The wind howled like a mournful spirit across the cracked plains of Moamba. A pale, shivering mist crawled low over the barren earth, swallowing the horizon in a ghostly embrace. Above them, the moon flickered, sickly and half-decayed, like an old, dying god.
Two men stood in the night — two broken shadows locked in a forgotten place.
Darkin lifted a trembling hand, his finger pointing to the stranger's eye. A cold sweat clung to his brow.
"You… your eye…" His voice broke, barely more than a hoarse whisper. "You're infected too."
The other man — a weathered figure carved from years of war and sorrow — did not flinch. His face was a landscape of old wounds and harder memories. He smiled, faintly, a smile sharpened by something ancient.
"No," the stranger murmured, voice low and weighted, "I am not infected. This… is the mark of relentless Intirrén." His fingers grazed the long, ink-black scar running down his cheek — a jagged, cursed line that seemed more like an ancient sigil than a wound.
"I destroyed the Unimpires myself," he said. "One by one. By my own hands. And with them fell their cursed empire. But years of war changed me… turned me into something else. A Skitoyer. A vessel of old Moambian blood."
He pulled off his battered hat, letting the moonlight fall across his scarred face.
"I am the last bearer of Viko," he said. "Hunter James Ashlem. One of the cursed. Branded by the Zvrodies… by the blood of our ancestors."
Darkin felt something cold uncoil inside him. A name surfaced, a memory dragged up from the black depths of his past.
"Ashlem?" The name cracked like old wood on his tongue. "Brother… is it really you?"
Ashlem's eyes flickered, as if a long-extinguished candle flared once more.
"Even after all these years," he murmured, "I'd know your face. You haven't aged, Darkin. Not a day."
A weight pressed into Darkin's chest, tightening like an invisible fist.
"How did you find me?"
Ashlem's gaze lifted to the mist-choked stars. "My Intirrén led me to you. It's a cruel curse — one of the deadliest the Zvrodies ever placed on human flesh. But it can smell blood… it can find its own."
Darkin staggered, a new word burning in his skull. "Zvrodies…"
His voice was shaking now. His past was clawing at the walls of his mind, each memory rising faster than he could bury it.
"They're returning," he whispered, almost to himself. "My memories… my blood… everything I left behind."
Ashlem nodded, grim as a priest standing over a grave.
"It's the time," he said.
Darkin swallowed. "Time for what?"
Ashlem's voice dropped lower, rougher. "Three in the morning. The time when the gates of the underworld creak open. When the cursed gain strength… and the old blood sings."
The ground beneath them seemed to pulse. Darkin looked down at his hands — trembling, pale, unfamiliar.
"I am… cursed too," he said, his voice no longer denying.
"Yes," Ashlem said. "You were born in Moamba. You carry Zvrody's mark. Krall-Moamba himself. Our ancestor… our god… our monster."
Darkin felt his stomach turn.
"My wife…" he whispered. "She spoke his name. Again and again. I thought she was losing her mind."
Ashlem's face darkened. "She wasn't. There's no outrunning Krall-Moamba. It's in your blood. In your soul. She was trying to warn you."
Darkin closed his eyes, struggling to steady his breath.
"She told me everything."
A sudden voice shattered the moment.
"Am I not invited to this charming meeting?"
The machine rolled closer on four slick, metallic wheels, headlights cutting through the mist like a predator's eyes.
Ashlem's hand shot to his blade, ready to strike, but Darkin stepped forward, raising a shaking hand.
"No," he said, voice strained. "He's with us. Lorfy… it's fine."
The machine's tone softened. "Yes, sir."
But before another word could pass, Ashlem let out a choked cry, his body convulsing as he collapsed into the dirt. His limbs twisted, face contorting in agony. Darkin rushed to him, panic knotting his throat, but then — the air behind them cracked open.
A portal, howling with ancient hunger, split the night. Light and shadow poured from it like blood from a wound, sucking in the mist, the air, the sanity around them. Ashlem's body thrashed, pulled toward the gaping maw.
"No!" Darkin screamed, clawing at his brother's arms, holding him back.
Lorfy's door burst open, its mechanical voice barely audible over the roar.
"Inhuman anomaly detected. Escape is advised."
A monstrous voice began to grow inside the portal, deep and vile, as though a thousand dead things spoke in unison.
Darkin's heart thundered. He brushed the sweat-soaked hair from his eyes, muttering a desperate, broken prayer.
"Please… please stay with me… don't go…"
He dragged Ashlem's limp body to the machine. The earth trembled — something massive moved in the shadows, its footsteps a rolling thunder that cracked the ground.
"We have to go," Darkin hissed, slamming his palm against the dashboard.
The machine's engines screamed to life. In a burst of light and sound, they launched into the sky, the portal shrinking behind them, though its voice still echoed in Darkin's head.
"Ashlem!" he shouted over the noise, shaking his brother's shoulders. "Ashlem!"
No response. His brother's face was pale, eyes closed, mouth slightly open.
The machine's systems flickered. "Power failing… power failing…"
Smoke hissed from the engine, the vehicle stuttering in the sky.
Then — Ashlem's body jerked violently. His chest heaved, as if air had been stolen and suddenly returned. His eyes snapped open, wild and hollow.
Darkin gasped. "Ashlem… what happened?"
Ashlem's voice was cracked and broken.
"It's not me…" he rasped. "It's you."
Darkin's pulse pounded.
"The virus inside you," Ashlem said, his gaze distant, haunted. "It's growing. Faster than we thought. You don't have long time."
Darkin gripped the wheel, his knuckles white.
"What… what are you saying?"
Ashlem's face darkened, eyes filled with something deeper than fear.
"You were the one," he said, voice falling like a stone. "You invaded the planet of the Zralkies."
And just like that — the world fell silent.
The words echoed in the steel-cold cabin, an impossible truth that shattered everything Darkin believed.
It couldn't be.
It couldn't be true.
But deep down… something inside him already knew.