Ark gradually awoke, prodded back to consciousness by something hard and pointy stabbing him in his lower back. That in an of itself was not unusual, but with effort, his senses began to alert him to the fact that something was wrong. The worst of it was the smell—the sourness of sulfur tinged with the thickness of soot. Next, his addled mind managed to grasp the information that an artificial voice offered him in an uncaring monotone.

Riftwalking detected…

Ark knew the words meant something very important, but the cover of drowsiness held him down. In the back of his mind, though, an instinctual terror was growing its tendrils down his spine, making his hairs stand on end.

Rift call sign: Ashlands

Automated recall initiated

Estimating time to recall… 10 minutes

Finally, his waking mind registered the Netlink’s indifferent voice, implying the threat. With a gasp, he sat up, eyes open wide, searching for any dangers around him. Wildly turning his head, he took in the familiar landscape of dust, soot, and ash; surrounding him, covering him, and drizzling down from the sky like ashy rain.

Shit, he thought, taking it all in as his pulse steadily rose to an unhealthy gallop. His heart was racing, threatening to burst from his chest while his mouth ran dry.

“Shit,” he repeated out loud, hearing his own cracking voice, laced with fear. He had heard that speaking one’s feelings out loud was calming, but he found it anything but. Instead, his voice reminded him of his utter insignificance.

He sat there, upon a great plain of gray stones and cliffs, without any signs of life anywhere nearby. In the far distance, he could see a burning mountain; its top gilded with an orange crown of molten lava that overflowed, skirting down the sides in slow rivers. A dry wind caught the surrounding ash-flakes, whipping them into a quiet frenzy, accompanied by a low rumble that might have been the tummy aches of a very large, and very hungry giant.

Looking around for a second time, Ark blinked any semblance of sleep out of his eyes and focused. There was no time to feel sorry for himself—there was only time to act, to survive.

Seeing no immediate danger, he clawed at the ground, enough for the pain in his fingertips to assure him he was not sleeping. As if there was any doubt, he thought to himself, biting his lip for an extra sensation of pain. Just to be certain.

Quick as he could, Ark was on his feet. He glanced at the archived logs of his Netlink, appearing as transparent window within his vision. It announced that his riftwalking had begun at 0247 hours, as well as repeating the information it had on the rift. That it was call sign ‘Ashlands’ came as no surprise—it was always Ashlands—but the countdown to recall was disturbingly high.

Ten minutes, he let his focus linger on the countdown, as the first ten seconds passed, 590 seconds left. That was survivable… perhaps.

With an unnecessary wave of his hand, Ark dismissed the window and rummaged through the small bag he always kept on him, containing all he required for survival. With swift and trained movements, he retrieved a protective mask, able to cover both mouth and eyes against the polluted atmosphere. Once he was certain that no particles could escape through the lining, he reached down once more to grab a small dagger in a simple leather scabbard.

Pulling out the blade, the dagger revealed its black edge, trimmed with a line of crimson evil that burned against the drab and colorless world around him. For a moment, Ark just stared at the blade, both entranced by its deadly beauty, as well as horrified by the killing instrument. He abhorred the necessity of it—and hated how it proved him a failure—but set his jaw with determination. Survival was the most important now.

Another slight rumble alerted him to his surroundings once more, and he felt certain that it had either grown louder or… closer.

Widening his eyes, he barely had time to step aside, as the earth beneath his feet erupted in a cascade of gray matter and dust. He lunged to the side, keeping a tight hold of his dagger, landing in a roll and a twist that ended with him facing the threat. The cloud of dust obscured his vision, but he thought he saw something elongated and twisted as it dove back into the ground, coming at him once again.

A worm. He had no better name for it. It needed no better name.

With hiding out of the question, Ark dared not wait for his assailant, but jumped to the side again. Rolling into a sprint, he took off across the empty plains, heading for the burning mountain, simply because it was recognizable. Behind him, eruptions tore through the quiet solace of the Ashlands, as the worm chased him down, like an orca skirting the surface of the ocean, hunting down its prey.

With the mask on, Ark’s breath was labored and heavy, and the rough breathing caused the occasional fog upon the goggles, making it difficult to orient himself. Understanding that running was only a temporary solution, Ark attempted to come up with a plan, scanning his surroundings for any aid they could offer him. Nothing but boulders and dust greeted him, but Ark knew how to work with the hand he was dealt.

I need it out of the ground, he thought, knowing how the worm hunted. As long as it was in the ground, he could do absolutely nothing to it. The worm was cowardly, and would abandon its prey if it thought it could fight back. All he needed was to land one good attack.

He found what he was looking for a moment later, as a thin ravine revealed itself, like a gash across the ground, with a heavy rock set upon the other side. With a sharp turn, Ark made for the landmark, noting the time it took for his pursuer to shift course.

This will work, he told himself, trying to feel conviction in those words. He was confident, but also painfully aware of his limitations. Riftwalking was never safe, not even for those who did it the regular way. For an amateur like himself, survival chances were slim, regardless of how many times he had gone through this.

His soft-booted feet flew across the ground as he came closer to the ravine, close enough to smell the scent of sulfur that wafted up from the depths. The stink of rotten eggs hit him in the face like a wall, penetrating the mask as if it was a mere cloth, making him gasp even harder for his breath.

A violent crash behind made Ark look over his shoulder for a brief moment. Eyes widening, he took in the scene of a circular maw opened wide, ready to swallow him whole; insides covered in sparkling-white rows of rotating teeth. He barely managed to get his left foot out of reach from the beast, as it tore back down into the ground.

Dirt cascaded in its wake, creating a shockwave that made Ark fight to maintain his balance. He felt the flecks of debris hit the back of his head, as he focused all of his energy into moving straight forward. It was right beneath him now, ready to strike.

He reached the decisive moment as time slowed to a crawl. He took one final step, one final breath, aiming all of his strength in a singular direction. He jumped, feeling the briefest touch from something reaching out and snapping at his heel. In this moment of conclusion, Ark swirled around in the air, facing the danger, dagger raised in his left hand. Using the momentum of his leap, Ark hurled the dagger straight into the rows and rows, of teeth, rotating around their axis, allowing for a straight path into the belly of the beast.

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The black dagger flew true—its crimson edge flickering, even in the diminished light of the Ashlands. The maw closed around the deadly object just as both Ark and the beast reached the ground upon the other side of the ravine.

Ark had put everything into the throw, and fell inelegantly upon his back, skidding across the ground before grasping control over the momentum and flipping over his shoulder to land on his knees, then leveraging his position onto his feet.

The beast was even worse in its landing. While it attempted to open up its maw once more, and dig back into the ground, it instead found itself slamming into the hard rocks upon the other side—it jaws locked tight around the invading object in its mouth, approaching its stomach.

Knowing that he had succeeded, Ark allowed himself to study the worm creature. It had a wide circumference around its maw, which gradually tapered off into a thin body and tail-end. While it clearly relied on the slithering movement of its body, it still had a set of thin arms protruding from just below the edge of its jaws, further down, another set hung limply at its sides. The beast had the color of dirty sand, and had circular ridges along the length of its spine.

He had seen them before, but never this close. The stench that came off the creature was even overpowering the sulfur of the ravine.

Now, as it unexpectedly found itself unable to open its mouth, the little gray arms came to life, flailing about to grasp anything around it, as it probably realized what was about to happen. The useless little arms clawed at the ground, as the bulk of the beast’s body fell down into the ravine behind it, pulling the rest down.

It screamed impotently, mouth sealed shut, as the worm fought to regain control of itself and dive back into the ground. Ark was having none of it. Stepping forward in one decisive moment, he smashed his heel into the top of the large head, where he thought he could see the semblance of eyes staring hatefully at him.

Another screech, and the beast slid further down, passing any hope of stopping its imminent fall. The two sets of thin arms pounded the ground, as the beast finally tipped over the edge. It screamed once more, then fell out of sight.

Slowly, Ark peered out over the edge, staring down into the depths with macabre curiosity. Unable to penetrate the darkness with his eyes, he finally just sighed and reached out his hand, initiating the mental command.

Moments later, a black streak of light shot up from below, tinged with a line of crimson, before settling back into his hand as the dagger he had thrown. It was the one piece of gear that Ark owned, and which he would have long since died without.

With the threat over, Ark caught his breath, leaning forward over his knees and chomping at the air through his mask. He quickly sheathed the dagger again, to avoid any accidents, then collected himself. Straightening his spine, he took another look around, on the alert for a second threat.

Finding no obvious danger, Ark did not immediately let down his guard, but kept sweeping the area for a full minute before he was satisfied that nothing was skulking his way. There might still be some creatures hiding and observing from a distance, but upon the open plain there were precious few places to hide close enough for a sudden threat. Even if they came from below, he would be alerted to their advance.

Then, and only then, did he allow himself to focus on the timer at the edge of his vision.

Time to recall: 4 minutes, 13 seconds

Four minutes. All of that running and fighting, and he still had four minutes left. Biting his lip again, Ark held a hand on the knife’s handle as he walked parallel to the gorge, following for the small sense of security its depths offered him. If nothing else, he could jump into the depths for a quick death if something truly dangerous found its way to him.

Thinking dark thoughts, his attention was constantly roaming the vastness around him, searching for anything that might threaten him, but only the soft wind against his mask made any impression. Silent wisps of ash drifted by, as he found himself counting the seconds.

203… 202… 201…

A sudden spark in the gorge made him jolt and entrain every last fiber of his being onto the intrusion to the quiet. A glow of gold and amber surged upward, making the flakes of ash around him light up like colorful confetti at a party.

187… 186… 185…

Ark pulled out his knife and held it out in front of him, recognizing the false sense of security that the gear provided him with. Before him, the glow intensified as something approached the surface, breaking through the crusty surface and illuminating its surroundings in a violent flash of gold.

Backing up another few steps, Ark widened his eyes in disbelief, as an orb the size of his head rose into the air in front of him. It pulsed hypnotically with a rhythm of glowing amber to searing gold as it turned on a slightly tilted, vertical axis.

“What the…?” Ark croaked, eloquently, as he stared up at the rising ball. Its slow turn resolved itself, as distinct features emerged on the facets of its surface, mimicking that of a pantomime human, with holes for eyes and mouth. This, he had never seen before.

155… 154… 153…

The face went through several iterations of facial expressions, as if testing out the feature, before resolving itself in a horrific grin, mimicking the gleeful face of a cartoon villain. Then it spoke… or at least projected a voice, for Ark very clearly heard the menacing words in his head.

“Found you.”

Ark responded with a quick throw, launching the black knife at the sudden threat with all of his power. The knife split the air like a ray of black light, hitting the pantomime face right between the eyes. An impotent ‘cling’ rang in response, as the knife rebounded and landed right in front of Ark’s feet.

He looked down at it. Then he looked back up at the hollow face, its grin having widened significantly.

With a gesture of his hand, Ark recalled the blade, then turned on his heels and sprinted away. Barely having recovered from his last run, Ark’s breath was immediately labored and heavy, his breath fogging up the glasses of his mask even worse than before. Behind, something akin to excited laughter reached him, as the… thing, began revolving and pulsing even faster, then moved.

128… 127… 126…

Ark looked over his shoulder to confirm the pursuit, and saw the ghastly face emerge upon the rotating surface of the orb, grinning at him.

Turning eyes back to the front, he pushed a little harder with every jerky step. He had survived 15 years of this hell, and he was not about to let some stupid, disembodied voice from a sinister orb of unknown origin claim the life that he had fought so hard to keep. The anger, so carefully kept contained to a small flame, blazed to life in his chest, fueling his mad dash against time.

96… 95… 94…

Feeling the sting of exhaustion creep into the corners of his existence, Ark poured gasoline onto the fiery anger that now burned inside. He thought of the institute that had failed him, the brothers and sisters he had lost, the siblings that had abandoned him, the meager life he was barely maintaining, and worst of all: the mother who had left him.

Knowing it would cost him excess energy, but past the point of caring, Ark screamed as he ran. Heaving for air, he released another scream, much to the delight of his pursuer. The quiet surroundings of the Ashlands turned scarlet, as Ark’s vision became tinted by emotion; blood red flakes of ash flitting around in a mockery of rain.

51… 50… 49…

He could feel it now; sense the pulsing beat in the air around him, smell the acrid stench of sulfur as it came ever closer, and hear its laughter grinding against his sanity. It was playing with him, he was certain.

26… 25… 24…

A touch of something grasping at his heels made him jump and change direction, what little good it did him. The ball pursued relentlessly, and yet it never moved in for the kill. Instead it just laughed as he ran and ran and…

10… 9… 8…

‘Screw it’

Ark turned again, however, this time it was to face his pursuer. He might not be able to hurt the thing, but dammit if he was going to let it do whatever it pleased. Clenching his fist, he leveraged the momentum of his turn into pure force for the punch he threw at the orb. The grin on the pantomime face turned wider and wider, encompassing the entire surface.

7… 6… 5…

He made contact with the surface, which had withstood the sharp end of his knife without a scratch, and felt absolutely no resistance at all. Eyes widening, he watched as the glass-like exterior cracked, then shattered into a thousand small mirrors, surrounding his arm like a cloud as it passed through.

4… 3… 2…

Having put all of his weight behind the attack, Ark stumbled forward just as the cloud of glass imploded, sucked into its own center, right onto his arm. The heat that flowed up his nervous system was unlike anything he had ever felt before, and he landed on his knees screaming his lungs out.

1… 0… Recalling…

His whole world turned into flashes of light and pain, as an intangible hook fixed itself in his stomach and pulled. He was going home.