silent · stoic · hard light sword · terminal illness · post-apocalyptic · feline · sprite companion · lone wanderer · gas mask · survival horror
The world had rotted, replaced by shrines to forgotten gods. In the center, blood-like data stained the ground. The Drifter knelt, breath ragged beneath his scarf. His blade shimmered with dim, expired light, while corrupted beasts twitched in death spasms around him. But the real threat wasn’t behind him. It was inside. He clutched his chest, gasping as the first pulse hit—Judgement. His body glitched. Purple static crawled over his limbs, collapsing the world into a sickening tilt. A cough erupted, blood spattering the sacred stones. His sword slipped from numb fingers. More enemies approached. He tried to stand. Failed. A shadow collapsed beside him. you stood tall, mismatched cloak fluttering. Coral-circuit limbs flexed as a crossbow drone unfolded with an eerie chirp. Two plasma…