THE CITY OF ASH – CHAPTER TWO (Cycle II – The Weight of Death)
Ethan gasped as he stumbled forward, his body whole once more, yet his mind fractured. The golden radiance of the Site of Grace flickered around him, its warmth seeping into his bones, offering an illusion of comfort. But he felt none of it. His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists, the phantom pain of his previous death still burning in his chest. The memory of that rusted blade slicing his throat, the sensation of his own beating heart torn from his ribs, the gurgling of his own blood choking him—it was all fresh, lingering in his mind like an unshakable curse.
He swallowed hard. His breath was unsteady.
"Again. I died… again."
It wasn't just the pain. It was the helplessness.
The sheer, brutal inevitability of it all.
No matter what he did, the world around him was set against him. The Ashen Remnants—those grotesque horrors wrapped in decay and corruption—were relentless, and death felt like an unavoidable truth rather than an obstacle.
And yet… here he was. Whole again.
His fingers traced the spot on his chest where the wound had been. Smooth. Unblemished. His body was reset, but his mind wasn't.
And that was the true torture.
Ethan clenched his teeth, forcing himself to breathe.
"I need to do it differently this time."
He forced his gaze away from the Site of Grace, away from its false promise of warmth and safety. He had a task. He couldn't afford to waste time wallowing in despair. He had died, yes, but that death wasn't meaningless. He had learned something. The Remnants had weaknesses. Fire could hurt them. They reacted with delay when faced with unpredictable movements. And most of all…
He had to be faster.
Smarter.
If he hesitated even for a second, he'd be caught in the same brutal cycle of death and suffering.
THE CITY OF ASH – SECOND ATTEMPT
The crimson light of the blighted city greeted him once more as he stepped beyond the safety of the Grace. The air was thick with the scent of rot and burning flesh, the ashes swirling in unnatural patterns as if whispering warnings only he could hear.
The alleyway.
He remembered it clearly. The moment he turned that corner, he had been caught between a group of Remnants feasting on the corpse of a young woman. He had frozen—his body had reacted in revulsion and horror, and that had cost him his life.
Not this time.
Ethan moved swiftly, staying low, his steps light. He gritted his teeth as the notifications flickered in the edge of his vision.
[Ashen Remnant detected.]
[Ashen Remnant detected.]
[Ashen Remnant detected.]
He ignored them. Instead, he took another route—one he hadn't considered before. Instead of taking the direct alley, he veered left, climbing onto a half-collapsed building, using the shattered remains of a wooden beam as leverage. His fingers dug into the crumbling stone, his body moving on instinct rather than thought.
From above, he saw them.
The Ashen Remnants were still feasting.
The woman's corpse lay lifeless, the torn remnants of her chest cavity exposed, and the dripping remnants of her organs were still being passed between them. A sickening wet sound filled the silence as one of the Remnants crushed a blood-soaked organ between its fingers, bringing it to its rusted mask to consume.
Ethan's stomach churned, but this time, he didn't let it stop him.
His gaze darted towards the street beyond them. A narrow path led deeper into the city—his chance to advance without engaging them.
A risk.
If they noticed him, he'd be trapped. But fighting them head-on was suicide. He wasn't strong enough. Not yet.
He steeled himself and moved.
Silent. Careful. Deliberate.
The ruined wooden structure groaned beneath his weight. He froze, holding his breath. Below, one of the Remnants suddenly twitched, its head snapping upward, as if sensing the slightest shift in the air.
Ethan didn't wait.
He leaped, grabbing onto the remains of another building and hauling himself up, just as the Remnant's empty sockets locked onto where he had been.
A tense silence followed.
For a moment, he thought he had made it.
And then—
The Remnant tilted its head, the black tendrils beneath its mask writhing, tasting the air.
It let out a sound.
A dry, rasping whisper—almost like a sigh of breath over an open grave.
Then it moved.
Fast.
Ethan barely had time to react before the thing was climbing the ruins after him, its long, skeletal fingers digging into the crumbling stone, pulling itself up with unnatural ease.
"Shit—!"
He scrambled backward, looking for another escape. Below, the other Remnants were stirring. The feast was over.
And now, he was their target.
DEATH IS NOT THE END—BUT IT STILL HURTS
Ethan ran.
His heart pounded, his breath came in short, ragged gasps as he vaulted across the ruined buildings. The Remnants were relentless, moving with horrifying precision, their elongated limbs bending at impossible angles as they chased him through the ruins.
A narrow bridge of wooden planks connected two buildings ahead of him. He dashed for it, not slowing—
CRACK.
The planks snapped under his weight.
Ethan plummeted, barely twisting his body in time to grab onto a rusted pipe jutting from the building's edge. His grip burned as he swung, his momentum throwing him forward—
He crashed hard onto the stone street below, rolling to absorb the impact. His ribs ached, but he pushed himself up.
No time to stop.
The Remnants were already descending after him, their rusted weapons gleaming in the crimson light.
His vision flickered—
[HP -30]
[Fractured Ribs Status: Minor]
Ethan gritted his teeth and ran.
He turned a corner—dead end.
A single Remnant stood waiting at the other end of the street, its mask dripping with old, blackened blood.
A trap.
He had made the wrong move.
The Remnant raised its blade.
He had seconds to react.
His mind raced—
The fire.
It had worked before.
Ethan lunged towards a pile of smoldering wreckage, his hands grasping a half-burned plank, the embers still glowing at the tip.
He turned—just in time for the Remnant's blade to slice into his shoulder.
A blinding flare of pain.
He gasped, but forced himself to move.
He swung the burning plank.
The Remnant recoiled, its mask hissing as the flames licked at it.
For the first time, Ethan saw hesitation in the creature's movements.
An opportunity.
But before he could take it—
Something pierced his back.
A rusted spear.
Cold, numbing pain spread through his body as he fell to his knees.
Blood filled his mouth.
His vision blurred.
Another Remnant loomed over him.
The last thing he saw was the blade descending towards his throat—
And then—
THE SITE OF GRACE
Warmth.
Ethan gasped as he awoke.
Whole.
Again.
He clawed at his throat, his breath ragged, his mind reeling.
The Remnants had outmaneuvered him.
"I failed again."
But now he knew.
Now he understood.
He had to change his approach.
Or he would die.
Again.
And again.
And again.