The world beyond the forest was worse.
Shadow crested the blackened ridge and gazed out over a valley of broken earth and skeletal ruins.Rusting metal towers leaned like dying giants, their twisted forms casting long shadows in the blood-red light of the dying sun.
Ashborn rumbled beneath him — sensing the danger ahead.
Shadow revved the engine and descended into the valley.
The ground was littered with old bones and scraps of armor. Every few yards, a burned-out husk of a machine poked through the ash like a tombstone. Silent, abandoned. But Shadow knew better.
Nothing stayed dead for long in the Ashlands.
Halfway through the valley, the earth trembled.A low growl echoed from the ruins.From beneath a collapsed tower, creatures emerged — twisted by radiation, their flesh hanging in tatters, their limbs fused with broken weapons and scrap metal.
Mutants.
At least a dozen.
Their eyes glowed with a sickly green light as they charged at him, howling for blood.
Shadow smiled beneath his cracked helmet.
"Come," he whispered, voice like a storm.
Ashborn roared to life, flames bursting from its wheels, and Shadow drew the broken blade strapped to his back — a sword blackened by fire and still humming with ancient fury.
The first mutant lunged — and died mid-air, cleaved in two by a single sweep of Shadow's sword.
The battle had begun.And Shadow was hungry.