Chapter 5 – Ashes Beneath the Skin
The sky was gray, a flat ceiling of clouds pressing down on the world. The air smelled of soot and rot. Clara stood in the ruins of her home, eyes locked on the scorched doorway where her family must've made their last stand.
Andrew said nothing.
He stood beside her, arms crossed, as the wind whispered through the charred remains. Part of him wanted to reach out, to say something comforting, something human—but the words caught in his throat, like splinters. What did you say to someone who'd just lost everything?
Clara's fists clenched. Her breath was uneven. Sparks of wind stirred around her feet, kicking up ash and embers.
"I should've been here," she muttered. "I should've protected them."
"You couldn't have known," Andrew replied quietly.
"I'm strong now. I could've—" Her voice cracked, rage and grief boiling beneath the surface. "What's the point of all this power… if I can't even save the people I love?"
A gust of icy wind burst from her skin, momentarily chilling the air. Andrew instinctively took a half-step back. Clara exhaled, blinking rapidly. Her skin shimmered faintly for a moment—like ripples of unstable mana. It faded just as quickly.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "We can't stay here."
Andrew nodded.
No funeral. No time to mourn. Not in this world.
---
They headed west.
Yaoundé's western districts were a maze of collapsed buildings, overturned cars, and monster-infested streets. It was a city in decay, eaten from the inside out. But Clara and Andrew didn't slow down. If anything, the carnage pushed them forward.
The first ambush came barely an hour into their journey. Three mutated canines burst from a wrecked pharmacy, their skin blistered and covered in bone-like spikes.
Clara incinerated two of them mid-leap.
Andrew slammed the last into a wall with an obsidian blade, shadows coiling like serpents around its twitching corpse.
They barely stopped to breathe.
---
✦
The city became their battlefield. Dozens of monsters—warped goblins, skeletal beasts, hulking ogres—came at them from every alley and rooftop.
Clara fought like a storm unleashed. Fire and ice danced at her fingertips, her spells weaving in and out of one another with brutal precision. Her swordplay was tight and efficient, each movement honed by the fury inside her.
Andrew grew faster. Smarter. Deadlier.
His Dark Minions flitted between shadows, scouting rooftops, spotting enemies before they struck. His constructs had taken shape—shields, spears, hammers. Pure umbra, shaped by thought and instinct.
The pair barely spoke. They didn't need to.
By sunset, they had fought through over forty monsters. Clara was bleeding from a shallow cut across her temple. Andrew's shoulder ached from a lucky blow. But their eyes burned with focus.
They were leveling fast. Too fast. Even Andrew felt it.
---
They reached the outskirts of the city by nightfall, following a cracked highway surrounded by ruined forest. The stars overhead shimmered faintly, peeking through smoke.
That's when they saw the firelight—flickering orange flames ahead, nestled between broken vehicles and trees. A camp.
Andrew narrowed his eyes. "Too exposed."
Clara didn't answer, her lips set in a tight line.
As they approached, voices drifted through the night. Laughter. Singing.
Then a greeting.
A tall woman in tattered armor waved at them from the camp's edge. Her smile was wide, almost too wide. "Well well, travelers! Come warm yourselves!"
Behind her, tents were pitched in a wide circle. About a dozen people moved within—armed Players. Some were roasting meat over the fire. Others were sharpening blades or humming strange melodies.
They looked... cheerful. Normal. But something felt off.
Andrew kept his hand near his waist. "Who are you?"
"Survivors, like you." The woman's eyes gleamed in the firelight. "We serve the Rift God now. And He protects His faithful."
Clara tensed. Her fingers twitched. "What god?"
"The one who tore the sky. Who opened the portals. The one who gave us power and purpose." The woman grinned wider. "Would you like to pray with us?"
A cold wind swept the highway.
Andrew's gaze drifted toward the center of camp.
A stone altar.
Red. Sticky.
At its base lay a limp, severed hand.
He felt his jaw tighten.
One of his Dark Minions, lurking in the shadows behind a tent, sent back a flicker of vision.
A bloodied cage. A girl. Barely breathing.
Clara's eyes were already burning with restrained fury.
Andrew turned back to the woman and smiled politely.
"We'd love to stay for dinner," he said flatly.
---
[End of Chapter 5]