The wind howled across the barren cliff, whipping around the jagged stones like a restless spirit. Dust danced in turbulent spirals, carried high into the bruised, ashen sky. Below, the landscape stretched out in a chaotic sprawl, a broken world swallowed by decay and death. Charred trees jutted like skeletal fingers from the cracked earth, and the remnants of humanity's cities stood as blackened ruins overtaken by nature's cruel reclaiming.
Atop the cliff, a solitary figure stood motionless against the turbulent winds. His silhouette was sharp and commanding, his presence both defiant and sorrowful. Leo's blue eyes, cold and piercing, scanned the desolate expanse below. There they were—the formlings.
The mutated creatures roamed in the valley, their grotesque forms an unholy blend of insect and human anatomy. Some crawled on distorted legs, their elongated limbs moving with predatory grace. Others skittered with the erratic twitch of their compound eyes, their carapaces glinting in the dim, dying light of the sun. They made no effort to hide, and why would they? The Earth belonged to them now.
Leo narrowed his gaze, a flash of hatred lighting his expression. His jaw tightened, and his fists clenched as the memories of humanity's downfall clawed at his mind.
With a slow exhale, Leo raised his right hand. The air shimmered, crackling faintly as if reality itself bent to his will. From within him, something stirred—a presence both alien and familiar. Then, with a sickening crackle, a luminous blue war bow emerged from the flesh of his arm.
The bow wasn't forged of wood or metal but of bone, jagged and gleaming with an eerie brilliance. As it slid free, his body shuddered, and the sound of his bones adjusting, snapping, and reforming echoed faintly. Leo winced but did not falter. This was his weapon, his curse, and his only hope of vengeance.
As the bow fully formed, a second transformation began. From the side of his head, above his right ear, a blue horn slowly pushed its way through his skin. The horn spiraled upward before folding back along his skull, curling gracefully like the points of a crown. Leo's blue eyes darkened, the whites vanishing entirely as his pupils elongated into sharp slits—serpentine and menacing.
The wind whipped harder now, catching the edges of his torn black coat and tousling his hair like an unspoken challenge. Leo grit his teeth, the tension in his jaw like a coiled spring ready to snap.
Below, the formlings continued their aimless movements, unaware of the predator perched high above them.
Leo stepped forward, the loose gravel crunching under his boots. Without hesitation, he leapt from the cliff, hurtling downward with the grace of a falling star. The wind roared in his ears, but his descent was controlled, almost calculated. His body angled, cutting through the air like a blade.
The ground rose to meet him at a terrifying speed. Any human would have panicked, but Leo's expression remained impassive, his sharp eyes locked on the creatures below. Just before impact, his body twisted, and with an earth-shaking thud, he landed in the middle of the valley.
The formlings froze.
For a moment, there was only silence, the dust from his landing still hanging in the air. Then the creatures began to screech—a high-pitched, grating noise that echoed off the surrounding cliffs. Their compound eyes locked onto him, their mandibles clicking with ravenous intent.
Leo straightened, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a simple workout. He raised his head slowly, his snake-like eyes narrowing.
With blinding speed, he disappeared.
The first formling barely had time to react before Leo appeared in front of it. His movements were fluid, precise—an executioner at work. He placed his hand on the creature's grotesque head, his grip ironclad.
With a sickening crunch, he crushed the formling's skull, green ichor exploding from the wound and splattering across the ground. The creature's headless body twitched violently before collapsing into a lifeless heap.
The other formlings screamed, their cries a mixture of rage and fear. They surged forward in unison, a chittering horde of claws, mandibles, and venomous stingers.
Leo smirked.
"Bring it on," he whispered.
The first wave reached him in seconds. Leo spun, his bow already in hand, and with a flick of his wrist, a glowing arrow of bone materialized on the string. He loosed it without hesitation. The arrow flew true, piercing through three formlings at once before exploding in a shower of blue light.
The creatures shrieked as the energy tore through them, reducing their bodies to smoking husks. But for every formling that fell, three more took its place.
Leo danced among them, a blur of motion and violence. His fists struck with inhuman strength, shattering exoskeletons and sending limbs flying. Green ichor painted the battlefield, the stench of it thick and acrid in the air.
But the horde was relentless. They surrounded him, their claws raking through the air as they closed in from all sides. Leo's smirk widened.
Raising his hand, he clenched his fist.
The ground trembled.
Suddenly, jagged bones erupted from the earth, spearing upward like the spines of some monstrous creature. The formlings screeched in agony as the bones tore through their bodies, slicing and impaling with brutal efficiency. Within seconds, the battlefield was a forest of death, the creatures impaled and twitching on the bone spires.
Their dying roars echoed across the valley, a haunting symphony of defeat. As the last formling fell silent, Leo stood in the center of the carnage, his chest heaving from exertion. The bones receded into the ground, leaving only the lifeless corpses of his enemies.
But the fight wasn't over.
Above him, a figure watched. The formlings' commander stood atop a nearby ridge, his form tall and grotesque. He resembled a massive beetle, his black carapace gleaming in the dim light. A pair of serrated mandibles clicked together with sadistic glee, and his multifaceted eyes glowed with a malevolent intelligence.
The commander grinned, his long tongue flicking out as if tasting the air. Behind him, more formlings emerged, their screeches echoing through the valley as they leapt down to join the fight.
Leo's eyes locked onto the commander, his expression dark and unyielding. Time seemed to slow as the two adversaries sized each other up.
"You all," Leo whispered, his voice low and venomous, "must die today."