When the wind blew, dust flew. It was a common sight in the barren wastelands. Ever since the world was forced into a nuclear conflict, no country had survived. Only the lucky ones remained, though they had to struggle against the hostile climate of the rapidly degrading world.
The hostility of their own world wasn't the only challenge. Due to the large amounts of radioactive waste from the nukes, strange phenomenons began appearing, mainly dimensional rifts. For the smaller ones, the rifts merely added to the volatility of the natural world. However, for the larger ones, magical creatures with strange anatomy would sometimes pass through. These creatures were bloodthirsty, though they are always tethered to the rifts they came through from. And once the rift closes, it would be a matter of days before the creatures starved of their magical essence, but not before wrecking carnage through whatever settlement the stragglers created.
Walking through the wastelands under the intense sunlight was a figure in a ragtag robe. As he walked, the boots he had painstakingly mended many times over tore again, quickly filling with sand, before leaking out when he lifted it. He wore a gas mask, though the filters had long since been replaced with whatever fabric he could find. There was no need to waste precious filters when all he needed to avoid was sand getting into his lungs.
As he marched onward through the sandy plains. the sun rose higher as midday slowly approached. He held tighter onto his robe, afraid of any skin being exposed to the unweakened sun rays. The radiation from the nuclear war had destroyed whatever was left of the ozone. Just a peek at the sky through an unfiltered lens could blind a person.
The torrents of wind passing through grew stronger, blowing more sand into the air, yet he paid it no mind. His legs still marched on.
As time went by, the air thickened with sandy particles as the winds grew stronger. The increasing viscosity made moving harder. Reaching into his back pocket, he took out a golden compass and flipped it open. Contrary to what was expected, the compass did not have any of the four directions. Instead, the compass was bisected horizontally with white on top and black below while four icons —sun, moon, cloud, lightning— held the diagonals. The sun and moon on the top left and right, the clouds and lightning on the bottom left and right. The compass had two needles, one sweeping around the white area —averaging more on the edge of the color— while the other seemed fixed to the moon icon.
He cursed internally, his gaze lifted from the compass. By now, the air thickened at a much faster pace, enough to feel like standing in water, and the wind was threatening to uproot him. Before he left, his luck had been on the better side of things and the tide had no hint of changing. Yet here he was, his luck suddenly taking a dip, making his trip deadly.
He knew the city of stragglers was a couple thousand more paces away. So close, he thought as he forcefully dragged his feet forward through the viscous air, the gears in his mind spinning. When he found it impossible to move his feet without getting blown away, he dug his legs deeper into the sands, before forcing himself into a prone position, lying as low as possible while rooting himself to the ground.
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The wind grew ferocious, the sand wearing down the back of his robe. He knew if the sand did breakthrough, he would be facing the end of his days. He couldn't help but curse internally for deciding to go on this long journey to one of the surviving cities.
As the sand storm raged, he carefully extracted his right arm and took the compass to check his luck. As the compass would have it, one of the needles hovered on the line between black and white while the other remained stuck to the moon icon. Praying to whatever god there was, he promised he'd spare a tad bit of kindness to the next stranger he met, as long as the needle would go back to sweeping around the white area. As if that promise angered the gods, the winds raged even more violently, and his eyes widened as the needle that was previously on the moon icon began to waver and try for the storm icon.
That had only ever happened to him once during the last several years he possessed the compass. That time, a magical creature had attempted to enter their world, but thanks to his luck, he managed to escape while others were less fortunate. This time, however, the creature was stronger, as indicated by the intense sandstorm, and he was alone. No doubt, he would perish if he did nothing.
Scanning his surroundings, he could not see beyond several meters. When he couldn't find the rift the creature would come through from, he crawled in a straight line, continuing his journey to the city. Although the risk of being uprooted was great, he was careful, enough to cause the needle resting on the line between the colors to start shifting to the top white area. Yet he couldn't be happy yet, as his fate could easily change should he fail to climb out from the storm's range.
Bit by bit, he struggled to climb away from where he assumed to be the storm's center. As the winds raged and howled furiously, it took him exceedingly more strength to even climb half a meter forward. Time crawled to a halt as he suddenly found his biceps unable to contract anymore, and for a moment, he feared he would be uprooted and drawn back deeper into the storm. However, the winds suddenly lost its momentum as he heard a sonic boom behind him. He had no doubt the creature had already made it through, and the boom marked the closing of the rift as reality tried to fix itself.
For a fraction of a second, he was relieved the force pulling on him was gone, but then a pushing force —generated by the shockwave— sent him flying away from the center of the sandstorm for several meters before crashing into the sandy ground.
He struggled to pick himself up, knowing he didn't have time to look back. The creature would be upon him in mere moments should he not start running. Yet his arms were shaking as he pushed himself up, the sand trying to eat his arms instead.
Finally able to stand up, he started running, not caring that his robe was torn and blood trickled down his back. He would have to worry about that later, but right now, escaping was of utmost importance.
As soon as he ran a couple of meters, he heard an ear-deafening roar, causing his feet to stumble. Fortunately, he did not fall and continued running from his magical pursuer even though the ringing in his ears did not subside even after a while.
He would run, he thought, and run, and run, and run. What mattered was his life could not end here. He feared death, enough to outrun an inhuman creature. When he wanted to look back and check if the threat was still behind, he suddenly remembered what the others had said, that merely looking at the magical creature could disorientate them. Some of the rumors had even said those who looked upon the stronger creatures would fall into a coma, and that was something he could not let happen if he wanted to live.
His pace slowed as the effects of his adrenaline began to fade away. Pulses of pain came from his bleeding back, and the hot sun made his wound fester quicker. Fortunately, as he grabbed his compass and checked, his luck was now close to the peak, and it seemed he was near the city he almost died just to get to.