Chapter 1
The old skybridge creaked beneath Lyra’s feet, its rusted metal frame swaying precariously in the cold wind as she picked her way through the debris. Fucking thing looked ready to collapse at any moment. Just like everything else in this godforsaken shithole of a city.
A century of abandonment had reduced the once-magnificent Earth metropolis to little more than a crumbling ruin, its towering skyscrapers now skeletal husks strangled by twisting vines and bloated with rot. Lyra smirked. The perfect metaphor for the whole damned planet, really. Humanity’s grand ambitions, all gone to seed. Literally.
She paused to survey the devastation of the recent battlefield below, sharp green eyes scanning the scorched and pitted earth. It was a goddamn mess down there - jagged shards of warped metal jutted from the churned mud like a legion of broken teeth, glinting viciously in the pale morning light. Sickly iridescent alien slime pooled in the impact craters, its rancid stench turning her empty stomach.
“Fucking spiders,” Lyra muttered, spitting over the railing. Those eight-legged alien assholes had a real knack for turning everything they touched to shit. Including her life.
Shoving the bitter thought aside, she vaulted nimbly over a gaping hole in the decking, the pneumatic pistons in her artificial leg letting out a soft hiss as she landed. The gleam of potentially valuable salvage in the rubble below drew her like a moth to a flame. Where others saw only ruin, Lyra saw opportunity. One woman’s toxic wasteland was another’s treasure trove.
She moved quickly and quietly, expert gaze darting about for telltale signs of movement amidst the barren cityscape. The spidery sons-of-bitches that had blasted this area could still be lurking nearby, waiting to make a meal of any fool unlucky enough to stumble across their path. And Lyra sure as shit didn’t intend to be on today’s menu.
Her nerves were strung tight as razor wire as she picked her way down to street level, pulse-pounding a staccato rhythm in her ears. The butt of her sawed-off shotgun, Sandra, was a comforting weight against her hip. Lyra knew the twitchy, hair-trigger sensation well - that heightened, almost preternatural awareness that came from spending a lifetime locked in a lethal dance with mankind’s worst nightmare made flesh.
The Arachnithra. Even just thinking the name made her want to spit again, preferably right into their beady little clusterfuck of eyes. Conquering alien bastards...
Lyra approached the twisted remains of what had once been a sleek alien assault craft, now reduced to a smoldering heap of blackened alloy. Skirting the edge of the debris field, she kept her senses on high alert, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.
“C’mon, baby, show me whatcha got,” she murmured, raking her gaze over the wreckage for anything that screamed ‘payday’. There - nestled beneath a snarled tangle of torn metal, a faint but steady glow. Her eyes lit up with savage glee.
Dropping into a crouch, Lyra set to work prying the panel free with deft, practiced motions. The sharp edges sliced into her flesh hand, blood welling in scarlet rivulets, but she paid it no mind. Pain was an old friend. And besides, a little blood was a small price to pay for the sleek, thrumming energy core that slid free into her waiting palm.
“Fuck, yeah. Gotcha, you sweet little bastard.”
She turned the device over in her hands, mind already racing to calculate what she might get for it on the black market. Enough to keep her in ammo and booze for a month, easy. Maybe even score some new upgrades for her arm, or--
A skittering of loose stone sent a chill slithering down her spine. Lyra froze, breath going shallow, and even as she strained her enhanced hearing to the limit. There it was again - that dry, bone-scraping-on-bone rattle that could only mean one thing.
“Shit,” Lyra breathed, the single sibilant word misting in the chill air. Carefully, she slipped the energy core into a pouch on her belt and drew Sandra from her holster, every muscle going bowstring taut. Her gaze cut to a mound of rubble just as a spindly, segmented limb slid into view.
Arachnithra. A whole fucking brood of them, from the sound of it.
Lyra’s lips skinned back from her teeth in a feral snarl. Survive and scavenge, scavenge and survive - the endless cycle that had defined her existence since the spider-fucks had turned Earth into their own personal smorgasbord.
She rolled her shoulders beneath the comforting weight of her arachnid-chitin armor, finger curling around Sandra’s trigger. Time to show these alien assholes that this ‘Forsaken’ wasn’t going down without one helluva fight.
“Alright, boys,” Lyra growled, voice steady despite her hammering pulse. “Let’s dance.”
And then the rubble around her erupted into skittering, hissing chaos as the Arachnithra poured from the shadows, razored mandibles slavering green venom. Lyra rolled to her feet and opened fire, Sandra’s thunderous rapport a defiant anthem in the face of death’s chittering maw.
Lyra leaped backwards, her prosthetic leg whirring as it recalibrated to maintain her balance on the uneven terrain. She landed in a half-crouch, feeling the shock absorbers in her knee dampen the impact. It was times like this she was damn grateful for the souped-up tech fused to her bones - courtesy of one too many close calls with the Arachnithra.
“C’mon, you ugly bastards!” she taunted, lining up another shot. Sandra kicked like a mule in her grip, the recoil a familiar jolt up her arm as an Arachnithra drone’s head exploded in a spray of ichor and chitin.
But there were too many, an endless tide of segmented bodies and razor-tipped legs. They swarmed towards her, heedless of their fallen kin, driven by an insatiable hunger that knew no bounds.
Lyra’s mind flashed back to her first encounter with the Arachnithra, years ago now. She’d been cocky then, flush with the invincibility of youth. It had nearly cost her everything.
“Never again,” she muttered, the words a mantra against the fear that threatened to choke her. She’d learned since then, studied the Arachnithra’s movements and habits with a single-minded intensity born of desperation. They were fast, vicious... but predictable.
Lyra waited until the last possible second, then fired her grappling hook at a jutting spar of rebar. The cable snapped taut and she hit the retract button, letting the momentum yank her off her feet and send her hurtling over the seething mass of Arachnithra below.
She twisted in midair, picking off the drones that skittered up the walls in pursuit. Her aim was true, honed by years of necessity, and Arachnithra bodies rained down to crunch against the rubble.
Lyra hit the ground running on the other side of the chasm, prosthetic leg absorbing the impact with a hiss of hydraulics. She paused just long enough to reel in her grapple, breathing hard.
“Jax, you copy?” she panted, tapping her comms implant. “Ran into some trouble out here. Eight legs and an attitude, if you catch my drift.”
The line crackled with static for a moment before Jax’s voice filtered through, tight with concern. “I read you, Lyra. You need backup? I can be there in ten.”
Lyra shook her head, forgetting for a moment that Jax couldn’t see her. “Negative. I’ll handle it. Just... keep an eye out, yeah? Feels like the start of something big.”
She didn’t wait for his response, already moving again, picking her way through the rubble with a scavenger’s practiced ease. The Arachnithra wouldn’t be far behind, and she needed to put some distance between herself and their hunting grounds.
Lyra grimaced, tasting the acrid tang of adrenaline on her tongue. The Arachnithra were getting bolder, pressing deeper into the city’s bones with each passing day. It couldn’t bode well for anyone, least of all the scavengers who relied on the ruins for their livelihood.
“One problem at a time, Lyra,” she muttered to herself, vaulting over a fallen girder. First, she had to get back to the safety of the settlement. Then... then she could worry about the rest of it.
Behind her, the Arachnithra’s eerie chittering rose in volume, spurring her on. Just another day in the life of a Forsaken, dancing on the knife’s edge between survival and oblivion.
And damn if Lyra wasn’t going to fight for every scrap of it, tooth and nail.
The makeshift market was a hive of activity as Lyra approached, the air thick with the mingled scents of sweat, rusting metal, and desperation. Scavengers haggled over bits of salvage, their voices rising and falling in a discordant symphony.
Eyes turned to follow her as she passed, a mixture of fear and grudging respect in their gazes. Lyra ignored them, her focus on the stall at the far end of the market, where a heavyset man with a shock of greying hair presided over a collection of scavenged tech.
“Lyra!” he called out as she drew near, his voice booming over the din. “Jax told me you had a run-in with the Spiders. Thought we’d be scraping what was left of you off the ruins.”
Lyra flashed him a razor-edged grin. “You know me, Flint. Too fucking stubborn to die.”
Flint barked out a laugh. “Ain’t that the truth. So, what brings you to my humble abode? Looking to offload some salvage?”
Lyra shook her head, leaning in closer. “Not this time. I need information. Word is, the Arachnithra are on the move. Something’s got them riled up.”
Flint’s jovial expression faded, replaced by a grim frown. “Ain’t just rumors, kid. They’ve been pushing further into the city, hitting scav teams left and right. It’s bad out there.”
A chill ran down Lyra’s spine, but she kept her face impassive. “Any idea what’s driving them?”
“Wish I knew,” Flint sighed. “All I can tell you is that it’s got people spooked. Folks are starting to talk about packing up, finding someplace safer.”
Lyra’s jaw clenched. Running wasn’t an option, not for her. This was her home, her territory. And she’d be damned if she let the Arachnithra take it from her without a fight.
“Thanks for the intel, Flint,” she said, straightening up. “Keep your ear to the ground, yeah? If you hear anything else...”
“You’ll be the first to know,” Flint promised. “Watch your back out there, Lyra. Something tells me this is just the beginning.”
Lyra nodded, the weight of his words settling heavy on her shoulders. She turned to go, her mind already racing with possibilities, strategies, and contingencies.
The Arachnithra were coming, and she needed to be ready. For herself, for her fellow scavengers, for what remained of humanity in this shattered world.
Lyra made her way through the bustling market, her senses on high alert. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, a prickling unease at the base of her skull. The Arachnithra were growing bolder, pushing deeper into the city. It was only a matter of time before they struck again.
As she wove between the stalls, a flash of movement caught her eye. Instinct took over, and she spun around, her hand dropping to Sandra. But it was just a group of children, darting between the crowds with mischievous grins on their faces.
Lyra exhaled slowly, forcing herself to relax. She was jumping at shadows, letting the tension get to her. She needed to stay focused, and keep her wits about her.
A familiar voice called out to her from a nearby stall. “Well, well, if it isn’t the great Lyra Kincaid herself.”
Lyra turned to see Jax, another scavenger, leaning against a table piled high with scavenged tech. He had a cocky grin on his face, but there was a glint of respect in his eyes.
“You sounded like you had a close call out there,” he said, nodding towards the ruins beyond the market. “Ran into a whole nest of those eight-legged freaks.”
Lyra shrugged, keeping her expression neutral. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Thought I’d warn you though.”
Jax laughed, shaking his head. “Fucking hell, Kincaid. You’ve got a type, I’ll give you that. Most people would’ve turned tail and run.”
“I’m not most people,” Lyra replied, a hint of pride in her voice.
“Don’t I know it,” Jax said, his grin widening. “Still, even you’ve gotta admit, it’s getting dicey out there. The Arachnithra have never been this aggressive before.”
Lyra’s brow furrowed. He was right, of course. The spider-like aliens had always been a threat, but lately, their attacks had been escalating. It was as if they were driven by some new purpose, some insatiable hunger.
“We’ll manage,” she said, injecting more confidence into her words than she felt. “We always do.”
Jax looked skeptical, but he didn’t argue. “Well, you be careful out there, yeah? Hate to lose our best scavenger to those ugly bastards.”
Lyra cracked a smile at that. “Aw, Jax, I didn’t know you cared.”
“Shut up,” he grumbled, but there was no heat in it. “Just don’t want to have to pick up your slack, is all.”
Lyra chuckled, the banter easing some of the tension in her shoulders. These moments of levity were rare in the slums, and she cherished them all the more for it.
But even as she traded quips with Jax, her mind kept drifting back to the Arachnithra. The encounter in the ruins had shaken her more than she cared to admit. For a moment, pinned beneath that chitinous body, she’d been certain she was going to die.
The memory sent a shudder through her, and she clenched her fists, willing away the fear. She couldn’t afford to show weakness, not here, not now. The slums were a harsh mistress, and she demanded strength from all her children.
A sudden commotion at the edge of the market drew Lyra’s attention. People were shouting, their voices tinged with fear and urgency. She pushed through the crowd, her heart pounding in her chest.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, grabbing the arm of a passing scavenger.
The man’s eyes were wide with terror. “Arachnithra,” he gasped. “A whole fucking swarm of them, headed this way.”
Lyra’s blood ran cold. A swarm? Here? The slums had always been a target, but never on this scale. If the Arachnithra attacked in force, they would cut through the ramshackle defenses like a hot knife through butter.
She had to do something. She couldn’t just stand by and watch her people be slaughtered. But what could she do? She was just one woman, one scavenger. She couldn’t take on an entire swarm alone.
Or could she?
The thought was insane, suicidal even. But as Lyra looked around at the terrified faces of her fellow scavengers, she knew she couldn’t just do nothing. These were her people, her community. And she would fight for them, even if it meant her own death.
“Fuck it,” she muttered under her breath. “If I’m going to die, might as well go out in style.”
She turned to Jax, her eyes blazing with determination. “Gather everyone who can fight,” she said. “We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
Jax stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “Are you fucking crazy? We can’t fight a swarm!”
“We can’t just sit here and let them slaughter us either,” Lyra snapped. “I’m not asking you to come with me. But someone has to do something.”
For a long moment, Jax just looked at her. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll see who I can round up. But Lyra... don’t get yourself killed out there, yeah?”
Lyra flashed him a grin, all bravado and reckless courage. “No promises.”
She turned away, her mind already racing with plans and strategies. She knew the ruins like the back of her hand, knew every hidden nook and cranny. If she could lure the swarm into the right spot, maybe she could take them out with some well-placed explosives.
It was a long shot, but it was the only chance they had.
Lyra took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision settling on her shoulders. She knew she might not come back from this, knew that she was probably marching to her own death.
But she also knew that she couldn’t live with herself if she did nothing.
So she squared her shoulders, checked her weapons, and headed out into the ruins, ready to face whatever the Arachnithra threw at her.
And as she ran, she could feel the eyes of the slums on her back, watching, waiting, hoping.
She would not let them down.
