From far away, a figure was running frantically, his breath ragged, his movements desperate.
Sweat poured down his face, trickling from his messy, unkempt hair, which clung to his forehead. His clothes were in ruins—a bloodstained, torn jacket, the fabric barely holding together, as if it had been cleaned hastily but failed to rid itself of the stench of death. His boots didn't match, one slightly too big, the other barely holding onto his foot as he sprinted across the rocky wasteland.
Behind him, a horde of monstrosities gave chase.
The Horde
The creatures were not uniform—they came in twisted shapes and horrifying forms, their bodies pulsing with an eerie, dark essence. Some ran on all fours, their elongated limbs allowing them to cover vast distances in seconds. Others lumbered forward, their grotesque bodies heavy with unnatural muscle, their jaws unhinged, dripping with black saliva.
Their eyes gleamed with a feral hunger, their shrill screeches and guttural roars tearing through the air like a chorus of the damned.
And at the center of it all—
A Centaur.
Not the noble beings from myth, but a Veil-corrupted beast, its equine lower half covered in bone-like plating, its upper body twisted and grotesque, with dark veins running across pale, almost translucent skin. Its face was covered by a helmet fused to its flesh, and its burning red eyes fixated on the lone figure leading them away.
Minutes ago, Hope had been lurking in the cave, carefully watching the centaur and its minions.
Their presence was… organized.
That was the most terrifying part.
Unlike the mindless corrupted fiends he had encountered before, this horde had structure, and the centaur was their leader.
They had been gathered, discussing something in their own monstrous way, until Hope had interrupted their meeting.
He had used his daggers to strike the cave walls, creating a series of sharp, deliberate echoes, making it seem like something was trying to break in.
The fiends reacted immediately, their heads snapping toward the noise, their eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Then the centaur raised one hand, and in an instant, the fiends rushed out to investigate.
Hope had expected only a few to come looking.
Instead, the entire horde followed.
The Present Situation
Now, he was running for his life.
His lungs burned, his legs screamed in protest, but he couldn't stop.
If he did, he would die.
The ground beneath him shook as the horde moved, their stampede kicking up clouds of dust and debris, making it even harder to see where he was going.
His ears rang with the constant shrieks and growls, but he couldn't risk looking back—he already knew how close they were.
Too close.
His mind raced, calculating possible escape routes, but he had already committed to this.
Kelvin was waiting with the explosive soul core.
Kelvin was ready to engage if things got worse.
His job was simple: Lead them into the trap.
But as another ear-piercing screech rang out, Hope realized something chilling.
The centaur hadn't moved.
It was watching from afar, standing still at the mouth of the cave, its head tilted ever so slightly, as if it was… amused.
It wasn't just sending its forces to investigate.
It was testing them.
And that meant—
This was far from over.