The wind howled through the skeletal remains of buildings, carrying the scent of rust and decay. Dion crouched behind the wreckage of an old transport vehicle, its metal frame warped beyond recognition. The world outside RidgeFort had long since been reduced to ruins—crumbling structures, cracked roads, and overgrown debris stretching as far as the eye could see. It was a graveyard where only the desperate or the strong dared to walk.
And Dion was neither.
His grip tightened on the crude iron blade at his waist, its edge dull from overuse. It wasn't enchanted—those cost more than he could afford. Still, it was enough to carve through the weakest of the Dread Spawn. The problem was surviving long enough to use it.
This place was predictable. The outskirts near RidgeFort rarely held anything more dangerous than Grimlings. Anything stronger than that? You were dead.
He exhaled slowly, scanning the abandoned street. The cracks in the pavement were filled with gnarled roots and darkened by old stains. Shattered windows stared back at him like empty eye sockets. Somewhere in the distance, a low chittering sound echoed between the ruins.
Grimlings.
Dion's body tensed. He lowered himself further, pressing against the vehicle's frame as his fingers brushed over the Nyx Crystal in his pouch. It was a small, dull fragment—a leftover from a scavenging trip two days ago. Not enough to buy a decent meal, but it was something.
Not that it mattered if he ended up dead.
His mind drifted, as it often did during hunts. Three years had passed since the Oracle had embedded itself within him. Three years, and he was still a Hollowborn. A nothing. No matter how much he strained, NyxFlow never answered him. Others had already advanced, leaving him behind. They had power, strength—purpose.
Dion had a dull blade and a life worth less than the crystal in his pocket.
A sound snapped him back to reality. He stilled. Something was moving just beyond the wreckage—sharp, clawed feet scraping against stone.
Too close.
He swallowed and shifted his weight, careful not to make a sound. He needed to get in close. A single clean strike to the base of the neck—that was the only way to bring down a Grimling without wasting too much energy. They were small but quick, their wiry limbs twitching with unnatural movements. If he missed, it would tear into him before he got a second chance.
He exhaled slowly and waited. The moment stretched thin.
Then—movement.
A twisted shape skittered into view, its pale skin stretched taut over a gaunt frame. Hollow black eyes gleamed beneath the faint moonlight, its thin lips curling back to reveal jagged teeth. It sniffed the air, head jerking unnaturally as it searched.
Dion tightened his grip. One shot.
He lunged.
The blade sank deep into the creature's neck, cutting off its screech before it could fully rise. It convulsed, clawed fingers scraping against the blade's hilt. Dion wrenched the weapon free, and the Grimling collapsed, its body twitching in the dirt.
A pause.
Then, the Oracle's voice echoed in his mind.
You have slain a Grimling.
Dion let out a slow breath, wiping the blade clean against his sleeve. He knelt, prying open the creature's chest cavity with practiced hands. A small, cloudy Nyx Crystal sat nestled within the torn flesh. He pulled it free, rolling it between his fingers. It wasn't much.
But it was something.
He stood, slipping the crystal into his pouch. One more, maybe two. That should be enough to trade for rations back at RidgeFort. Then, he could forget about this place for another night.
A faint rustling broke the silence.
Dion froze.
Then, the chittering started again.
Not one.
More.
His pulse quickened as he turned toward the shadows beyond the ruins. Shapes stirred in the darkness—too many to count. Glowing eyes flickered to life, lining the alleyway like dying embers.
He stepped back. His fingers trembled against the hilt of his blade.
Run.
The thought screamed through his mind, but he already knew the truth. There were few things a Hollowborn could outrun.
And this wasn't one of them.