Through the Maze

This Week's goal is 600 stones. Enjoy.

Cassian moved through the desolation, the rhythmic thrum of his power armor humming low in his ears. The steps felt heavier than the last, not from fatigue but from the city itself — as if the streets pulled at him, dragging him deeper into the twisted heart of this world.

The city stretched around him like a labyrinth, its streets slick with filth and shadows. Buildings loomed unnaturally tall, their spires curling toward the sky like skeletal fingers. Metal and stone fused in ways that defied logic, spiraling into jagged peaks or arching into impossible bridges. Structures that should've collapsed stood hunched and silent, their windows dark and vacant. The air stank of rust, ash, and something sweet and sickly that lingered at the back of his throat.

His machine spirit whispered faintly in the back of his mind, guiding each step, dampening the whir of the armor's servos as he slipped from shadow to shadow. Without it, the armor would've made him a walking target. Instead, it moved with him, each shift of weight carefully balanced, each step falling silent against the cracked ferrocrete.

He rounded a corner and crouched low behind a crumbling wall. The plaza ahead stretched into darkness, the shadows too thick, too deep. He waited, breath steady, eyes scanning the area. The shadows shifted. Something moved.

A faint scraping echoed through the streets, claws on stone. Cassian pressed himself lower, the armor adjusting with a soft hiss of hydraulics. Slowly, carefully, he peered around the edge.

They moved like wraiths — twisted figures, hunched and gaunt, their flesh barely clinging to their bones. Eyes glimmered faintly in the darkness, empty and cold. The mutants prowled the plaza, their heads jerking unnaturally as they sniffed the air. One dragged a rusted chain behind it, the links scraping against the ground in an eerie, rhythmic clatter.

He stilled, slowing his breathing, willing himself to disappear into the shadows. The machine spirit quieted, matching his stillness. One of the mutants paused, cocking its head. Cassian's finger hovered over the bolt gun's trigger. The mutant sniffed the air, growled low, then slunk back into the darkness.

He waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. When the silence stretched long enough to make his heart pound in his ears, he moved. Low and careful, slipping from cover to cover, each step deliberate.

Then he heard them. Not mutants. Not humans. Something else.

A low, guttural growl drifted through the air, reverberating in his bones. He froze, pressing himself into the shadows. From the far end of the plaza, they emerged. Daemons.

Their forms defied reason — flickering between shapes with each step. One moment they strode on taloned feet, the next they slithered or floated, their limbs twisting unnaturally. Their eyes burned like coals, and their skin shimmered with colors that hurt to look at. The air around them shimmered and warped.

Cassian held his breath, watching as they passed. The ground beneath their feet darkened, the stone cracking and bleeding as they moved. They prowled the streets, searching for something unseen. Or perhaps just reveling in the hunt.

He slipped past them, silent as possible, heart pounding in his chest. The city itself seemed to shift with their passing — walls stretching, shadows deepening. He pressed on, deeper into the nightmare.

The further he went, the more signs he found of what this place once was. Shattered hab-blocks, market stalls turned to rusted husks. And the people… or what was left of them.

He stumbled upon a street where the corpses still stood. Men, women, and children frozen mid-scream, their bodies twisted into grotesque statues of flesh and bone. Some clutched at their heads, their faces locked in eternal agony. Others knelt in supplication to unseen gods. The Warp had claimed them, reshaping their forms into mockeries of humanity.

One still moved.

Cassian nearly fired before realizing it wasn't attacking. The man — or what was left of him — crawled across the ground, his limbs thin and brittle, his face stretched unnaturally long. His eyes were empty, mouth moving silently. Cassian stepped past him, the armor's heavy tread shaking the ground. The man didn't even flinch.

Further ahead, he found strange symbols carved into the walls — twisting glyphs that pulsed faintly with sickly green light. They burned at the edges of his vision, writhing like living things if he stared too long. Whispers followed him, curling around his thoughts, soft and insidious. He grit his teeth and pressed forward.

At one point, he found a mural painted across a crumbling wall. It showed a battle long past — soldiers in tarnished armor fighting twisted, alien shapes. The paint was cracked and peeling, but the blood-red sky above them remained vivid, as if the artist had dipped their brush directly into the Warp. He tore his gaze away and kept moving.

The deeper he went, the heavier the air grew. It pressed against him like a living thing, cloying and thick. Every step felt wrong, his balance subtly off, the ground shifting beneath his feet. The city itself was alive. Watching. Waiting.

Then, faintly, he heard it.

Laughter. Soft, distant, curling through the air. It echoed through the streets, bouncing off the walls, impossible to pin down. Cassian froze, heart hammering, bolt gun raised. The laughter grew louder, distorted, wrong — a child's giggle warped into something cold and sharp.

He pressed against a wall, scanning the shadows. Shapes flickered at the edge of his vision — movements too fast to track. He tightened his grip on his weapon, eyes flicking between the darkened windows and the twisting alleys.

He moved deeper into the darkness, every step a battle against the weight pressing down on him. The whispers grew louder. The shadows closed in. And Cassian walked on.

Alone.

—-

Cassian crept along the shattered street, each step deliberate, each breath drawn slow and steady.

They were close.

The mutants prowling through the ruins, hunched figures slinking between broken walls and collapsed hab-blocks. Their forms were wrong — too thin, too long, their joints bending unnaturally. One dragged a heavy piece of metal behind it, scraping a jagged line across the ferrocrete. Another let out a low, wet gurgle, sniffing the air.

Cassian tightened his grip on his bolt pistol, finger hovering just shy of the trigger. One wrong move and they'd be on him. He could take them — maybe — but the noise would draw others. Worse things. He stayed still, letting the darkness swallow him.

The mutants passed, their footsteps echoing faintly down the alley. Cassian exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the cold air. The city was unnaturally quiet again, the kind of silence that made his skin crawl. Even the wind felt wrong, whispering secrets through the ruin.

The sky shifted unnaturally above him. He glanced upward and saw the clouds churn in impossible patterns, shifting hues of sickly green and violet. At times, they almost seemed to form shapes — faces twisted in agony, eyes that burned with distant malice. The planet itself was wrong. A daemon world. A world claimed by the Changer of Ways.

As he moved, the shadows seemed to stretch, twisting unnaturally. Symbols marked the walls, crude at first glance but pulsing faintly with unnatural power. He averted his gaze, refusing to look too closely. The air felt thicker with every step, pressing down on him, trying to smother him.

A sound. Footsteps. Soft, deliberate. He froze, pressing against a crumbling wall. Slowly, he turned his head, scanning the ruins.

There.

A figure moved through the shadows, gliding across the ground with a grace that made his breath catch. Tall, slender, almost ethereal. She moved like liquid shadow, each step precise and silent. Even the warped city seemed to hush around her presence.

Then she turned, and he saw her face.

A xenos. Eldari.

Cassian raised his bolt pistol in an instant, but she was faster. A flash of silver, and a wickedly curved blade was pointed at his throat, the edge gleaming faintly in the dim light. Her eyes met his — cold, ancient, filled with a disdain that burned colder than any blade.

"Well, well," she murmured, voice soft and lilting, each word laced with venom. "A Mon-kleigh. Crawling through the dirt. How quaint."

Cassian didn't move. Didn't blink. "Lower the blade."

She tilted her head, considering him. "I think not." Her eyes flicked over his armor, lingering on the machine spirit's faint hum. "Clumsy. Loud. Typical of your kind."

Cassian's finger tensed on the trigger. "Say that again."

She smiled, slow and cruel. "Mon-kleigh."

They stood there, locked in silence, the air thick with tension. Cassian's heart pounded, his mind racing. He couldn't fight her — not without drawing attention. But she hadn't struck him down either.

"Why are you here?" he asked, voice low.

Her eyes narrowed. "Surviving. As you are." She glanced past him, scanning the shadows. "The streets are not kind to those who linger."

Cassian lowered his pistol slightly, though he didn't relax. "You've been here a while."

"Longer than you." Her tone was clipped, as if the words themselves irritated her. "I've seen what this place does to those who stay too long." Her gaze flicked back to him, sharp and searching. "And you? What madness brought you here?"

Cassian hesitated. He wasn't about to pour his heart out to a xenos. "Wrong place. Wrong time."

Her lips curled in a mocking smile. "How very… human."

They stood in silence, the weight of the city pressing down on them. Cassian's mind raced. She was dangerous. He knew that. The Eldari were killers, arrogant and cunning. But she was alive. And in this place, that meant something.

Finally, she lowered her blade, though her eyes never left his. "If you wish to live, Mon-kleigh, I suggest you keep quiet. The shadows have ears."

Cassian exhaled slowly, lowering his pistol. "Fine. Lead the way."

She arched a delicate brow. "Lead? No. You'll keep up. Or you'll die."

With that, she turned, slipping back into the darkness without a sound. Cassian watched her for a moment, then followed, each step echoing softly in the silence.

The city loomed around them, the shadows shifting, watching. Somewhere in distance, the laughter began again. Soft and Insidious.

----

For advanced chapters

patreon.com/Kratos5627