the crunch of his boots and the distant howl of the wind. He caught himself glancing up at the sky every so often, at the faint outline of the Clock of Apocalypse hanging above, its hands frozen, and at the sickly shimmer of the Stars that bled their madness even through the clouds. He looked away quickly each time. Staring too long was how it started.
When he finally saw the first shapes of houses, he almost didn't believe it. A small settlement, half-buried in snow, its roofs sagging, and its windows black and lifeless.
Considering the distance... must be the outskirts of the metropolis.
Ashfall pulled his pistol free but kept it lowered. His other hand brushed the knife strapped to his thigh. If Erat were here, he'd say this is where the fun starts. Idiot. He would've smiled walking into hell.
The village stank of rot. He smelled it as soon as he pushed through the broken gate. A sour, wet stench that seeped out of the dark alleys between buildings. The silence here was different, heavier, as if something was hiding just out of sight.
Ashfall stopped in front of a collapsed wall. There was movement. It was slow, dragging, and wet. He tightened his grip on the knife.
Something crawled out of the shadows.
It was small, barely larger than a dog, its body nothing but a glistening lump of black flesh that pulsed with each movement. Two stubby arms dragged it forward through the snow, and on its surface was a tiny, childlike face, twisted in constant sobbing. Its mouth opened and closed, leaking a faint whimper out.
Ashfall's stomach turned. So this is what the Stars make of people. Not monsters, not demons... just… broken leftovers that keep crawling even when they shouldn't exist.
The thing reached for him, its little arms stretching, its mouth opening wider. He stepped forward and drove the knife down in a clean thrust through the head. The Mythborne spasmed, and gave one last pitiful cry, before it went still.
Ashfall exhaled slowly, yanking the blade free. He looked down at the corpse and then, instinctively, at his reflection in the knife's sheen. His left eye pulsed and the clock on his pupil shifting slightly. The minute hand clicked forward one notch.
"So that's how it works," he muttered. "One freak down, a little stronger for it. A neat system, if you don't think too hard about what these things used to be."
He wiped the blade clean on the snow and kept moving, though every nerve told him the village was watching him. He wasn't wrong.
By the time he reached the center, he had cut down three more of the crawling ones. Each kill pushed his clock forward, his body thrumming faintly with energy that hadn't been there before, but it wasn't satisfying. The more he killed, the more of them he noticed. Shapes lurking just beyond the edges of vision. Shadows ducking behind walls. Eyes glinting from rooftops.
These weren't the sobbing lumps anymore. These were faster, leaner, their forms still twisted but more animal than human, their sizes no bigger than a fox. They crouched on broken fences, heads cocked, watching him the way predators watched wounded prey. Their mouths stretched too wide, their teeth tiny but sharp and black, and their laughter—because it was laughter, he realized—scraped at his ears like broken glass.
Ashfall tightened his grip on the pistol but didn't fire. Waste the bullets now and I'll regret it later. They're waiting, testing me. Hyenas in the snow.
He kept his steps steady, his eyes flicking from shadow to shadow, when voices broke the silence.
"Hey, look what we have here."
Two figures stepped out from between the houses. Both wore the same Timer Agent suits, their faces pale beneath frostbitten cheeks, their pupils marked with the cursed clocks. The first was a broad-shouldered man with a scar running across his jaw, his pistol already drawn. The second was thinner, wiry, with a restless energy in his stance, his knife spinning between his fingers as if he couldn't stand still.
Ashfall slowed, keeping distance. His gut told him not to trust anyone here.
The scarred one smirked. "Another Timer. Guess the Clock was busy today."
The wiry one laughed too loudly. "Good, more meat to feed the freaks. Or maybe we feed you to them, huh?"
Ashfall's expression didn't change. "Try it and see how fast I put a round in your skull." His tone was flat, but the weight behind it was real. He wasn't bluffing, and they knew it.
The scarred one raised his hands in mock surrender. "Easy, friend. We're all on the same side here."
"Funny," Ashfall said. "Didn't know we had sides. Thought the Clocks just dumped us here to die."
Before either of them could reply, a third voice cut in.
"Now, now, no need to start spilling blood before we even reach a city."
Ashfall spun, cursing himself for not noticing the approach. Another Timer stood behind him with a friendly looking smile. His face was calm, but the grin didn't touch his eyes. It was the kind of smile people wore when they wanted you to believe them while they planned where to stick the knife.
The newcomer raised his hands casually. "Relax. I saw you handle those crawlers back there. Impressive work. My name's Ryn."
Ashfall didn't answer. He kept his pistol raised, watching every twitch of the man's fake grin.
Ryn's tone was light and smooth. "Listen, you don't want to walk alone here. None of us do. These little freaks—" he gestured at the fox-sized Mythbornes still circling the ruins—"they're getting bolder. You noticed it, right? Every shadow has eyes."
The scarred one nodded. "He's right. If you're headed toward the metropolis, we might as well stick together."
Ashfall didn't lower the pistol. Great. Two loudmouths and a snake. Just what I needed...
But he couldn't ignore the logic and it was his reason for the approach in the first place. The ruins were crawling with Mythbornes now, dozens of them slinking along rooftops and alleys, their laughter echoing. Alone, he'd waste bullets. Together, at least the monsters would have more targets to choose from.
Finally, he muttered, "Fine. But if any of you tries something, I'll make sure you regret it before I go down."
Ryn's smile widened just a little too much. "Fair enough."
The wiry one grinned, flashing his knife. "Good. Then let's move before we get surrounded."
They set off together, the metropolis looming larger through the snow. The fox-sized Mythbornes followed at a distance, slipping between the ruins, their glowing eyes never blinking.
Ashfall walked at the back of the group, his thoughts restless. This is it... my first contact and I'm already stuck with strangers who look more dangerous than the monsters. Erat, you'd say to trust them. I say they'll be the death of me. But until then, they'll be of help.
He glanced once more at the sky, at the veiled Clock hanging above. The second chime had brought him here and the third would decide if he ever left.
For now, all he could do was keep moving forward, knife ready, pistol heavy in his hand, the cold gnawing at his bones, and the laughter of the Mythbornes echoing from every shadow as they marched toward the dead heart of the city.