Another earth-shattering roar reminded Dain that, despite only being an hour past midnight, this was the worst day of his life. The ground shook, his heart breaking with every painful jolt of his limbs. His breath was catching but he threw himself forward. His feet slammed into the pavement, desperate to put some distance between himself and the monstrosity behind him.


    The lead up from the past few weeks was a growing simmer of bitterness and frustration in him. The East Side Steel kept pushing hard on the Trinities’ territory, thanks to a new supply of modern machine guns. Expensive, and probably provided by one of the bigger players. First they shot Jimmy, then Two Bites. It all came to a head when they murdered Allison’s sister. The Trinities were whipped into a fervour by their leader, Jimmy, as he led those alive to the east side for a revenge shootout.


    Unfortunately, the Steels were ready. The moment Jimmy veered into position, bullets rained into the car, pelting like massive hail against the steel. The crew leaped out, took cover where they could, and opened fire.


    Dain remembered the acrid smell of gun smoke and mingled with blood, overlain with the animal-like sounds of snarling humans. He had shot, near blindly, at a dozen or so other gunmen along with his four brother-in-arms. The explosion of bullets sent concussive rings through his ears, shattering his thoughts. He seemed to move out of pure intensity, on strings, as he let loose bullets towards the windows.


    Jimmy screamed, thudding against the ground. Dain grunted, shouting in pain, as a bullet scored his leg. He tumbled, his leg muscle partially shredded; looking around, grimacing in panic as his companions slowly died from impact shock and organ failure around him. The frequency of cracks in the air slowed. The bullets stopped.


    The stillness in the air seemed tense, electrified. Shallow breaths escaped Dain’s lips, gulping for air as the adrenaline rush slowed and his wound started to take over his thoughts. Unable to crawl, or walk, empty of bullets and of friends, he waited for the inevitable inspection and elimination from the other gang.


    He could hear their voices, thin and distant. What were they waiting for?


    What seemed to be silence at first grew more tense, thicker, as if the air itself was vibrating. Then Dain could hear it; an undercurrent of sound, like a deep wave slipping in and out of memory. The sound grew thick and overpowering, washing over everything with a low-pitched buzz. The static-like sound grew louder and louder, vibrating the air with such intensity that Dain’s rib cage and heart trembled under its force.


    Overtop, resounding out, a metallic wail mixed into something horrendously animalistic burst through. Although seeming distant, the sheer force of the scream thrusted Dain upwards onto his feet, his brain fully charged into flight mode.


    The scream repeated, infintely nearer.


    Ahead of him, the sky and air seemed to flicker, to warp, and suddenly there was a 50 metre-tall monstrosity standing before him. He had to crane his neck upward to take in its massive details. It seemed wreathed in slimy shadows, as if trying to peer through murky swamp water. Its red eyes blazed with such redness Dain could pinpoint them despite the sharp angle.


    Another scream, ear-destroying, heart-stopping, tore through Dain. His body reacted. He bolted away.


    Metal sheering, brick crumbling, and humans screaming in sheer agony mixed in the distance as Dain fought for more distance. He tore through the street, his rhythm ebbing and flowing.


    Blood rushed through his ears, the sound of his heart pounding in his head. He could feel as much as hear each lumbering footstep, the Behemoth terrifyingly fast for its immense size. Another step slammed closer behind Dain, prompting him to push his burning muscles harder.


    His breath burned his lungs, sharp pains in his sides starting to fester, and his body trembled violently as he pushed further. He sprinted, his stamina flagging as the Behemoth neared behind, its tell-tale, bone-breaking scream signalling its victory.


    His whole life was worthless, he thought bitterly, reminsicing on the futility of poverty, of the loss of his mother to cancer, of the alcohol-fuelled beatings, the drugs, every moment of pain and weariness he had to experience to earn his place – none of it mattered.


    Every ounce of meaning in him raged with defiance. Anger, fuelled by decades of experienced pain, surged through him. Dain could feel it coursing through him, like an electricity of emotions charging his body.


    Dain rose to his feet, strong, steady, but his resolve immediately melted under the assault that the mere presence of the Behemoth rendered. It had an aura, like a pressure of unthinking malevolence threatening to engulf him. Pressing upon him, Dain fought the urge to succumb, to falter.


    There was no thought of fighting such an obstacle of pure destruction. Dain spun around, once again, to flee. He started running before visually drinking in the wall before him. He faced a thick, long hunk of a building with multiple stories and a blank face. The windows hung tantalizingly just barely too high, two stories up.


    He could jump. The thought was crazy, but he felt strong, strong as the electricity tingled through him. The sensation was beyond powerful, pain lancing through his fingertips and toes along with his heartbeat.


    He was running, feeling fast, sprinting fast. The world sped past him, and he felt light, gazelle-like as his arms pumped. The grey wall loomed in front. Something snapped within him as he leaped. Gravity let go of him as he went bounding upward. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Dain smashed through the fourth floor window, shock mingled with pain as glass shredded through his coat and pants. The embedded shards jostled, further tearing into his tender muscles. Grunting, he ignored the pain, focused on breathing and the immediate need to escape.


    Blood dripped onto the carpet as he lurched forward. The thrill of energy he had felt was seeping away, seeping out as more and more blood escaped from him. He half walked, half crawled through a darkened hallway.


    The building shook, walls crumbling, supports snapping, as the beast rampaged from the outside. Dust clouds blinded him and filled his lungs. Choking and coughing, his foot caught and he fell. The dust settled a bit, and he caught a glimpse down the hall. It was so close; the bleak lamplight seeping through a gaping hole of a missing window.


    Could he make it?


    Hope against hope, he started to crawl. His breathing was uneven, ragged. Sticky liquids – his own blood – smeared on his chest dragged him even slower, scraping against the thick shag carpet. Each moment sent blinding signals of pain coursing through him, but he was even closer. The dim lamplight glowed like the sun, shining like a beacon towards dawn.


    His arms shuddered in protest, shaking and sweating so that he slipped three times from the window sill. On the fourth, his trembling grip maintained, and surely, slowly, he slipped his arm over the edge and out. His leg followed, and with enough weight, gravity took over. Pulling him and tossing him unceremoniously to the ground below. Dain mewled pitifully, inaudible over the crack of his back and bones shattering against the ground below.


    At least, he thought bitterly, consciousness fading, the Behemoth was gone. He could no longer hear its terrifying cries as darkness smothered and took him into its depths.


    ---------


    Dain eyes fluttered open, groggy and disoriented. Also, he was alive.


    He bolted upright, tossing a warm, russet-coloured cotton blanket aside. He laid in a plain bed in a small, impersonal room. The dresser, mirror, and sitting chair was tidily set up with comfortable shades of dark reds and deep greens in the walls and furniture. A door to the side presumably led to a bathroom.


    “Where am I?” Dain muttered aloud. It felt good to hear his voice.


    He was, miraculously, well. He was tender from a body-wide bruise bruise, but his skin had mostly mended all the cuts, abrasions, breaks, and the bullet wound.


    Testing his feet, finding his body strong, he sprung out of bed and left the room. He was in a tight hallway, carpeted, with a line of doors on both sides of the wall that matched the one he left. The door swung closed behind him, shutting with an audible click as it locked.


    The hallway ended in a tight turn and down a set of steep stairs, guided by an old, chipped-paint metal wiring railing. The buzz of dozens of voices, some jovial, many clearly drunk, rose up to him; the din was familiar and inviting.


    Dain rounded the final step and came into a large room, featuring a long bar to the left of him. The room was packed with booths along the wall, padded seats stretching long to accommodate large parties. The centre of the room was filled with an assortment of mismatched tables and chairs. A familiar set of rounded stools lined the bar.


    The room was busy, filled with a wide variety of patrons. Dain’s eyes nearly burst, his jaw hanging slack, drinking in the sight.


    They weren’t human. They couldn’t be; some were massive, standing a metre taller than any person. Some had thick, fluffy fur. Others had vibrant-coloured skin. Some had horns, others had protruding fangs. A rainbow of eyes; Green, blue, red, gold, like gemstones in so many colours, from faces unlike anything he had seen before.


    These exotic and fantastical people were acting like regular, uncouth drunkards. The incongruity brought Dain back to reality. They were just people.


    He walked up to the bar, still looking back and forth, eyeing the bartender as he neared. Across the back wall, dozens of liquers, spirits, and mixes were displayed against a brazen backdrop of gaudy lights. The bartender was tall, portly body wrapped in an apron, with dark blue, mottled skin that reminded Dain of a frog. His light blue eyes didn’t match, one off-colour to the other, beadier than the other. Sometimes, they blinked separately. He held a glass in hand, pouring a requested beer from the tap.


    “Um, hey,” Dain started, feeling awkward when he caught the man’s attention. “Could you-?”


    The bartender spun on him, glaring at Dain as he cut him off. “You’re awake, are you?” He chewed out, his accent thick through his bulbous lips. “Quick turnover. Haven’t had a human like you, survive a Behemoth, and all what not. Real lucky, boy, you’re real lucky.”


    “Where am I?”


    “Shouldn’t matter to you. You’re alive, and safe. You’re lucky some of big boys found you. Brought you back safe. It’s time for you to mosey on. Forget this whole thing, while you can. You’re one of the lucky ones.”


    “Come on,” Dain broke in, his voice rising in anger. “This is bullshit. Tell me what’s going on.”


    “You took a wrong turn, boy, got stuck somewhere you don’t belong. It’s time for you to go back. Percy’ll show you the way out.”


    With a sharp gesture, a hulking, ashen-grey man with sullen yellow eyes walked over from the shadows near the doors.


    “Percy, it’s time for the human to go. Take’m for me.” The bartender promptly ignored the two, returning to the line of frustrated customers that were stockpiling.


    “Percy, come on, tell me where we are, what is all this,” Dain asked. “Help me out here.”


    Percy said nothing; he placed a massive hand over Dain’s shoulder. Pressure signalled Dain with an ungentle squeeze; he grunted in pain and started moving. Percy forced a quick pace towards a plain, steel door inlaid in the wall.


    The door swung open easily. Holding it open, Percy gestured, partially tossing Dain forward with a savage push. He fell past the entry. The door swung closed behind him. There was no handle on it. This door, apparently, was only for exiting.


    The room was small, occupied only by a single, spiralling staircase. It rose several stories, at least. Dain sighed, and started the arduous climb up. It was dull, plain walls and plain stairs, the rhythm of his feet and breathing helping him sort his thoughts.


    He was free, in a cosmic sense. Everything seemed unreal. His old life was totally shattered. His friends were dead; everything that still mattered to him, his makeshift family. He had seen untold horrors, peering into the Abyss and coming through the other side. What was he going to do now?


    Reaching the landing, seeing the door, he walked out of the cramped space into the glorious openness of the streets. Usually he hated the everpresent stench of the plastic and gas plants, constantly breezing in from the water, but today it was like being greeted by an old friend.


    Stupid, he thought to himself. He had no friends left. The bitterness, the loneliness and emptiness was starting to settle on him. It seemed pointless.


    Hunger and survival won over his depression. His stomach grumbling, he turned away from his existentialism brooding. Most bars had food, he thought hungrily. He turned around expectantly, hoping he might sneak in for some grub.


    There was no bar.Where the back entrance had been stood a squat, ancient coffee shop. Its tattered and faded sign proclaimed, “Cafe near the Bay”. He looked into the windows into the dark interior. A few shabby booths, a stainless steel counter glinted in the thin light. Further past, the street continued, a pitted and scarred stretch of asphalt.


    He sighed, shaking his head. The bartender was right. It was time to go back. He wasn’t quite sure where he was, but thought that the apartments he spotted in the distance were a good place to start. In the dead of the night, Dain marched into the heart of the city. A thin moon kept him company, peeking in between thick smatterings of clouds.