The streets of Haven's End twisted like veins in a rotting corpse, frost crusting over shattered cobblestones, the air heavy with a rancid mix of mold, rust, and something sharper—fear, maybe, soaked into the bones of the town. Jessa dragged her boots forward, each step a jolt of pain through the frost-scarred skin on her neck, the Unseen Watcher's whisper—watch… me…—clawing inside her skull, a jagged knife scraping at what little sanity she had left. The sky hung low, a bruised yellow pulsing faintly, shadows wriggling across the ground like worms, and she gripped her aetheric pistol tight, her breath fogging in the biting cold, her heart hammering as the whisper grew louder, sharper, as if Haven's End itself was feeding it.
Marcus strode ahead, his aetheric rifle raised, his scarred jaw tight as his scanner shrieked—a high-pitched wail, its needle buried in the red, screaming danger. "It's close, Jessa—closer than that loop we torched last week," he said, his voice rough, nodding at a black smear on the alley wall—oozing, thick like tar, its edges twitching faintly. "Echo-Class—they're calling it the Withered Stalker," he added, his tone sinking with something heavy, "Phases through walls, splits itself to hunt, drags you into a hell you don't come back from."
Jessa's stomach lurched, the Watcher's whisper swelling—watch… me…—and she spun as the smear stretched, warped, became something alive: a tall, skeletal thing, its skin dripping black ichor, limbs snapping like brittle twigs, an eyeless face tilting toward her with a hunger that made her frost-burn flare white-hot. "Marcus, it's here!" she yelled, her voice cracking, her pistol snapping up as the Withered Stalker split—three forms, each solid, each real, phasing through the walls, their wet, dragging rasps syncing with the whisper in her head, a chorus now—watch… me…—tearing her mind apart, her vision fuzzing at the edges.
Marcus fired, blue bolts ripping from his rifle, slicing one echo into a puddle of hissing sludge that steamed on the frost. "Quantum splitting—it's everywhere at once!" he shouted, yanking a containment orb from his belt, its green runes flaring as it snared a second echo in a shimmering net. "Hit the others, Jessa—force them to merge!" he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos as she squeezed the trigger, her shots ringing out, each bolt a frantic pulse against the whispers shredding her thoughts.
A claw lashed out, grazing her arm, and the Stalker's corrosion seared her skin—blisters bubbling instantly, a sickly heat pulling her into the Corrosion Realm. Her sister's face flickered—eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream—then her mother's voice, warped, looping, accusing, the Watcher's whisper—watch… me…—threading through it all, relentless, suffocating. Jessa stumbled, her knees slamming into the frost, her pistol slipping as she gasped, "I can't—Marcus, they're here, they're screaming!" The frost-burn on her neck ignited, a blazing agony, the Stalker's realm and the Watcher's voice fusing into one crushing weight, her mind fraying, teetering on the edge of collapse.
Marcus grabbed her shoulder, his hand a vice, his voice slashing through the fog. "It's not real, Jessa—the Stalker's clawing into your head, riding the Watcher's whisper to break you," he said, his eyes fierce, pinning hers. "Feel the frost biting your knees, the burn on your arm—that's real, you're real, and we're not done yet," he growled, his words steady, a tether hauling her back from the void.
Jessa sucked in a ragged breath, her nails raking her blistered arm, the pain a sharp anchor snapping her focus, the whispers dulling to a hum as she snatched her pistol. "I'm here—I can do this," she rasped, her voice raw but solid, firing again, her shots punching through the second echo, its form bursting with a shriek that mirrored the Watcher's hiss. Marcus tackled the last echo, his Veil stabilizer sparking wildly as he wrestled it into the orb's web, the Stalker howling as it fused back together, trapped, its glow fading to a weak, flickering pulse.
She collapsed back, her chest heaving, her blistered arm throbbing, the frost-burn a wildfire under her scarf, the Watcher's whisper—watch… me…—still there, softer but stubborn, sharpened by the Stalker's attack. "It knew, Marcus—it used the Watcher against me," she said, her voice shaking, her eyes darting to his, desperate for something to hold onto. He dropped to a knee beside her, his breath jagged, his own shoulder leaking from the Stalker's corrosion, and said, "They do that, Jessa—Echo-Class latch onto what's already cracked, but you didn't break, you fought—hold that tight."
She nodded, unsteady but determined, the whisper a constant scar in her mind, as real as the frost-burn scorching her neck, but she pushed to her feet, her pistol a heavy weight in her hand. "What now—transport, Site-09?" she asked, her voice firmer, clinging to the mission, to Marcus's guidance. He slung his rifle, wincing as he moved, and said, "Transport, then Site-09—Haven's End isn't finished with us, but we need to patch up before it swings again."
They staggered through the square, the fountain's faint glow flickering, the sky splitting overhead, shadows pooling like spilled ink, the whisper a thread of dread stitched into Jessa's thoughts. Her blistered arm pulsed, her frost-burn a living torment, but she stood straighter, the Stalker's containment a hard-won mark of her grit, the Watcher's voice a fight she'd take on—again and again—until her arc's end.
But the town wasn't done. A low rumble shook the ground, frost cracking underfoot, and Jessa froze as the whisper spiked—watch… me…—louder, closer, a shadow stretching from the fountain, long and thin, not the Stalker's but something new. "Marcus, you hear that?" she asked, her voice tight, her pistol snapping up as the air thickened, a sour tang hitting her throat. He swung his scanner, its shriek piercing the silence, and muttered, "Another signature—stronger, deeper—damn it, Haven's waking up."
The shadow lunged, a blur of jagged edges and wet gleam, and Jessa fired, her bolt sizzling through it, hitting nothing but air as it vanished, the whisper laughing now—watch… me…—mocking her, daring her. "It's playing with us," she said, her teeth gritted, her frost-burn flaring as she scanned the dark, her pulse a war drum in her chest. Marcus reloaded, his face grim, and said, "Not playing—hunting. We move, now—stick close, Jessa, this isn't over."
They ran, boots pounding frost, the town's decay pressing in—walls weeping black rot, windows staring like empty eyes, the whisper a constant hum, weaving through the air, through her. A scream tore from an alley—human, raw—and Jessa veered toward it, ignoring Marcus's shout, her instincts overriding fear. She found a figure slumped against a wall, a man, his face half-melted, claw marks raking his chest, his eyes wild as he choked, "It—it splits you—inside—run…"
The shadow struck again, faster, a claw slashing her leg, corrosion searing through her pants, and she hit the ground, her scream swallowed by the whisper—watch… me…—as the Corrosion Realm dragged her under once more. Her sister's hands reached now, cold, pulling, her mother's voice a wail, the man's dying gasp looping, the Watcher's whisper a gleeful roar—watch… me…—and Jessa clawed at the frost, her blistered arm useless, her mind buckling under the weight.
Marcus hauled her up, his rifle blazing, bolts tearing through the shadow, forcing it back, his voice a growl in her ear. "Stay with me, Jessa—focus on my voice, on the cold—fight it!" he yelled, his arm around her, dragging her as she gasped, her leg limp, her vision swimming, the whisper retreating but not gone, a lingering taunt. She gripped his coat, her nails digging in, and rasped, "I'm—I'm here—don't let go," her voice a thread, but enough, pulling her back to the real.
They stumbled into the transport zone, the aetheric beacon humming faintly, its blue light a lifeline as the shadow circled, its form splitting again, testing them. Marcus slammed the orb down, its web flaring wide, snaring the thing mid-lunge, its scream a wet gurgle as it collapsed, contained—but barely, its edges straining the runes. "Site-09, now!" he snapped, hoisting Jessa as the beacon flared, the town blurring, the whisper fading to a dull ache in her skull.
She slumped against the transport wall, her leg a mess of blisters, her frost-burn a screaming scar, her breath shallow but steady. "It's not done, Marcus—Haven's End, the Watcher—it's all connected," she said, her voice hoarse, her eyes locked on his, searching for strength. He nodded, his face etched with exhaustion, and said, "You're right—it's bigger than we thought, but you're still standing, Jessa—that's what matters."
The transport hummed, Haven's End receding, but the whisper lingered—watch… me…—a promise of more, a thread tying her to the dark, her arc bending toward its breaking point