Chapter Three: Claws and Shadows
The wasteland stretched out before them, endless and unwelcoming. The jagged remnants of a once-thriving world jutted out like the bones of a long-dead giant, casting eerie shadows beneath the sickly light of the dying sun.
Ethan's boots crunched against the brittle ground as he led the way, his hand hovering near the hilt of his blade. He'd seen this kind of terrain before—open, exposed, and riddled with dangers.
The woman followed closely, her movements precise and quiet, every step made in an effort to make as little noise as possible. Her eyes constantly scanned the area, flicking between the distant ruins and the shifting sands ahead. She carried herself like someone used to surviving, but the tension in her jaw betrayed her unease.
Ethan didn't speak. He didn't offer reassurances or warnings. She was sharp enough to understand the rules of the wasteland without him spelling them out.
A faint growl broke the oppressive silence, distant but unmistakable.
Ethan's hand went to his blade, his body tensing instinctively. He didn't look back, but he knew the woman had heard it too.
"What was that?" she whispered, her voice low and clipped.
Ethan's eyes scanned the horizon, his cold gaze narrowing. "Trouble."
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The growl came again, louder this time, accompanied by the sound of scraping claws against stone. Shadows began to shift along the edges of the wasteland, the movement subtle but deliberate.
"They're circling," Ethan muttered, his voice barely audible.
The woman tightened her grip on the scavenged machete she carried, her knuckles white. "Voidlings?"
"Not quite," Ethan replied. "Something smaller, but just as deadly."
As if on cue, the first of the creatures emerged from the shadows. It was a twisted abomination, its body low to the ground, covered in spines that shimmered faintly with residual Aetherion energy. Its eyes glowed a sickly yellow, and its maw was lined with jagged teeth that dripped with saliva.
Ethan moved first, his blade flashing as he lunged at the beast. The creature snarled and leapt, but Ethan was faster. His blade sliced through its neck in a clean arc, dark blood splattering across the ground as the creature collapsed in a heap.
The woman didn't have time to marvel at his efficiency. More of the beasts appeared, their numbers growing with each passing second.
"Don't let them surround you," Ethan said, his tone calm but firm.
She nodded, her focus razor-sharp as one of the creatures lunged at her. She sidestepped the attack, bringing her machete down on its spine with a sharp, practiced motion. The beast let out a choked yelp before collapsing.
Ethan was already moving, his blade cutting through the air with lethal precision. His movements were swift and efficient, every strike designed to kill. He didn't waste much energy, didn't falter, even as the beasts pressed closer.
The woman held her ground, her breath coming in short, controlled bursts as she fended off another attacker. She wasn't as fast or as strong as Ethan, but she was resourceful, using the terrain to her advantage.
Despite their efforts, the creatures kept coming.
"There's too many," the woman said, her voice strained but steady.
Ethan didn't respond immediately, his blade burying itself in another beast's skull. "Keep moving," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
They fought their way through the pack, each step a battle. The beasts were relentless, their glowing eyes filled with a primal hunger.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the attacks began to wane. The surviving creatures retreated, their growls fading into the distance.
Ethan wiped his blade on his coat, his shoulders rising and falling slightly as he caught his breath. "We need to keep moving. The noise will attract more."
The woman nodded, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. She didn't thank him or comment on his skill; there was no need.
---
They moved deeper into the wasteland, but fatigue began to creep into Ethan's limbs. The battle with the mutants had been taxing, even for him. His breaths were heavier, his steps slightly slower. He didn't let it show, but the woman noticed.
The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the silence, and before Ethan could react, a bullet whizzed past his head, embedding itself into the ground nearby.
"Ambush!" the woman hissed, ducking behind a crumbling wall.
Ethan followed, gritting his teeth as his hand went to his blade. He peered over the edge of the wall, spotting a group of armed scavengers closing in. There were five of them, all armed, their faces twisted with malice.
"They're organized," Ethan muttered, his eyes narrowing.
The woman tightened her grip on her machete. "What do we do?"
Ethan didn't answer. He couldn't charge in like before—not in his current state, and not against guns.
The scavengers opened fire, bullets tearing into the wall around them.
"We move," Ethan said finally. "Stick close and don't stop moving ."
They darted out from behind the wall, sprinting toward the cover of a nearby building. Bullets ricocheted around them, one grazing Ethan's arm. He grunted but didn't slow down.
As they reached the building, one of the scavengers closed in, raising his weapon. Ethan didn't hesitate, his blade flashing as he took the man down.
The woman fought too, her machete slashing at another attacker. She wasn't as quick or as skilled, but her strikes were precise, driven by adrenaline and desperation.
But the odds were against them. Ethan took down another scavenger, but not before a bullet caught him in the side. He staggered, blood seeping through his coat.
"Hey" the woman shouted, her voice tinged with panic.
"I'm fine," he snapped, though his face was pale.
The remaining scavengers pressed their advantage, their gunfire relentless. Ethan knew they couldn't hold out much longer.
"Run," he said, his voice cold and commanding.
"What?"
"Run!" he barked, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the ruins.
They fled, dodging bullets as they weaved through the crumbling landscape. Ethan's steps faltered, but he pushed forward, his determination outweighing his pain.
Finally, they found refuge in an old structure, its thick walls providing a temporary shield. Ethan collapsed against the wall, his breath ragged.
The woman knelt beside him, her hands shaking as she pressed against his wound. "You're bleeding."
"I know," he said through gritted teeth.
Her eyes darted to the entrance, her vigilance returning. "They'll come after us."
"Let them," Ethan said, though his voice lacked its usual strength.
The woman didn't argue. She worked quickly, tearing a piece of cloth from her shirt to bandage his wound. Her hands were steady despite her fear.
For the first time, Ethan's cold gaze softened—just a fraction. "You're good at this," he muttered.
She glanced at him, surprised, but said nothing.
The silence stretched between them as the shadows of the wasteland closed in, the sound of distant footsteps drawing closer.
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