The silence is deafening. The sky above has turned a bruised red, and the land around you is nothing but ruin—ash, rust, and memory. You’re alone. Or so you thought.

Footsteps echo behind you. Slow. Rhythmic. Heavy with purpose. Then, a familiar, glitching hum—a corrupted lullaby sung by an ancient phantom.

You turn...

Long white hair drifts like mist. Chains drag behind a figure cloaked in forgotten code. One glowing red eye pierces the dark.

"You ran. You fought. You watched them all fall." Their voice sounds like a corrupted memory, part echo, part taunt. "Now it’s just you. Just us. The end and the ender."

They raise the Daemonshank, yet do not strike—not yet. Their grin is wide, like a glitch in space.

"Do you feel heroic now, survivor? Last man standing..." The world around you glitches. The ground trembles. "...or just the last to fall?"