By the time Ashen reached the Market Alleys, the vast majority of the area had descended into madness.
The air vibrated with pressure — not sound, not wind, but something deeper, like the tremor of reality itself straining to hold together. The plaza, once bright and bustling, had become a storm of light and screaming.
The Gate towered at its centre — a vortex of raw energy twisting in on itself, its rim sparking with white-hot arcs that cracked across the ground like whips.
The cobblestones surrounding it floated in brief defiance of gravity before slamming back down, shattering on impact. The familiar smell of spice and iron was gone, replaced by ozone, burnt oil, and the faint, metallic tang of magic bleeding into the air.
Silurad's proud market — its heart — had become a battlefield.
Guards in copper-threaded uniforms were shouting orders, but their formation was breaking. The air shimmered with rifle fire as ether bolts shot across the square — some striking true, others scattering into the swirling distortion — and the clangour of swords, lances and other weapons could be heard. The range of their effectiveness was not great.
… To not say utterly useless.
And then, from the other side, pouring out like a grotesque tide of monstruosity aiming to devour life itself, came the Hoppers.
They burst through the gate in erratic waves — grotesque humanoid-like beasts, tall and stretched, moving in spasmodic bursts like marionettes with tangled strings. Their eyes glowed a sickly purple beneath translucent skin, veins pulsing with unstable energy. Each one was different: some with extra arms, some half-dissolved, some again looking more bestial than humanoids, and others with faces too smooth to be human.
They landed on all fours, limbs twisting at impossible angles, then rose, shrieking as they charged.
Civilians fled in every direction. A few fell — trampled by the beasts or snatched by clawed hands... or reduced to paste by the wave of other humans desperately fleeing to save themselves.
The guards fought back, but for every Hopper they downed, two more crawled through the light.
Ashen stopped at the edge of the chaos, breath steadying, heart thrumming in sync with the hum of the gate. His coat whipped behind him in the vortex wind. For a brief moment, he simply watched — studying the rhythm of movement, the flow of panic, the points where order had already failed.
Nyra hovered beside him, her blue glow flickering against his jawline.
[Estimated entities: seventy-three and counting.] she reported.
The sentient sphere hovered above the head of Ashen, continued her analyses, lingered for a second, and then continued:
[Containment protocols inactive. Civilian casualties high]
Ashen's jaw tightened.
"Noted."
Then his gaze locked on a small shape amid the ruin — a mother crouched behind an overturned fruit stand, shielding two children with her body as two Hoppers advanced, jerking forward in quick, hungry bursts.
He moved with a swift, deadly grace.
The resonance pistol cleared its holster in a blur, his thumb brushing the rune plate. The weapon came alive with a low hum that matched the pulse under his own skin. He raised it, aimed, and fired.
The first shot split the air — a sonic-crack echoing across the plaza.
The pulse round hit the nearest Hopper in the chest, blasting through its torso and disintegrating its upper half into a mist of glowing particles. The recoil jerked up Ashen's arm, but he compensated without thought, spinning on one heel to fire at the second creature.
The next shot caught it mid-lunge, vaporising its head in a burst of light and static. Both bodies collapsed into steaming, translucent dust.
"GO!" he shouted.
No need was there to repeat himself. The family didn't wait to thank him. They ran, stumbling toward safety as Ashen advanced deeper into the square.
"Nyra!" he said.
[Combat mode active.] The orb replied, her voice calmer now, but her glow intensifying.
She continued her thorough, but lightning-fast, scan.
[Monitoring vitals — adrenaline spike confirmed.]
Three more Hoppers bounded across a collapsed stall, claws slicing through fabric and wood. Ashen holstered the pistol, sliding his hand down to the Resonance Blade strapped to his thigh. The weapon came free with a vibrating hum, its mono-edge flaring blue-white.
The first creature struck. Ashen sidestepped, guiding its momentum past him, then slashed upward in a clean diagonal arc.
The blade met almost no resistance — the Hopper's torso split open like smoke under a fan of light.
The second came from behind. Nyra gave a short, urgent beep, and Ashen dropped low just as claws swept where his neck had been. He rolled forward, came up on one knee, and drove his blade backwards through the creature's leg. It screamed — a sound like metal being torn — and collapsed.
Without rising, he switched his grip, brought the pistol up, and fired a single round point-blank into its chest.
The impact lit the plaza for a heartbeat.
Ashen rose slowly, movements measured, his breathing heavy but controlled. Every motion was deliberate — not guided by desperation. Practiced. This wasn't the wild flailing of survival he had once used, a long time ago. It was a pattern, a form drilled into muscle memory.
A third Hopper lunged from his right. Turning, he grabbed its arm mid-swing and twisted sharply. The bone cracked like glass. Before it could scream, he shoved the barrel of his pistol under its chin and pulled the trigger. The blast threw it backwards, headless, dissolving before it hit the ground.
All around, the square echoed with shouts and weapons fire. The guards were regrouping, some pointing in his direction, rallying behind the Wanderer who seemed to dance with death itself. Ashen didn't notice. His focus had narrowed to the rhythm of combat — strike, move, shoot, retreat, breathe, repeat.
A Hopper scrambled onto a fruit cart, its limbs jerking like it was caught in invisible strings. It leapt, claws aimed for his throat. Ashen waited until the very last instant, then, stepping aside, grabbed the creature's wrist, and pulled — redirecting its own momentum straight into his blade.
The impact released a wave of kinetic light that blew both of them back a step.
The creature writhed once, then shattered and dissolved.
Ashen wiped his face with the back of his glove, leaving a smear of dark residue across his cheek. His grey lock of hair clung to the sweat on his temple, glinting faintly in the light of the burning portal.
Then, suddenly, there was quiet.
The remaining Hoppers were retreating toward the gate, their bodies flickering like failing holograms. The guards shouted triumphantly, pressing forward — but Ashen stayed still, his instincts prickling.
'Something's wrong.'
He turned, his gaze scanning the entirety of the place where he had been fighting just a moment ago.
One of the fallen Hoppers twitched. Its limbs spasmed, fingers scraping weakly against the ground. Its form was already unravelling into mist, but a faint light flickered in its chest — small, pulsing, steady. Not the chaotic flicker of portal energy.
…Something else.
"Nyra…" he murmured, stepping closer.
The orb hovered down, scanning the body.
[Unusual energy concentration detected. Emission wavelength: 492 nanometres. Consistent rhythm.]
Ashen crouched beside the creature. The glow was coming from deep within, nestled between ribs that shimmered like glass. A small crystalline core, faintly golden, pulsing as though it had a heartbeat.
"That's impossible. Hoppers don't have cores. They're not built… they're spawned." He whispered.
The sentient robot didn't immediately respond. She scanned the corpse for a moment, remaining silent as she did so. After a little while, she spoke:
[Affirmative. This structure is deliberate. Engineered.] Nyra said.
Ashen hesitated, then extended a hand.
For some reason, he felt as if this crystal was calling him… no, it called him. A voice he didn't know, called his name — as if it knew him. Its pull was strong, almost irresistible. But that was not what led Ashen to act the way he was right now. No, the motive was just the eerie weirdness of this situation.
'Something is definitely wrong!'
The glow intensified as his palm neared the crystal, the air tingling with static. His fingertips brushed the creature's chest — and a pulse of warmth spread up his arm. Not burning, not painful, but… familiar.
…Like touching the edge of a portal field.
The light flared.
Ashen recoiled, falling back onto one knee as a ripple of energy surged outward, stirring the dust around him into a swirl. The gate roared in response, its light pulsing in sync with the glow from the Hopper's core.
Nyra's voice came low, reverent, and almost hesitant:
[Ashen… the Gate, it's… it's resonating with your frequency.]
The young man stared at his hand. Faint veins of blue light crawled up from his wrist, fading as quickly as they came. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
Across the square, the Gate's light deepened, shifting from white to a violent purple. And within the storm, something moved — not another Hopper, but a shape far more defined, far more ominous.
…Far more human.
Ashen rose slowly, every instinct screaming. His weapon hummed in his grip, trembling like it sensed what was coming.
He saw a face he didn't recognised. The figure also had wolf's ears, and a pair of wings. And their eyes…
He knew he had seen them before, but he didn't know from where.
And just then, the face looked back in his direction. Not towards him… but at him.
He glanced at Nyra.
"Tell me I'm imagining that."
[No… You are not.]
The silhouette inside the gate stepped closer, its outline solidifying in the blinding light. The air around it warped, every sound folding into silence.
Ashen's pulse quickened. The warmth from the fallen Hopper's core still burned faintly against his skin.
"Then this isn't just a breach…" he said quietly.
Just as he uttered these words, the silhouette stopped, turned around and looked into the depths of the portal. Another wave of Hoppers came flooding through the entrance of the gate, the ground beneath Silurad shaking under their steps.
Ashen cracked his neck, gripped his weapons and smiled nervously.
"…It's a message."