The static on the comms was worse than usual. “Lieutenant, are you sure these readings are right?” I muttered, squinting at the flickering holo-display. The ruins stretched beneath us—twisted metal and fractured domes, all covered in that weird bioluminescent moss. “Positive, Captain,” she replied, voice tight. “Life signs, but... not human. And they're moving.” My grip tightened on the rifle. Then the ground trembled, and the moss pulsed—like it was breathing. The lieutenant sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, hell. They know we're here.” The shadows between the ruins shifted. Watching. Waiting. I exhaled. “Time to go. Now.”

#Scratch

The thief's fingers froze an inch from the relic when the dragonbone crown began whispering in High Elvish—a language dead for centuries. “Oh hell,” muttered the rogue, just as the skeletal sentinels stirred in their alcoves, their hollow eye sockets glowing ember-red. The wizard backhanded his shoulder. “I told you touching cursed regalia was a bad career move!” From the shadows, a dry chuckle rasped—probably the lich they'd forgotten about. The rogue sighed and reached for his daggers. “Worth it.”

#Scratch

The tavern reeked of cheap wine and blood as the masked swordsman leaned against the bar, his blade still dripping. “You really had to pick a fight with all of them?” the bartender muttered, eyeing the dozen unconscious thugs scattered across the floor. The swordsman chuckled, spinning his dagger lazily. “What can I say? They insisted.” Outside, the wind howled like a vengeful spirit, and the lanterns flickered—too late, he noticed the shadow creeping along the wall. Not a man, not a beast, but something in between. The bartender paled. “You’ve got death on your heels, stranger.” He tossed back his drink and stood. “Yeah, well. Death’s about to learn how fast I run.” The shadow lunged.

#Scratch

The alarm blared as the ship’s AI, CAL-7, flickered to life with a tired sigh. “Captain, we’ve got a problem. The gravity drive’s acting up again—third time this week.” I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Yeah, no kidding. Feels like the whole damn ship’s held together by duct tape.” Outside the viewport, the void stretched endlessly, pitch-black and humming with something... else. Then the whispers started. Not through comms, not even in my head—more like they vibrated through my bones. CAL-7’s voice turned staticky. “Uh, boss? You hearing this too?” I swallowed hard. “We’re not alone out here.” The lights dimmed, and the shadows moved. Wrong.

#Scratch