The desolation of the old Valebreach groaned under the weight of a dying world, its shattered structures clawing at a sky scarred with violet sequence of destruction.
The air was thick with ash, the ground was littered with twisted metal and bones ravaged to ash-white by endless rift maelstrom. Kelvin hunched behind a crumbled wall, his breath was faint, and his fingers tightening around a makeshift spear, little more than a pipe sharpened against stone.
At nineteen, he was lean, hardened by hunger, his dark eyes scanning the rubble for threats. In the wastes, you didn’t survive by dreaming of heroes or gods. You survived by moving fast, striking hard, and trusting nothing but your own strength.
A deep snarl echoed across the valley, vibrating the broken concrete beneath his boots.
Kelvin froze, his heart was pounding. The mutated hounds had been stalking him since dawn, their electrified claws sparking against the ruins. Three of them, maybe four, Based on the mingled growls. He had scavenged too close to their territory, lured by rumors of pre-apocalypse tech buried in a bunker beneath the city’s heart.
And food meant another day above ground.
The first torment lunged from the shadows, a blur of snarled fur and Veins lit like starlight beneath the skin.
Its jaws snapped, crackling with arcs of lightning. Kelvin drifted to the side, his spear thrusting upward in a desperate arc. The pipe grazed the beast’s flank, drawing a spray of Dark sap, but the torment stood its ground. It slammed through the rubble, its claws igniting sparks from the stone, and turned for another charge.
Kelvin struggled to his feet while his pulse is roaring in his ears. Two more hounds emerged, their eyes looks like burning coals, their bodies were low and coiled.
Kelvin muttered, moving in a backward motion toward a narrow alley. He couldn’t outrun them, not with their rift-touched speed in the movement of air. His only chance was to trap them in a choke point, forcing them to come one at a time.
He missed a step as his boots slipped on loose gravel, and ducked into the alley just as the lead hound pounced. Its claws raked the wall where his head had been, showering him with dust.
Kelvin stood, thrusting the spear with both hands. The pipe sank into the hound’s shoulder, and it growled, a sound that shook the air like a thunderclap. He yanked of the weapon freely, dodging as the beast’s jaws snapped inches from his arm.
The second hound sprouted in, its bulk blocking the alley’s mouth. Kelvin’s spear was too slow this time, and the beast’s electrified claw caught his thigh, sending a surge of pain through his body. He stumbled, letting out a scream, and swung the spear in a wild arc to keep the hounds at bay.
The third hound crept around to the back waiting for an opening. Blood rushed through Kelvin’s torn pants, hot and sticky, but he couldn’t stop. Stopping was death.
A sudden tempest breath tore through the ruins, carrying the metallic tang the bitter breath of the rift storm clawed at his nostrils. The sky pulsed, the violet scars widened, and the air vibrated with unseen energy, a whisper from the rift, like the earth itself was groaning. Kelvin’s eyes flicked upward.
Rift storms brings worse than hounds, beasts that could tear through steel, anomalies that twisted flesh and bone. He had minutes, maybe less, before the storm hit. The hounds sensed it too, their snarls savage with fears, their claws sparking with renewed fury.
Kelvin’s back hit a rusted steel door, half-buried in the alley’s rubble.
He had been searching for it when the hounds ambushed him. "If I could get inside, I might survive. If not, I will be a meat", Kelvin said to himself.
The lead hound charged, with its jaws wide open, lightning arcing between its fangs. Kelvin bent over with one knee, driving the spear upward with all his strength.
The pipe pierced the hound’s throat, and it collapsed in a thrashing heap. A puddle of black corruption bled beneath the beast, reeking of rot and power.
The second hound roared over its fallen pack mate, claws outstretched, advancing towards Kelvin. Kelvin rolled, the beast’s weight crashed into the door with a deafening clang. The impact shook the frame, loosening centuries of rust.
The third hound was smarter, he hanged back, its glowing eyes locked on Kelvin. He gripped the spear, with his hands full of sweat and blood, he kicked the door.
The door budged, just an inch. Another kick, then another, each kick sends a shocks of pain through his wounded leg. The second hound recovered, shaking off the impact from his fall, and joined the third, their growls were merged into a single growl, bone-rattling chorus. Kelvin’s heart sank. He was out of time.
The storm broke, a world-ending torrent of violet flame ripped the sky, its wind shrieking like a dying realm. Runic fragments of rift energy rained down, glowing with unstable force as they struck the ground. The hounds flinched, their instincts were torn between the storm and their prey.
Kelvin seized the moment, slamming his shoulder into the door. It gave way, and he stumbled into darkness. The hounds made a move to follow Kelvin into the bunker but he kicked the door shut, the clang echoing in the bunker’s depths.
Claws scratched the steel, sparks flashing through the gaps, but the door remained closed just for now.