the ashland 2

As Hope took his first, unsteady step into the wasteland, a sudden pressure bloomed in his skull—sharp and cold, like ice pressing against his mind.

Then, a voice.

It wasn't loud, but it echoed inside his head, smooth and hollow, as if it was being whispered from the deepest, darkest part of his soul.

"Welcome, contestant, to The Ashlands."

The words slithered through his thoughts, carrying a weight that made his stomach twist. There was no emotion in the voice, no malice or kindness—just an eerie, detached finality, like it was reading from a script that had already been written.

"Survive... or be claimed."

The voice faded, leaving behind an oppressive silence. Hope stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath ragged. The confirmation of what he already feared sent a fresh wave of dread washing over him.

This is real.

But before he could process it further, something shifted in the shadows ahead.

A low, guttural growl rumbled through the air, vibrating in his chest like the growl of some ancient, hungry beast. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his feet felt rooted to the spot, frozen by a primal fear.

From the gloom, a shape began to emerge.

It was massive—at least twice the size of a man—and hunched over, its limbs twisted in unnatural ways. Its skin, if it could be called that, was a patchwork of cracked, blackened flesh and glowing veins of sickly green light. Its face was a hollow mask, with empty eye sockets that oozed shadow like liquid smoke. The creature's mouth split open into a jagged, toothy grin, as if it could smell his fear.

A Corrupted Fiend.

Hope had never seen one before, but he didn't need to. The stories were enough. These weren't just monsters—they were the remnants of souls that had failed to survive The Ashlands, twisted by the very force that dragged them here. They were faster, stronger, and utterly merciless.

And now, one of them had found him.

The creature's grin widened as it took a lumbering step forward, its claws dragging deep furrows in the cracked ground. The air grew colder, thick with the scent of decay and ash.

Hope's mind raced. He had no weapons, no allies. He was alone, and the only thing standing between him and death was his will to survive.

But then, he felt it again—that strange, cold power simmering beneath his skin. It pulsed in time with his racing heart, dark and unfamiliar, like a shadow just waiting to be unleashed.

Hope clenched his fists, his breath steadying.

If this thing wanted to claim him, it was going to have to work for it.