Chapter 3: No Retreat
Kelvin collapsed against the wall. The bunker was a tomb of shadows, the air in there were stale and heavy with the scent of ancient metal. His eyes adjusted, getting hold on faint light from cracked pipes overhead.
He tore a strip from his shirt, wrapping it around his bleeding thigh, and he forced himself to stand up. The hounds wouldn’t give up, they continued to rage at the door and the storm would only draw worse Riftborn.
Kelvin needed a way out, or something to trade for his life. He limped deeper, his spear tapping the floor like a blind man’s cane. The bunker was a maze of corridors, its walls etched with faded symbols, pre-apocalypse warnings, or tamer runes.
Kelvin’s knowledge of tamers were scraps, patched together from wasteland rumors. There were warlords, binding Riftborn beasts with sigils, ruling strongholds while scavengers like him scratched out a life. He had seen a tamer once, a woman with a hawk-beast that tore through a pack of hounds like paper.
That kind of power was a dream, as distant as clean water. A subtle vibration echoed through the floor, growing stronger with each step. Kelvin stopped, rounded a corner and froze.
The passage brought him into a very large chamber, the ceiling of the chamber were covered in darkness. A big steel vault stood at the center of the chamber, the surface of the steel were engraved with a spiraling runes that glowed with a ghostly crimson light.
The vibration has the ability deafen, with the vibration that his bones rattled. He approached the center with his spear raised, every instinct screaming to run. But scavengers don’t survive by running from opportunity, and that vault was not an ordinary relic.
The runes pulsed, their light blossomed as Kelvin drew near. He reached out to the steel with his fingers brushing the steel, and his nerves lit up as if it is been set ablaze, the jolt was too sudden that he could not scream, like lightning but it was cold and deeper.
The vault grunted making it seem as if it was about to split, and a wave of heat erupted, knocking Kelvin to be on his knees. The spear in his hand fell off, and his chest jerked, making him to gasp for air as the air grew thick, heavy with the scent of melted stone and ancient anger.