dlthedescent

[dlthedescent]

Descent Sequel Poll

I have had this decision since I first started writing the Descent and with the Beast drawing near, I don't expect myself to finish off Descent anytime soon (with where the plot is...I'm still at the halfway point). And even so, I'll have to play the Beast first to get an idea what the Descent Sequel should be moving forward. So again, might not be that soon after the game's release. With that said, here's the poll.

Edit: I meant after the Beast is out. I realized I made it seem like I'm gonna start right away - not yet, i really have to do my research and planning first...

[dlthedescent]

TWENTY-EIGHT: BIRDS OF A FEATHER

“Please help us!” the jumping survivor hollered.

A moment ago, he was at his lowest. And when his friend spotted smoke in the distance, streaming away, he thought he was pulling his leg.

No one used the tracks anymore, not since the city fell and the virus spread into the Border. 

But the noises of a train grew louder. And for a second, he almost couldn’t believe what he saw—a moving train. In all of this chaos.

Meaning survivors.

A chance!

So they both darted to the tracks. He frantically bounced up and down, praying for the driver to see them. Please, stop the train! 

At first, he thought they didn’t. That they would ignore them. Then out of the front cab bolted a brunette in a flashy red jacket. And after her, a hooded guy as the train behind them slowed to a crawl.

Thank goodness! There really were people!

And yet, the problem swarming after them. All because he yelled as loud as he could.

Flicking his gaze sideways, his eyes back to his friend fighting off a Biter.

Anyone would know: any loud noise would attract the Virals. One was already closing in, sprinting full tilt toward them, its ragged shrieks cutting through the air.

The other survivor still had his blade in the infected’s chest, shoving its corpse away.

He didn’t have enough time to react to the next walker.

“Atlas!” 

Whack!

Like a broken marionette, the Viral toppled down to the ground before it reached the two survivors.

Jack stepped in—a quick pivot, a firm stance—swung her weapon and cracked open its skull like a watermelon. She planted herself as the survivors’ shield for the next infected lunging from the left.

A blur shot at the charging Biter.

Crane sank his taloned into its skull. A sickening crunch into dirt, then he twisted its head with inhuman ease. He tossed the body aside and turned, already scanning for the next threat.

Broad daylight, and outside one of densest areas of the Border? The common stragglers came hounding after the humans.

And yet, something was off. Two, three Biters could turn into a horde—not even Jack would linger too long, forced to go high ground or somewhere safe before it got too overwhelming. She had expected more Biters to come stumbling from the bushes and the faraway alleys.

A few Virals in the back skidded to a stop, angry. Snarling. Before they slunk back into the shadows.

Strange behavior. Was something holding them back? 

Or was it because of Freakazoid with how intense his glare had been towards them?

It hadn’t been the first time those uncommon infected showed hostility toward one another, like animals guarding their territory against a bigger threat.

She’d count it a blessing as she hammered at another persistent Biter. One by one, each taken down by the survivor with his knife, Jack and Crane until the handful of Biters lay motionless at their feet.

“Everyone in one piece?” Jack turned to the two survivors, already shifting gears into taking control of the situation.

“Yeah,” the survivor with the knife said, catching his breath. 

His friend stumbled forward, the panic and hope still evident in his eyes. “Please. You have to help us!”

“Tell us what happened,” Jack said softly. Her presence as always, calm and ironclad.

“It’s Rais’ men.”

The answer was almost expected. In the middle of an outbreak, there would be one out of three main problems: the walkers, bandits or on a rare day, GRE. So to Jack, it was another day for the unfortunate. Like at the Outskirts, and in Scanderoon.

Nothing new but nothing good either.

Jack glanced at her partner. Just as he had a disdain at the banner from earlier, he gave that same expression when hearing the name like a curse he couldn't shake off.

“They’ve taken our safe zone. Doing whatever they want and taking supplies.”

“The usual,” Freakazoid spat. 

The survivor nodded, recognizing the hardened certainty in the hooded man’s tone—he had crossed paths with those bandits before. “Ever since their leader bit the dust, they’ve gotten worse than before. Like animals.”

“Survival of the fittest,” Jack pointed, the old saying holding so true in times like this.

“How long ago?” Freakazoid then quickly asked, all prepared to jump into his heroics.

“Thirty minutes ago,” the survivor answered. “If it weren’t for Atlas here, we wouldn’t have been able to sneak out.”

“Saw your smoke from afar,” the other survivor, Atlas, explained. “Figured we could get help.”

“Where’s your safe zone?” Jack added the next question.

“The Night Market. Please, you have to bring backup and stop those bandits,” Atlas’ friend begged.

Jack smiled. “You already have it.”

“Wha-” He looked at her, baffled. Then at her partner. “You’re not planning to fight them off by yourselves?”

“Keep an eye out on our train, would you, hons?”

Jack wheeled on her heel, off to the direction of the Night Market—she remembered visiting it once long before the outbreak. Several blocks in, meaning they’d have to cut through the infected to make their way there.

Crane’s footsteps matched Jack’s as he followed her without hesitation. No questions, no second thoughts.

It was back onto the saddle, something he had fully prepared since returning back to Harran. He had already enough experience dealing with the likes of them in the Slums. Same with Alexander’s men in Scanderoon.

He wasn’t about to let any thug run rampant like always. 

The survivor stared, wide-eyed, at the two Runners. The very place they had escaped with their lives to find help, and they were going into danger without a second thought!

Those were bandits!

He wanted to call them back—they were going to get themselves killed!—but Atlas stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a knowing look.

Those two Runners had a job to do, and they were going to see it through.

His friend swallowed hard, reluctantly watching their saviors shrink into the distance.

All they could do was hope. As he had been hoping since the start.

The Night Market had seen better days.

Ever since Harran fell into quarantine, life in the Border’s zones had teetered on the edge of chaos and collapse. Then the virus seeped out of the Slums’ cracks months ago.

Like every other ward and district, they became homes for the infected.

The market was a hush of its former self, and yet ironically still clung to life. Its streets and bricked paths used to have a lively buzz of voices and bartering, stalls brimmed with food and goods.

Now, only silence and tension filled the once-thriving marketplace.

The iron-wrought fence barricading the Night Market had been the residents’ main barricade since the early days of the outbreak. Then reinforced it with more defenses to call it their Safe Zone. Their home.

Who would have expected it would end up trapping them the moment the bandits forced their way in?

“Quit wasting my time.”

One old resident could do nothing but compel—head down, held by the collar, as he was shoved into the same huddle in the far back as the others. A hit to the eye, because he helped those two young men escape.

“What are we going to do about those escapees?” 

“Those freaks will eat them anyway.”

There was a time when the focus was on the infected. Then a time when bandits, scavengers and power-hungry deserters became a second problem. Then that problem escalated in the form of yellow and black. 

These bandits were everywhere now.

“There’s still that smoke we saw.”

“Who cares. C’mon. Take everything you can carry.”

“There’s nothing else, Kasper,” one of the bandits snapped back. “This place is as bare bone as the rest of the district.”

Kasper, the one taking lead on this ragtag band, grimaced. No, they couldn’t be that short of supplies.

Things hadn’t been the same since the Slums. Several groups had been out raiding, then they returned to the Headquarters to find most of everyone dead. One thing led to another—they made their way into the Border in the recent weeks since.

They had to keep going. Adapting. Surviving.

That had been the change in their philosophy. It was like starting all over again in the early days of the pandemic.

And the days of easy pickings were long gone. Every place they hit was either already picked clean or too dangerous to bother with. Same with this recent raid.

What everyone had gathered so far wouldn’t last them for two weeks.

“Where the hell is Grim at?” he then asked.

“We don’t know. Guy’s already a lost cause, isn’t he?” one of the rookies scoffed.

It didn’t help that their number was shrinking, despite their cautious vigilance. Every other day or so, they’d lose one to a Viral or Volatile. And even if they could survive an encounter, a bite would doom them. There hadn’t been Antizin for months.

They were all too scattered for any form of structure.

Rais’ gang had been crumbling down. 

“Maybe we should call it quits.”

“Are you serious?” one snapped, baffled to hear such a daring suggestion.

“You heard me. Rais is dead. We haven’t heard anything from Kaan either!”

Those words hung in the air, like an unspoken truth. They had no leader. No clear purpose. No reason to keep fighting for scraps. The fire they had a month ago had dwindled down to embers.

They all knew it.

“He was insane to believe there was something in the Countryside.”

Yes, he was. Kasper agreed quietly. 

But still, they were banking on him succeeding…whatever it was.

Then radio silence since. Meaning he was dead too. 

“Face it. It doesn’t matter if any of us get infected.. We’re all good as dead.”

Story continues on at these links: FFN and AO3.

[dlthedescent]

TWENTY-SEVEN: CHASING GHOSTS

For the fifth time, Crane felt it. 

One moment, he shut his eyes. The next, he was somewhere else.

No. He and Jack had stopped the train near a safehouse in the middle of nowhere for the night. He shouldn’t be standing in a dimly lit apartment hallway.

Yet there he was, trapped in another wild dream.

He sighed.

“This is getting real old,” he muttered. But what could he do? This was the fifth time.

And that was the thing—it was the fifth dream. Each one had been different—different places, different scenarios, with no clue as to how or why.

The only pattern? Everything felt... normal.

One thing was for certain. Back in the real world, mutant Kyle could see, hear and feel everything. But in the dreams, the world was normal—none of his zombie senses.

And that still didn’t explain anything. He was as clueless as in the first dream.

Kink-kink!

Keys rattled, drawing his gaze to a familiar brunette standing in front of apartment 313. A corner unit, in a place where the floor was clean, the walls’ unchipped and residents living their lives indoors.

Outside the window, at the end of the hall, the faint hum of Harran buzzed. 

A normal afternoon day.

Before him was Jack, digging into her pocket for her keys, drowsy after a trip to a store.

Crane could say something. Wave a hand in front of her face. And he knew for a fact she wouldn’t react. He was just an invisible spectator like always. 

Not like he could change anything.

Well, might as well let the dream play out. Sooner or later, he’d wake up, more confused than ever-

The clinking stopped. 

Jack’s keys barely reached for the doorknob before she froze, listening.

Like the Jack in the present.

Her fingers tightened around the keys as a weapon. Her other hand clutched her grocery bag like a shield.

Just in case.

She spun around.

“Not again.” Crane expected this to happen. Like that one dream, at the alleyway-

Thud! 

“Omph! Aaaah…”

A punch didn’t come flying again. Instead, someone else stood in Crane’s way. Jack threw her bag aside, snatched the stranger’s arm, wrenched it behind his back, and shoved him forward.

Slammed into the wall, her weight pinned him in place.

“Meerde...”

“Jean?!” Jack’s eyes widened at her surprise visitor. “What are you doing here?”

“Et bonjour à toi aussi,” he greeted in a wheeze. 

Of course, he’s French, Crane thought.

“If I’d known this was how you greet old friends, I would have brought flowers,” the man uttered dryly. “At least my ribs wouldn’t be bruised.”

“I told you not to sneak up on me.” Jack released him—though not without a sharp shove.

“Then I wouldn’t be good at my job. Arrrgh…”

Crane studied the stranger nursing his battered chin. Caucasian, lanky, wavy dark hair in a short ponytail. Same age group as Jack. A blazer over a crisp button-up.

…And he looked familiar.

Where had Crane seen his face before?

“Could have been a little gentler.”

“Well, sorry if I’ve been on edge lately.” Jack knelt to gather her scattered groceries. “Been feeling like someone’s been watching my back.”

Crane stiffened. No, she didn’t mean him. Of course not.

“So I’ve noticed.” ‘Jean’ adjusted his collar. “With your little championship approaching, the closer Valchos watches.”

Valchos.

The name rolled off their tongues so casually, yet it carried weight.

“You weren’t joking about that man being obsessed.”

“Good. Means he’s predictable,” Jack spat with an old, seething grudge.

“Predictable. More like tenacious. He’s playing kingmaker, and he’s set his sights on one  ‘famous kickboxer’.” ‘Jean’ rocked back on his heels before glancing out the hallway window. “He’s sending every ruffian he can buy.”

Crane followed his gaze.

A second look down the road and he saw them—men lingering in the shadows; ordinary pedestrians that stood too still, too patient. 

Because they were the kind paid to watch.

At Jack’s window.

“And these aren’t professionals.” He pulled a stack of cards from his pocket. ID cards. “Local street thugs.”

Enough to start a poker game, actually. Crane raised his brow, surprised. Jack, however, focused on her groceries.

“Money makes the world go round. We both know that all too well, Pierre.”

Jean. Pierre. Jean-Pierre. Crane turned the name over in his mind, looking back at the lanky man.

Hang on a minute. Hadn’t he seen that name in a dossier- 

“That it does.” Jean-Pierre extended his arms, offering to take Jack’s bag like a gentleman. While she climbed back onto her feet and brushed the dirt off her pants. “But this attention will complicate things going further.”

“You’ve pulled off far worse with higher stakes before,” Jack pried, folding her arms. “Didn’t you say you could do this in your sleep?”

“You wound me, ma cherie,” he jested. “But I know when we’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.” 

The French man wavered, carefully weighing his next words. Exhaustion lined his features, mirroring Jack’s—both of them running like headless chickens for days.

“I hate to say this but we need a Codebreaker.”

Silence fell between them, heavy enough to hear a pin drop.

There were mounting questions on top of questions for Crane. Hell, even the name, ‘Codebreaker’. Normal people wouldn’t know the full extent of that name.

But even if he could ask, he wouldn’t when the atmosphere changed. When Jack averted her eyes, her hands tightened into fists.

No sunglasses to hide the expression in her eyes: worry.

Jack was worried… Like she was with Siv and the Runners. With the orphans. With Ender and Riza. She always masked it with her usual grin

Except here, in the dream, she wasn’t smiling.

And like Crane, the man named Jean-Perrie noticed.

“...Did ‘Boss’ make that proposal or did you suggest it?” Jack asked quietly.

Pierre said nothing at first. And that told everything she needed to know.

Of course. Her lips curled into a disappointed frown.

Pierre remained calm and collected. He didn’t push, didn’t yield. A man who had been thrown like a ragdoll minutes ago stood tall beside her, who looked conflicted.

In a sense that he had always there for her. Crane picked up on that.

“While I’ve always admired your ironclad approach to everything,” Pierre offered smoothly, “some walls don’t break, no matter how hard you hit them.”

Just nodded reluctantly. She did wish otherwise but Pierre was right.

Some walls never came down easily.

“I’m good with locks and papers. Not computers,” Pierre continued. “You and Boss don’t even know how to use a forum.”

“I’m-!” Jack started, defensive. “...still learning.”

“Better than the old man but that’s not my point.”

Jack exhaled, more understanding than defeated.

They were stuck. They had to change their game or call it quits.

And Jack knew all too well none of them would do the latter.

“Yeong wants in.” 

That only deepened the crease in Jack’s brow, just as Pierre had expected. 

“...He’s doing better-”

“Any youngster will say that to prove a point,” she muttered.

“Then we get a different Codebreaker,” Pierre suggested. “Troy can help-”

“All the more she shouldn’t be involved…” Jack pinched the bridge of her nose, keeping her loudest thoughts in. “Yeong wouldn’t talk for weeks after-”

She stopped herself, jaw tight—some things had to stay in the past.

Pierre didn’t push. He just waited.

And Crane? He watched like a spectator in the audience.

“No.”

Pierre sighed softly but didn’t argue. He’d expected that reaction.

“He’s safe and sound in Busan,” Jack said, sliding her key into the lock. “That’s where he belongs.”

End of the discussion. She turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

And frowned even harder.

“Hi, Jackie.”

Story continues on at these links: FFN and AO3.

[dlthedescent]

new chapter when?

I'm still on the last portion of the chapter. It may be up next week but I do want to make sure my chapters are free of errors and refined. Thank you for your patience.

[dlthedescent]

3 years is also a decent amount of time

[dlthedescent]

A small edit to celebrate Dying Light's 10th anniversary yesterday. Here are the main protagonists of my fanfiction series! :)

Kyle Crane = A Plague Tale: Part I.

Aiden Caldwell = A Plague Tale: Part II.

Libby Mason = A Plague Tale: Part III.

Important Notice: I do not consent to my edits being used or reposted anywhere without my permission.

Tagging: @arrthurpendragon @isobelbarbie @cas-verse @bardic-tales @chickensarentcheap @creators-club

Tagging Dying Light mutuals (in case of interest? No pressure, though! 😄): @tafferling @pandanivanson @vickie-believe @dlthedescent

[dlthedescent]

Here's a 10th anniversary DL fanart from me. Thank you for the wonderful games and 10 years of great content, Techland.

And a tinnnny shameless advertisement to coughthedescentficcough there. Twitter link Reddit link

[dlthedescent]

Hello all you readers, soooo the past 'month', I've gone back to revamped Prologue Arc and Intermission I-I (AGAIN) with (hopefully) more refined writing and taking out some unneeded little ideas. With the beast coming up, I wanted to streamline the Descent, especially when there are some plot points I originally had but may not be able to tackle without overloading the main plot.

Sometimes you gotta kill some of your darlings.

That said, yes, the next arc will be revamped too. Next week. Probably. With the next Harran Arc chapter in the works.

Update: Arc One In the Works

Hello all you readers. After probably 2 weeks of editing, fixing and revising, I’ve completed Intermission 1-1 and Chapter 10 to 14, including updating the chapter posts here.

Next aim is Chapter 15 onwards, aka “Crane’s ongoing angst”. :D

I haven’t had sleep. Im not in a state of mind right now.

[dlthedescent]

Kyle Crane sporting his best puppy dog eyes by @mackspaws - because I collect Kyle art like a dragon hoards its shinies.

THANK YOU I will treasure this forever 🧡

[dlthedescent]

I had to draw the guy for the 10th anniversary...

[dlthedescent]

DL: Descent Short Stories: Mistletoe

This is one of several short prompts I had written within the Descent world as a present for my readers, friends and DL discord group. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! PS. It's non canon to the Descent, sorry Lyy

"It's gotten...festive." "So it has." Crane found the tone...apathetic. He thought Jack would be happy to see the mood greatly improved at the Junction. Considering the surrounding circumstances. "Not enough decorations?" Understandably, not everyone in this country would be into Christmas. "Never a fan of the holidays." What. "How can you not like Christmas?" he asked, incredulous. Jack shrugged. "It's a corporate cash grab every year. People fussing over overpriced gifts, decorations and food. Nothing joyful about it anymore..." Holy shit. Had she never had a real Christmas before to have the joy sucked out of her? Crane felt sorry for her. "And then there’s the insufferable caroling." "The caroling is the best part!" he uttered, offended. "If you say so. I'm never around to hear those outdated jingles." Crane stared at her, dumbfounded. "You...worked through Christmas?" "Clients pay more for the gigs because no one wants to work on the holidays. So, why not." "You're a monster." Even he couldn't see himself skip Christmas. "Yes, yes, I'm a humbug." "Hey, mister." Crane stopped, turning to one of the Junction kids. Rashid, he remembered his name. Rashid was pointing at something above him, so of course, the two adults looked up. A plastic mistletoe. Nailed in the frame of the door. Wait a minute.

"You're supposed to kiss her." Crane looked down, wide eyes. Why did a ten-year-old put him on the spot? And who the fuck put that up there?!

"I... Well..." He hesitated. Sideeying at Jack, who once again was finding Freakazoid panicking as entertainment. How would he get himself out of this mess, she visibly wondered. She wouldn't come to his aid. "You don't like her, mister?" another kid, damn blunt, just sprouted that out. "Now, wait, hold on a minute." It wasn't that he didn't want to - wait, no, it should only be if Jack was ok with that - stop, hang on! He was a fucking, talking sentient zombie! "I just...don't think that's a good idea. I got a cold," he quickly lied. "Will pass that to her." He heard Jack chuckle loudly next to him. The children were gathering; did he really act like a headless chicken for them to notice? "But they told us if we saw you pass under the flower, you have to kiss each other," Rashid pushed innocently. "Ew, kissing," another kid in the back shouted. "Who exactly said that?" Crane pried, so he could put their names down and go after them for this. "The canary and the owl." "So Riza and Ender," Jack deducted, bringing a deepened scowl on Crane's face. Those little shits-! "The canary lady said you have to kiss so we can win the game. That's the rules," Rashid explained. Meaning these kids had no idea the reason for the mistletoe. "She said she'll give us candy canes!" Of course she would! Why are all the Ravens as conniving as Jack?! "That's not how this works," Crane tried to convince them. "Told you he wouldn't do it," another kid cut him off. "Adults don't do kisses." "Now, now, wait a second here." Stop putting words in his mouth! But it wasn't like he could...explain a topic far too young for kids to understand! Adults do do kisses and it's natural and why am I trying to come up with an explanation?! He didn't hear Jack's soft giggle, or spot her closing the gap to Freakazoid. All too flabbergasted on the spot that he should just stop there and be done with it. Crane's blabbering stopped mid-sentence once he noticed a slender hand reach to one side of his hood and pull. Unknowingly, brain still fizzled, he let it happen and found himself looking down at the grinning brunette as she stood on her tiptoes. The children couldn't see past the hood; but Crane felt something soft on his temple. His eyes as wide as dinner plates, stunned, feeling cheeks flushed. Did she - did he really - "It's only the forehead," Jack chimed. "But I think that counts." She strolled out of the room, actually a little joyful. "Merry Christmas, mate."

[dlthedescent]

I accidentally stumbled upon this fanfiction about 3 weeks ago, and I’ve been reading intently every day I have free time, and I just gotta ask, as a massive fan of Dying Light; will Crane’s selflessness and instinct to protect others affect his new, monstrous instincts?

Yes, I know the beast within is kinda…tamed…for now, but…

Oh, and also, I’m REALLY hoping that Crane, as an apex of the infected, is at some point able to “communicate” with Volatiles.

Things like telling them to stand down, or hunt, etc.

Sort of like an Alpha, I guess.

Thank you very much for stumbling and enjoy the fic!

As for the question, as far as this fic has gone, that's sorta been tackled a few times but it is a thought further down the line now that we're in Harran Arc. Now for the communication with infected, it's not something I've thought of with brainstorming on Crane's mutation and may not for this fic since the mindset I had was "infected don't like him one bit, even as an infected". That saaaaid...it is an interesting idea for a future Descent sequel but, maybe not for Crane but for someone else. :3c So thank you!

[dlthedescent]

TWENTY-SIX: BACK TO SQUARE ONE

Stability slowly returned to Train Depot. 

Spike couldn’t believe it as he reached the entrance. He had thought they’d lost the entire Depot. Everything had gone to hell . 

Yet, not everything in the station was lost. Some were injured and others were grieving, but they still had their lives.

Another day to survive.

The question, could they fully recover? It gnawed at him but Spike pressed on, directing his men to stick to the protocols: keep the Virals out, tend to the fallen, and check the defenses for any holes. 

Every second counted—noon was already approaching.

Spike passed the station and moved into the Loading Bay, sifting through the debris. He found one of the lead engineers, leading a few rookies to douse the last of the flames.

“Demir!” he called. “That explosion-”

“It’s alright,” Demir assured him as he settled his crossbow aside and rubbed his bruised shoulder from the recoils. “That lady and her friend held the line long enough for us to do a patch job.” 

“Jack?”

“That her name? They couldn’t have come at a better time.” 

“Any injuries?”

“Few scratches. Lost three during that breach… And…”

Demir’s glance shifted towards the one thing Spike couldn’t ignore even if he tried. 

The inferno had died down. But the twisted, scorched remains of a train were a painful sight… All that hard work, gone in an instant.

It would have been D-Day in two days… All they had been missing was getting ready to tear down the Quarantine wall.

Demir sighed, exhausted. “We’re not getting out of Harran, Spike.”

Spike clenched a fist, fighting off the creeping resignation. That had been the entire goal—getting everyone he managed to save out of Harran. Those from the Slums, and the Border.

They were almost ready…

But Spike steeled himself. If he were to break like he nearly did on top of the rooftop, then he might as well call it quits and leave.

“We’ll continue this at the station,” Spike said firmly. “…Mark my words, I’ll get everyone out.”

“Yeah… Sure.” Demir was rooted in his spot. But he wasn’t one to mourn over a train—Tunc had been lamenting over the burning Hilzi for the last five minutes. So eventually, he headed to the station.

Spike hurried off, searching for the woman in red and her hooded companion. 

A minute later, he skidded to a stop once he spotted them by the container.

“Jack.”

Spike could have sworn he saw a dark look on her face. But it vanished as she turned gracefully, with her charismatic smile.

“How’s everything holding up?”

“Good. Thanks to you both.” Spike said, exhaling a mix of relief and exhaustion. “...That offer still on the table?”

“Always,” she replied. Her quiet friend didn’t object, either.

Crane watched the man waver. No. More like he couldn’t be more happy to hear her answer. Spike needed all the help they could get.

“Follow me.” And Spike hustled down the tracks, leading them to the Border station.

What was once a place for travelers to relax and wait for departures had been repurposed into a base of operation for the engineers

Among the blue-uniformed workers with soot, sweat, and blood, a few stood out—former station and train staff. While they lacked the experience to understand trains, that didn’t mean they couldn’t help however they could.

The air was heavy, however. Their numbers had thinned in just an hour, with some shaken and some holding themselves together. Two medics in waterproof jackets worked quickly, patching up the injured. Few dared ask what had gone wrong.

Losing a Safe Zone was one thing. Trying to recover it was another.

Spike led the Runners to the heart of the station: the dispatch room, where Demir had arrived moments earlier and wasn’t alone. 

Two figures sat near the radio: a stewardess and a radio operator with his hand on the gooseneck microphone, both frazzled. In a corner, a man sat sniffling, his swollen eyes and red nose that Crane wondered if he had lost something precious during the breach.

“Demir,” Spike broke the silence, “are there any other trains we can use?”

“You’re serious?”

Before Demir could start, the operator exploded from his seat. The chair slammed against the wall with a thud .

“You want to try this again?!” Andrej snapped, voice thick with frustration. “Six weeks! Six weeks of  just…waiting.”

Marisol, the stewardess, with six years of service, was well-known for her patience under pressure. She had managed her team, stayed organized, and calmed displaced passengers when crises arose. But nothing in her training could have prepared her for the past several months. 

“Andrej-” she tried to calm him down.

“We’ve been living next to a Quarantine Wall, for fuck’s sake!” Andrej gestured wildly, unable to contain his anger. How absurd and terrifying the very idea was for six weeks . “Sinan warned us this could happen and look at where he is! Dead! Along with half of the crew!”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in. Everyone in the room had seen the bodies and no one argued back.

To Andrej and Marisol, watching death on a screen had been gnawing with fear and dread. For Demir and Tunc, they couldn’t save as many people as they had wished, despite all the best defenses and traps Spike’s team had prepared.

The two newcomers were the quietest. Crane glanced at Jack, expecting her to intervene with her magic but she stayed quiet, watching. 

Sometimes, some explosions were for the better. Let the fire out and the quarrels end instead of turning them into wildfire. The steam had already left a boiling kettle before they entered the dispatch room—Jack stepping in now would make things worse.

The problem was Spike.

Never had Crane seen him…falter. Not once. But he could see the mask slip a little. Spike wrestled with every ounce of control he had in him, gaze averted.

For the first time, Spike now looked both emotionless…and emotional. 

“We’ve put everything into this harebrained plan when we should be looking for alternatives. Any alternative,” Andrej barked.

“If you got ideas, why don’t you share them, you prick,” the red-nosed man mocked.

“Tunc,” Demir warned but the tension hung thick.

The operator’s anger still fumed but just like Tunc in his corner, he was too mentally drained to throw a punch back.

But Andrej had his eyes burned into Spike.

“Maybe I will,” he muttered. “I’m not wasting another minute in this God-forsaken place.”

His cold glance swept the room, expecting anyone to follow. Abandon the train idea. No one moved—not even Marisol.

Seeing that he was alone in this futile protest , Andrej’s scowl deepened. He shot one last look at the two Runners—faces he didn’t know but faces he couldn’t trust.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to leave the suffocating room.

“We’re back to square one. Whether you like it or not.”

Bam!

The door shut behind them.

Andrej’s outburst left its sting in the room. Square one , the worst kind of news to hear in their whole situation. 

The worst thing to be in after putting so much effort into surviving.

And for what…?

The first to break the heavy silence was the stewardess. Unintentionally, with a raspy cough. Shaking her head at how poorly things had gone, Marisol stepped forward, her professional poise intact out of habit.

“I’m sorry,” Marisol apologized on Andrej’s behalf“...He didn’t mean it-”

“Don’t waste your breath, Marisol. He’ll come to his senses,” Tunc grumbled, fed up in his chair.

Demir, however, heaved a deep sigh and focused on the conversation instead. “...Whatever train we have left isn’t gonna cut it. And the ones that already left the Loading Bay… They’re out there. Somewhere.”

“But they’re dangerous.”

Jack’s voice cracked through the tension in the air. Her rigid demeanor was gone; hands in pockets, wide smile, and taking a casual posture about herself.

“Four months is plenty of time to turn them into Viral breeding grounds,” she added.

Tunc frowned. “Sorry, who are you?”

Spike cleared his throat. “Jack Brecken,” he introduced, first gesturing to her before motioning to the hooded man next to her. “And…”

Crane flinched, caught off guard by the introduction. 

“...Kevin.”

Story continues on at these links: FFN and AO3.

[dlthedescent]

TWENTY-FIVE: A HERO'S RETURN

The ride was quiet—tranquil, even—but uncanny.

Crane stood at the bow, watching the scenery drift by. After everything he'd seen—the horrors and deaths—the peace almost startled him. How long had it been since he heard birds chirping and insects humming?

Far too long.

Caroline's boat slipped from the channel into a riverbed untouched by the undead. Against his hardened skin beat the morning sun above and the cool breeze from the water below.

But Crane knew better than to let his guard down. The peace wouldn't last. Above them, the Strait's highway stretched over with its looming shadow. Somewhere up there, he spotted movement—slow, staggering shapes—and faint, incomprehensible groans carried on the wind.

Stragglers huddled in the shade, and deeper within nearby tunnels, the Volatiles waited for night.

"Here we are," Jack's voice broke the silence, and Crane followed her gaze. "Harran."

The edge of Harran, though.

Further down the canal, low-rise buildings crept over the tree line. The urban architecture looked no different from Scanderoon: pillars of smoke rising into the golden horizon, the dreary atmosphere, and the haunting wails in the distance.

It hit Crane like a slap to the face, returning to where it all began. Not in the same light as coming back 'home' but heading to Harran's Borderway from a very long road trip.

And his fears about the state of Harran were neither unfounded nor proven. He wasn't close to the Tower, the Slums, or Old Town—miles away from anyone familiar. The only relief was that, somehow, the city hadn't been nuked off the map.

Now he stood at the threshold. The truth was waiting ahead. The same, suffocating questions buzzed loudly inside his skull.

"The Outskirts aren't too far from here either," Jack pointed from the helm, shining her warm grin. "...We could take a detour."

Did he show his anxiety again without realizing it? Once more, she offered baffling options to him when Jack made it her goal to go to Harran.

"Your call, mate."

Crane hesitated, only realizing himself. Nearly standing from his seat, his neck stretched out like a bird's as he stared at the approaching skyline. He exhaled and propped himself down.

"...Stay the course."

Again, Crane was grounded. Again, Jack didn't pry on his anxiety and relief. And again, he did not attempt to deflect his behavior. She gave him space and waited—as she said, she had all the time in the world.

At his own pace. Yeah, right. He could barely organize his thoughts when it came to Harran.

The joking offer, however… helped lighten the weight on his chest. Maybe it wasn't a bad idea, either…

But Kyle Crane couldn't keep running forever.

The boat trip had stretched for hours, winding through channels, with the Strait guiding them. The advantage of having a boat was blissful: no trudging through roads or tunnels filled with nests.

If only he had managed to get his hands on one in the past. Of course, Harran's infrastructure had never allowed for such vehicles.

When they would reach land, the Border would be an entirely new territory for Crane.

"Bzzt-zt! You reached Harran yet, Jack?"

Miles from Scanderoon, the comms crackled with a voice they wouldn't hear again for a while. They'd already said their goodbyes before leaving the Junction, but the young runner's presence felt like a breath of fresh air in the heavy atmosphere.

"Just made it to the Border," Jack replied.

"Is it as bad as Scanderoon?" Siv asked.

"Can't say for certain until we dock."

One deep sigh escaped the comms. Dodging the question wasn't what Siv wanted to hear, but she'd been down that road before. So Siv never pushed further, for the best.

She likely shared the same kind of worries as Crane did. A local from Harran, worried about her mother, friends, and family.

How small his world had become since awakening as a sentient zombie. Then it stretched further, bit by bit. First from meeting Jack. Then from a kid named Siv.

"If you've got something on your mind, now's the time to spill it," Jack urged, pulling back on the throttle and slowing the boat to a crawl. "Reception's horrible out here."

"Geez. Thanks for putting my mind at ease."

"I don't sugarcoat things, Princess. This might be the last time you hear from us."

"Yeah… You found Peri. Do…do you think you can find my mom?"

Omph, what a way to put the Retrieval specialist on the spot—Crane could see it in her body language, despite Jack's attempt to hide it.

It was a tall order; after four months, was it even possible to find anyone still alive?

But Jack didn't know quits

"I can try."

"...'But it might not be what I want'."

Siv was smart; keeping her hopes low had become the norm.

"Give me the details," Jack pressed. "If she's out there, I'll find her for you."

A deep sigh came from the other end. "She's a nurse. Eva. Worked at Harran City Hospital."

"Got it."

"And Jack? Freakazoid?"

Crane recoiled in surprise. He never thought the young Runner would call him—yes, with that nickname but he wouldn't hold that on her. Regardless, it was a sign that she was warming to him, despite their past hiccups.

"Good luc-zzzt!"

And that was it—the last call with civilization. A final wish of good luck they'd hear.

It was nothing new to Jack—dropped signals had become routine since leaving the Outskirts. Holding a conversation for more than five minutes felt like a rare miracle these days.

And just like that, silence crept back as she steered the boat down the narrow concrete river.

"So," Freakazoid broke the quiet and counted each name with his talons. "We got Umit, that girl's mother, and your cousin."

Then gave a narrowed stare at Jack.

"You don't find this overkill?"

"I thought you liked playing the hero." A low blow. She heard his muffled grumble beneath the scarf. "I'm still on the clock, mate. Bad for business if a Retrieval Specialist doesn't do their job."

"Yeah," Freakazoid didn't buy anything she said one bit. "Mind explaining to me more about your job?"

"What's there to explain? Find the mark and bring it back to the client," Jack dodged the question.

"That's oversimplifying it and you know it."

She shrugged. "Yes, well, professionalism's overrated. There's been times I've gone off the books before. I even have my eye on one particular mark."

She pulled a crumpled photo out of her sling bag she'd lifted during a forced interrogation with the GRE's boss. It was a priceless little gift: the face of Kyle Crane.

Freakazoid raised a hairless eyebrow—a fourth, really? "Someone I need to know?"

"Personal." Instead of showing him, Jack slid the photo back into her bag. "Nothing I can't handle."

"Huh. Must've gotten under your skin."

"You could say that." Her smile softened for a moment, then vanished as she spotted something in the distance.

"What?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she twirled the boat sharply, letting it drift until it lined up with a checkpoint at the end of the canal.

"I was afraid of this."

Crane followed her gaze to the culprit: a large metal gate stood their way. The standard to control water flow, but most importantly, to prevent a virus from spreading through the waterways.

There was no easy way past for a boat. Everywhere he looked, as far as the eye could see, were high concrete banks.

The only option would be to abandon the boat and climb out of the canal. And Crane had absolute confidence the brunette wouldn't be too keen to leave Caroline a second time. And then there were the quarantine walls.

"Is there another way in?" he asked.

Jack shook her head. "It's either through there or we cut through the Countryside."

Crane stiffened. His head whipped toward her, wide-eyed, horror written across his face.

"That'll take a day or two. No telling how safe that route is…" Jack explained, unaware of his sudden demeanor.

The Countryside.

The place where everything had begun for Kyle Crane.

Story continues on at these links: FFN and AO3.

[dlthedescent]

INTERMISSION I-IV: BEFORE WE PART WAYS...

Segment taken from Side Quest Story: Lending A Hand

The prosthetic arm looked crude and clunky, a skeletal framework of scrap metal, bolts, and screws. It was functional but basic, powered by an old battery pack.

Nobody expected miracles, but the flaws became more apparent the longer Noam worked on it. The biggest issue was the fingers—they had to be controlled manually with joystick switches, requiring clumsy extra steps.

Clank!

Two fingers and a thumb clamped too hard, shattering a cup in the test.

Jack's eyes widened, alarm bells ringing in her head. There was no way they would put this on the lad and everyone agreed silently.. Noam swept the shards away, terrified as the fingers twitched, almost as if the contraption wanted to grab him, only stopped by its heavy weight.

"That's a bear trap," Freakazoid stated the obvious.

"You don't have to tell me twice. Doesn't help that it needs a 35-kilo battery, and a controller that short-circuits!"

Frustrated, Noam yanked out the wires, watching the disastrous metallic beast power down.

"Alright. What do we need?" Crane asked.

"Nothing," Noam replied, slumping in his seat. "Hate to break it to you, but you're gonna need hardware. Know anyone who can help?"

"If we were in the Outskirts, the Grads might have an idea," Jack offered.

"Any chance they can help out?"

Jack shook her head. "It's hard enough traveling along the Coastline without the military breathing down our necks."

Crane wasn't an engineer, but he knew this mechanical upgrade was a long shot. The prototype on the table wasn't even the first attempt.

"...What about asking Tolga and Fatin?"

Jack's eyes widened in disbelief for hearing the worst suggestion possible. Noam, however, looked confused—those names weren't as infamous to him as they were to both Runners.

Crane already regretted the suggestion before he said it. They were the last people on Earth he'd ever want to ask for anything.

"No," Jack said firmly.

"I don't like it either," he admitted.

"Absolutely not."

"They're difficult, sure-"

"That's not my problem. You're asking two mad scientists to work on a child's arm."

"They're not going to strap a rocket launcher on him," Crane said, though Jack immediately picked on the slight doubt in his voice, narrowing her eyes further.

Because he could actually see those two do the impossible. Not for a kid, hopefully.

Still, what other options did they have?

"Let me talk to them."

All of a sudden, Jack crossed her arms, brow furrowed. Why?

This was the first time Freakazoid had volunteered to talk to someone, let alone two people Jack could barely tolerate.

"I mean, sure. Give it your best shot."

"Trust me. They'll make that hardware for us."

No backing down from Freakazoid—another first for Jack. Was he really sold on the brothers' brilliance for making that harpoon gun? Jack glanced over to Noam, hoping for an alternative. Another safer option.

"I got nothing," Noam said, still lost in the conversation. Any solution seemed better than his failed contraptions so far.

Jack didn't feel any more confident, but she decided to let it play out.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she muttered, both amused and puzzled, as she walked out of the garage.

Crane followed, initially confident. But as soon as he left the garage—with no one paying attention—he groaned, his steps feeling heavier.

"...Maybe they won't recognize me. My voice's fucked anyway."

Quest Stories, Special Delivery, Out With a Bang and Lending a Hand can be found at these links: FFN and AO3.

[dlthedescent]

Happy 5th Anniversary to Descent Blog

Hiya followers!

It's five years since I made this side blog for my Dying Light fanfic but technically, a year younger than when I first published it on FFN and AO3. And for those 6 years in total, I cannot thank enough of the support and love for something that I started with "I see the potential in the story, I want to write it, I'm gonna write it or so help me."

And here we are. Ahahaha, no end in sight. please send he-

I didn't have anything planned for an anniversary. But the best I can give is some updates coming:

Two chapters will be uploaded next week (as long as no hiccup from life), one being the intermission chapter and one starting the Harran Arc. Yes, it's finally coming.

Another minor thing I've been doing on the side is giving another overhaul cleanup on the previous chapters. While I'm in a neverending cycle with errors and grammar mistakes, hah, this is to streamline the writing a bit more. I've written so much over the years and started planning out something original to challenge myself as a writer, I wanted to put my skills to the test in cleaning up the old chapters. As well as make way for more creative thoughts in newer chapters, especially with expectations on my thoughts of how the Beast DLC may go. Would some plots be nicely connected and what could I further explore, bringing from the old to a new Descent 2 fanfic (TBW) in the future, etc.

The changes aren't gonna be too massive in changing the story, the plot will remain the same. You just will see that word count be a bit shorter than like...over a million words in total or something.

There are some things also cooking in the background but they're too early or rough to talk about it at this time. But for now, again thank you for reading and rereading and enjoy Descent. I wouldn't have gotten this far, without you guys.

[dlthedescent]

So with the DLC coming some time this year, it has given me some creative juice here and there. That said, all I've done in the last week was give a fixer-upper to Mad Jack's design.

Like it's been a couple of months since the lineart I did and I was like...yeah too stiff. TIME TO UPDATE!

now...to color...ugh.

Also hello Lyy, I know you're gonna go feral again on a wip here