When I woke again, the world hadn't changed — still gray, cold, and dead.
The air reeked of metal and smoke. The fog rolled lazily through the hollow city, wrapping its broken towers in ghostly silence.
The woman walked ahead of me — her stride steady, her coat fluttering lightly in the wind. She hadn't said much since she shot that monster through the skull. Not that I knew what to say either.
Her hair — deep violet, streaked faintly with ash — shimmered under the dying light. Even covered in soot and battle dust, she carried herself with the kind of quiet authority that didn't need words.
"Keep up," she said flatly, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade.
I did.
We weaved through collapsed streets and shattered vehicles, the world around us humming with faint static. Every now and then, I caught sight of movement in the corners of my vision — scuttling limbs, shadows shifting. But whenever I turned, nothing was there.
"This place," I muttered, "what is it?"
"Home," she said. Then after a pause, "Or what's left of it."
We walked for a while longer until the fog began to thin. In the distance, I saw flickering lights — pale, weak, but real.
A camp.
As we approached, figures emerged from the shadows — men and women armed with weapons that looked stitched together from ruin and madness. Their armor flickered faintly with light — some blue, some gold, some deep crimson.
One of them stepped forward, raising his rifle. "Captain Iver."
So that was her name.
She gave a small nod. "Stand down. The stray's with me."
The man's eyes flicked toward me, suspicion in every line of his face. "He's new?"
"Found him near the ridge," Iver said. "Survived contact with a Parasite."
The silence that followed felt heavy.
Then — faint, subtle, but unmistakable — the air around Iver shifted.
It was as if gravity deepened. The temperature dropped by a degree, and the shadows drew closer. The soldiers' expressions stiffened, their eyes instinctively lowering.
I felt it too.
It wasn't fear, not exactly — more like a command written into my bones. Every instinct screamed to stay quiet, not to provoke her. It was bloodlust, pure and suffocating — not wild or uncontrolled, but focused, sharp as a blade's edge.
She didn't speak, and yet the very space around her carried intent.
That was when I understood — power here wasn't always shown. Sometimes, it was felt.
The tension broke when she exhaled, and the air seemed to breathe again. The soldiers stepped aside immediately.
"Welcome back, Captain," one of them murmured.
Inside the camp, life flickered faintly. A few survivors sat near burning barrels, their armor patched, their faces hollow. Others tended to mounts — beasts of living metal and sinew. One of them, with smooth black scales and amber eyes, turned to look at me. Its gaze was uncomfortably human.
Iver noticed me staring. "Don't touch them unless you want to lose a hand."
"I wasn't planning to," I said quietly.
She gave me a glance — unreadable — before walking toward a bunker near the edge of the camp. I followed.
The inside was dimly lit. Screens flickered with static, showing fractured glimpses of the city beyond. A low hum filled the space, like the heartbeat of a sleeping machine.
"Sit," she said.
I obeyed.
She set her rifle against the wall, removing her visor. Without it, her violet eyes were clearer — calm, but too sharp, too aware. She studied me for a long moment before speaking.
"Tell me, Elias," she said, and the sound of my name felt strange in her mouth, "do you remember anything before waking up?"
I shook my head. "Only flashes. Pain. The monster. And… something else."
Her gaze narrowed. "Something else?"
I hesitated. "When that thing lunged at me, I felt… it. Its killing intent. Like a storm pressing down on me. I couldn't breathe."
For a moment, her expression shifted — faint recognition, maybe even surprise.
"Good," she said finally. "That means you're not entirely normal."
"Not normal?"
She walked closer, crouching beside me. The faint light caught her face — sharp, deliberate, the face of someone who'd seen too much.
"Bloodlust," she said quietly. "You felt it. The will to kill, focused so purely it bends the world around it. Most can't even sense it before they die."
"And you can?"
Her lips twitched — almost a smile. "I don't sense it. I use it."
The air around her pulsed once — just once — but it was enough. Every instinct I had screamed at me to move, to flee. It was like standing before a storm that wanted me dead.
Then, as quickly as it came, it vanished.
I exhaled sharply, my body trembling.
She stood and turned away. "You'll learn to resist it eventually. Maybe even wield it. If you survive long enough."
She started for the door.
"Captain," I said, my voice still shaking, "what exactly is this place?"
Her hand hovered on the door frame for a second. "A prison. A fortress. A graveyard."
The door slid open. "Get some rest, Elias. Tomorrow, you'll meet the others."
When she was gone, I sat there for a long time, staring at the faint shimmer of red beneath my skin.
That wasn't the first time I'd felt fear.
But it was the first time I'd realized fear could have a shape.