A Conquered World. The Void's Edge.
The sky was red.
Not the red of sunset—the red of blood, of fire, of a world that had been burned and broken and remade in Vorlag's image. The ground was black, cracked, veined with glowing lines that pulsed like veins. The air was thick, hot, hard to breathe.
The hunters moved through the ruins like smoke.
They had been searching for weeks. Months. Following the trail of the failed vessel across a dozen worlds—scorched earth, broken portals, the remains of creatures killed by something other than Vorlag's armies.
They were close.
The lead hunter stopped. Held up its hand.
"I feel him," it said.
The second hunter moved to stand beside it. "Where?"
The lead hunter pointed. "There."
---
The ruins of a citadel rose before them.
The walls were shattered, the towers toppled, the gates lying broken on the ground. Bodies lay scattered across the courtyard—guardians, warriors, creatures of this world. They had fought well. They had died anyway.
The young man sat at the base of a fallen pillar.
His clothes were torn, his face was pale, his body was wounded. But his eyes were sharp, wild, aware. He had been waiting.
The hunters surrounded him.
"You can't run anymore," the lead hunter said.
The young man looked up. His eyes were dark, burning, desperate.
"I'm not running," he said. "I'm waiting."
The lead hunter tilted its head. "For what?"
The young man smiled. It was not a kind smile.
"For you."
---
The hunters moved closer.
They were more solid now, their bodies no longer translucent, their red eyes burning. The portal's return had strengthened them. The void's power flowed through their veins.
"You were supposed to be a vessel," the lead hunter said.
The young man's smile widened. "I was."
"What happened?"
The young man stood. His legs were unsteady, his body was weak, but he stood.
"I rejected being a puppet." The young man's voice was steady. "I rejected being a tool. I rejected being consumed."
The second hunter stepped forward. "Then you chose to die."
The young man met its eyes. "I chose to live."
---
The hunters attacked.
They moved fast—faster than anything that size should move. Their claws raked the air, their red eyes burned, their bodies flowed like smoke.
The young man dodged.
He was fast—faster than the hunters expected. He moved like water, like shadow, like something that had been fighting for years. His sword was in his hand, its blade dark, its edge sharp.
He parried the lead hunter's claws. Countered. Drove it back.
The second hunter lunged. He sidestepped, swung, carved a gash across its chest.
The third hunter came from behind. He spun, blocked, kicked it away.
They were stronger than him. Faster. More powerful.
But he was desperate.
---
The lead hunter paused.
"You're good," it said.
The young man didn't answer.
"But you're tired. Wounded. Dying."
The young man's chest was heaving. His arms were shaking. His sword was dripping with dark blood.
"I've been dying for a long time," he said.
The lead hunter tilted its head. "Then let us end it."
The young man smiled. "No."
---
He attacked.
Not with desperation—with purpose. His sword found the lead hunter's throat, its chest, its eyes. It staggered back, its red eyes flickering.
The second hunter lunged. The young man spun, drove his blade into its side. It screamed—a sound that echoed off the ruined walls, that made the ground shake, that made the other hunters pause.
The third hunter grabbed him from behind.
Its claws dug into his shoulders. Its red eyes burned into his neck.
"Enough," it said.
The young man struggled. Couldn't break free.
The lead hunter stepped forward.
"You fought well," it said. "But it's over."
The young man met its eyes.
"It's never over."
---
The explosion came from nowhere.
Light—white and gold and terrible—erupted from the young man's chest. The hunters screamed, staggered back, covered their eyes.
The young man fell.
The light faded.
The hunters stood in the ruins, their bodies smoking, their red eyes dim.
The young man was gone.
---
The lead hunter looked at the space where he had been.
"He escaped," it said.
The second hunter moved to stand beside it. "How?"
The lead hunter shook its head. "I don't know."
The third hunter stepped forward. "Vorlag will not be pleased."
The lead hunter was silent for a moment.
"Then we find him again."
---
They moved through the void, following the trail of light, following the echo of the explosion, following the young man who had rejected Vorlag and chosen to live.
He was wounded. Dying. Alone.
But he was alive.
And the hunters would not stop until he was found.