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Their twisted bodies, bound tightly in coarse ropes, scraped and thudded across the ground. A slick trail of black ichor seeped from the creatures, staining the road like dark blood.

The sickening squelch of their flesh against the concrete echoed in the desolate silence, the only sound in the eerie stillness of the fallen city.

Neigh! Neigh! Neigh!

Lyerin's ear ignored their calls, he was moving slowly with his breath controlled and steady. He pulled with a slow, deliberate strength, his muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythm as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

The eldritch beasts were massive, their bodies grotesque amalgamations of limbs, eyes, and fangs.

Their forms were unnatural, wrong, and their mere existence seemed to warp the space around them. But to Lyerin, they were just another task, the last one he could bear for the sake of his tribe. He had done this countless times earlier, and finally, this would be the last time.

But to this very moment, something was different.

Lyerin's mind wasn't fully on the task of the system's mission. His thoughts kept drifting back to the humans he had seen earlier.

They had been scurrying through the ruins like frightened rats, their faces pale, their eyes wide with fear.

A strange sight in this forsaken place. Humans hadn't been in this city for days—no, weeks. Not since the apocalypse first tore it apart and left it to rot.

Even when he collected tires, they were not here.

A part of Lyerin regretted not taking them.

They could have been useful, could have bolstered his tribe's numbers. But the fleshers—the mindless, ravenous creatures that now roamed the street—would have descended on them in an instant.

They were drawn to human flesh, and if they had come, Lyerin's mission would have been jeopardized. He had no time to fight off fleshers and secure his prize. No, he had to stay focused, had to remain cautious.

As he dragged the eldritch beasts closer to the city's edge, Lyerin began to mull over the presence of the humans. I'm sure there's a reason why they are here. But why were they here? he asked himself, the question sounded so important the more he tried to force himself on not analyzing it.

Yet, he couldn't keep it.

There was no good reason for them to be here, not in this city. It was the first to fall when the apocalypse came. There was nothing left of value, nothing but death and decay.

Lyerin muttered under his breath, making his voice barely sound more than a growl in the dark. "Why now? They weren't here before... Did they come for something?" He shook his head, dismissing the idea.

There was nothing here. No supplies, no shelter.

The buildings were empty husks, stripped of anything that could sustain life.

"Maybe they're scouts, sent to check if the city is safe..." But that made no sense either. If they were scouts, they would have been better equipped, more organized. The ones Lyerin had seen were disoriented, unprepared for the horrors that lurked in the shadows. "A trap, maybe... but for who? For what?" He frowned, his brow furrowing in frustration.

The more he thought about it, the less sense it made.

"They're not vaccinated," he muttered, his voice barely audible. The vaccine that turned ordinary humans into more powerful eldritch beings was also here, but he is sure it needed to take time.

Suddenly, a cold shiver crawled down Lyerin's spine, settling like ice at the base of his neck.

There was someone—or something—playing a dangerous game, pulling strings in the shadows.

The thought lingered in his mind, a persistent itch that he couldn't scratch. It tingles in the back of his head, a nagging sensation that refuses to be ignored.

But he couldn't afford to be distracted. He needed to complete his mission, to deliver these eldritch beasts to his tribe. If he succeeded, he would be the strongest, the most powerful among them.

No one would challenge him, not even the ancient families who ruled the earth from the shadows since ancient times. Like the Borgias, with their ancient bloodlines and secretive rituals...

Lyerin would stay low, out of sight, until he was ready. Then, and only then, would he strike and turn them into dust.

He shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts from his mind. He had to focus. Just a little further, and he would be done. But as he took another step, a distant sound made him freeze.

*Thwup-thwup-thwup-thwup.*

A rhythmic thumping, growing louder, cutting through the silence like a knife.

The air vibrated with the sound, a low hum that resonated in Lyerin's chest. His heart skipped a beat, and he stopped in his tracks, the eldritch beasts falling silent behind him.

"Huh?"

Lyerin's eyes widened, and then he felt his breath caught in his throat. His face, usually impassive and calm, twisted into an expression of shock. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as realization dawned on him. His lips moved, but no sound came out at first. Then, barely above a whisper, he muttered, "Don't tell me..."

Memories flooded back, unbidden and unwanted.

The games, the twisted competitions held by the Leading Families.

They would send their kin into the most dangerous areas, pitting them against each other in deadly battles.

Sometimes for treasure, for territory, for power, and for other reasons that hit egos. And if there wasn't a dangerous area? They would create one.

The humans...

They weren't here by accident.

They were here because of the scheme of leading families.

They were sacrificial lambs.

Lyerin finally understood.

They were pawns, pieces on a board in a game that Lyerin had no desire to play. His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of the puzzle. "Oh no..." he whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.

As if in response to his growing dread, the sound grew louder, closer.

Lyerin's eldritch-enhanced hearing picked up every nuance, every beat of the blades slicing through the air. He could pinpoint its location with terrifying precision—a mile away, heading straight for his direction.

He turned slowly, with his eyes narrowing as they searched the horizon. And there it was, a black silhouette against the dark sky, hovering just above the ruins.

The thumping grew louder, more insistent, the vibrations rattling through Lyerin's bones.

"Release the parasitic worms!"

The command echoed through the air, carrying on the wind to Lyerin's ears. His blood ran cold.

He was in a game!

Lyerin's eyes blazed with a cold fury, his calm demeanor shattered by the realization that he had been outplayed. But there was no time for regret, no time for second-guessing. His mind snapped back to the present, to the immediate threat that loomed above him.

The Leading Families had brought their games, they picked the perfect place.

The place where he was just done setting up his tribe!

"These bastards!"

His grip tightened on the ropes that bound the eldritch beasts. His knuckles turned white as he braced himself for the battle to come. He had fought off fleshers, conquered cities, and hunted eldritch horrors in this apocalypse. But this?

This was different.

This is a game.

But also, war!