The morning sun had barely cleared the horizon when Jack, Sam, and Lila stumbled upon another small camp—two survivors huddled around a flickering fire, their faces gaunt and worn. Jack tensed, not quite ready to trust strangers, but he noticed the desperation in their eyes, the way their hands trembled as they reached for scraps of food.

“Travelers, like us,” Sam murmured, nodding to the strangers with a friendly wave.

The two survivors glanced up, relief flashing in their eyes. They beckoned Jack’s group closer, sharing a wary glance before one of them—a wiry man with a scar across his cheek—spoke up. “You folks should be careful out here. There’s been… trouble.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “Trouble? Trouble’s been out here for years. Got a specific kind in mind?”

The man shuddered, nodding. “They call themselves The Sanctified. Big gang—dangerous. They’ve been claiming territory, taking people. Their leader, Magnus—he’s a madman. Calls himself a prophet, like he’s got some divine right over the wasteland.”

Jack snorted, unimpressed. “A prophet, huh? Let me guess—he’s got people convinced he’s the chosen one?”

The man’s face grew solemn. “Worse. He’s got people convinced he’s the only one who can save ‘em, and anyone who stands in his way... doesn’t last long.” He shook his head. “They say he’s taking prisoners, converting ‘em or… worse. Claims he’s cleansing the world, making it ‘holy’ again.”

Lila leaned closer, her brow furrowed in concern. “Why would anyone follow someone like that?”

“Fear.” The man’s companion, a woman with a bruised arm, answered quietly. “People are desperate. And he’s got something about him, this… way of talking that gets in people’s heads. Magnus thinks he’s some kind of god, and his gang—they believe him.”

Jack exchanged a look with Sam, his jaw tightening. He didn’t like the sound of this gang, but he’d seen his share of self-proclaimed saviors and warlords. They tended to burn out as quickly as they rose, leaving chaos in their wake. Still, the name Sanctified stuck with him, like a thorn he couldn’t ignore.

“Appreciate the warning,” Jack said, his tone curt. “We’ll steer clear.”

But as they moved on, he couldn’t shake the feeling of something dark following them, like an omen in the air.

An hour later, they passed a crumbling wall, its surface marred by strange graffiti—a symbol, an eye enclosed within a rough circle. Below it, in smeared black paint, someone had scrawled the words All Must Bow.

Lila shuddered, her gaze lingering on the symbol. “That’s… creepy.”

Jack scowled, his instincts sharpening. He’d seen plenty of graffiti in his time, but something about this particular mark made his skin crawl. It wasn’t just the symbol itself but the fact that it felt deliberate, like a warning or a challenge.

Sam noticed the look in Jack’s eyes. “You think it’s them?”

“Maybe,” Jack muttered, his voice low. “If Magnus is half the tyrant those folks said he is, he wouldn’t waste time marking territory without reason. This isn’t just a gang—it’s a cult.”

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A faint crackling noise broke the silence, drawing their attention to a broken radio sitting on a pile of rubble nearby. Somehow, it had managed to pick up a signal, distorted and warped but still audible.

“… hear me… chosen… Magnus speaks… divine right…”

Jack moved closer, his face grim as he listened to the warped message. It was an eerie, repetitive chant, the kind that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The voice was deep, commanding, with an unsettling calmness. “… cleansed… only the worthy… bow to the sanctified order…”

He switched off the radio, his expression unreadable. “We need to keep moving. Whoever this Magnus thinks he is, he’s not just talk. And if he’s spreading his reach this far, we don’t want to be around when his ‘sanctified order’ catches up.”

Lila nodded, her face pale. She walked close to her father, her small hand gripping his tightly. Jack noticed the fear in her eyes, and a part of him wanted to offer reassurance. But this wasn’t a time for comfort—it was a time for survival.

They moved in tense silence, each of them on edge. Jack’s senses were on high alert, his every instinct honed for trouble. They’d barely left the ruins behind when he heard it—a rustle in the bushes, the quiet scrape of boots against concrete.

“Stop,” he hissed, motioning for Sam and Lila to take cover behind a nearby wall.

Two figures emerged from the shadows, dressed in ragged, mismatched armor painted with the eye symbol. Their expressions were eerily calm, almost serene, like zealots on a mission. One of them held a machete, the blade scratched and worn, while the other gripped a length of chain studded with bits of metal.

“Welcome, travelers,” one of them said, his tone disturbingly calm. “The Sanctified are blessed to meet you. Magnus has marked you. He sees you.”

Jack’s jaw clenched. “Marked us, huh? Well, tell Magnus I’ve got a few marks of my own.” He held up his machete, his stance tense and ready.

The two raiders shared a look, their expressions oddly serene. “Magnus’s word is law,” one said. “You’re either with us or against us.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Funny, I’ve heard that line before. Never ends well for the people who say it.”

Without another word, the first raider lunged, swinging his chain in a deadly arc. Jack sidestepped, bringing his machete down on the man’s shoulder with a brutal efficiency. The raider cried out, but his companion didn’t flinch, stepping forward with a determined calm that bordered on fanaticism.

Sam stepped in, wielding a heavy piece of metal he’d picked up along the way, while Lila stayed back, her face pale but resolute. The second raider swung his machete at Jack, but Jack was faster, disarming him with a swift kick before driving the blade into his chest. The man crumpled, his expression serene even in death, as though he believed he’d done his duty.

Jack wiped his blade on the ground, his face hard. “That’s the problem with zealots. They don’t know when to quit.”

But as they moved on, a sense of unease lingered. The raiders hadn’t been ordinary thugs; they’d been willing to die for their so-called prophet, convinced that Magnus’s vision of the world was worth any sacrifice.

Sam shook his head, his voice quiet. “If Magnus’s people are like that, we’ve got more trouble than we bargained for.”

Jack nodded, his jaw set. “This Magnus isn’t just another raider. He’s dangerous. People like him don’t just take—they corrupt. And if he’s got people following him like that…” He trailed off, his gaze hardening. “We’re going to have to be smarter. And faster.”

They found a hidden spot to rest for the night, each of them haunted by the encounter. Jack sat on the edge of their camp, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon, where he imagined Magnus and his followers spreading like a poison.

“Jack?” Lila’s voice broke the silence, hesitant.

He looked at her, his expression softer than usual. “Yeah?”

She hesitated, then asked, “Do you think we’ll be safe? From… him?”

Jack considered his answer carefully, knowing there was no point in sugar-coating the truth. “Safe? I don’t know, kid. But as long as we stick together, we’ve got a better chance. Just… remember what I told you about trust. People like Magnus? They use it like a weapon.”

She nodded, her face determined. Jack looked away, troubled by his own words. He’d spent years convincing himself that trust was a weakness, that survival was all that mattered. But for the first time, he wondered if it was enough.

As the night deepened, he sat in silence, feeling the weight of responsibility settle over him. Magnus was out there, a dark force with a dangerous vision. And for the first time, Jack found himself willing to fight—for more than just himself.