The roof beneath them groaned with every breath of the wind, the metal bending under the weight of snow and rust. From the top of the collapsed gas station, the three scanned the ruins below for any sign of life. The streets stretched out like veins across a dying body, buildings leaning inward, windows shattered long ago, doors hanging from broken frames. Yet nothing moved.
Ashfall narrowed his eyes. Nothing but shadows. Nothing but the echoes of things we don't want to see.
Then a sound came that froze all of them at once. A distorted, weeping laughter, stretched and hollow, spilling across the ruins like water through cracks. It rose, then dipped, then rose again, neither joy nor sorrow but something far worse, something that belonged to no human throat.
Daryl ducked instinctively, dropping flat against the roof, and hissed, "Core Mythborne."
Ashfall's body reacted before his thoughts did, lowering into cover behind the rusted edge of the roof. His chest tightened as the sound grew closer. Slowly, he dared to raise his head.
A towering figure stalked between the ruins, its body so unnaturally long it seemed more like a shadow pulled free from the ground than flesh. Its limbs swayed as though its bones bent at the wrong angles, its head low, almost brushing the rooftops, yet its body stretched upward until it loomed above the buildings. Tears streamed endlessly from a distorted face that hung downward, pale and swollen, its mouth trembling as the laughter shuddered out of it.
Ashfall felt the weight of the thing pressing into him, like the air had turned heavy just by looking at it. And then another movement down below, in the street between two broken walls. A figure dashed from cover to cover, running away; a person, not a Mythborne.
Ashfall's eyes widened. He tried to focus, to make out details, but before he could, Daryl's hand clamped around his collar and dragged him down. Ryn was already crouched low beside them, whispering sharply, "Do you want to die staring at it?"
The three of them held their breath as the Core Mythborne moved past. Its laughter faded into the distance, though the trembling of the ground beneath its steps lingered longer. Only when the sound thinned into the horizon did Ashfall exhale.
He glanced at the other two, then spoke quietly. "Someone's out there. I saw them in the street. Moving fast... too deliberate to be a stray survivor. Could've been the one who fired that signal."
Daryl blinked, half-hopeful. "Alive? You're sure?"
Ashfall shrugged. "Alive enough to run."
Ryn tilted his head, expression unreadable in the dim light. "Then that's a lead. Better than sitting here waiting for another monster to walk by."
After a moment of silence, they all agreed. They climbed down from the roof, boots crunching against the brittle remains of the gas station's interior. The place had been stripped years ago, only dust and broken shelves left behind. They crossed through the hollow shell and slipped out into the street, the faint sound of the Core's heavy footsteps still echoing somewhere in the ruins behind them.
The path forward was dangerous. Minor Mythbornes skittered in the shadows, eyes glinting with hunger, but they kept to the edges. Ashfall moved first, striking quickly when one crawled too close, his knife flashing in the pale light. Daryl's pistol fired once or twice, but mostly they kept quiet, choosing to evade instead of fight. Every step deeper into the ruins felt heavier, like they were walking into a throat that wanted to swallow them.
Ashfall's mind circled the image of the person he'd seen. Maybe it really was the one with the flare… or maybe we're chasing bait. It doesn't matter. Moving is survival... standing still is death.
They pressed on until the streets grew too thick with shadows. The Mythbornes clustered in greater numbers, their eyes following from alleys and rooftops. Forced back, they slipped into the hollow frame of a building that might once have been a warehouse or a factory.
The silence inside was worse. The roof had long collapsed, leaving only jagged supports that framed a direct view of the sky. And in the sky, the Stars of Madness glimmered. Their light spilled like cracks in the heavens, unnatural and sharp, painting everything in colors that didn't belong.
There, in the center of the open floor, a man knelt. His shoulders were hunched beneath a thick fur mantle, his head bowed. His breath fogged faintly in the cold, proving at least that he still lived.
The three froze. Daryl whispered, "Another survivor?"
They approached slowly, steps echoing too loud against the hollow floor. As they neared, the man began to laugh.
It started softly, almost like a chuckle, but it grew, louder and louder until it filled the broken warehouse, bouncing off the walls in unnatural echoes. His head stayed lowered, shaking with the force of it, and then suddenly, it stopped.
The silence hit harder than the laughter. Ashfall's grip tightened on his own pistol. This isn't right. Nothing about this is right.
They edged closer, breaths shallow. Then the man twitched. His head jerked, cracking to the side. Another twitch, another crack, until his face was twisted nearly one hundred eighty degrees, staring at them from a broken angle.
Ashfall's eyes narrowed. There, in one of his pupils, the clock tattoo glimmered; a Timer Agent.
But the hands on his clock spun wildly, not ticking with order but whirling in every direction at once, blurring with impossible speed until they suddenly stopped.
The man's body convulsed. His limbs twisted backward, skin bubbling as though it melted, his fur mantle fusing into his flesh. Bones stretched, tearing through skin, and his laughter returned, mangled into something animalistic. Flesh dripped like wax from a candle, reshaping into something new, something wrong.
Daryl stumbled back, his hands shaking. "Oh god... oh no"
Ryn didn't hesitate. He raised his pistol and unleashed a full magazine into the writhing figure, bullets tearing into shifting flesh. The shells clattering to the floor
Ashfall didn't move. He watched, cold and detached, his mind calculating. Waste of ammo... would be better to save the bullets for something we can kill.
The man—no, the creature—froze. Halfway through its grotesque metamorphosis, it stood still, frozen in place like some obscene statue. Limbs bent like branches, skin stretched tight, its form locked between man and Mythborne.
Only the sound of their breathing filled the space. Ryn lowered his pistol slowly, his lips curling into something close to a smile. "That… worked?"
Daryl shook his head violently. "No... no, it didn't. Look at it. It's still..."
The creature twitched again. Its limbs cracked, shifting further, the sound of splitting bone echoing through the warehouse. It began to move again.
"Move!" Ashfall barked.
They turned to flee, boots striking the concrete, hearts pounding. Behind them, the sound of the transformation grew louder and wetter. Each crack and tear more grotesque than the last.
Daryl stumbled, panic plain in his eyes. His voice shook. "It's... it's still coming... it won't stop...!"
His fear only seemed to feed the creature. Every stutter of his breath, every tremble of his body, seemed to make the transformation behind them accelerate, the monstrosity pulling itself further from its human shell.
Ryn slowed, his eyes flicking between Ashfall, Daryl, and the shifting shadow that stalked closer. His hand slid to his side, pulling another magazine free. With a single smooth motion, he slammed it into his pistol, cocked it, and turned not toward the monster, but toward Daryl.
Ashfall stopped dead, his own breath catching. Deryl froze, confusion spreading across his face. "Ryn…?"
Ryn's eyes narrowed. Cold and calculated. "You're slowing us down."
Daryl shook his head, trembling. "Wait... I- I can..."
But his voice broke. His eyes, wide with terror, shifted instinctively toward Ashfall. A silent plea. Fear, helplessness, and the smallest spark of hope, as if Ashfall might be the one to pull him back from the edge.
Ashfall's jaw tightened, his hand already on his own pistol at his side.
This is the choice, isn't it? Save him or let him fall. Survival doesn't leave room for both.
Ryn's finger tightened on the trigger, while the Mythborne's laughter swelled behind them.
Ashfall knew he had to decide.