Echoes of the ruins

The wind howled through the shattered remains of what was once a bustling city. Broken glass crunched beneath Aspas's boots as he moved swiftly, his senses on high alert. Shadows danced across the crumbling walls, remnants of lives long forgotten.

He had grown accustomed to the silence—until it was broken by the distant, guttural growl. Aspas froze, his pulse quickening. Mutates. They were close. Too close. He tightened his grip on the crude blade at his side, its jagged edge glinting faintly under the dim, gray sky.

Pressing himself against the wall, he peered around the corner. The creatures were hunched over, gnawing on something he didn't want to identify. Their twisted forms were a mockery of humanity—elongated limbs, sunken eyes, and mouths filled with razor-sharp teeth. They were once human, victims of the plague that had ravaged the world. Now, they were monsters, driven only by hunger and rage.

Aspas's jaw clenched. He couldn't let them find the refugees. Not now. Not after he had fought so hard to bring them to safety.

His fingers tingled, a faint energy crackling beneath his skin. It was always there, a restless power waiting to be unleashed. When it surged, it was like lightning coursing through his veins, raw and wild. It made him faster, stronger—deadlier. He could shatter stone with a single blow, move with inhuman speed, and summon light so blinding it could turn his enemies to dust.

But it came with a price—a darkness that threatened to consume him if he lost control. A darkness that whispered of destruction, tempting him to unleash his full potential. He steadied his breathing, forcing himself to stay calm. Not now. Not unless he had no other choice.

He took a step back, the debris shifting beneath his weight. The noise was faint, but the mutates heard it. Their heads snapped up, hollow eyes scanning the ruins. One of them let out an ear-splitting screech, and the others followed, their bodies contorting as they moved with unnatural speed toward him.

Aspas ran. The world became a blur as he weaved through the debris, his heightened reflexes guiding him. His movements were precise, calculated—too fast for any normal human. He was a shadow in the ruins, slipping through narrow passages and leaping over crumbled walls with ease.

But the mutates were relentless, their screeches echoing as they gave chase. They were fast, almost as fast as him. Almost.

Aspas's muscles burned as he pushed himself harder, leading them away from the hidden refuge, the last sanctuary for those he had sworn to protect. He could hear their claws scraping against stone, their breath ragged and hungry.

He turned sharply, his body moving on instinct. There was no room for error, no time to second-guess. His only thought was to keep the monsters away from the people who depended on him.

His vision blurred, the world tilting as exhaustion threatened to consume him. But then, a flicker of light sparked at his fingertips, a reminder of the power that flowed through his veins. Desperation clawed at him. He didn't want to use it. He didn't want to become… like them.

But survival was the only option.

Aspas skidded to a stop, his back against a crumbling wall. The mutates lunged, their grotesque faces contorted with hunger. He closed his eyes, letting the energy surge through him. It burned, hot and fierce, as it erupted from his hands in a blinding flash.

The light was overwhelming, crackling with raw power as it tore through the air. It struck the creatures with devastating force, their bodies disintegrating into ash before they even had a chance to scream. The ground trembled, the ruins shaking under the magnitude of his attack.

And then, silence.

Aspas stood amidst the ashes, his body trembling from the aftermath. He looked down at his hands, the faint glow fading as quickly as it had appeared. His strength was unmatched—terrifying even. But it was also dangerous. If he lost control, he could bring down the very walls meant to protect the refugees.

The whispers began, faint and haunting, carried by the wind. They were always there, echoing through the ruins, calling out to him. The Forgotten. The ones who had perished, their souls trapped between worlds.

Aspas stood, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The city stretched out before him, desolate and broken. But somewhere out there, the truth awaited him. The truth about the plague, the mutates, and the power that coursed through his veins.

He would find it, no matter the cost.

He turned and disappeared into the shadows, the whispers trailing behind him.

Then, just as the echoes began to fade, a new sound pierced the silence—a cry. Not the monstrous wail of the mutates, but a human scream, raw with terror and desperation.

Aspas froze, his heart plummeting. It was coming from the direction of the refuge.

The refugees were in danger.

His blood ran cold as realization struck him. The mutates weren't the only predators lurking in the ruins.

Without another thought, Aspas bolted toward the sound, his mind racing with dread. Who—or what—had found them?

And would he be too late?