Mission: Edge of Reach
The wheat fields looked like oceans
under a golden sun — waves of soft grain brushing against one another, stirred
by the same slow wind that carried the taste of dust and distance. There was
nothing out here but silence and the swaying of stalks. No screams. No
movement. No obvious threat. And that was already too strange.
Flare Nacht stepped from the transport
first, his boots crunching through the dry edge of the gravel road before
sinking slightly into soil. He scanned the horizon instinctively, his
blue-green eyes narrowed beneath the faint flicker of the sunshield interface
in his visor. Dust swirled at ankle height. The quiet rustled like a warning.
He could feel it in his bones — not the pulse of danger, not yet, but the shape
of something off.
"Definitely looks like we're just
outside the boundary," Marcos said from behind him, dropping down with a thud
that vibrated through the ground. "GPS clocked it fifteen meters past our
city's jurisdiction line. Technically, this should be Rural Squad Two's mess."
He was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Flare grunted. "You think Rural Squad
Two is gonna respond to a distress signal way the hell out here?"
"Not if their paychecks are as shitty
as their response times."
Maria hopped out next, rolling her
shoulders like a boxer before a bout. Her chain-sickle was clipped securely to
her belt, but her fingers itched around the weapon's grip already. "They said
it's a monster, right? Not just another Ashen?"
"Didn't say much at all," Flare
replied. "Just panic. Breathing hard. Then static. Dispatch finally got a hold
of the farm's backup relay. Looks like someone got their hands on some older
tech — we'll have to talk to them through an entry console."
"Classy," Maria muttered.
Caim and Claire exited last. He looked
out of place in the sun, his red armor catching too much light, too bright
against the fields. He shuffled his greatsword from his shoulder to his back
and adjusted the straps nervously.
Claire stretched high, groaning
dramatically. "Oooh, do you feel that? That's a kill waiting in the grass."
"Could be nothing," Caim muttered,
already doubting himself. "Just a sensor malfunction or, like, a cow."
"A cow that needed a panic room?"
Claire teased. "C'mon, fireball, loosen up."
It's not nothing, Flare thought to
himself, eyes still scanning the gentle rise of the land ahead. It's too still.
They approached the house slowly — a
farmhouse buried in the center of a wide plain. Two silos stood like twin
guardians beside it, casting long shadows in the afternoon light. Everything
looked like a photograph of peace. But the team didn't let their guard down.
Not here.
The panic button beacon led them to a
tall pole by the front gate, where an old but still functional video doorbell
console buzzed with a faint green LED. Flare tapped the surface. The screen
flickered, distorted… then focused.
On the screen, a frightened older
woman appeared, her face pale and streaked with sweat. Behind her were other
shapes — three, maybe four adults huddled in what looked like a concrete-walled
panic room.
"Please—please tell me you're the
Slayers."
"We are," Flare said calmly. "This is
Lieutenant Nacht. We're your local district's active squad."
She seemed on the verge of tears. "It
was my husband. He went out to check the generator this morning. We—we heard
him screaming. But it wasn't pain, it was rage. Like he was fighting someone.
When I looked from the bedroom window… I swear to God, he was still wearing his
clothes, but he wasn't human anymore. He—he had horns. And claws. And he was
tearing up the barn like it insulted him."
Her voice cracked.
"I locked everyone in here. Please…
please stop him. Or it. I don't know anymore."
Flare exchanged a glance with Marcos.
"Did he die recently?" Maria asked
gently, stepping forward.
The woman blinked. "Heart problems.
Years of it. He always worked too hard. He said he just needed air—"
"That's all we need," Marcos cut in, tone
oddly soft. "Ma'am, you did good. Stay inside. We'll handle it from here."
The screen went dark.
They found the barn half-collapsed.
Wheat dust filled the air like smoke.
Flare held up a fist, signaling silence. The team fanned out — Flare and Marcos
moved forward, shoulder to shoulder, while the twins peeled left and Maria hung
right near the tree line. The wind shifted again, and with it came a deep
snorting sound, like a bull's breath amplified by a throat no longer meant for
breathing.
Then came the footsteps.
Heavy. Slow. Deliberate.
From the remains of the barn emerged a
thing that had once been a man.
Its skin was cracked and dry, torn
like paper over wood, revealing the unnatural muscle beneath. It had the
skeletal form of a Minotaur — not one of legend, but a corrupted, malformed
version. It stood easily ten feet tall, horns curved forward like blades. Its
face still bore the tattered remnants of a human beard — just white, singed
threads clinging to a warped jaw.
Claire stopped bouncing on her heels.
"That's not a cow."
Caim muttered, "That was a person."
"No time to mourn," Flare said.
The creature charged.
The twins met it first.
Claire lunged high, flipping off a
fallen beam and slicing at its elbow. Her acidic blades bit in, sizzling flesh
and spraying black, corrupted blood. Caim followed from below, shouting,
"Explosion!" as his blade detonated into its side, rocking the beast slightly
off-balance.
But it didn't roar. It didn't flail.
It shifted, its weight deliberately
moved to feint collapse, then snapped its massive arm sideways — aiming right
for Caim.
Flare's heart stuttered.
Ashen don't do that.
They don't trick. They rush. They
attack. They don't feint.
"Caim, MOVE!" Marcos bellowed.
But Caim, caught in his
follow-through, didn't see the blow coming.
He didn't have to.
Because Flare was already there.
A crack of thunder split the air as
Flare's sword — lightning-infused and thrumming with violent arcs — sliced
clean through the creature's forearm just before it struck. Blood sprayed in a
steaming arc. The limb hit the ground with a heavy thud, twitching violently.
Caim stumbled back, eyes wide. Ash
splattered across his face, his armor. He panted hard, blinking at Flare, guilt
twisting his features.
"I—"
"Later," Flare snapped.
The creature staggered, screaming for
the first time — a horrid, wet bellow that echoed into the sky. Claire landed
behind it, slicing its hamstring before darting back.
Caim clenched his grip again, this
time without hesitation.
"FOR THE BARN!" he shouted.
His blade plunged into the beast's
chest — and detonated again, this time deeper, ripping its core apart from the
inside. The creature stumbled backward… then fell.
When it hit the ground, it didn't
thrash. It didn't reach. It simply lay there, trembling.
Its horned face tilted slightly toward
Flare.
And for a moment… its eyes cleared.
Just for a second.
And in that second, Flare saw the
pain.
The sorrow.
The soul.
And then it turned to ash.
Caim dropped to one knee. "I should've
seen that. I— I thought I had the opening."
Claire squatted beside him, poking his
face. "Hey. Don't mope. You didn't die. And I didn't die. And Lieutenant Daddy
Lightning saved you, so chin up."
Maria approached with a canteen.
"Drink. Shake it off. That was… not normal."
"No," Marcos said, slower this time.
His gaze hadn't left the fading remains of the Minotaur. "It wasn't."
Flare finally broke his silence.
"Ashen don't set traps."
"No," Marcos agreed. "They don't."
His jaw clenched.
"But this one did."