Region: wasteland, outerwalls.
Division Sector: South
Time: 4:03 PM.
A robotic voice said, echoing into the thin air from Eryndor's wristwatch before cutting to static.
He sighed, shifting the strap tighter around his arm. "Can't believe this hunk of garbage still actually works," he muttered.
The wind breezed gently around Eryndor, carrying an acrid smell behind it. One that would make you choke on your thoughts from how bad it was.
All around him, the wasteland stretched endlessly in all directions, like a desert of ruin. With mounds of sand and shattered scrap metal mixed with garbage that flooded all over, while the sky above was no better, it was at least not anything like the ground.
"This is the worst… how am I supposed to find any ash-cores out here?"
Eryndor's torn cape flowed behind him in the wind, strands of his short gray hair shifted with the breeze—the usual color for those who spent too long outside the walls.
"Scavenger, two hours before gates close."
The wristwatch blurted out, its robotic voice cackling.
"I have to hurry then, who knows how long it'll take till I find a single core."
Eryndor entered more and more deeply into the ruins more than he ever had before; typically, he never strayed too far from the walls, simply because there was no reason to. However, this time around, he clocked in late for god knows what reason.
Eryndor looked around while running through the wasteland, scanning the piles of junk and other miscellaneous items that littered the ground.
"Come on, there's gotta be something around here!"
Over in the distance, just a little further ahead, was a faint red light that Eryndor had noticed.
"Scavenger, I've detected multiple life forms in your-"
Eryndor shut off the watch mid-sentence, fixated on the flickering light in the distant junk pile. "Yeah, whatever, what matters is that I get this core."
He slid down a sandy slope, catching sand and dust into his clothing and boots while dodging the sharp shrapnel that lay everywhere.
When he reached the bottom, he leaped over broken pipes and mangled debris, closing in on the pile.
Eryndor crouched beside the pile, brushing aside the layers of sand and rusted fragments until the light grew stronger— kind of like a heartbeat beneath all the scrap.
"There you are…" he whispered, reaching in with his prosthetic arm. The meal fingers hissed as they tightened around the object, wrenching it free.
"Ash-core detected, return to Smolder."
Suddenly, the wristwatch activated again. "Ash-core detected, return to the smolder immediately."
"Finally," He breathed, holding it up to the dim sky. "Maybe this'll be enough to trade for——"
A low rumble echoed through the haze, cutting him off.
"Hmm? What was that noise?" Eryndor froze. The sound roared through the air again; this around much closer to him.
Eryndor knew it couldn't be anything good. Shoving the Ash-core into one of his many pouches, he began to climb up the same slope he had come down from in haste.
There's no way, right? I mean, I heard stories of them, surely it's not what I think it is." Eryndor brushed the idea to the side, climbing up the slope with ease, too arrogant to care about the noises behind him.
Suddenly, the wind became more violent as the distant screech came closer; maybe it was poor timing, but the sand in the area started to form into a sandstorm, getting in all the nooks and crannies of his cheap gear. More importantly, his vision became more blurry; Eryndor couldn't see more than a foot in front of him. Terrible conditions for a normal person, but for a scavenger, this was their everyday life.
A loud screech rang through the air again, making Eryndor turn around at the top of the slope when he reached it.
"Could it really be one of those things? A forgeling?"
"I gotta get out of here," murmuring to himself, Eryndor looked down at his watch, trying to activate it.
"Come on! Come on!" Fidgeting with the watch, he turned and began to run towards the direction of the city walls that had become engulfed in the chaos of the storm.
He passed by mounds of sand and scrap like usual, carefree about how he moved, not realizing the sense of danger he was really in. He ran up another mound of sand, this time smaller than the last, sliding down the slope without a second thought while he was still trying to activate the piece of junk on his wrist.
"Why don't you work when I actually need you to!?"
He took a glance at what he was sliding down to. Taking a double-take, realizing his mistake.
"Whoa shit!" Eryndor yelled, trying to find some sort of grip on the sand.
At the bottom of the mound lay a forgeling, not too close to him but aware of Eryndor as he slid down towards it.
Dammit, just my luck! So they do exist! Eryndor gritted his teeth underneath his mask, looking around his area for anything that he could cling to or use to help him. All the while, the forgeling raised its claws, rushing towards him
Before he knew it, Eryndor was already on the ground rolling from how fast he was moving, catching himself. He got up to run again as the forgeling was sprinting behind him.
Damn it, damn it, damn it!" he shouted in his mind, kicking up dust behind him. Of course, it had to be one of those things! And in a time like this!"
He risked a glance over his shoulder—the forgeling was climbing the junk piles like a spider would, its claws digging into the metal as it launched forward again.
Eryndor skidded along the sand, turning sharply into a narrow gap between two collapsed towers of scrap. The walls of metal pressed closed on both sides, funneling him towards a dead end.
Perfect! He cursed.
The forgeling burst into the corridor behind him, scraping along the sides as it closed in.
Eryndor turned to face the forgeling, his prosthetic arm flickering with a faint blue light as the creature came close.
The forgeling lunged forward, raising its claws to strike.
Eryndor swung upward with his metal arm, parrying the forgeling attack, causing it to stumble backwards.
Eryndor used this moment to punch it with his prosthetic, then shoving it past him to sprint back into the open, but the storm was relentless now. The wind breeze cutting his visibility to almost nothing.
He stopped for a moment, catching his breath, scanning through the storm.
"I-I can't see anything, b-but I think I lost—"
With a sudden loud screech, the forgeling erupted from the ground, leaping into the air above Eryndor. He threw his arm up instinctively, but the impact of the attack was too fast and sudden, causing him to be sent flying into a mound of junk. Pain shot through his shoulder as he hit the ground hard.
The forgeling was already on top of him as he opened his eyes, raising its claws, ready to strike the final blow.
He looked up, dazed. "No time to—"
A sharp whistle cut through the storm. A metallic javelin shot clean through the forgeling, barely scraping Eryndor's face. The forgeling began to spasm, screech, and heep in pain, inching closer to Eryndor before falling to the floor lifeless.
Eryndor blinked through the haze, his heart pounding. As he looked up, seeing a person standing at the top of a metal ridge. He looked human enough, at least to Eryndor; he was a lone figure who was tall and lean, the wind tugging at what seemed like a dark-brown trench coat. His mask hugged his face tightly as if it were brand new or someone who adjusted their mask a lot.
Eryndor pushed himself through the pain to stand on his feet. Gripping his shoulder with his prosthetic arm, "Wh—who the hell are you!?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he stepped down from the heap of metal. The man seemed calm, like a person who has seen so much it doesn't shock them anymore.
The man came closer, the sandstorm swirling around his silhouette.
Eryndor took a step closer to the man, "H-hey! I asked you a question——"
"Run," the man interrupted, his voice sounding calm.
Eryndor frowned beneath his mask. "R-run? From what? You just killed the problem!"
As Eryndor screamed at the man, the storm began to settle, allowing both of them to see their surrounding once again.
The man turned slightly, nodding towards the distant storm behind them, which seemed far worse than the one they had experienced.
"W-what should I be looking at exactly? I can't see shit, especially with all this sand blocking my visor! A-and w-what about the ash-core from this forgeling? A-aren't you going to grab it?" Eryndor says in a panic.
" There's no time," The man said, slinging his weapon around his back, beginning to run towards the city walls not too far from them.
Eryndor turned around, looking at what the man was nodding to, and that's when he saw it—dozens of glowing eyes emerging from a distant dust storm.
"M-more!?"
"You should get moving," The man shouted, glancing over his shoulder.
Eryndor hesitated for a moment before following the man, his adrenaline overriding everything else.
They both raced across the wasteland, leaping over jagged piles of scrap, ducking under bent frames of metal, and sliding down crumbled sand mounds. Behind them, the sounds of the pursuing forgelings grew louder, like a cacophony of screeches.
The distant walls of the city loomed ahead, massive steel behemoths rising against the dull orange sky. They were close, but the terrain was treacherous — a mix of ruined vehicles, scattered scrap, and deep gullies that could trip even the most careful runner.
"Keep moving!" The man shouted over the harsh winds of the storm.
Eryndor followed the man's outline precisely, although he couldn't hear him much; he kept track of him as a way not to lose himself in the storm.
"Almost there!" The man shouted once again.
The walls were just a little closer now. Eryndor's lungs were spent, his legs aching, but the sight of the massive gates drove him forward.
As they approached the wall, the set of turrets stationed outside locked onto the pursuing forgelings behind them, cutting through the storm with a hail of bullets and plasma, making the forgelings shriek with pain as they collapsed to the ground. Eryndor dropped behind a barricade just a little outside of the gate, gasping for air as he clenched his pouch. He turned to the man who stood unfazed next to him, his coat whipping in the wind as he watched the chaos settle down behind them.
"H-how could you just stand there!? Who… the hell are you?" Eryndor managed between breaths.
The man didn't answer; instead, he only tilted his mask towards Eryndor. Those unreadable eyes locked onto him through his visor. Then, without a word, he walked towards the inner gate as it slowly creaked open as he approached it.
Eryndor stood up slowly, still in shock from the encounter, "H-hold on!" He yelled, catching up to the man while closely gripping his pouch still.
The pair of turrets outside the wall deactivated, aiming down as if they were lifeless, just like the forgelings that were pursuing the two not too long ago, their barrels releasing a short stream of smoke as Eryndor and the man entered the city gates.
Eryndor looked back one last time— the wasteland beyond was nothing but a storm of sand filled with twisted corpses now, those who looked eerily similar to a human. He turned back to face the stranger who stopped in the middle of the gate, raising his hands and dropping his gear.
He swallowed hard, following the man's lead as the loud gears of the gate closed behind them…