Edge of Reach

Mission: Edge of Reach

The wheat fields looked like oceans under a golden sun — waves of soft grain brushing against one another, stirred by the same slow wind that carried the taste of dust and distance. There was nothing out here but silence and the swaying of stalks. No screams. No movement. No obvious threat. And that was already too strange.

Flare Nacht stepped from the transport first, his boots crunching through the dry edge of the gravel road before sinking slightly into soil. He scanned the horizon instinctively, his

blue-green eyes narrowed beneath the faint flicker of the sunshield interface in his visor. Dust swirled at ankle height. The quiet rustled like a warning. He could feel it in his bones — not the pulse of danger, not yet, but the shape of something off.

"Definitely looks like we're just outside the boundary," Marcos said from behind him, dropping down with a thud that vibrated through the ground. "GPS clocked it fifteen meters past our city's jurisdiction line. Technically, this should be Rural Squad Two's mess." He was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Flare grunted. "You think Rural Squad Two is gonna respond to a distress signal way the hell out here?"

"Not if their paychecks are as shitty as their response times."

Maria hopped out next, rolling her shoulders like a boxer before a bout. Her chain-sickle was clipped securely to her belt, but her fingers itched around the weapon's grip already. "They said it's a monster, right? Not just another Ashen?"

"Didn't say much at all," Flare replied. "Just panic. Breathing hard. Then static. Dispatch finally got a hold of the farm's backup relay. Looks like someone got their hands on some older tech — we'll have to talk to them through an entry console."

"Classy," Maria muttered.

Caim and Claire exited last. He looked out of place in the sun, his red armor catching too much light, too bright against the fields. He shuffled his greatsword from his shoulder to his back and adjusted the straps nervously.

Claire stretched high, groaning dramatically. "Oooh, do you feel that? That's a kill waiting in the grass."

"Could be nothing," Caim muttered, already doubting himself. "Just a sensor malfunction or, like, a cow."

"A cow that needed a panic room?"

Claire teased. "C'mon, fireball, loosen up."

It's not nothing, Flare thought to himself, eyes still scanning the gentle rise of the land ahead. It's too still.

They approached the house slowly — a

farmhouse buried in the center of a wide plain. Two silos stood like twin guardians beside it, casting long shadows in the afternoon light. Everything looked like a photograph of peace. But the team didn't let their guard down. Not here.

The panic button beacon led them to a

tall pole by the front gate, where an old but still functional video doorbell console buzzed with a faint green LED. Flare tapped the surface. The screen flickered, distorted… then focused.

On the screen, a frightened older woman appeared, her face pale and streaked with sweat. Behind her were other shapes — three, maybe four adults huddled in what looked like a concrete-walled panic room.

"Please—please tell me you're the Slayers."

"We are," Flare said calmly. "This is Lieutenant Nacht. We're your local district's active squad."

She seemed on the verge of tears. "It was my husband. He went out to check the generator this morning, get some air. We—we heard him screaming. But it wasn't pain, it was rage. Like he was fighting someone. When I looked from the bedroom window… I swear to God, he was still wearing his clothes, but he wasn't human anymore. He—he had horns. And claws. And he was tearing up the barn like it insulted him."

Her voice cracked.

"I locked everyone in here. Please… please stop him. Or it. I don't know anymore."

Flare exchanged a glance with Marcos.

"Did he die recently?" Maria asked gently, stepping forward.

The woman blinked. "Heart problems. Years of it. He always worked too hard. He said he just needed air—"

"That's all we need," Marcos cut in, tone oddly soft. "Ma'am, you did good. Stay inside. We'll handle it from here."

The screen went dark.

They found the barn half-collapsed.

Wheat dust filled the air like smoke. Flare held up a fist, signaling silence. The team fanned out — Flare and Marcos moved forward, shoulder to shoulder, while the twins peeled left and Maria hung right near the tree line. The wind shifted again, and with it came a deep snorting sound, like a bull's breath amplified by a throat no longer meant for

breathing.

Then came the footsteps.

Heavy. Slow. Deliberate.

From the remains of the barn emerged a

thing that had once been a man.

Its skin was cracked and dry, torn like paper over wood, revealing the unnatural muscle beneath. It had the skeletal form of a Minotaur — not one of legend, but a corrupted, malformed version. It stood easily ten feet tall, horns curved forward like blades. Its face still bore the tattered remnants of a human beard — just white, singed threads clinging to a warped jaw.

Claire stopped bouncing on her heels. "That's not a cow."

Caim muttered, "That was a person."

"No time to mourn," Flare said.

The creature charged.

The twins met it first.

Claire lunged high, flipping off a fallen beam and slicing at its elbow. Her acidic blades bit in, sizzling flesh and spraying black, corrupted blood. Caim followed from below, shouting, "Explosion!" as his blade detonated into its side, rocking the beast slightly off-balance.

But it didn't roar. It didn't flail.

It shifted, its weight deliberately moved to feint collapse, then snapped its massive arm sideways — aiming right for Caim.

Flare's heart stuttered.

Ashen don't do that.

They don't trick. They rush. They attack. They don't feint.

"Caim, MOVE!" Marcos bellowed.

But Caim, caught in his follow-through, didn't see the blow coming.

He didn't have to.

Because Flare was already there.

A crack of thunder split the air as Flare's sword — lightning-infused and thrumming with violent arcs — sliced clean through the creature's forearm just before it struck. Blood sprayed in a steaming arc. The limb hit the ground with a heavy thud, twitching violently.

Caim stumbled back, eyes wide. Ash splattered across his face, his armor. He panted hard, blinking at Flare, guilt twisting his features.

"I—"

"Later," Flare snapped.

The creature staggered, screaming for the first time — a horrid, wet bellow that echoed into the sky. Claire landed behind it, slicing its hamstring before darting back.

Caim clenched his grip again, this time without hesitation.

"FOR THE BARN!" he shouted.

His blade plunged into the beast's chest — and detonated again, this time deeper, ripping its core apart from the inside. The creature stumbled backward… then fell.

When it hit the ground, it didn't thrash. It didn't reach. It simply lay there, trembling.

Its horned face tilted slightly toward Flare.

And for a moment… its eyes cleared.

Just for a second.

And in that second, Flare saw the pain.

The sorrow.

The soul.

And then it turned to ash.

Caim dropped to one knee. "I should've seen that. I— I thought I had the opening."

Claire squatted beside him, poking his face. "Hey. Don't mope. You didn't die. And I didn't die. And Lieutenant Daddy Lightning saved you, so chin up."

Maria approached with a canteen. "Drink. Shake it off. That was… not normal."

"No," Marcos said, slower this time. His gaze hadn't left the fading remains of the Minotaur. "It wasn't."

Flare finally broke his silence.

"Ashen don't set traps."

"No," Marcos agreed. "They don't."

His jaw clenched.

"But this one did."