The explosion hit like the world itself had cracked in half. A deafening roar swallowed the tunnels, followed by a wave of dust and heat that slammed against Ashfall's hiding spot. The shockwave threw debris everywhere.
Ashfall pressed his arm over his mouth and nose, crouching low as the world collapsed around him. The air turned thick and unbreathable, filled with grit and the bitter taste of smoke. For a moment, he couldn't tell if he was still underground or buried alive. All he could hear was the pounding in his ears and beneath that, a faint, dying tick that slowly faded into silence.
When it was finally over, the tunnels were gone.
He pushed himself up, coughing, and blinked through the haze. What used to be their camp was now a mountain of rubble. Stone, steel, and flesh had all fused into one indistinguishable mess. He could still smell the burned gunpowder.
Guess the old man did it, he thought grimly. Took that freak with him… hopefully.
He climbed slowly, hands scraping against cold debris. Every muscle in his body screamed, but he kept moving. He had to. He wasn't about to die under a pile of rocks after everything he'd survived.
At last, after what felt like hours, his hand broke through to open air. He hauled himself up and out into the light.
The first breath of cold air hit him like a blade. It was sharp, clean, and real. He stood on the ruins of the collapsed tunnel, surrounded by heaps of snow and shattered concrete, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, he saw daylight again.
The sky above was pale and clouded, a colorless gray that seemed almost merciful compared to the darkness below. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the falling snow collect on his face. The freezing air stung his skin, but it felt pure like a baptism in frost after days of filth.
For a few seconds, he forgot everything.
No monsters. No screams. No ticking. Just the soft whisper of snow falling onto ruins.
Maybe this is what peace feels like, he thought. Cold, empty, and temporary.
When he opened his eyes again, reality came rushing back. The skyscrapers that surrounded the cratered platform stood around him. And above them, through the thinning clouds, he saw the sky and the Stars of Madness. They pulsed faintly.
He stared at them for too long, and his stomach turned. They seemed to shimmer in ways, like they were alive, watching, whispering in patterns his mind refused to understand.
He looked away, rubbing his eyes. "Right. That's the reality I live in..."
He breathed out slowly, watching the frost escape his lips. Then, without thinking, he muttered to himself, "It's over. Finally over." But even as he said it, the silence around him felt wrong. Too still, too expectant.
He started climbing higher, using the collapsed debris as a makeshift slope. His plan was simple: get to the surface, find shelter again, rest, and think. Maybe even find Calethia on the way, but that was optional.
He was halfway up when the ground beneath his boots trembled.
At first it was a faint vibration, almost like an echo of the explosion. Then it grew stronger, shaking the rubble pile. Stones slid under his feet. The snow rippled outward. Ashfall froze, eyes darting around. "...No. Don't you dare."
The ground in front of him cracked open. Something massive beneath was moving. Then, without warning, the debris burst upward in a violent spray of dust and rock.
A single arm shot out. The arm was blackened and twisted, but unmistakable human-like, yet wrong. The flesh rippled like liquid metal, and at the end of it, a hand clawed at the ground.
Then came the face. The Mythborne—the one with the clock for a head—dragged itself from the rubble, its body broken and half-missing. Its clock face was cracked down the middle, one of the hands completely gone, the other twitching erratically.
Ashfall's breath hitched. "You've got to be kidding me…"
The creature fixed its half-shattered clock-face toward him. Even damaged, it moved with unsettling intent, crawling toward him through the snow and rubble, one arm dragging its limp body forward inch by inch.
Ashfall took a step back, then another. His hand instinctively reached for his pistol. You're half-dead, he told himself, and I'm even worse. But screw it.
He pulled out the silenced gun, aimed, and fired.
The first bullet hit the cracked face and made the Mythborne flinch. The second tore through the remaining glass. A third followed, then a fourth. With each shot, the creature recoiled, its movements slowing but never stopping. It kept crawling, reaching for him with that one surviving hand.
Ashfall gritted his teeth. "Stay down, damn it!"
He emptied the magazine. The final shot hit the center of what was left of the clock-face. The ticking stopped. The creature froze mid-motion, its fingers inches from his boot. Then its body began to tremble, and slowly it collapsed.
The black flesh started to break apart, dissolving into gray dust that the wind carried away.
Ashfall lowered his gun and stood still for a long moment, breathing hard. His hands trembled slightly, whether from cold or adrenaline, he wasn't sure.
He stared at the fading remains. "If you'd been at full strength… I'd be the one turning into ash."
The thought was almost comforting. At least now he didn't have to keep running. But then, the impossible happened again.
From the Mythborne's outstretched arm, something shifted; something human. The dark matter peeled away, revealing pale skin beneath it. A hand. A real one.
Ashfall blinked, stepping closer. The black flesh began to pour outward like liquid, reshaping itself. A fimiliar body emerged.
It was her: Rhea.
She lay naked in the snow, eyes closed, her skin unmarked, unburned. Not a single wound remained, not even from what Kael did to her. The Mythborne's remaining fragments wrapped around her once, almost like a farewell, and then fell apart completely, turning to dust that drifted away with the wind.
Ashfall stood frozen, unsure what to feel. Fear? Disbelief?
He crouched beside her, hesitated, then reached out and tapped her shoulder.
No reaction. He tried again, a little harder this time. "Hey."
Her eyes shot open. She gasped, jolting upright like someone waking from a nightmare.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just stared at each other. Ashfall, gun still in hand; Rhea, eyes wide and breathing hard, snow clinging to her bare skin. Then, realization hit both of them at the same time.
Ashfall looked away immediately, turning his back to her. "Great..." he muttered.
She blinked, then glanced down at herself and yelped, curling her arms around her chest. "D-Don't look!"
"I'm not," he said flatly, already walking a few steps away. "Trust me, that's the last thing I'm trying to do right now."
The air between them turned painfully awkward. The wind howled softly, scattering bits of ash.
After a moment, Ashfall sighed. "You're lucky, you know that? I thought that thing ate you alive."
Rhea didn't answer right away. Her voice came out small, shaky. "It… it did. I think. I don't know. Everything went dark, and then I felt something… pulling me back."
Ashfall didn't turn around. "Yeah, well, whatever it was, it's gone now."
Silence stretched again. He started walking toward the ruins ahead, boots crunching through the snow. He didn't look back.
After a few seconds, he heard her bare, hesitant footsteps behind him, crunching softly in the snow.
"You're just gonna leave me here?" she called after him, her voice a mix of irritation and desperation.
"I hoped so," Ashfall muttered. "Not only snitched you on me... you character is just... unbearable"
"That's mean."
"Yeah. I don't care."
She hurried after him, shivering violently. "I-It's freezing… Can't we stop somewhere? Just for a minute?"
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "You died five minutes ago, and you're already complaining."
"I didn't die..."
"Could've fooled me."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more. She just followed him, trying to keep up, her breath forming white clouds in the cold.
Ashfall glanced at her from the corner of his eye but said nothing. He didn't know what she was anymore. Human, something else, or both. All he knew was that she was alive. And for reasons he didn't understand, that almost bothered him more than if she hadn't been.
He looked up once more at the gray sky. The Stars of Madness pulsed faintly behind the clouds, like dying embers waiting to reignite.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. "Hell itself can't decide who stays dead."
And with that, he kept walking. Rhea trailing behind, shivering, still talking about something he didn't care to listen to.
The snow kept falling, covering the ruins of the dead and the living alike.