Days blurred into weeks as Daichi trudged through desolate cities and endless, barren plains. His every step was accompanied by the faint hum of his mechanical core, a constant reminder of his inhuman existence. The sun loomed high above, pale and sickly, casting a wan light that did little to banish the shadows creeping across the ruins.
"It's like the world's broken," Daichi murmured to himself, his voice low and heavy with exhaustion. The sound echoed faintly through the hollow streets, swallowed almost immediately by the oppressive silence.
He paused, scanning his surroundings with glowing blue eyes that pierced the haze. Crumbling buildings leaned precariously, their foundations cracked and split as though the earth itself had rejected them. The wind whistled softly through shattered windows, carrying with it the faint, metallic tang of decay.
"No day, no night…" Daichi muttered, his voice trailing off as he kicked a loose chunk of rubble. The sound of it tumbling away only deepened the void. "Just this endless nothing."
Time had lost all meaning. The days dragged on, unbearably long, yet they would vanish in an instant, swallowed by the oppressive darkness that followed. Night offered no stars, no moon, only an endless, suffocating black that felt alive, watching him.
He trudged forward, his steps steady but weary, though he no longer felt the exhaustion of flesh. The hum deep within his chest, soft and rhythmic, was his lifeline now—a strange, alien energy that replaced food, water, and sleep. Yet the vibration felt incomplete, a reminder of the missing piece he couldn't stop thinking about.
Daichi's hand drifted to his chest, his fingers brushing against the edges of the mechanical cavity. The emptiness there was more than physical; it was a gnawing void that refused to let him rest.
"What did I lose?" he whispered to the empty air. The silence offered no answers, as it always did.
The world wasn't entirely dead, though sometimes Daichi wished it were. Life still moved here, but it was warped, grotesque—a twisted reflection of what it used to be. He had encountered them before, the creatures that prowled the ruins.
He shivered at the memory.
It had been during one of the endless twilight stretches, the light of the sickly sun casting long, jagged shadows. The first thing he'd heard was the low growl, deep and guttural, that sent a chill running down his spine.
When he turned, they were there: shadowy beasts with elongated limbs that didn't seem to bend the way they should. Their eyes glowed an unnatural red, flickering like broken embers. They moved in stutters, their forms blurring and jerking, as though they were caught between moments in time.
Daichi had gripped his makeshift weapon—a steel pipe he'd scavenged from the ruins—his knuckles pale against its rusted surface.
"Stay back," he had warned, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands.
The creatures circled him, their distorted forms flickering in and out of focus. Their growls grew louder, more guttural, reverberating through the dead air.
When the first one lunged, it was impossibly fast. Its elongated limbs snapped toward him like a whip, its glowing eyes locked onto his. Daichi barely had time to react. His body moved on pure instinct, faster and more precise than he could have imagined. He sidestepped the beast's attack, swinging the pipe with all his strength.
The impact reverberated through his arms, the sound of metal against fleshless shadow ringing out. The creature was sent sprawling, its twisted form skidding across the rubble before it disappeared into the haze.
The others hesitated, their glowing eyes narrowing as though they were considering. Then, one by one, they slunk back into the darkness, their forms melting into the shadows like smoke.
For a long moment, Daichi stood frozen, his chest rising and falling in rapid, mechanical breaths. The hum of his core quickened, a faint vibration that resonated in his chest like a second heartbeat.
His grip on the pipe tightened until his knuckles ached, his glowing eyes scanning the empty streets. But the beasts were gone.
He exhaled shakily, the tension in his body refusing to ease.
"What are you?" he whispered, his voice breaking the silence. It wasn't just a question for the creatures. It was for himself.
The wind answered with a low, mournful wail, carrying the sound of rusted metal groaning in the distance.
Daichi sank to his knees, the steel pipe clattering to the ground beside him. His hands found his chest again, tracing the edges of the cavity with trembling fingers.
The emptiness. The void. It wasn't just in his chest. It was in the world, in the air he breathed, in the memories he couldn't piece together.
"What am I…?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered. His voice cracked, heavy with exhaustion and despair.
The silence swallowed him again.
The crimson hues of twilight faded into a dim, oppressive evening as Daichi staggered through the ruins, his footsteps heavy against the cracked pavement. He had walked farther than he intended, exhaustion pulling at him like invisible weights. His glowing blue eyes flickered faintly, scanning for refuge. That was when he saw it—a decrepit library standing stubbornly amidst the desolation.
Its skeletal frame leaned precariously to one side, the roof half-collapsed, its walls marred by time and decay. The word Library was barely visible on a rusted sign that clung to the front, its edges jagged and warped.
"Looks like it's been waiting to die," Daichi muttered under his breath. His voice carried a tinge of bitterness, though even he wasn't sure if it was aimed at the building or himself.
He pushed the door—or what was left of it—and it gave way with a groan, spilling dust into the air. Inside, the remnants of knowledge lay scattered and broken. Shelves had toppled over like dominoes, books lay crumpled and torn across the floor, their once-pristine pages reduced to brittle, yellowed fragments.
Daichi took a step forward, his metallic frame creating an unnatural echo in the hollow space. His glowing eyes swept across the devastation, a strange melancholy tightening in his chest.
"Books," he murmured, kneeling to pick up a shattered spine. The title was faded, its letters nearly illegible. "People used to come here for answers. To learn… to dream."
He traced the jagged edge of the cover, his fingers brushing against the brittle paper. The irony wasn't lost on him. He needed answers too, yet all he found was silence.
The silence pressed in on him, broken only by the faint groan of the wind slipping through the cracks in the walls. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting the stillness wrap around him. Memories teased the edges of his consciousness—flashes of light, warmth, and laughter. But they slipped away as quickly as they came, leaving behind a void that gnawed at him.
With a frustrated sigh, Daichi began sifting through the rubble. His movements were methodical, though tinged with a quiet desperation. He didn't know what he was searching for—maybe nothing, maybe everything.
Then, something caught his eye.
Half-buried beneath a collapsed wooden beam was a journal. Its leather cover was cracked, its edges singed as if it had narrowly escaped a fire. Carefully, Daichi pulled it free, brushing away the dust and debris. The weight of it in his hands felt strangely significant.
The pages were fragile, their ink smudged and faded. But as Daichi flipped through, fragments of text emerged like whispers from the past:
"The disappearances are accelerating. We don't know why or how, but entire towns are vanishing overnight. The council insists on finding a solution. Time is running out…"
Daichi's breath caught. His fingers trembled slightly as he turned the page, the hum of his core growing faintly louder.
"We placed our hopes in Project Rebirth. If the worst happens, it will be our last chance."
He read the words again, his glowing eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of them. Disappearances? Entire towns? Project Rebirth? The words felt foreign, yet familiar, as though they were echoes of something he'd once known.
"Project Rebirth…" Daichi repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. The name rolled off his tongue like a forgotten secret, tugging at the edges of his fragmented memories. His chest cavity hummed faintly, the vibration resonating with an almost uncanny rhythm.
His mind raced, piecing together fragments of thought and recollection. Whoever had written this journal—they knew what was coming. They had seen the collapse of the world and had worked on something, something they believed could save it.
And somehow, Daichi felt it was connected to him.
"This has to mean something," he murmured, clutching the journal tightly against his chest. His glowing eyes closed briefly as the hum in his core grew stronger, as if in response to the thoughts swirling in his mind. "Whoever wrote this… they were trying to fight back. To fix this. Maybe even to fix me."
The distant howl of the shadowy beasts echoed through the crumbling streets outside, low and guttural, a sound that sent a chill through the air. Night had fallen without warning, swallowing the ruins in an oppressive darkness.
Daichi leaned back against a cracked wall, his eyes darting toward the shattered windows. The faint glint of moonlight illuminated the tattered remnants of the library, casting long shadows that danced in the corners of his vision.
He tucked the journal carefully into his satchel—a worn leather bag he'd scavenged from an earlier trek. It was one of the few things that felt his in this lifeless world.
"Tomorrow," he whispered, his voice resolute despite the weariness etched into his every movement. He stared at the crumbling ceiling above, his mind churning with questions he had no answers to. "Tomorrow, I'll start searching for the truth."
The wind howled again, carrying with it the faint groans of the broken world outside. Daichi closed his eyes, the hum of his core lulling him into a restless half-sleep. But even as he drifted, the words from the journal lingered in his mind, looping endlessly like a broken record.
Project Rebirth. Their last chance. And maybe… just maybe, his.