The scarlet sky bled into a sickly green shroud, streaked with golden lightning that zigzagged like exposed arteries in an open wound. To the traveler, landscapes like this were no longer a rarity. The air carried the density of an invisible acid, and the wind—sharp as a blade—could dismember a man in the blink of an eye.
Soaring through that suspended hell, an abominable creature—half spider, half winged crustacean, with torn membranes and a body plated in black chitin—glided between the fiery flashes. Upon its back, encased in armor of arcane technology and living circuitry, the traveler waited, restless.
A grin spread from ear to ear beneath his helmet.
The amulet. That relic of immeasurable power, hidden on this dying planet by an old Worldwalker, was within his reach. With it, he would stop running. At last, it would be his turn to hunt.
A dry, humorless laugh escaped his lips.
"Just a little more…"
And then everything stopped.
He felt it before it happened. The lightning froze midair, gusts of wind fell silent, and an absolute, unnatural stillness blanketed the dimension like a shroud. Even the pulse of existence itself seemed to falter.
From the alien heavens of that world, a formless darkness began to devour the sky.
«Damn it… how did it find me so fast?»
For a fleeting instant, forbidden emotions—rage, terror, despair—threatened to overwhelm him. But his neural implant severed them at once, restoring a cold, surgical calm.
He drew a deep breath.
A burst of energy exploded from his body, sending out a bluish shockwave that momentarily tore through the surrounding darkness. The air crackled, arcs of pure electricity danced around him.
Wasting no time, he raised a hand and pulled metals from the atmosphere with a single gesture. Crude golems emerged from the ground, forged from stray minerals and discarded debris. Directionless and unformed, he hurled them at the encroaching void, buying precious seconds.
Around him, rings of golden energy began to spin. Power condensed at his core like a collapsing star, devouring even the residual heat of the universe. For a moment, he was no longer flesh and metal: he was conscious, unbound will.
"Zhal'korath ven'thura nax'zeroth! Vaal'kareth shun'dal mor'akhen!" he roared. "Let the fabric of dimensions burn and rupture. Let the primordial storm devour my enemy."
The darkness flickered—and in doing so, revealed what lay hidden within: malformed horrors, impossible faces, whispering mouths, anatomies that defied reason.
With effort, he bent his assault, accelerating it. The living lightning cut through what remained of the atmosphere, seeking a pocket of absolute void.
There, a figure awaited.
For a heartbeat, its vaguely humanoid face twisted into a grotesque grin, crammed with yellowed teeth. Then it opened its mouth.
And the universe shattered.
An inconceivable fissure devoured the entire attack.
The traveler broke into a cold sweat. Not even his neural implants could dull the jolt of terror that seized him. Fear clung to him like a viscous shroud. Without thinking, without even reaching for his wand, he tore through space itself with sheer will. A flickering blue portal opened before him.
As long as there was breath in his body, there would be vengeance.
But before he could cross it, a voice—dark, distant, and yet impossibly close—slid beside his ear.
"You won't escape," it whispered. The words sounded like nails scraping damp stone. "Wherever you run… I'll find you."
A shadowed hand rose, releasing a bolt of black energy that struck the traveler's back the very instant he crossed the portal.
Naples, Italy
September 12, 2023
At that hour of the night, Piazza del Gesù Nuovo was nearly deserted. Only a few stragglers remained—lost tourists and those hurrying home after another long, poorly paid day of work. People like him.
The wind chased stray leaves and crumpled papers across the square, while a light drizzle blurred the streetlamps.
Giotto stopped beside the fountain. Sweat drenched his face, and he panted from exertion. His weight didn't make the trek any easier. At least his building was close now.
"If my parents could see me like this…"
The full moon hung over Naples like a cruel joke. By now, he had long since given up hoping for miracles, catastrophes, or anything that might shake his formless, directionless existence.
He lingered a moment longer under the moon before resuming his walk, letting out a short, humorless laugh.
He smiled to himself, picturing his parents' faces—disappointment thinly disguised as pity, before lavishing praise on the wonderful, perfect Stefano.
It had been three years since he left his parents' home in Lucca to make a name for himself in Naples with his software company. And now he worked at a second-rate pizzeria.
«¿How the hell did my life end up like this?»
He ran a hand across his forehead, wiping away sweat and brushing back a few stray blonde strands that were beginning to fall into his green eyes.
Woof
A dog barked in the distance, somewhere down a dark alley, making Giotto jump. He quickened his pace, narrowly dodging a car barreling down the street well over the speed limit.
For a brief instant, his skin prickled; every hair on his body stood on end, as if an electric current had passed through him.
He touched his arm, rubbing the goosebumps away. No storm. No loose wires. Just an eerie dampness in the air.
His steps were heavy, but within twenty minutes his apartment building came into view.
"I need to lose some weight…"
He muttered it to himself, gasping for breath. He took one more step—and suddenly, the ground rushed up to meet him. A look of confusion crossed his face: the pavement was smooth, no potholes, no loose stones, and his laces were tied.
He tried to rise, but the ground slipped away again. An inexplicable dizziness drained his strength, and he collapsed to his knees.
A few meters away, the air began to ripple, warping like boiling water before tearing open in a circle of neon light.
Panic spread across his face. He had no idea what was happening. He struggled to his feet and tried to run toward his building, but the harder he fought to move, the weaker he felt.
When the circle completed, something shot through at breakneck speed, landing violently beside him. He turned his head to see what it was—and made out a man, or something like one. His clothes were in tatters, his face obscured by a mask of fabric that hid every feature. His breathing was shallow and ragged.
"Help!" Giotto shouted, alarmed. "Somebody call an ambulance!"
The man's body began to convulse uncontrollably, as if in the grips of a seizure. Lights flickered on in the nearby windows. He had drawn attention.
"Hang on, help's coming," Giotto called, trying to steady him. He noticed the strange weakness was gone.
He got to his feet and moved closer. He remembered the first aid course he'd taken at university. Maybe he could keep the guy stable long enough to stop him from choking.
He crouched beside him—but in an instant, a bolt of black energy shot out and hurled Giotto flat on the ground. An agonizing pain coursed through his body. He tried to scream, but only a faint moan escaped his lips.
The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the stranger slowly crumbling into dust, vanishing into the night wind.