Their mission was simple in words, but not in truth: save as many survivors as possible.
Amara's hand tightened around the hilt of her dagger as she gazed out the window at the skeletal buildings looming over the streets. She could feel it again, that pull, faint but insistent. Something in the distance was calling her. A weapon drenched in death energy, whispering promises she didn't yet understand. She kept it to herself for now.
The bus slowed as they approached their first checkpoint. A cracked street sign dangled overhead, half-bent, the name of the district barely legible beneath a coat of grime. The driver stopped when the road ended in a wall of rubble, and Dare's coordinates through Aiden directed them to a large warehouse.
"Stay sharp," Valeria ordered, her voice calm but carrying a soldier's authority. The shadow guards snapped to readiness, filing out of the bus with their weapons raised.
The warehouse loomed before them, a blocky, rust-stained structure whose metal doors hung loose on broken hinges. The stench of rot and damp mould seeped from within. Amara stepped forward first, her shadow stretching unnaturally across the cracked pavement as if eager to enter.
Inside, they found them.
Thirteen survivors.
Men with hollow cheeks, women clutching thin blankets, children curled together on the cold concrete floor. Their eyes widened at the sight of armoured figures entering, and for a brief heartbeat, hope flickered — only to falter, dimmed by fear.
Amara frowned. Something was off. Survivors should have been relieved. Instead, they looked as though they were bracing themselves for punishment.
One of the shadow guards whispered, "They're… living like animals."
Valeria's gaze swept across the group, her expression hardening. "Not by choice."
It didn't take long for the truth to spill out. The survivors were being kept here, not out of safety, but control. Beaten into submission, forced to endure, their only reason for staying alive being the heavy hand of the faction that claimed ownership over them.
The Hollow Tusk.
Amara crouched near a thin boy with bruised arms, her voice soft but cutting. "Who's doing this to you?"
The boy trembled, glancing fearfully at the others before whispering, "The Hollow Tusk… they said we belong to them. If we resist, they hit us. If we try to leave, they chase us down. Nobody wants this… but what else can we do? At least here, the Nulls don't come in."
Amara's jaw tightened. She looked to Valeria, whose lips pressed into a thin line. Both understood — this was no shelter, it was a cage.
"Where are they now?" Valeria asked firmly.
A woman with sunken eyes spoke up, her voice a fragile whisper. "They went to the museum… three blocks down. They're searching for something. They called it a… shelter crystal."
At the mention of the name, several shadow guards shifted uneasily.
Amara's eyes narrowed. She knew the significance immediately. A shelter crystal was rare — an artifact that extended the protective dome of a shelter. Myth already had its own protection, but a crystal could strengthen it, buy more time against the ever-encroaching void. For a faction without a dome, like the Hollow Tusk, it was the difference between survival and extinction.
But in their hands, it would only tighten their grip over the desperate.
Amara stood, her shadow curling along the floor like smoke. "We can't leave it to them."
Valeria nodded. "And if possible, we'll give them a choice. Join Myth… or be left behind."
The decision was made swiftly. A dozen shadow guards were left behind to protect the survivors in the warehouse, shields raised to reassure the broken families that their suffering was ending. The rest, led by Amara and Valeria, moved toward the museum.
The city seemed to grow quieter the closer they drew to it. The museum was an old, classical building of marble and pillars, scarred by cracks but still eerily imposing in the dead city. Yet what set every heart on edge wasn't the building itself, but the aura around it.
It was heavy. Suffocating.
Amara felt it the most. Her connection to Hades thrummed in response, her gut twisting as if every step closer pulled her deeper into a grave. Death clung to this place, not as decay, but as something active… awake.
A chill went down her spine.
They heard it next — faint howling, rising and falling unnaturally, not quite Null, not quite human. The sound alone made even veteran shadow guards shiver.
Then came the first encounter.
Figures emerged from the shadows between collapsed cars and broken lampposts — men and women in ragged armor, scavenged weapons in their hands. The Hollow Tusk. Their eyes were sharp, hungry, like wolves protecting a carcass.
The one at the front, a broad-shouldered man with scars running down his face, raised his axe in warning. "This is Hollow Tusk ground. You don't belong here."
Valeria stepped forward, holy energy faintly glimmering at her side. "We're not here to fight. We're from Myth Shelter. We came across survivors under your care, and we can offer them something better. We're here to talk."
A ripple of unease passed through the Hollow Tusk members. "Myth Shelter?" one of them muttered.
They didn't know them.
But ignorance wasn't safety — it was threat. If Myth existed, if it was stronger, what did that mean for their fragile hold over the survivors? The man with the axe spat on the ground.
"Care? They're alive because of us. They eat because of us. You think they'll choose you? You think you can come in here and steal what we built?"
Amara's eyes sharpened, her voice cold as she replied, "You built chains, not safety. They don't stay with you because they want to. They stay because you beat them into obedience."
The man sneered. "And what of it? This world's dead. Kindness gets you killed. We rule because we're strong enough to take what we need. That's survival."
Amara felt her shadow stir, curling dangerously. Valeria put a hand on her arm, a silent signal to hold.
"We're giving you a chance," Valeria said, her tone steady. "Join Myth. Protect those survivors properly. Or continue this path and face what comes next."
Laughter erupted from the Hollow Tusk members. Harsh, bitter, barking laughter.
"You talk like you're gods," the scarred man snarled, his knuckles tightening around his axe. "But you're just another group playing at order. We're not giving up what's ours."
The tension snapped.
The Hollow Tusk charged.
Shadows whipped across the ground as Amara raised her hand, daggers flickering in the air like extensions of her will. They darted forward, striking from impossible angles, forcing enemies to stumble back. Valeria moved like a streak of silver light, her holy sword glowing faintly as it cut through crude blades and rusted spears, her aura radiating like a shield that made the shadow guards rally around her.
The clash was brutal. The Hollow Tusk fought like cornered animals, vicious and desperate, using every dirty trick they'd learned surviving in the ruins. But Myth's soldiers were disciplined. Every step, every swing, every strike was calculated.
The street became chaos — shadows slashing, blades clashing, cries echoing.
And then it came.
A sound unlike anything before.
A shriek.
It tore through the air, piercing eardrums, rattling bones. It wasn't Null. It wasn't human. It was something else — something inside the museum.
The fighting froze. Both Myth and Hollow Tusk turned, eyes wide, as the sound echoed again, longer, deeper, shaking the very ground beneath their feet.
Amara's heart clenched. That pull — the calling she had felt since leaving the shelter — flared violently, dragging her attention toward the museum's shattered doors. Shadows writhed at her feet as though straining to reach it.
The scarred man's face went pale. "W-what was that…?"
No one answered.
Because in that instant, every single person — Myth, Hollow Tusk, shadow guard, survivor — knew one thing.
Whatever was inside the museum… wasn't supposed to exist.
The shriek came again, closer this time, and the massive double doors of the museum shuddered under an unseen force. Dust rained down from the pillars. Cracks spread like veins across the marble.
Everyone froze, hearts pounding, caught between battle and terror.
And then the doors began to open.