Not All Monsters Crawl

Sliver had never ridden in anything this quiet before.

The crawler rumbled, but it wasn't like the Hive trams or the old turbine haulers. Those screamed, groaned, and jolted like dying animals. This was steady. Patient. It moved like a creature that had learned to survive by never rushing.

The road had vanished hours ago. Just stretches of black rock and broken rebar now—ancient slag turned glassy from the heat of something that once burned too hot. Trees grew sideways here, if they could be called trees. Gnarled, red, and thick with veins, they moved slightly when no one looked directly at them.

Sliver sat with his back against a crate, wrapped in a faded thermal blanket someone had handed him without a word. The others mostly ignored him. That was fine. He preferred it.

He still couldn't stop hearing the voice.

It wasn't Ren's, or anyone from the caravan. It was the other one. The one in his blood. The one that had woken him up.

He pressed a hand to his chest. The marks were still there—thin violet lines running down his forearms, pulsing faintly when he breathed too fast. They felt like living ink beneath his skin. Like something was watching.

He hadn't told anyone. He didn't know how. Didn't know if he should.

"You sleep with your eyes open now?"

Sliver jumped. One of the caravan boys had wandered over—probably fifteen, maybe younger. He had patchy stubble and wore a jacket three sizes too big. He was chewing something red.

"Name's Elty," the kid said, plopping down across from him. "You're quiet. That makes people think you're dangerous."

Sliver remained silent.

Elty grinned. "You are dangerous, right?"

Still no response.

The boy leaned in a little. "Look, I don't care if you're a freak, or touched, or born out of some reactor core. Just don't try to eat anyone."

Sliver blinked. "I don't eat people."

"Good. The last guy we picked up tried to bite Tammel's ear off while he slept. We left him under a bridge."

He stood up, still chewing loudly. "Don't get killed before we reach the Wall. They don't let dead ones in."

Then he wandered off.

Sliver watched him for a while. The strange part wasn't how the kid talked—it was how normal it felt. Like they were still people. Still something close to human. Still trying.

That night, the caravan stopped near a husk town—just concrete frames and shattered glass, overgrown with glowing blue fungus. A few scavengers set up perimeter lights. Some people gathered around a fire to sing—badly, but loudly.

Ren stood off to the side, scanning the skyline.

Sliver couldn't sleep. Not because of the cold, or hunger, or the way the fungus kept pulsing like it was breathing. It was the sound.

He heard it long before the others.

It wasn't a howl. Not exactly. It was deeper. A dragging sound. Wet and heavy. Like a thousand pieces of meat being pulled across gravel.

He sat up.

Ren was already moving.

"Elty," she barked. "Wake the rigs. We're not staying."

Sliver got to his feet. "What is it?"

She didn't answer. Just looked at him with a strange tightness in her jaw.

Then he saw it.

Out past the shattered buildings. A figure.

Tall. Too tall. Bent in half, its spine arched like a hook. Long arms dragged through the muck. Its head—no, heads. Four of them, stitched together down the neck. Faces screaming in different directions.

And it was sniffing the air. Looking for them.

Ren cursed under her breath. "Leftover Voidspawn. It probably crawled up from the Gulf line. We need to move. Now."

The others scrambled. Engines roared to life. Lights went dark. Someone dropped a pan.

The creature twitched.

Sliver felt it before it moved. A pulse in the marks on his arms—like a warning. It knew.

The monster charged.

No roar. No battle cry. Just a blur of bone, limbs, and gnashing teeth.

Sliver didn't think. He moved.

One of the caravan guards raised a rifle and was thrown ten meters into a wall before he even pulled the trigger. The creature didn't stop. It tore through the first crawler like it was paper, snapping steel like twigs.

Sliver leapt forward, sliding under debris, dragging someone out of the wreck.

Then it looked at him.

No—felt him.

It knew him.

The marks on his skin burned. He staggered and dropped to one knee. The world pulsed violet.

The voice came back.

Not all monsters crawl. Some are born. Some are made. You are neither. You are what comes after.

"Shut up," he hissed, grabbing his knife.

But it wasn't the knife that saved him.

It was his hand.

Instinct kicked in. He raised it just as the beast lunged.

And something came out of him.

A blast of light. Sharp and violet. Like liquid fire, speared through with static. It slammed into the monster's chest and knocked it back. Not far—but enough.

Ren saw it. Everyone saw it.

Sliver stood there, arm still outstretched, skin still glowing.