The snowstorm howled relentlessly across the frozen tundra, its winds shrieking through the barren landscape. Aurel lay motionless beneath a thin layer of snow, his body rigid and unresponsive, every part of him locked in place by the metallic sheen that had overtaken him. The pain had long faded, replaced by a strange numbness. He couldn't even shiver. His breaths, shallow and rhythmic, were the only signs of life he could still feel.
He had fought tooth and nail to get this far—through monsters, exhaustion, and endless struggle. But now, in this silent tundra, he was frozen in place, powerless to move, reduced to a metallic statue waiting for Adaptability to figure out a way forward.
The minutes passed slowly. Then hours.
Aurel's mind was a tangle of frustration, anger, and helplessness. This isn't how I go out, he thought. Move. Just move! But no matter how hard he willed it, his arms stayed pinned to his sides, his legs remained stiff as iron rods, and his fingers refused to twitch.
The snow piled higher on his still form, and then came the first scavenger.
A small ice fox emerged from the storm, its silver-furred body weaving cautiously through the drifts. Its ears twitched as it sniffed the air, its nose twitching curiously. The gleaming metal covering Aurel's skin seemed to confuse the fox—it circled him, wary yet curious, as if trying to understand what it had stumbled upon.
The fox paused, lowering its snout toward Aurel's leg. With a snap, it tried to bite him.
Crack!
The fox yelped as its teeth shattered on impact, shards of enamel scattering across the snow. It staggered back, shaking its head violently, blood dripping from its mouth. Snarling in frustration, the fox made a second attempt, this time aiming for his hand.
Another crack. More broken teeth.
The fox whined pitifully, licking its wounded mouth before retreating, leaving behind a trail of blood in the snow.
But the creatures kept coming.
A large snow owl landed nearby, its talons clicking on the ice as it hopped toward Aurel's motionless form. It pecked at him experimentally—once, twice—but every jab of its beak met the same unyielding metallic surface. The owl let out a disgruntled screech and flapped away into the storm.
A hulking yeti appeared next, its massive form looming above Aurel like a shadow. It sniffed the air, its nostrils flaring as it eyed him curiously. With a low growl, the yeti crouched, wrapping one enormous hand around Aurel's torso. It tried to lift him, but his weight was too much—like trying to haul a solid slab of steel.
Frustrated, the yeti bared its yellowed teeth and bit down hard on Aurel's shoulder.
Crack!
The beast roared in pain as its teeth shattered, clutching its jaw and stumbling back. It slammed its fist into Aurel's side in frustration, but the metallic skin held fast, the sound of the impact ringing like a hammer striking an anvil. Snarling, the yeti abandoned him, retreating into the storm, nursing its broken mouth.
Aurel lay there, alone once more. The beasts came and went, each testing him in some way, each leaving in frustration when they realized they couldn't hurt him. His body, adapted to survive, had become an unbreakable prison.
More hours passed.
Then, through the swirling snow, came the sound of footsteps—heavy boots crunching through the ice. Aurel's Sixth Sense flared to life, warning him that someone was approaching. The edges of his vision blurred as four figures emerged from the storm, their silhouettes hazy against the whiteout.
They moved cautiously, scanning the tundra for threats, their weapons at the ready. As they drew closer, Aurel could make out more details: thick furs draped over combat armor, faces half-hidden beneath scarves, eyes sharp and alert.
The first figure, a tall man with a jagged scar running down his cheek, crouched beside Aurel's body. He wiped away some of the snow, revealing the smooth metallic surface beneath.
"What the hell is this?" the scarred man muttered, inspecting Aurel's still form with narrowed eyes.
"Some kind of relic?" suggested a woman with sharp green eyes, her bow slung casually over one shoulder. She nudged Aurel's side with the toe of her boot. "Feels too smooth to be a statue. Maybe it's enchanted or something."
Aurel's mind raced as he listened to their conversation, frustration gnawing at him. I'm not a relic, you idiots. I'm alive! But there was no way for him to tell them, no way to move or even make a sound. He was trapped, forced to watch as they examined him like a piece of scrap they had found in the snow.
"Could sell for a lot," rumbled the third member of the group—a burly man with a thick beard and a deep voice. He ran a gloved hand over Aurel's chest, testing the smoothness of the metal. "Stuff like this could fetch a fortune in the city."
The scarred man shook his head. "Too risky to carry it out in this storm. We'll stash it somewhere and come back later."
The woman with the bow frowned. "You think anyone else saw it?"
"No chance." The bearded man grinned beneath his scarf. "We got here first."
Aurel's Sixth Sense buzzed furiously, warning him of something—not just the people around him, but something about the place they were taking him. The unease prickled at the back of his mind, like a nagging itch he couldn't reach.
"Let's dump it in that cave over there," the scarred man said, pointing toward a jagged outcrop in the distance. "We can come back once the storm clears."
With grunts of effort, the four strangers hefted Aurel's body off the ground. His metallic weight made it a struggle, but they managed, carrying him awkwardly toward the cave.
The cave entrance loomed like a black maw in the snow, the jagged walls lined with frost. They hauled Aurel inside, the air instantly growing still and quiet as the wind was cut off. The scarred man gestured toward the back of the cave.
"Put it over there. We'll come back for it later."
The four of them set Aurel down roughly against the far wall, the metal of his body making a dull thud as it hit the ground.
The woman with the bow knelt beside him one last time, peering into his blank, motionless face. "Weird... almost looks alive."
The scarred man shrugged. "Doesn't matter. No one's gonna find it here."
With that, they turned and left, their boots crunching against the snow as they disappeared back into the storm.
Aurel was alone again—trapped in the dark, silent cave, the weight of his situation pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.
His Sixth Sense buzzed more intensely now, sharper than before. Something wasn't right.
The cave was too quiet, too still. There was something lurking in the shadows—something waiting.
What the hell is in here? Aurel's mind raced, panic creeping in at the edges. He tried again to move, to break free from the metallic prison his body had become, but nothing happened.
He was trapped.
And whatever was in the cave with him was waiting.