The abandoned industrial district stretched before Elior like the skeletal remains of a fallen titan. Rusting machinery and half-collapsed buildings dotted the horizon, casting jagged shadows in the dim, artificial light filtering through a polluted haze. Broken pipelines snaked across the ground like dead serpents, and pools of viscous liquid shimmered ominously. This place was a graveyard of forgotten technology, a relic of an era long past—and now, it was his refuge.
Elior leaned against a corroded support beam, his breath uneven. The events of the last few hours had left him drained, his mind struggling to reconcile the alien rules of this world. He touched the still-raw burn on his side from the enforcer’s shot, wincing. Healing magic, once a simple matter, now seemed beyond his reach.
“This world has its own rules,” he muttered. “I need to find mine.”
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As the hours dragged on, Elior’s thoughts turned to his magic. He sat cross-legged on the cracked floor of an old warehouse, the faint hum of dormant machinery serving as his only companion. Closing his eyes, he extended his hand, calling on the necromantic energy that had been his lifeblood.
The response was different—cold and fractured. He focused, drawing on the strange presence he had felt earlier. The sensation was jagged and chaotic, like grasping shards of broken glass. His magic coalesced, pulling something from the air. The very fabric of the space around him seemed to ripple as translucent figures emerged. These weren’t spirits as he knew them—they were fragmented, pixelated images of people, their forms flickering and unstable.
They screamed.
The sound tore through the silence, a cacophony of despair and agony. Elior staggered back, clutching his head. The Echoes writhed, their distorted faces twisting in torment. Snatches of memories burst forth: a woman pleading for her child, a man running through a storm of fire, a voice begging for release.
“What are you?” Elior whispered, his voice trembling. He reached out cautiously, his fingers brushing against the nearest Echo. A surge of pain and sorrow overwhelmed him, but within it, he glimpsed something else: patterns of energy, threads woven into the city’s digital structure.
“You’re part of the System,” he realized. “Trapped... used.”
The Echoes seemed to react to his words, their movements growing more frantic. One of them leaned closer, its flickering hand reaching out. Elior felt the weight of its anguish, the desperate need to be freed. He clenched his fists, his own anger rising.
“I’ll find a way to help you,” he vowed.
The Echoes dissipated, their screams fading into the void. Elior’s heart raced. This discovery was both a revelation and a burden. Whatever this System was, it held power over life and death—and it was cruel.
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A sharp noise broke his concentration. Elior’s eyes snapped open as a figure stumbled into the warehouse. A woman, barely older than himself, clutched her side, her face pale and strained. Blood trickled between her fingers, staining her tattered jacket. She spotted him and froze, her other hand pulling a small, modified pistol from her belt.
“Stay back,” she snarled, though her voice wavered with exhaustion.
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Elior raised his hands slowly, showing he was unarmed. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
She didn’t lower the weapon. Her gaze darted around the warehouse, searching for an escape. When she took a step back, her foot caught on a piece of debris, and she cried out, nearly collapsing.
“You need help,” Elior said, taking a cautious step forward. “Let me—”
“I said stay back!” she shouted, aiming the pistol directly at him.
Before she could react further, a metallic clang echoed through the space. The enforcers were here. Their crimson visors glinted in the dim light as they moved with precision, sweeping through the ruins. The woman’s expression shifted from defiance to fear.
“They’re after you?” Elior asked.
She nodded, her breathing shallow. “Corporate raid. I got caught stealing data. They won’t let me live.”
Elior reached out, ignoring the pistol still trained on him. “Let me help. I can get us out.”
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded reluctantly.
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The enforcers entered the warehouse, their movements methodical. Elior guided the woman behind a series of crates, his mind racing. He had no weapons, no allies, and limited knowledge of this world. But he had something they didn’t.
He focused, summoning the Echoes once more. The air around him shimmered, and the tortured figures appeared. Their screams were deafening, and even the enforcers hesitated at the sight. The Echoes surged forward, their fragmented forms colliding with the armored figures. Sparks flew as the enforcers’ systems short-circuited, their suits seizing under the assault.
“What the hell is that?” the woman whispered, her voice a mix of awe and terror.
“A way out,” Elior replied grimly.
They moved quickly while the enforcers were distracted, slipping through the shadows and into the maze of the industrial district. The Echoes continued their assault, holding the pursuers at bay, but Elior could feel the strain. This power was new and unstable, and it was draining him rapidly.
Finally, they reached a secluded alcove beneath a broken catwalk. The woman slumped against the wall, her pistol dropping from her trembling hand. Elior collapsed beside her, his body heavy with exhaustion.
“What did I just see?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
Elior hesitated. “I don’t know everything yet. But those… those were Echoes. Remnants of people, trapped in the System. They’re in pain, and they want to be free.”
The woman studied him, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not normal.”
He laughed bitterly. “That makes two of us.”
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As night fell, the warehouse grew colder. Elior lit a small fire using scraps of old machinery, the flames casting flickering shadows. The woman, who introduced herself as Vera, treated her wound with supplies from a small kit she’d hidden in her jacket. Her movements were precise, her expression hardened by years of survival.
“Thanks,” she said reluctantly, breaking the silence. “For saving me back there.”
Elior nodded, his gaze distant. “Don’t mention it.”
They shared a tense silence, the crackling fire the only sound. Exhaustion eventually overtook them both, and they drifted into uneasy sleep.
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Elior woke to a sharp pain in his chest. He gasped, his eyes flying open to see Vera standing over him, her pistol pressed against his ribs. Her expression was cold, her free hand rifling through his belongings.
“You’ve got too much power for your own good,” she said. “And I’ve learned to trust no one.”
“Vera, wait,” Elior said, his voice strained. “You don’t have to do this.”
“That’s what everyone says,” she replied bitterly.
In a desperate move, Elior summoned the Echoes again. Their forms materialized around them, their screams louder and more anguished than before. Vera froze, her eyes wide with terror as the Echoes surrounded her, their fragmented hands reaching out.
“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with,” Elior said, his voice trembling. “These aren’t just weapons. They’re suffering. And if you think you can control them, you’re wrong.”
The pistol fell from Vera’s hand as she staggered back. Elior released the Echoes, letting them dissipate into the ether. He stood slowly, his expression grim.
“Leave,” he said. “I won’t stop you. But don’t come back.”
Vera hesitated, her gaze flickering between him and the pistol. Finally, she turned and ran, disappearing into the shadows of the industrial district.
Elior sank to the ground, his strength failing him. The lesson was clear, etched into his mind: trust was a dangerous luxury in this unforgiving world.