The air was heavy with the smell of damp earth and decay as Aeron crouched behind the remnants of a crumbling wall. His sharp green eyes scanned the area, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade. A faint, rhythmic thrum echoed through the ruins, a sound so unnatural it sent shivers down his spine.
"It's close," he muttered to himself, his breath fogging in the cool evening air. The ruins were eerily silent, save for that strange sound. He had been tracking this disturbance for hours, moving carefully through the labyrinth of debris and overgrown vegetation. Whatever had caused the earlier commotion was powerful—and dangerous.
Aeron adjusted the strap of his pack, ensuring his small arsenal of weapons and tools was secure. He wasn't a rookie; as a captain in the renowned mercenary organization Red Talon, he had faced his fair share of mutants, bandits, and low-mind creatures. Yet something about this situation unsettled him. The tracks he had found earlier hinted at a fight—an intense one—but the lack of any bodies or remnants of the creatures was unusual.
As he crept closer to the source of the sound, he noticed faint scorch marks on the ground and walls, as if something had exploded. Shattered pieces of translucent carapace lay scattered about, glinting faintly in the moonlight. Aeron knelt and picked up a shard, turning it over in his gloved hands. It was warm to the touch, faintly pulsing with an otherworldly energy.
A sharp noise snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned his head, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a figure moving through the shadows. A woman, tall and lean, with cybernetic limbs that gleamed faintly under the dim light. Her black hair was disheveled, and her clothes were worn but functional, patched together from scavenged materials. She moved with a predator's grace, her spear resting casually on her shoulder.
Aeron rose cautiously, making no effort to hide his presence. "Hey," he called out, his voice steady but not aggressive. "You out here alone?"
The woman stopped and turned her head slightly, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her sharp gray eyes. They were cold and calculating, studying him like a hawk might study a mouse. She said nothing, her expression unreadable.
"I heard fighting," Aeron continued, taking a step closer. "You handle whatever it was?"
Still, she didn't reply. Instead, she turned away and began walking, her pace unhurried but purposeful.
"Wait," he said, his curiosity piqued by her silence. "You smell… strange. Like—"
Before he could finish, she disappeared into the shadows, her movements so swift and silent it was as if she had evaporated into the night. Aeron stood there for a moment, stunned. The scent she carried lingered, faintly acrid, like the low-mind creatures he had hunted so many times—but different. Not repulsive, not entirely alien. It was human, but laced with something unnatural.
"Who the hell is she?" he muttered, gripping his blade tightly. Shaking his head, he moved forward, his curiosity compelling him to investigate further.
The area she had come from was a battlefield. The ground was littered with more fragments of low-mind creatures, their translucent, glowing remains scattered like broken glass. Deep gashes marred the concrete, and pools of viscous, luminescent fluid oozed into the cracks. Aeron crouched to examine one of the corpses—or what was left of it. It was a mutant, larger and more grotesque than the usual creatures. Its limbs were elongated, its torso armored with jagged, crystalline growths.
"A new mutation," he murmured, his stomach twisting at the sight. He had seen his fair share of horrors, but the rapid evolution of these creatures was unsettling. Worse, this one had been killed with precision. Whoever that woman was, she was no ordinary survivor.
Aeron stood and activated the small communication device strapped to his wrist. The holographic interface flickered to life, displaying the emblem of Red Talon. A voice crackled through the device, sharp and commanding. "Captain Aeron, report."
"I found something," he said, keeping his voice low. "There was a fight here—a bad one. Some kind of new mutant, bigger and tougher than the usual ones. But that's not all."
"Go on," the voice urged.
"There was someone else here. A woman. Cybernetic. She didn't say much—actually, she didn't say anything—but she took out these mutants like it was nothing. And… she had this smell."
"A smell?" the voice repeated, skeptical.
"Yeah," Aeron said, glancing around as if the woman might reappear. "Like the creatures, but not exactly. It's hard to explain."
The voice was silent for a moment before responding. "This woman… could she be connected to the Eclipse Syndicate?"
"I don't know," Aeron admitted. "But she's dangerous. If she's not one of them, she might be something else entirely."
"Understood. Return to base and debrief. We'll decide our next steps from there."
"Copy that," Aeron said, cutting the connection. He took one last look at the battlefield before turning away. His mind raced with questions. Who was she? How had she survived alone in this wasteland? And what was that strange scent she carried?
As Aeron made his way back to the rendezvous point, he replayed the encounter in his mind. His thoughts were interrupted by the crackle of his device. "Captain," a new voice chimed in—Lina, his second-in-command. "Report came in from Sector Seven. They're saying The Wraith struck again."
Aeron paused, frowning. "The Wraith?"
"You know, that myth. The one about the cybernetic phantom who wipes out mutants wherever she goes," Lina said with a hint of exasperation. "The settlements are whispering about her like she's some kind of savior. Or demon, depending on who you ask."
Aeron's pulse quickened. "Describe her."
"Tall, cybernetics, spear-like weapon. Cold as ice. Why?"
He stared into the dark horizon, where the woman had vanished. "I think I just met her."