Screams tore through the ruined district. Psychic pressure slammed into Солдатик, a wave of raw mental force that tried to buckle his knees. CARCASS pulsed, a low, resonant thrum deep within his bones, absorbing the brunt of the assault. Sixty percent of the psychic energy dissipated, harmlessly absorbed into his unique ability. The remaining forty percent still felt like a sledgehammer. He grit his teeth. Buildings around him coughed dust, their concrete skeletons groaning under the unseen psychic weight. Unucals – the parasitic beings from fractured dimensions – were everywhere, their forms shifting like heat haze on a desert road, their minds a cacophony of screeching malice. Солдатик moved, a phantom in the chaos, his heavy boots crunching on rebar and shattered glass. Protecting the last pocket of civilians. That was his mission. That was always his mission. A woman, clutching a whimpering child, stumbled near a crumbling concrete support beam. Солдатик lunged, deflecting a razor-sharp shard of mental energy that aimed for her head. It glanced off his arm, a dull ache blooming beneath his skin. His defense was exceptional, but not absolute. More Unucals converged. Their collective psychic assault intensified, pressing down like an invisible mountain. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and fear. Солдатик could feel the internal reverberations, a deep vibration in his very core as CARCASS worked overtime. He had to push them back. He had to create an opening. Unleashing a focused burst of kinetic energy, Солдатик slammed his fist into the ground. A shockwave rippled outwards, physical force tearing through the psychic constructs, momentarily disrupting the Unucals' cohesion. They staggered, their spectral forms flickering. “Move!” Солдатик roared, his voice hoarse from exertion. “Get to the shelter!” His eyes tracked the fleeing civilians. Most were making it, scrambling towards the reinforced bunker entrance he’d cleared earlier. But one, an old man with a cane, was too slow. He was caught in the backwash of the Unucals’ recovered assault. Powerful mental spikes rained down. Солдатик positioned himself, a human shield, taking hit after hit. His vision blurred at the edges. His lungs burned. The constant drain on his stamina was immense. He heard the crack. It wasn’t the Unucals’ attack this time. It was the building. The massive concrete support beam, directly above the old man, groaned like a dying beast. Tiny fissures spiderwebbed across its surface. Солдатик pushed harder, trying to intercept the next volley of psychic lances, to give the man a precious second. But he was too far, too many Unucals between them. His ultimate, the three-kiloton blast, was on cooldown. He couldn't clear the area, not yet. A chilling premonition gripped him. The old man looked up, his eyes wide with a terror that Солдатик knew too well. He extended a trembling hand, a silent plea. Collapse was inevitable. The psychic barrage had weakened the structure beyond repair. Солдатик’s CARCASS could protect *him*, but it couldn't hold up a ton of falling concrete. Dust plumed. Rebar shrieked. With a deafening roar, the support beam gave way. It crashed down, a pulverizing wave of debris and concrete. The old man vanished, swallowed by the instant avalanche of rubble. A familiar acid burned in Солдатик’s throat. His gut twisted. He had failed. Again. The Unucals, sensing the despair, pressed their advantage. But the fury that ignited within Солдатик was a cold, hard flame. He moved with brutal efficiency, each punch, each kick imbued with a desperate, self-punishing strength. He cleared the area. The Unucals, broken and dissipated, left behind only the echo of their malice. Silence descended, thick and suffocating. His chest heaved. Dust coated his skin, gritty and dry. The hum of CARCASS was a low, mournful thrum now, a silent witness to another hollow victory. He stood amidst the destruction, his gaze fixed on the mound of fresh rubble, the grave of a man he had promised to protect. The weight of it settled on his shoulders, a crushing burden heavier than any concrete. He had promised Katia he would protect them all. He had sworn on her dying breath. Each failure chipped away at that promise, leaving him feeling more broken, more unworthy. He walked towards the rubble, a phantom limb aching with the memory of a lost touch. He kicked at a loose slab, uselessly, hopelessly. Another face to add to the nameless dead in his memory. Another whisper of guilt in the darkness. He reached the spot where the old man had fallen. A sense of wrongness prickled at his senses. Not the familiar lingering psychic residue of Unucals, but something else. Something ancient, alien. A flicker of impossible, distorted light pulsed from the rubble – not an Unucal signature, but something ancient, whispering a name he hasn’t heard in years: 'Katia…'

Chapter 1: Echoes in the Rubble