runaway

Hope's muscles tensed, instinct screaming at him to fight—but he knew better.

Fighting meant dying.

The fiend took another step forward, its grotesque form shifting in the dim, flickering light of The Ashlands. Its hollow eyes locked onto him, that jagged grin widening as if it could already taste his flesh.

But Hope wasn't going to be anyone's meal.

Without a second thought, he spun on his heel and bolted.

The cracked earth of The Ashlands crunched under his feet as he sprinted, weaving between the twisted remains of shattered buildings and jagged stone pillars. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing louder than the last. But it wasn't fear that drove him—it was survival. The same instinct that had kept him alive in the lawless outskirts now sharpened his senses.

Behind him, the fiend roared, a guttural, bone-rattling sound that sent a fresh wave of adrenaline surging through his veins. He didn't need to look back to know it was gaining on him. The stories had said these things were fast—and the stories were right.

But Hope had something the fiend didn't: experience.

The outskirts had taught him how to move through danger like a ghost, slipping between threats and using the chaos to his advantage. He'd spent years navigating crumbling ruins, dodging gangs, and outsmarting predators—both human and otherwise.

And now, that skill was the only thing standing between him and death.

He darted into a narrow alley between two broken structures, the space barely wide enough for him to squeeze through. The fiend's roar grew louder, closer, but Hope didn't falter. He knew the creature wouldn't be able to follow him through the tight space.

Or at least, he hoped it wouldn't.

Emerging on the other side, he didn't stop. He scanned the terrain ahead—a maze of twisted debris and collapsed ruins—and plotted his next move. The fiend might be strong, but it wasn't smart. He could use that.

Spotting a narrow ledge above, Hope scrambled up a broken wall, his fingers scraping against the jagged surface. His muscles screamed in protest, but he forced himself to keep going. The fiend's heavy footsteps thundered behind him, shaking the ground.

Reaching the top, he didn't pause to catch his breath. He leapt across a gap between two crumbling structures, landing hard but rolling to absorb the impact. The fiend, unable to match his agility, crashed into the wall below with a deafening roar of frustration.

But Hope knew it wasn't over.

The fiend might lose him for now, but The Ashlands wouldn't let him off that easy. This was just the beginning.

As he slipped into the shadows of a collapsed building, heart still racing, he realized something.

He wasn't just running from monsters.

He was running from The Veil itself.

And it wasn't going to stop until it broke him.