The ruins fell silent as Eris sprinted through the desolation, his breaths ragged, his limbs heavy. The air hung thick, cloying with the coppery tang of blood and the acrid scent of disturbed ash. His mind reeled from the battle with the cannibals, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He didn't notice the shift in the air behind him, the unnatural stillness that settled like a predator's gaze.
In the ruins he'd just escaped, the ground darkened as a cold mist seeped upward, curling around the lifeless bodies of the cannibals. The mist coiled and churned, taking on a sickly, swirling form. Black tendrils slithered out, slick with corrosive energy that hissed against the stone, leaving bubbling scars in their wake.
The beast emerged—a shapeless, writhing mass of shadow and vapor, its form constantly shifting, impossible to define. Where its head might have been, two hollow voids burned with a baleful green light, pulsing with a rhythm like a dying heartbeat.
The surviving cannibals didn't even scream. One man swung a jagged blade at the mist, the weapon slicing through its amorphous body. It was futile. The mist surged forward, enveloping him entirely. His flesh bubbled and melted away in moments, leaving only brittle, charred bones that clattered to the ground.
The others scattered, but there was no escape. The beast stretched unnaturally, its tendrils snaking around corners, through crumbled walls, and into the narrow spaces between ruins. Each touch was death, the mist dissolving flesh, bone, and soul alike. The air filled with the wet, sizzling sound of its work, and soon the ruins were silent again, save for the faint hiss of mist licking at the stones.
Eris had no idea. He had already fled into the jagged expanse beyond the village, the ruins receding into the darkness behind him. His instincts drove him forward, deeper into the Wastelands, away from the carnage he had narrowly escaped.
But the beast followed.
It moved like a stormcloud, silent but inexorable, drawn by the echoes of the boy's fear and the faint pulse of Spire energy lingering in his pocket.
Eris slowed, his legs screaming in protest. He leaned against a jagged outcrop, his knife still gripped tightly in his hand. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving him shaky and nauseous.
A sound reached his ears—faint at first, like the whisper of wind through dead trees. But it wasn't wind. It was wet, slithering, alive.
He turned, his breath catching in his throat. The mist was there, writhing and pulsating, its green void-eyes fixed on him.
"What the—" Eris muttered, his voice faltering.
The mist surged forward, too fast, too unnatural. Eris scrambled back, his blade uselessly slashing at the air. The tendrils lashed out, striking the rock near his feet. The stone hissed and crumbled, disintegrating into a fine black powder.
"Damn it, no!" Eris cursed, spinning on his heel and running again.
The beast pursued, its form stretching and undulating unnaturally. It passed through walls of stone and shattered remnants of structures as though they weren't there, the very air around it corroding and twisting in its wake.
Eris zigzagged through the ruins, vaulting over debris and ducking under low-hanging wreckage, but the mist never faltered.
A tendril lashed out, grazing his arm. Pain erupted as his sleeve dissolved, revealing skin reddened and blistering. Eris clenched his teeth, forcing himself to push past the agony.
Ahead, a narrow gap between two leaning walls caught his eye. He darted toward it, knowing the tight space might slow the mist down. He squeezed through, his shoulder scraping against jagged stone, his breaths ragged.
The mist paused, as if considering. Then it reared back, its form compressing before it surged forward in a concentrated stream.
Eris didn't see it. He was already running again, blood dripping from his wounded arm. He reached the edge of the ruins, the broken ground stretching out into an open plain. There was nowhere to hide now.
Behind him, the mist burst free from the ruins, expanding into its terrible, amorphous form. The baleful green eyes burned brighter, locking onto its prey.
Eris skidded to a halt, turning to face the beast. His chest heaved, his knife trembling in his hand.
"No way I'm dying like this," he muttered, his voice a low growl.
The mist loomed closer, its tendrils writhing with anticipation.
Eris gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He glanced at the shard of Spire crystal in his pocket, its faint glow pulsating weakly.
"Guess it's you or me," he said, gripping the shard tightly.
The mist lunged, its tendrils spreading wide to engulf him.
The mist-beast surged forward, its tendrils reaching out to claim its prey. Eris gripped the Spire crystal in desperation, his pulse pounding in his ears. As the tendrils closed in, the shard in his hand flared—a sudden, brilliant burst of light that clashed against the darkness.
The mist recoiled, a distorted hiss emanating from its amorphous form. Its green, void-like eyes narrowed, its movements halting for a fraction of a second. That moment stretched into an eternity for Eris. His instincts screamed at him to move, but his body felt rooted in place.
Then the ground beneath him trembled.
From the shadows of the surrounding Wastelands, a new sound echoed—a guttural roar, deep and bone-chilling, followed by the heavy thud of something massive moving through the ruins. The vibrations grew stronger, the air thick with the stench of decay and raw violence.
The mist-beast hissed again, its form twisting as it turned its attention to the new threat.
From the wreckage of a crumbled tower, a monstrous shape emerged—a towering, skeletal creature draped in strips of rotted flesh. Its body was a grotesque patchwork of bone and sinew, its elongated limbs tipped with jagged claws that scraped against the stones with a nauseating screech. Empty eye sockets glowed with a faint, flickering red light, and its maw gaped open, revealing rows of uneven, needle-like teeth.
The two entities faced each other, a moment of grim recognition passing between them. The mist-beast swirled tighter, its tendrils coiling defensively, while the skeletal abomination let out a deafening roar, charging with terrifying speed for something of its size.
Eris stumbled back, his breath caught in his throat. He had no intention of sticking around to see how this battle would unfold.
But the chaos was only beginning.
From another direction, the sound of skittering claws and guttural clicking filled the air. A swarm of smaller creatures—chitinous beasts with barbed legs and glowing blue eyes—poured out of the ruins like a tide of nightmares. Their mandibles snapped hungrily, and their acidic drool hissed against the stones as they raced toward the conflict, drawn by the energy radiating from the mist-beast and its skeletal foe.
Eris cursed under his breath. This wasn't just a fight—it was a feeding frenzy.
As the new arrivals clashed with the mist-beast, their acidic spit sizzling against its tendrils, Eris seized his chance. He bolted, darting between the ruined structures, weaving through shadows and debris. The ground shook with each clash of the larger monsters, the air alive with the screeches and roars of their battle.
Behind him, the skeletal abomination swiped at the mist-beast, its claws cutting through tendrils like smoke. The mist retaliated, engulfing the creature's arm, which dissolved into a bubbling sludge. The swarm of chitinous horrors swirled around them both, leaping onto the larger combatants, only to be flung aside or crushed underfoot.
Eris didn't look back. He focused on the path ahead, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. The faint glow of the Spire shard in his pocket seemed to pulse in rhythm with his pounding heart, guiding him like a beacon.
The ground erupted to his left, a tendril of mist lashing out from the chaos. It narrowly missed him, striking a stone wall instead, which crumbled into dust. Eris threw himself forward, rolling to avoid the debris.
"Not today, you bastard," he muttered, staggering back to his feet.
The ruins began to thin out, the open plain of jagged rock stretching before him. The sounds of battle grew fainter as he ran, though the tremors still reverberated through the earth.
Finally, he collapsed behind a crumbled archway, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His body ached, his arm throbbed where the mist had grazed him, and his mind was a whirlwind of terror and disbelief.
In the distance, the monstrous cacophony continued, the beasts locked in their violent dance of survival.
Eris pressed his back against the cold stone, clutching the Spire shard in his hand. Its light had dimmed, but it still pulsed faintly, as if alive. He stared at it, his expression a mix of anger and exhaustion.
"Whatever you are," he muttered to the shard, "you better be worth all this."
The ground rumbled again, but this time it was distant. The battle was moving further away, the monstrous titans retreating into the depths of the Wastelands.
Eris exhaled shakily, his eyes narrowing as he glanced back toward the chaos he had fled. The Wastelands had spared him tonight, but the message was clear.
This place didn't forgive weakness.
And it never forgot.