The bunker's exit spat them out into a wasteland of cracked earth and jagged rock formations, the air thick with the scent of dust and something metallic—like old blood or rusted iron. The sky above was a bruised purple, streaked with veins of amber where the sun fought to pierce the haze.
Wu Hei wiped the grime from his face, his fingers brushing the twin shards at his chest. The fire shard pulsed warmly, a reassuring presence against the desolation around them. Behind him, Yuna and Kael emerged, their expressions grim. Róng Róng stumbled out last, his face pale beneath his beard.
"Where the hell are we now?" the dwarf muttered, squinting at the barren expanse.
Wu Hei unfolded the map they'd looted from the worm. The southern swamp was now entirely swallowed by inky darkness, and the bunker they'd fled was a mere speck on the parchment. Ahead, the terrain was labeled in jagged script: The Outskirts.
"Gold miners," Yuna said, reading over his shoulder. Her feline ears twitched. "Bandits. Monsters." She smirked. "Charming."
Kael cracked his knuckles. "At least it's not another damn swamp."
A gust of wind howled across the plains, kicking up spirals of dust. In the distance, something glinted—a flicker of unnatural light. Wu Hei's grip tightened on the map.
"That way," he said.
The Outskirts were deceptively quiet. The cracked earth gave way to shallow ravines, their walls pockmarked with mine shafts and crude wooden supports. Abandoned carts littered the paths, their contents long since looted. The air smelled of gunpowder and decay.
Róng Róng nudged a rusted pickaxe with his boot. "Friendly place."
"Stay sharp," Wu Hei murmured. His instincts, honed by years of gaming, screamed that they were being watched.
The ambush came without warning.
A whip-crack split the air, and a bullet ricocheted off the rock beside Wu Hei's head. He dove for cover, rolling behind a collapsed mine cart as more shots rang out.
"Bandits!" Yuna hissed, already moving, her lithe form a blur as she scaled a nearby boulder for higher ground.
Kael cursed, summoning a barrier of hardened mud just in time to block another volley. Róng Róng, meanwhile, had already yanked his half-finished fursuit over his head—this time mimicking a gnarled, twisted shrub.
Wu Hei peered around the cart. Three figures crouched on the ridge above, their faces obscured by ragged scarves. Bandits, armed with rifles that looked cobbled together from scrap metal. One of them reloaded with practiced ease, his eyes gleaming with malice.
"Drop your shards," the lead bandit called, his voice rough. "And we'll make it quick."
Wu Hei exhaled. Idiots.
He glanced at Kael, who gave a barely perceptible nod. Then—
Yuna struck first. She leaped from the boulder, claws extended, and landed atop one bandit with a snarl. The man barely had time to scream before she raked her talons across his throat.
Kael's barrier dissolved into a storm of razor-sharp mud shards, pelting the second bandit. The man staggered, his rifle slipping from his grasp as the projectiles tore through his flesh.
Wu Hei didn't wait for the third to react. He ignited his fire shard and hurled a searing arc of flames. The bandit's scarf caught fire, his panicked shrieks cut short as the inferno consumed him.
Silence settled over the ravine.
Róng Róng peeked out from his shrub disguise. "…Are we done?"
Wu Hei stepped over the smoldering remains, kicking aside a discarded rifle. "For now."
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the wasteland as they pressed onward. The encounter with the bandits had left them wary, their senses attuned to every rustle of wind, every shift of gravel underfoot.
Then, as they crested a rise, the landscape shifted.
A town sprawled before them—ramshackle wooden buildings with peeling paint, their porches sagging under the weight of time. A saloon's sign swung lazily in the breeze, its letters faded but still legible: The Dusty Gullet. Horses (or creatures resembling horses) stood hitched outside, their coats patchy and eyes too intelligent.
And the people—
Wu Hei's breath caught.
The townsfolk moved like ghosts, their faces gaunt, their clothes tattered. Some wore wide-brimmed hats, others had bandanas pulled high over their mouths. But what struck him most were their eyes. Hollow. Resigned. As if they'd long since accepted their fate in this purgatory.
"A western town?" Kael muttered, disbelieving.
Yuna's tail flicked. "More like a graveyard pretending to be one."
Róng Róng adjusted his fursuit nervously. "Do we… go in?"
Wu Hei hesitated. Every instinct told him to skirt around, to avoid whatever nightmare this place held. But the map in his hand showed no other path—the darkness was closing in from the south, and the northern route led straight through this town.
He exhaled. "We need supplies. And information."
As if on cue, the saloon's doors creaked open. A figure stepped onto the porch—tall, clad in a duster coat, a revolver gleaming at his hip. His face was hidden beneath the shadow of his hat, but his voice carried clearly across the dusty street.
"Strangers," he drawled. "You're either very brave… or very stupid."
Wu Hei met his gaze. "Depends on the day."
The man chuckled, low and humorless. "Then welcome to Nowhere."