The End to Come - Page 4 3D Render, Digital Artwork by emarukk

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The End to Come - Page 4

3D Render by emarukk

The figure, or perhaps figures, glided through the shadows with a practiced silence, like a phantom slipping through the veil of night. Only the occasional clink of his gravity shoes, faint yet distinct, betrayed his presence. The soft hum of the power armor enveloped him, a barely audible chorus harmonizing with the faint whisper of the advanced breathing system. This was the kind of refined quiet that only the most specialized military tech could achieve, a symphony of engineering mastery. Whoever he was, he was no mere scavenger picking through the remnants of a battlefield. His sleek and sophisticated gear suggested a warrior who had equipped himself not just to survive the chaos of combat; he had prepared to walk through it unscathed as if the conflict had parted before him.

Olivia remained motionless, her pulse pounding loudly in her ears like a relentless drumbeat. The space station groaned ominously around her, its bulkheads creaking and straining under the immense weight of catastrophic damage. Flickering emergency lights cast jagged, erratic shadows across the walls, creating an eerie and distorted atmosphere. Everything felt fractured and unstable, mirroring the chaotic whirlwind of her thoughts.

She wanted to move, her muscles tensed with the urge to run, to hide. But there was nowhere left to escape. The section was closed, and there was no place to offer sanctuary. Whoever was behind her was aware of her predicament. The eerie figure in power armor wasn't rushing; its presence was deliberate and calculated. Olivia could feel it now, drawing nearer, eyes fixed on her with an intensity that sent chills down her spine. The silence extended endlessly, a weight as oppressive as a faltering gravity field, pressing down on her with an almost tangible force. The only sound breaking through the heavy stillness was her own ragged breathing, each inhale and exhale echoing in the void. In the distance, the sharp crackle of sparking cables punctuated the quiet, adding a sporadic rhythm to the tension. Meanwhile, slow, deliberate footsteps approached each step, resonating like the ticking of a countdown, drawing ever closer with a sense of inevitable confrontation.

Then, cutting through the tension like a blade, a digitalized, eerily smooth voice echoed with an unsettling blend of warmth and menace. It was reminiscent of a grandfather spinning an evening tale that was just too thrilling for comfort. "Well, kid… you look like someone wiped the floor with you."

The voice flowed through the metallic filter of the helmet with a casual ease that sent a shiver crawling up Olivia's spine. It lacked any hint of urgency or aggression, maintaining a steady, knowing tone. This kind belonged to someone who had witnessed far too much and felt no need to justify himself. Her breath caught in her throat. This wasn't a rebel. Not one of the station's people, either. Then, in the name of the Hel, who was he?