Chapter 1

Borders between Canada and the United States of America were one of the most protected regions in the Western Hemisphere. Through hardships of the first century after the Dawn, those borders preserved rare surviving sentiments against the pursuits of Darks; creatures, and monsters that crashed the world in 2014 with everything living on it.

Since then, numerous people lived around these borders, clinching to life, squeezed between the promise of safety, and trying to cheat potential deaths. Those were the corners of small human forces, living in sketchy colonies, reinforced camps, or simple settlements that might be part of the Federation, Outside, or nothing at all. The better places were far from these dangers, safely assumed as paradises or tricky fakery.

Camps were resistant, arranged through trials of defenses and farming efforts, and acting as a safety net, even through the last century of conflicts and suffering that humanity endured.

Among these places where people lived and managed barely thriving lands, an Incursion occurred, touching onto an unfortunate accident that shall spark the end of everything. It was a rare anomaly within the apocalypse known as the Dawn and formed inside one of those camps, acting with noise, foreboding punishment, and Darks that shall destroy it.

The year was 2118, and humanity was by no means coherent, let alone hoping for some extensive hopes. Camps were even worse, though they were trying, rather than praying for no existing god.

There were no glistering and thriving cities left from the former world Outside, which was a general term originating from the Federation that described places out of its reach. The Earth was no longer like it once existed, but its remnants and large cities devoid of proper life were still notable as ghost towns or bizarre habitats. Most of them turned into primal forms, splintered land, and ruins, hiding darkness, erratic humanity, and creatures called Darks.

Camps—places of hope and work—kept up with their purpose for decades. Darks chased after the remaining populace like hungry dogs for broken bones, yet not many remained. Camps were crudely built because destroying and building were different things, and it was easier to flee and rebuild than to struggle for nothing.

That meant considerable possibilities for Darks to come like annoying flies, crashing them again and again. In terms of toughness, even Darks at Rank 4 could be disastrous in large numbers, unless some talents and heroes arose and protected those places. They did.

Or tried to.

It was still a struggle, for the Walkers weren't numerous like Darks. Large success was like a distant dream left in the Fogs of Nightmares or Dreams.

An attempt by humanity to keep on living should be much brighter. That was what the previous generations hoped for, or for the struggle to never end, because where would life go if there was none?

It should be better than this, but not everyone had Walkers to lean on. Not everything was bright and hopeful for their magic, powers, and sturdiness to oppose these monsters, and continue. Those were people who awakened forces of no Men. They fought against the Darks, hunted them when no one else would, and dreamt when no one dared.

Leaning on them was appropriate, but how could a relative handful of such persisting elites fight against a century of accumulated Dread and Madness?

They opposed Corruption instead, fighting against that which soiled the world, put forth darkness and hideous Dark Fog that turned people crazy, or changed lands into bare soil.

People in vast numbers were great targets, stronger but easily butchered. There was no denying that humanity was better off in groups. That wasn't entirely important, as survivors kept on living, whether it meant fleeing with sacrifices, living in fear, or striving for lies.

The Dawn was a long way from obliterating North America, reaching deep into Canada or Alaska even after a century of this messed up cleansing. Many knew why and even more hoped for something different. The cold was supposed to be helpful, which was true, similar to the vast waters, yet the Dawn truly thrashed with the entire humanity.

It was like calling magma colder than flame. Both were deadly. Everything was turning harder when Corruption was mutating, changing Darks, creating anomalies and death. The Walkers tried for humanity. They really did, and with many societies around the Earth, stopping would mean accepting their inferiority.

They couldn't allow it, for they were waiting. Almost everything was.

More than a century diverted many plans and hopes, marking the remnants of humanity with pursuits of the past with long-term future trials. Disasters shaped them, so the Earth shall make it work, or die trying like them. For a while, horrible nightmares made it sound silly, at best. It was a terrible consequence of fear.

It wasn't even worth to call it an apocalypse. It was a straight-up advent of a new age; a true new Dawn, or so how the past called it. Humans were no longer at the peak of the food chain, for a new apex predator was long there, or came onto the light as the rightful ruler.

Darks, large or small, it didn't matter. They were hunters who kept rising, eating, changing, or corrupting each other. It was primeval and disgusting, corrupting the earth and changing nature in one way or another. Humans were just one part of the food chain, which some Darks recognize as less than dogs.

Those sturdy to weather this age remained running as if the matter of survival was etched into their bones.

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Walkers were the strongest of them, or of what remained.

Darks were hunting and enjoying these sorrowful attempts of humanity. Their hunts keep this right. The fun shall return. True terror was over, but something new might come.

It was true. It was coming and they felt it. And then, they feared it. An Incursion of Darks was like a war ordered by one peculiar demand, marking the earth with unusual steps, dimming the sky, and turning and shuddering the earth with new cracks. This time around, it struck one camp on the outskirts of Canadian borders, where there was a large number of survivors and a couple of people who shouldn't be there.

There weren't too many camps close to one another, lest something even worse happen. Some sacrifices had to be made, yet a broader disaster was just a matter of time or up to some perspective.

***

“William…” A soft voice spoke to a frightened boy, calming him down, and delivering him with a firm hug. It hardly helped, for the Dark Fog spread across the sky, looking like a storm that wasn't a storm. The camp was already in shambles, screams spread, and Incursion's ticking echoed like blasting hearts.

“William!” the voice reassured him again, feeling that he wasn't listening. “Don't be like this. Run when the shades are dark. Hide when voices turn. Mother will be safe… You have to trust it, but you need to trust me first, and you need to live for it to matter.” The mother was worried, hasty, and nervous.

Her voice couldn't hide her anxiety very well. For this to happen so soon was an inevitable mess that haunted them. Her son was bloodied, the ground was shaking, and her husband was headed to the unknown. The camp around them was in the middle of an Incursion, the craziest reality that hadn't happened in nearly two decades around the camps.

She didn't believe it. Not many would. However, numerous rising Rifts; shattered spatial torrents in the sky, and cracked splits in the space, where Darks flew or jumped from, raiding the camp, hardly left people calm.

The mother was the same.

There were dozens of Medium Rifts, making it at least Rank 7 Incursion at minimum, if it wouldn't be for one looming crack on the horizon, dwarfing the rest even from afar. It wasn't most noteworthy, for the Dark Fog pestered not only the minds but also the visions and all human senses. Some variants would even send one into the Dreamscape, a sensual place of dread and bizarre landscape that some called Deeper Realms. Other Fogs might be full of Corruption, poison, and sheer suffocating dread that one would turn crazy.

William was frightened like never. The tremors and shouts were terrifying, followed by cursed noises. Buzzing tones were there again as well. Beats and echoes made him nervous, leaving him in a state of confusion and delirious visions.

He was way too young; five years old at best. His mother couldn't refute his emotions, yet... what could she do? She had to do something. Anything. She left the helpless boy between the buildings made of bricks, refurbished blocks of old metals, and concrete blocks. It was no particular street, as those were the battlefront right now, or... well, whatever they could be. William was too busy shaking to care for what this camp was about to become.

Crying in anguish and sadness at the leaving hand of his mother, he couldn't stop her hands even if he wished he could. He was young, too young to understand what was occurring and what she meant, or too naive to listen.

His hand wavered like his eyes that opened to see her leaving leaping figure. Then, he looked at the bizarre shaking air before him that created a floating picture. It was wavering as if it was made of fog, looking shaky and filled with symbols.

He swore he could read, but he couldn’t get them. They drove him mad like the leaving hand of his mother. Then, he touched what was before him, struggling to move, and finally recognizing the change.

It was a Screen. A filthy delusional Screen.

Ticking clicking sounds were everywhere, and his inner noises ensured he was confused. Then, his leaving mother dealt a substantial blow to everything that he should own.

He read it… not knowing what it was, or why it was there.

[Incursion]

[Rank: Unknown…]

[State: Ongoing]

[Your Mark: 4]

[Time remaining: 1469 ticks]

[Survive, for there is no running away from Madness]

There was a lot of confusion about the wavering symbols and numbers. William touched it and hit nothing, going through this Screen. It hadn’t done shit. This was a mere messenger. An advent for what had arrived. It was lingering before him until it turned to dust, leaving those clicking sounds behind, reminding him of beats and things from the past.

At five years of age, he should have warm hands around him, security, as well as a smile of warmth and love. That always followed some rooms and voices, though gaps in memory and terms of a child weren't surprising to go missing. He should have a normal childhood with a playful and safe time. Those were unfamiliar concepts to him.

William felt he had overcome something until the Incursion shook his reality and stole something he always had.

He heard so much screaming when his mother left, as well as lingering dreadful high-pitched noises of annoyance and frightening experiences. It was here again. No... this was so much worse than ever before.

He had no mother to clutch. No hand to grasp. No father to rely on either. They both disappeared, leaving him alone.

Glancing around was futile. He couldn't stop shaking and he couldn't see her either. She was gone, and the lingering Dark Fog around the sky and some buildings looked like slowly approaching entities, causing endless despair.

They hadn't touched him yet. Almost nothing did. The Dark Fog was still in the process of flying to every corner, gushing out of some Darks holding onto their brutal concept, hiding within them, and providing nutrition to Madness.

Most of the Fog was intentionally around the outskirts because Darks hunted everything first. That was what predators didn't want since their hunt were simple. Darks were close to that, but tossing every one of them onto the same bracket or bucket wasn't right.

It was a curious wonder. One would think that their wildness and Madness made one true lunacy. It did, but Incursions were different. Worse. They were organized, grasped in the Madness, and always dealt humans a heavy blow at terrible times.

Yet, this was just a mere camp. No one understood why this Incursion came to them, let alone with force capable of littering the sky. People felt it, dreading it like a curse, or took it for a joke that wasn't real.

It was more than that. It left panic and dropping bodies and blood under every beat. That damned noise buzzed and hurt, and William's mind stressed him out. His nerves itched, muscles craved for something, and mysterious crimson wanted out, fleeing from this place as soon as possible.

It couldn't since William nervously winced in that corner, protected by walls, reminders of his mother, but who would protect these walls, or the earth, or the soil? Or himself, if he recalled, lost in time and grace of his mother.