The Trash Collector Of The End World

He had been inside the cave for what felt like an entire day. He couldn't tell the time—Xerath'Mora's skies didn't change. There was no sun, and no shift in light.

He couldn't leave. One step into that corrosive downpour would melt his skin faster than he could react.

The cave had kept him alive, but it wasn't kind either.

The air was dry and sharp, and the walls sweated with a mineral frost that made everything colder than it should've been.

His breath had started forming mist hours ago. He rubbed his arms and cursed beneath his breath. Even with his endurance, the biting chill was getting worse by the minute.

And the worst part—there was no food. No fruit-bearing fungi, no crawling insects, not even bones to suck marrow from.

The Rift had given him a deadly world, and this cave, though a shelter, was just a quieter coffin.

"I'm dead for sure..." he muttered, his voice echoing faintly.

"What could I even do?"

He paced, then stopped, then walked deeper.

The walls narrowed, the air thinned, and the cold deepened. He could hear something—drips of condensation or perhaps the groan of shifting stone.

Either way, the cave didn't end. It only stretched further into darkness, like it was daring him to keep walking.

---

He didn't know how long he had been trapped on Xerath'Mora anymore. Time didn't move normally here—it just loitered in the shadows and pressed down on his body like a wet blanket.

One thing was certain: he needed to survive long enough to get out of this place.

His supplies were already low. He rummaged through the vacuum's inventory, only to find mostly spoiled food—scraps he had salvaged from old vending machines and broken stores back in Earth.

His vacuum could store infinite junk, but it didn't stop rot or mold. And here, in the cold and the damp, the decay had sped up.

Still, scraps were better than nothing.

He sat near the mouth of the cave, not too close, just enough to glance outside every few minutes.

The acid rain hadn't stopped. It fell in sheets, burning holes through stone and turning even the toughest terrain into melted sludge. More terrifying than the rain, though, were the lightning strikes.

They didn't come from above.

They came sideways.

Long, bright bolts lashed horizontally across the gray-green sky, slicing through air like invisible blades.

If someone had been out there, they would have been cut in half before they even heard the thunder.

Ash gritted his teeth and quietly shoved everything usable deeper into the vacuum—rusted utensils, a half-melted food wrapper, an battery he had picked up days ago, a large broken trombone, a broken hammer.

He needed to keep as much on hand as possible. Not just to trade or sell. He had learned by now that even trash could be valuable—if used right.

The only thing that mattered now was staying alive.

So, he did what any half-starved, half-frozen, and completely desperate person would do—he experimented.

If he was going to die anyway, he might as well die trying something.

"Wish me luck," he muttered to himself, pulling his worn leather jacket over his head like a makeshift hood.

The moment he stepped forward, his boot splashing just beyond the cave's natural overhang, a single drop landed on the shoulder of the jacket.

There was a sharp hiss, then smoke—and a second later, the shoulder disintegrated in a squelching sizzle.

He recoiled and threw the jacket aside before it could melt onto his skin.

"This is insane!" he shouted, taking a few steps back and glaring at the rain like it had personally insulted him.

The sky rumbled again, and just like before, a streak of lightning sliced horizontally across the open field, splitting a boulder in two like it was paper.

Ash narrowed his eyes, teeth grinding as he reached into the vacuum's inventory and pulled out one of the most absurd items he'd salvaged weeks ago: a gigantic Trombone.

If I could just use this to deflect the rain like an umbrella… maybe angle it right and let the drops slide off...

But then came the next thought.

What if a lightning strike hits me while I'm holding this giant metal object? I'd be turned into smoke before I even knew what killed me.

So, he hesitated. He held the trombone, feeling the cold metal buzz faintly in his grip from the static in the air.

He needed more than just a plan to deal with the acid. He needed a way to stop himself from becoming a walking lightning rod.

Before trying the experiment, Ash crouched back inside the cave and stared out into the storm.

The rain was dangerous, but it was predictable. The lightning, however… it came in at odd angles, usually just after a sharp crack in the clouds.

And it always seemed to aim for the tallest or most conductive thing in the area.

If I can ground myself… maybe keep my body low, or insulate myself somehow…

He glanced back toward the pile of junk inside the vacuum, already forming the next idea in his head.

I'll need rubber. Or something like it. And something non-conductive to brace the trombone on. I might be able to anchor it and use it as a shield instead of holding it.

It wasn't much. But it was the beginning of a plan.

But then, just as he started piecing his plan together in his head, a sound interrupted him—voices, deep and layered, vibrating with a resonance that didn't belong to any human tongue.

They echoed faintly through the cave's entrance, distorted by the walls and the rain, but unmistakably alive.

Ash stiffened. His first instinct was movement.

He shoved the gigantic Trombone and his other gear into the vacuum, then ducked into a narrow crevice between two jagged boulders near the rear of the cave.

The space was barely wide enough to squeeze into, but it shielded him from direct sight. He crouched low, slowed his breathing, and waited.

The steps were heavy. Then they entered.

They were large.

Each of them easily towered over two meters.

Their posture was bear-like, but their bodies were covered in segmented chitinous plates that shimmered wet under the faint blue bioluminescent glow leaking in from outside.

Their arms were long, ending in clawed fingers, and their heads were grotesquely elongated with twitching mandibles where mouths should have been.

Their skin—or rather, their shell—was a sickly green, streaked with darker moss-like patterns.

And their eyes—solid black orbs, entirely pupil-less—scanned the cave's interior like scanners.

One of them paused and sniffed the air, the twitching appendages around its face fluttering as if tasting the atmosphere.

I'm dead…

Ash bit his tongue and tried to control the panic rising in his throat.

Maybe they're Heloxians… Should I talk to them? Pretend I'm some lost wanderer and beg them to take me to their Queen?

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it was suicide.

No. They'd kill me on the spot. Eat me, maybe. I don't even look like food, but I bet they don't care.

There were three of them. Two of them were tall, likely adults, and one was short—barely up to the others' knees.

The small one clung to the leg of the taller figure, its round eyes darting around curiously. They were a family.

Ash watched in silence as the creatures performed some kind of ritual or task—he couldn't tell which.

The tall ones were waving their clawed hands over the cave floor, drawing shapes in the dirt, clicking softly to each other.

One let out a long, drawn-out hum that reverberated through the air like sonar.

He stayed motionless behind the rock.

Then, suddenly, one of the creatures froze mid-movement. Its head snapped sideways with a twitch.

The others paused as well, their communication halting in an instant.

All three now turned toward the cave entrance, where a torn, half-melted object lay slumped against a rock.

Ash's stomach dropped.

The jacket…

It was the same leather jacket he had thrown aside during his failed experiment—warped and corroded from the acid rain, but still very much recognizable as something artificial.

The tallest one walked toward it. Each step it took made a muffled thud, like compressed steel hitting soil.

It crouched beside the jacket, sniffed it once, then lifted it carefully with two clawed fingers.

It tilted its head, the way a dog does when it catches an unfamiliar scent, and then let out a low, guttural click.

The other two responded immediately. The smaller one let out a shrill chitter and ran behind the second tall one, clinging to its leg again.

They knew.

There was something here.

Ash didn't breathe.

His body pressed further into the crack between the boulders until the stone scraped his cheek.

He watched from the shadows as the tall Heloxian stood and turned its gaze inward, peering directly into the cave.

One of them hissed something, and the other began walking forward.

I'm cooked…