ECHOBURN

The dust hadn't yet settled.

The tunnel mouth smoldered behind them — twisted steel, cracked stone, and limbs that no longer belonged to anything human. Blood mixed with soot. The air was still screaming, even if no one else was.

Then the air shifted.

A figure stepped out from the edge of the ruin. Silent. Barefoot. Wrapped in rags that flapped gently in the wind. He was young — no older than seventeen — but his presence made the soldiers' chests cave with unspoken fear.

Slender, tall, yet bent slightly under the burden tied to his back.

A girl.

Rope held her in place, crossed tightly over his chest and shoulders. Her long black hair was tangled and matte, swaying as he moved. She was unconscious — or worse — but he carried her like something sacred, like something final. He walked with the burden as though it had always been part of him.

Not a word.

Not a sound.

Not even a glance.

The soldiers didn't speak. No one dared raise a weapon.

And then the tunnel screamed.

Rubble shifted. A claw burst free. The beast was alive.

No — it was changed.

Twisted.

It rose from the ruin like a reawakened nightmare — more bone than flesh now, its body contorted and jagged. Its jaw hung open, teeth sharpened, ribs split outward like cracked branches. One eye glowed with murderous cognition.

It had not forgotten.

It saw the boy.

And it hated him.

With a shriek that bent the sky, it surged forward — faster than it had ever moved before.

Soldiers screamed.

Weapons raised.

It was too late.

But the boy… he moved.

He turned his body just enough to shield the girl from the initial windburst. His bare foot pivoted. His body shifted sideways — tight, efficient, ungraceful. He ducked low and slid under the monster's claw. The creature roared past, skidding into stone.

The boy was already in motion.

His arms moved with economy. No wasted gestures. No theatrics. Every step accounted for the girl on his back. He never risked exposing her. Every motion was designed to keep her from harm — even if it cost him blood.

And it did.

The beast turned. A claw clipped his ribs. He stumbled, his body jerking from the blow. A splash of blood hit the rocks. His mouth twitched — but he didn't scream.

He never screamed.

Instead, he lunged again.

Knee to jaw.

Elbow to neck.

Spinning sweep that knocked the beast's balance away. The monster caught itself and roared in fury, tail crashing through a concrete barrier. Debris rained down, peppering the boy's back.

Still, he did not fall.

Still, he did not speak.

Still… he carried her.

The fight spiraled into carnage.

They clashed like beasts — claw to fist, fang to bone. The boy bled. His lip split. His shoulder dislocated. But he never stopped moving. Every dodge was a pivot. Every strike followed collapse. The girl's body never touched the ground.

Then — it came.

The creature lunged one final time.

Straight on.

Mouth wide.

Death absolute.

The boy's foot dug in. One second. One choice. He shifted his stance — not back, but forward. Dropped low. Fist clenched.

He struck.

Straight into its center.

There was no magic. No aura. No supernatural glow.

Just impact.

Like lightning in reverse — all force, no light.

The monster's chest buckled.

Its spine cracked audibly. The force of the blow folded its entire ribcage inward. Internal pressure met external collapse — and the result was detonation.

An explosion from flesh.

A shockwave surged from the creature's core — a ring of impact that vaporized dust, sent soldiers flying, and shattered the far wall of the collapsed complex.

The air flattened. A low hum rippled through the earth.

When it cleared… nothing moved.

The monster lay ruined — its chest blown open, its legs twisted at impossible angles. Smoke curled from its cavity. One of its eyes blinked once. Then closed forever.

Silence.

The boy stood above it — shaking, chest heaving, bleeding from the forehead. His feet were raw. His left hand trembled.

But he was still standing.

And she was still on his back.

Then—

A sound of sandals over stone.

Someone else approached.

From the edge of the battlefield, a figure appeared — white robes brushing against the ground, hair silver and loose in the wind. Calm eyes. A presence like something watching the storm from above.

Torin.

He stopped a few feet away from the boy, eyes narrowing.

"…Who the hell…"

He trailed off. Because he realized—this wasn't one of his team.

This wasn't anyone he knew.

This wasn't normal.

The boy didn't answer.

He just looked at Torin — one, long, unreadable look.

Then, without a sound…

He collapsed to his knees.

The girl shifted slightly with him, arms still tied. Unmoving. Silent. Still breathing.

And in the stunned quiet, with the dust just beginning to fall…

Torin exhaled.