Your Anchor in the Chaos

They said the apocalypse would come with fire. Lies. It came with fog — the kind that gnaws your lungs and births shadows with too many eyes. When the old world finally coughed its last breath, I was too busy looting a gas station to notice.



The bell saved me. Or cursed me. Woke up in this rotting castle with two gifts: a warhammer crusted in someone else's blood, and the damn words.



[Not Your Hammer]

"Previous owner died screaming. You will too."



My stomach growled. Last food was a rat I ate raw. The fog's getting louder. Sometimes I swear it whispers my new name. ​Veyl. Sounds like something a cult leader would call his sacrificial lamb.