Chapter 3: Wolves and Dust

Roen Kast gripped the rusted sword so tight his knuckles ached, staring into the swirling mist where shadows danced like ghosts with bad intentions. The watchtower rumbled behind him, stones grinding as the Crack Void Hub started its evolution—whatever that meant. Twelve hours, the system had said, before this pile of crap turned into something useful. Twelve hours of babysitting a rock while wolves clawed their way out of the rubble he'd dropped on them, and something worse loomed in the fog. His breath came out in short, sharp puffs, fogging the chill air. Seventy-one hours left to live, and he was already neck-deep in trouble.

"Kid, you got that look again," Liya said, hefting her dented longsword with a grin that didn't match the situation. She stood a few feet off, all swagger and scars, her leather armor creaking as she shifted. "Like you're about to build a bridge or something. What's the plan?"

"Plan?" Roen snorted, glancing at her. "How about 'don't die'? That's step one." The rubble near the stairwell shifted, a low growl cutting through the groan of the evolving tower. Those damn wolves weren't done—pinned, yeah, but pissed off and scratching their way free. He could hear claws on stone, see dust puffing up where the big one thrashed. Liya's stunt had bought them a minute, maybe two, but it wasn't enough.

She laughed, loud and rough, like she was at a bar instead of a death trap. "Good start! Step two's me cutting these mutts down—watch this!" She charged the rubble, swinging her blade at the spot where the smaller wolf's snout poked out. Metal clanged on rock, then flesh, and the thing yelped, blood splattering the stones. "Ha! Told you, old lady's still got it!"

"Yeah, 'til a bug shows up," Roen muttered, turning back to the dais. The core was gone, sunk into the stone when he'd triggered the evolution, and now the whole platform glowed faintly—a soft blue pulsing through the cracks like veins. The system panel hovered in his vision, smug as hell:

System Notification: Crack Void Hub Evolution in Progress. Stage 1: Basic Defensive Structure. Time Remaining: 11 hours, 59 minutes, 14 seconds. Detection Aura active—hostiles detected: 5 wolves, additional threats approaching.

"Additional threats," he said, voice flat. "Perfect." The shadows in the mist were getting sharper—human shapes, not wolves. Armor glinted faintly, swords catching what little light pierced the fog. The Kast family, or their hired goons, come to make sure their exile stuck. He'd figured they wouldn't let him rot in peace—too tidy for a bunch of backstabbing nobles—but he'd hoped for a breather. No such luck.

The rubble exploded behind him, dust blasting everywhere as the big wolf broke free. It roared, shaking off stones like they were nothing, its yellow eyes locked on Roen. The smaller one followed, limping from Liya's hit but still snarling. Roen spun, sword up, heart hammering. "Liya, heads up!"

She whirled, mid-laugh, and barely dodged as the big wolf lunged. "Son of a—!" Her blade came up, catching its claws with a screech, and she stumbled back, boots skidding on the platform. "This one's got some fight, kid! Little help?"

"Busy!" Roen yelled, parrying the smaller wolf's swipe. His sword—dull as a butter knife—groaned under the strain, bending where it met claw. He cursed, kicking the beast's snout, and it staggered, giving him a second to think. Architect brain, don't fail me now. The platform was a mess—cracked edges, loose stones, that slope where the roof had caved. The tower itself was shifting, walls creaking as the evolution did… something. He didn't know what, but the glow was spreading, and the air felt heavier, charged.

"Liya, push 'em to the edge!" he shouted, ducking another lunge. His boots slipped on dust, but he kept moving, herding his wolf toward the slope. She grunted, shoving the big one with her shoulder, blade slashing wild. "You're nuts, kid, but I'm in!" She roared again, driving it back step by step, her grin back like this was a game.

The wolves snarled, snapping at them, but Roen saw his shot. The slope was steep, a good ten-foot drop to the rubble below. If he could just—there! He grabbed a loose slab, hefted it with a grunt—damn thing was heavy—and chucked it at the smaller wolf. It hit square on the skull, a sick crunch echoing, and the beast stumbled, teetering on the edge. One shove with his shoulder, and it went over, howling all the way down.

"Hell yeah!" Roen said, a rush hitting him like a shot of whiskey. First win in this screwed-up world, and it felt good—better than nailing a deadline with a perfect blueprint. He turned to Liya, who was wrestling the big one, her blade stuck in its paw. "You got that?"

"Does it look like—argh!—I got it?" she snapped, yanking her sword free. Blood sprayed, and the wolf roared, swiping at her. She ducked, barely, and it clipped her armor, tearing a gash in the leather. "Alright, you oversized rug, edge it is!" She planted her feet, shoved with everything she had, and the beast slid, claws scrabbling, before plummeting off with a yelp.

Dust settled, the platform quiet except for the tower's hum and their ragged breathing. Roen leaned on his sword, panting, a grin tugging at his lips. "Not bad, bug lady. Not bad."

Liya wiped blood off her face, smirking. "Told you, kid. Old lady's a legend—oh shit, is that a spider?" She jumped, swatting her arm, and tripped over a rock, landing flat on her ass with a thud. Roen stared, then laughed—full-on, gut-deep, the kind that hurt his ribs. She glared up at him, red-faced. "Laugh it up, wiseass. Next time you're wolf chow."

"Worth it," he said, offering a hand. She took it, grumbling, and hauled herself up, brushing off her pants like she could salvage some dignity. The system chimed, cutting through the moment:

System Notification: Hostiles neutralized: 2 Mist Wolves. Detection Aura update—additional threats: 8 human combatants, 300 meters and closing. Evolution progress: 11 hours, 58 minutes, 02 seconds.

"Eight?" Roen's grin faded, replaced by a knot in his gut. He squinted into the mist—those shapes were clearer now, moving fast, steel glinting. Soldiers, not wolves. The Kast family's cleanup crew, probably, here to finish what the exile started. He glanced at the tower—walls were shifting, cracks glowing blue, but it was still a wreck. No defenses yet, no shelter. Just him, Liya, and two beat-up swords against a squad.

"Kid," Liya said, voice low, all trace of her goofiness gone. She gripped her blade, eyes on the mist. "You got another trick up your sleeve, or we fighting this out?"

Roen's mind raced, architect instincts kicking in hard. The platform was defensible—high ground, narrow access—but the stairwell was gone, and the slope was a death trap for anyone climbing up. The evolution was doing something—Detection Aura meant he could track them, maybe outmaneuver them. But eight? He'd built skyscrapers under budget cuts, dodged deadlines tighter than this, but never fought odds like that.

"Trick," he said, picking up another loose stone. "We hold 'em off 'til this thing's done evolving. Use the edge—push 'em back if they climb." He nodded at the slope. "And pray whatever's growing here grows fast."

Liya smirked, twirling her sword. "Praying's boring. I'd rather cut 'em down—bugs excluded." She paused, then squinted at her boot. "Wait, is that—?"

"Focus!" Roen snapped, shoving her toward the edge. She yelped, swatting air, and he rolled his eyes. The mist parted, boots thudding closer—soldiers in dark armor, swords drawn, faces hard under helmets. No talking, no hesitation. They were here to kill.

Roen tightened his grip, the tower's hum vibrating under his feet. "Alright, Kast family," he muttered. "Let's see who buries who." He swung his sword up, ready for the fight, a flicker of something—pride, maybe—burning in his chest. Waste lord or not, he wasn't going down easy.