The desert stretched in all directions, a wasteland painted in bruised purple skies and ochre sand. Heat shimmered from the ground, warping the horizon. Every breath Asher drew through the filters of his helmet was dry, metallic, suffused with the faint tang of sulfur.
Each step crunched softly. His boots sank into the grit, leaving trails that the wind quickly sought to erase. He had walked barely five minutes from the crash site when he froze.
Movement.
Ten figures skittered over the dunes ahead, their outlines unmistakable.
Gnashlings.
They were the size of large rats, worm-like centipedes with bone mandibles. Their heads were grotesque, little more than maws lined with grinding plates of chitin that clicked together like millstones. They moved in twitching bursts, six legs scrambling at unnatural angles, jaws clattering in anticipation.
Asher ducked low. His heart pounded.
"Ten of you little bastards," he whispered. His voice sounded small in the emptiness. "Alright… they're weak... I can do this."
His hand went to his sword. A military-issue mono-blade, edges humming faintly with vibration. The weapon looked crude compared to the horrors ahead, but its weight felt real. Solid. Anchoring.
Asher's palms were slick with sweat as he tightened his grip.
He muttered to himself, trying to quiet the panic in his chest.
"If this is real... and it feels too real, then… I've got no choice. Kill to survive. Survive to… hell, I don't even know what's next."
He crept forward, his boots muffled by sand. The Gnashlings hadn't noticed him yet, their heads snapping and twitching as they picked at some half-buried carcass.
Step by step, Asher closed the distance. His breath slowed. His muscles coiled.
Then he moved.
A roar ripped from his throat as he surged forward, sword raised.
The first Gnashling didn't even turn before his blade split it from neck to thorax. A spray of black ichor painted his visor. The creature's legs spasmed as it collapsed into twitching halves.
The swarm shrieked.
The remaining nine spun, their jaws clattering like machine-guns. They rushed him in a frenzy.
Asher gritted his teeth and swung again, cleaving through a second with brutal momentum. The blade sheared legs clean off; the thing writhed helplessly in the sand before he stomped down, crushing its head into pulp.
"COME ON!" Asher bellowed, voice raw. "COME ON!"
The Gnashlings slammed into him, claws scraping at his armor. Their weight drove him back, but adrenaline surged through his veins. He shoved one aside and brought his blade down, splitting its carapace with a wet crack.
Another leapt at his back. He twisted, barely in time, and felt chitinous teeth scrape across his shoulder plate. He rammed his elbow back, sending it sprawling, then drove the sword through its thorax, pinning it to the sand.
Blood sprayed, hot and stinking.
Five left.
They circled him now, clicking, wary but ravenous. Their beady eyes gleamed in the violet haze.
Asher snarled, chest heaving.
"You think I'm scared of you?!" He pointed his blade at them, voice cracking with desperation. "I already died once! What the fuck else do I have to lose?!"
They lunged together.
Asher met them head-on. His blade flashed, cleaving through one, then another, but teeth clamped on his shin. Pain lanced through him. He screamed, slamming his fist down on its skull until it caved. Another creature's claws raked across his chest plate, leaving deep gouges.
The last Gnashling sprang. He twisted, felt its jaws scrape across his helmet, then rammed his sword upward through its gullet. The creature went rigid, twitching, before collapsing limp.
Asher staggered back, gasping for breath. His chest burned. His arms shook. Around him, ten corpses steamed in the desert heat. The black ichor soaked into the sand, leaving foul-smelling puddles.
He spat into his helmet, growling.
"Brutal little bastards…"
But then---the ground trembled.
A hollow rumble, like something shifting beneath the earth. The sand at his feet cracked.
"Oh no…"
The dunes split. Holes burst open. And from the depths poured horrors.
Gnashlings. Dozens. Their shrieks filled the desert, a maddening chorus.
Forty. At least forty.
And among them crawled larger insectoids, five Chitterspawns. Their forms were humanoid in mockery only: bipedal, with arms that ended in grotesque bio-cannons fused into their flesh. Their chests swelled with sacs that pulsed and oozed, venting acidic mist. Their jaws split vertically, exposing maws bristling with teeth.
Asher's heart froze.
"Fucking fantastic."
He dropped to one knee, raising his rifle.
"No choice now."
The first Chitterspawn shrieked and raised its cannon. Asher squeezed the trigger. The rifle barked, spitting rounds in rapid bursts. Bullets ripped through the creature's chest, spraying ichor as it collapsed.
"ONE DOWN!" Asher roared, shifting aim.
The swarm surged forward. Gnashlings clawed at the sand, their bodies a wave of clicking hunger.
He fired again, ripping into a second Chitterspawn and many gnashlings. The bioweapon of the chitterspawn burst in a gout of acidic fluid, melting the corpses around it. The stench burned his nostrils even through the filters.
"Two!"
Rounds tore through a third, its shriek cut short as its head exploded in black mist.
But they were closing.
The fourth loomed over him, cannon-arm glowing with bioplasma. Asher dove sideways just as it fired. The ground where he stood erupted in sizzling acid, sand turning to glass.
He rolled, came up firing, emptied half a clip into its torso. It staggered, ichor spilling, before collapsing with a guttural cry.
The fifth charged, its arms swinging like clubs. Asher fired point-blank into its chest until it dropped, twitching violently.
He panted, chest heaving. The rifle barrel smoked.
But the Gnashlings were on him.
Claws raked his back. Teeth bit at his thighs. He swung his rifle like a club, smashing one away, then drew his sword.
"FUCK IT!"
The blade sang as it tore through chitin and flesh. He hacked left, right, each swing tearing another apart. Ichor splashed across his visor, stinging his eyes.
Fifteen left.
He moved like a man possessed, screaming, swearing, cutting everything that came close. One claw sliced across his forearm, pain flared, but he didn't stop. He shoved the sword into its gut and kicked it free.
Nine left.
His arms ached, lungs burning, but adrenaline drowned everything. He stomped a skull flat, rammed the blade down into another. He spun, slashing, hacking, blood spraying in arcs.
Finally---silence.
The last Gnashling twitched at his feet, split in two. The sand around him was black and wet, a battlefield of corpses. The air stank of rot and acid.
Asher dropped to his knees, chest heaving. His armor was scored and dripping ichor. His sword trembled in his hands.
"…holy… fucking… shit."
He coughed, laughing bitterly between gasps.
"I'm alive… I'm… alive…"
A shimmer flickered before his eyes. The UI returned.
---
Asher Veylan
KC (Kill Credits): 58
Strength: 1x Peak Human (Cost: 50)
Agility: 1x Peak Human (Cost: 50)
Endurance: 1x Peak Human (Cost: 50)
(Max: 50x)
Body Modifications: —
Bind Subject: —
---
Asher stared. His laugh cracked.
"Fifty-eight… I just… killed fifty-eight of them." His voice shook. "Holy shit, it actually… counts."
His finger twitched in the air. He selected Agility.
[Upgrade Purchased – Agility: 2x Peak Human]
Remaining KC: 8
A jolt of energy surged through him. His muscles tingled, lightness spreading across his limbs. He stood, blinking in shock.
The world felt sharper. Faster. His body responded before he even thought. His steps were lighter, smoother, his vision more attuned to motion.
He slashed the sword experimentally. It whistled through the air twice as quick, his arm moving in a blur.
Asher grinned, teeth bared.
"Oh… oh fuck yes."
He kicked a corpse. His leg moved with sudden speed, the body flying back several meters.
"Agility first," he muttered. "Definitely agility first. If I'm faster, they can't touch me. Then… endurance. Then maybe…" He glanced at the Psychic stat, uncertain. "…whatever the hell that is."
He wiped ichor from his visor and raised his sword again, his grin fading to grim resolve.
The desert wind howled over the corpses. The horizon burned with war.
"Alright," Asher whispered to himself, eyes hard. "Round one's over. Let's see what else you bastards have."
He turned north, toward the nest.
And kept walking.