ã€ŠWhimpers of the Lightã€‹


 01 - The House

    Part 1

    And I will show you something different from either

    Your shadow at morning, striding behind you

    Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;

    I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

    ¡ª

    ¡°The Wasteland¡±, T.S. Eliot

    <hr>

    The House

    Light snowflakes fell in a synchronised dance ¡ª the layers they created were starting to erase whatever had lain beneath. His boots crunched over the snow, each step compacting it into a reminder of his presence, a trail he didn¡¯t like leaving behind. But he had faith it would soon be covered again and his way forgotten.

    Ahead stood an old two-story brick house with roof beams exposed like broken ribs. Delicate white specks crashed onto windows barred long ago, remnants of the End, and a sturdy door still guarded the entrance. He let himself imagine, for a moment, that there might be resources worth finding inside. There¡¯s always a chance.

    He eased the wooden door open, his gaze darting to ensure he caught anything that might lunge. All was still. Satisfied, he clicked on his flashlight, the cold beam carving a path through the dimness, a controlled intrusion in the silence. Time had worn down the room, but he could still feel some comfort that no longer lived here in an old couch left facing a lifeless chimney. He almost pictured a fire crackling there and felt its heat reaching him.

    But there was nothing to burn ¡ª just another futile thought. He shut the door behind him.

    A thin fog of dust hung in the air, each particle shrinking away from him with every step. His light caught the haze, turning the air into a glimmering wall, so he killed it, letting his eyes adjust. In the stillness, the house creaked and groaned under the weight of wind pushing through cracks somewhere above. If anything hid inside, it remained silent, waiting.

    He waited, too, listening to the house breathe until shapes reformed out of the shadows. His body knew the routine. Room by room, he searched, sweeping each corner like muscle memory ¡ª his back always turned to spaces he¡¯d already cleared.

    The second floor was lighter, with broken beams and shattered windows letting the daylight pour in to remind him what the place might have been. Dust, wood and snow littered the floor, and echoes of a life long past lingered in discarded relics: pictures with faces faded beyond recognition, books whose stories would never be read again, and toys left to gather dust. There were no surprises here, nothing of value or life in this museum of a world now gone.

    From the main bedroom, the city lay below, buried in a fresh blanket of white. This time of year, it almost resembled its former self ¡ª no greenery, just endless stretches of concrete and metal. A vast sea of stone, humanity¡¯s monument to hubris, now crumbled under the weight of time. He could almost picture how it had been: taller and sharper. Its towers, once daring the sky, were now worn and broken, their edges softened by years of weather and neglect. Someday, it would be nothing but rubble.

    He shook off the thought; there were still doors left unchecked. He always saved them for last. It¡¯s safer this way. Heading back downstairs, he moved with the same purpose, knowing well that even in this apparent empty world, caution kept him breathing.

    When he opened the last door, something struck wrong. A staircase dropped into a pit of darkness, but the smell hit him first ¡ª a sickening blend of rot, dust, and moisture. The stench of death.

    Three bodies lay strewn on the floor, their bones poking through tattered skin. One had been a woman, tall and slender: she might have once been beautiful, and in a twisted way, she still was. Her dress clung to the stone floor, mould patches blooming like grotesque flowers across the fabric, marking the first stage of an infection that would spread.

    The other two had likely been male. It was always more challenging to tell when the flesh had already melted away. One, the size of a child, sat slumped in a wooden chair, his head lolled forward as if napping, while the other lay sprawled on the floor, a skeletal hand clutching a metal handle embedded in the ground. The room, a square cellar, smelled stale beneath the rot. Wooden racks were lined along the walls, still holding dusty bottles, some of which had spilt their content long ago. Just like their owner.

    Kneeling, he checked their pockets and belts, searching for anything useful. They had no need for any of it now. Civilians, he guessed, but their cause of death remained uncertain. Not that it mattered ¡ª they had died, as they all had ages ago. He always felt more alone in the presence of the dead, their lifeless forms trapped between the old world and the new, a reminder that he belonged to neither.

    Finding nothing on the bodies, his gaze fell to the metal handle. Dust coated a trapdoor¡¯s edges, long undisturbed yet still there, waiting. He nudged the body aside, worn fingers brushing away the grime until the wood emerged beneath.

    A sudden creak overhead stopped him cold.

    He froze, every sense on high alert. It wasn¡¯t just the wind or the house settling. Slow, deliberate steps crossed the floor, searching the house at a measured pace, just as he had. They followed the tracks.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    He sized up his options quickly. Going back up meant having to fight; the stairs would lead him straight into the blade of a knife ¡ª or worse, a gun ¡ª held by a waiting man. No, men. More footsteps had joined the first, two distinct pairs now wandering over his head. The trapdoor remained his only choice, as he wasn¡¯t willing to pick up a fight. Not this close to the city.

    He pried at the trapdoor, forcing it to give with minimal noise. Flicking his flashlight, he swept the beam over the space below: a damp, narrow tunnel of stretching concrete that disappeared into the darkness.

    Without a sound, he slipped through, letting himself drop into the unknown.

    <hr>

    His leather boots splashed through a thin layer of water, each step impossibly loud in the confined space. By the time they would find the trapdoor, he needed to be well beyond their reach, as far away as this gallery would let him. He moved forward, hoping his instincts were right and the tunnel wouldn¡¯t betray him with a dead-end.

    These tunnels once snaked through the city like lifelines ¡ª arteries pulsing with activity. He had known them well back then when the underground teemed with energy and purpose. Now, they were hollowed-out veins, stretching empty and silent, save for the things that had made it their refuge. Things he¡¯d rather not disturb.

    But this tunnel felt different, built with a purpose beyond the mundane, some forgotten plan buried under the years. There was only one purpose for him now: finding an exit ¡ª preferably clearing the city¡¯s edge before nightfall, before darkness reclaimed every corner of the ruins above.

    The tunnel stretched on, a passage of footsteps and breath blurring time into a monotonous beat. Finally, a shape appeared ahead: a wall that split the corridor into two paths. There were no signs or clues as to where to go, so he gambled on the left, his fingers brushing along the wet stone of the outer wall as he moved.

    After a while, his flashlight picked up tiny particles drifting in the air ahead. This time, it wasn¡¯t dust. Spores.

    His heart jolted, and with an ingrained reaction, he dropped his backpack and tore it open, fingers scrabbling through the contents. He fumbled for his mask, feeling each precious second slipping by with every breath he held. Finally, his fingers found it, and he yanked the mask over his head, sealing it in place before taking a long, steadying breath.

    Entering the house had been a mistake. He should have known it would be stripped of anything worthwhile; the looters had combed through most corners of this land long ago. The city was but an empty carcass now, a graveyard of scraps and dusty bones. Each search was a gamble ¡ª the risk too high, the reward too small. Still, he couldn¡¯t stop. Staying still meant a slow death; moving, even with the risks, felt like living. Survival required the gamble.

    The past weeks had blessed him with a few lucky finds. Winter¡¯s approach brought an eerie quiet over the city. With it, he could afford some moves that he would otherwise relish. He had scored canned food, enough to stretch a fortnight with careful rationing, and a stash of mostly corroded batteries, a few of which still held a charge somehow. Just enough luck to give him a taste of possibility ¡ª and renew his addiction. Maybe that¡¯s why the house had caught his eye. I thought I¡¯d win again.

    Without his gambling, he¡¯d be in another type of situation now, and he thanked god he wasn¡¯t, even though he didn¡¯t believe in god or any entity above. But he liked to pretend. It gave a sense of comfort and purpose and guided this hollow game of chance that kept him coming back. And as he stood in the dim tunnel, he realised his hands were already itching for the next bet.

    His breath came in short bursts, fogging the lens of his mask ¡ª the tunnel conspired to blind and trap him. The spores thickened, closing in on him. His flashlight sliced through the haze, but visibility had dropped to barely a few meters. He couldn¡¯t risk switching it off; his eyes would never adjust to this kind of darkness. Every nerve strained to listen, compensating for the lack of vision, and that¡¯s when he caught it ¡ª a faint, rhythmic scraping now mingled with the drip of water.

    Something darted across the ground with a scurrying squeak. It¡¯s just a rat. A familiar shiver went through him. The rats were a sight becoming rare, numbers dwindling every season; their food source had died long ago, and the leftovers were unwilling to share. At least, that¡¯s the theory he had come up with. That, or something was hunting them to extinction ¡ª a less pleasant prospect.

    As quickly as it had appeared, the rodent vanished in the dark. The walls seemed to close tighter, and he felt his focus fraying at the edges. He despised this ¡ª the feeling of slipping control. Control was survival. Carefully measured steps and calculated decisions; that¡¯s how you stayed alive. But out here, the choices weren¡¯t entirely his. For years, he¡¯d clung to his rules and hard-learned lessons, yet it was ironic: he¡¯d never been in control.

    His life once ran on a path others had paved for him. His parents had laid out his future like stones on a road. They suggested biology, a field that seemed safe and sensible. So he spent years in lecture halls before the collapse, following teachers who didn¡¯t care to teach, students who didn¡¯t care to listen. He¡¯d been more attentive than most simply because it was better than doing nothing for hours. Yet none of it had mattered when everything crumbled.

    He met his girlfriend there, someone to brighten the dull routine. She¡¯d made decisions as easily as he drifted along with them, choosing what they would do and where they would go. Girlfriend. The word sounded like the relic of an old language, a term foolish now more than ever. The details were fading, but there remained a warmth: a ghostly echo of her laughter, the way she¡¯d follow the beat of whatever song played in her car on a summer day ¡ª a memory dulled by time. She was gone, probably, and that was for the best. He¡¯d stopped thinking of her by name; that, too, had melted like the wax of a candle. Instead, he called her Sunlight because he needed a term for when he thought of her, and the memories were warm and bright.

    His thoughts fractured. The torch beam had caught on something metallic ¡ª a ladder, rusted and warped, bolted to the wall and stretching up, hopefully to the surface. His pulse quickened in a rare burst of hope. He brushed the metal with his gloved hand, testing its strength. Rust flakes crumbled, but it felt sturdy enough; soon, he¡¯d be out in the open air.

    Then, something moved.

    A flicker in his peripheral vision. His flashlight swept across the tunnel in front ¡ª something was there. Something big.

    A figure stood just meters from him, looming in the darkness. Tall and waiting. It was humanoid in a way, but its arms were too long, almost dragging along the floor. Wet, pallid flesh glistened in the dim light, bloated and pinkish. The air around it shifted with every laboured breath it took, its chest moving in uneven, rasping gasps.

    Paralysed, he stared back at its black, hollow eyes, empty as the tunnels themselves, yet still fixed on him. A primal terror submerged him, coursing through every vein.

    Then, it made a clicking sound, like a roller coaster coming to a stop. The creature¡¯s joints snapped as it pounced.

    Fuck.

    In the darkness of the tunnel, the unbidden thought of Sunlight flashed in his mind. The rasping breaths were louder now. I didn¡¯t turn right.

    He wished he had.

    ***

 02 - Blood and Rain

    Blood and Rain

    The pain was sharp and surged through with each hurried step. Warm and wet blood soaked into torn clothes, fingers slick with a thick flood.

    She cut through the streets, the rain lashing at her skin with relentless force, turning the world around her into a blur. Each drop caught fleeting glimmers of moonlight before splintering on the broken pavement. An indifferent witness above, the moon itself watched, offering no comfort or clarity in the twisting maze of alleyways. But her feet knew the way, habit and instinct guiding her where her vision failed.

    Every inch of clothing clung heavily to her body, soaked through and carrying the chill that crept deeper into her bones. A few more steps. The building was close now, looming ahead in the darkness, its battered storefront a wreck of splintered wood and smashed glass ¡ª picked apart by looters from the Beginning and barely held together since. Overhead, a dead neon cross hung like a ghastly omen, its bulbs long shattered, jutting forward in silent warning.

    They would be looking for her. By now, they were probably already out there in the dark. The ones who had gave her this wound to remember them by. She forced herself through the last few steps until her hand met the door. Leaning her weight against it, a fleeting moment of relief came, and she let out a ragged breath. She could feel the heat radiating from her wound, a reminder that her time ran dangerously thin.

    The door resisted, its frame a jagged mouth of glass shards that still held around the frame like the teeth of a monster. She pushed it open with a grunt.

    The silence inside was absolute. She forced herself to breathe, praying that no one would interrupt her. Let me have just a moment. She felt along the shelves with fingers slick from her very blood, brushing over dust-coated surfaces and broken leftovers of supplies long since scavenged ¡ª a desperate search for anything that might help. Gauze, painkillers, anything. Her hand hit a box, something small and plastic beneath a mound of discarded containers ¡ª still sealed. She peeled back the wrapper, her grip trembling. Gauze.

    With a grimace, she tugged up her shirt, and the fabric tore free from the wound in a sharp, searing pain. Beneath her ribs, where her right kidney would be, the gash was deep. If the kidney had been hit¡­ She brushed the thought aside; at least she had another one. Blood pooled thickly, hot against the skin as it dripped over her jeans. She swallowed hard, seeing the raw flesh and the terrible width of the wound. Too wide. A tremor seized her, fear clawing its way up, unfurling faster than she could tamp it down.

    Hot and silent tears slipped down as they mixed with the rain dripping from her soaked hair. Desperate, she pressed the gauze to the wound with shaking hands, the fabric darkening instantly. A cold certainty washed over her: she would die here. She¡¯d fought so hard, for so long, scraping by in a world that had never shown mercy. Now, only the cold remained. And she wanted nothing more than to sink to the ground, to finally let the pain drag her under.

    But she couldn¡¯t. I can¡¯t let it end this way. She¡¯d been forced to fight her entire life, dragged through a self-contained world that taught her nothing but cruelty. In this place, people only took. Men saw women as resources and claimed they fought for the restoration of humankind ¡ª their cruelty had always been justified in their eyes, and she¡¯d felt the bite of it countless times. The thought of ¡°restoring¡± humanity was laughable. It had never offered her anything worth preserving. From what she could recall, or what little she had learned, it hadn¡¯t been any better before.

    She had dreamt of leaving this place so many times. To slip away unnoticed, beyond the reach of those who clung to the twisted remains of old ideals, a past she¡¯d never asked to inherit. She had cared for a few people along the way ¡ª in some other life, she might have taken them with her.

    The thought awoke something raw and fierce, igniting with a sudden, blinding heat. Resentment. I can¡¯t let them win. With a furious snarl, she forced herself to sit straighter, wrapping the bandage around her waist with trembling fingers, pulling it with all the strength she could muster.

    It had to hold.

    <hr>

    The growl of engines roared through the night as bright, predatory beams cut through the rain-soaked air. Though the rain might offer some cover, it would only be a matter of time before those lights locked onto her. She counted at least three Humvees, maybe four. Too many. This part of the city wasn¡¯t big; she would have to hurry.

    Adrenaline dulled the pain, but each step sent a sharp sting through her side. Her wound felt like it might split wider with every move. She clamped down on her lip, tasting blood, focusing on the single image in her mind ¡ª her destination. A heavy green door, embedded in thick concrete, just a few blocks away. Supposing I can make it there.

    The wall that stretched around it had been built with a promise to keep the evil outside. Yet she knew how easily it had failed to protect anyone from the one inside. She could almost laugh, even with the taste of blood in her mouth ¡ª laugh at the irony of her escape from the guardians of this wretched place.

    They wouldn¡¯t let her go, not after she¡¯d seen behind the mask. She wished she could tell them all to go fuck themselves and everything they stand for. But they didn¡¯t just want her gone; they wanted her silent ¡ª buried with their lies and secrets. And they¡¯d stop at nothing to make sure of it.

    Shouts echoed through the storm ¡ª angry orders carried on the wind. They were intent on her demise. She could feel it in every barked command, but she wasn¡¯t about to let them catch her this easily. I¡¯m getting out of this hell. But a whisper in the back of her mind cut through her resolve: the fear of running towards another one.

    She turned a corner, her vision blurry. In the dim light, something shifted. Her heart stalled, and she clenched her muscles despite the biting pain. She ducked behind a rusted bin with trembling knees. It was one of Them. Maybe he hadn¡¯t seen her, but he was coming her way, footsteps bouncing off the walls of broken houses. There was no way back now ¡ª any movement would be seen, and her usual M.O. was suicide. I¡¯m too weak to fight now.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Her best bet was to remain hidden in the dark.

    She inhaled slowly, holding her composure. One¡­ two¡­ three¡­ Through the hiss of the rain, his footsteps drew closer, a heavy tread that splashed through every puddle. One¡­ two¡­ three¡­ He muttered under his breath, cursing the downpour close to her. The anticipation gnawed at her. One¡­ two¡­ three¡­ Her muscles seized with a fresh wave of pain, and her stomach clenched against the agony as the last traces of adrenaline drained away. One¡­ Two¡­

    The man¡¯s shadow shifted as he passed the spot where she crouched. His figure loomed and faded into the mist a few meters away. She glimpsed the sheen of his parka, rain streaming from the hood ¡ª a spectre trailing her through the storm.

    She braced herself for the next move, shifting her weight slowly. One¡­ two¡­ THREE¡ª

    Pain exploded through her side. Her vision swam, and a strangled cry slipped out despite her clenched teeth, tearing into the night like a wounded animal.

    ¡°Hey!¡±

    She didn¡¯t look back. She was running.

    <hr>

    The water climbed higher, swirling around her calves, each movement a battle against the current. Fragments of debris ¡ª jagged wood, stone, twisted metal ¡ª floated by, swept along in a silent, merciless race. A race she couldn¡¯t win. She had shaken off her pursuer for now, using the maze of alleys and flooded streets to her advantage, but she stayed alert. I¡¯m sure a wet, injured target isn¡¯t hard to track. She¡¯d made it this far on little more than raw defiance and luck, but she knew the real challenge lay ahead. They would be waiting for her at the door.

    Her thoughts fractured, struggling to process the madness around her. Exhaustion and blood loss took a toll on her focus. Through the sheets of rain, a figure seemed to materialise in the distance, a familiar shape.

    Then it spoke.

    ¡°Look at you all beaten up¡­ did you get into trouble again?¡± The voice asked, gently scolding. Her heart lurched. It was a voice she once trusted that had meant safety and comfort ¡ª someone she had loved. Someone long gone. Yet here they were, standing like an echo from the past.

    A raindrop struck her eye, pulling her back to reality. The door. She wasn¡¯t far now. If she could just reach it, the hunt would end. They wouldn¡¯t dare follow her; superstition and ingrained fear kept even the boldest away. For them, it lived as a symbol of something corrupted, a token of Evil. For her, it was a last chance. Not that she knew what lay on the other side ¡ª some spoke of wastelands crawling with monsters, others of an endless sprawl of shattered buildings. A place where hope was left to die. Maybe none of it was true. She would know soon enough.

    Her body trembled with the effort to keep moving; a leap over broken barricades sent a fresh reminder of how close she was to collapse. Another whisper drifted through the storm. ¡°You should rest¡­ you look exhausted, darling¡­¡± The voice was honey-smooth, coaxing. Just leave me alone. The cruel irony wasn¡¯t lost on her. She remembered the sting of that last morning, waking to a cold, empty bed ¡ª the scent of coconut still lingered faintly in the sheets. A final argument the night before had sealed a silent deal, like a signature on a divorce paper ¡ª a last, lonely dance.

    The motors had died, leaving a heavy silence in the streets. She slowed, crouching low and keeping to the shadows. The door loomed ahead. Almost there. Her hand moved to her bag, fingers brushing over a rusted tool hidden in a side pouch. She slid it into her sleeve, preparing her last option. If not for the wound tearing at her side, she might have sprinted to the door and dodged the ambush. But now, there was only one way left.

    She raised her hands, stepping forward nonchalantly. ¡°I know you¡¯ve got me surrounded,¡± she called, awaiting their answer. ¡°Drop the act, and let¡¯s talk.¡±

    Figures shifted in the gloom, emerging with cautious steps. Even as battered and unarmed as she looked, their tension was palpable. They still fear me, she thought with grim satisfaction.

    ¡°We thought you¡¯d keep running¡­¡± A low, mocking voice came from her left. Briggs. Her jaw tightened. She hadn¡¯t expected him here, the memory of their last encounter still vivid. But there he was ¡ª the face behind her fall.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m done running.¡± She gestured to her side, where blood soaked through her shredded shirt.

    A grin split his face, an expression that once charmed her but now only filled her with revulsion. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for the way things have turned out,¡± he said with false sincerity.

    He nodded to one of his men. ¡°Restrain her.¡±

    A young man with striking red hair stepped forward, clutching a length of rope, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. Good. Briggs should have sent someone stronger and more confident. But he had sent a kid. He pulled a rope from his belt, rolling it in his hands. She held his gaze; this was the moment she had been waiting for ¡ª the hunt.

    As he reached her, she struck. Her hand darted to his neck, the rusty blade flashing as she pressed it against his jugular. She slipped behind him in a heartbeat, wrenching his limp arm back. He gasped, fear seeping through his tense muscles, but he barely resisted. She leaned closer, her voice a dangerous whisper. ¡°Stay with me, pretty boy. We¡¯re going to dance a little.¡±

    Now, she was the one grinning. Briggs¡¯ smug smile had vanished, his face a tight mask of frustration. His men shifted uneasily, clutching their weapons as if they were shields. She stalked around them, her eyes taking in their hesitation.

    ¡°Let¡¯s not get carried away,¡± Briggs said, his voice trying for calm. ¡°Come with us. We can make a deal.¡± His eyes flicked to her injury. ¡°In your condition¡­ you¡¯re not going to make it alone. Olivia asked us to bring you back. Unharmed.¡±

    That name. It cut through her like the coldest blade. But she wouldn¡¯t fall for his games. Not this time.

    She backed up slowly, tightening her grip on the red-haired boy, knife close enough to keep him squirming. His eyes darted between her and the others, hope flickering as he looked for his comrades for rescue. They simply watched, paralysed with indecision.

    ¡°Drop the rope, boy. And the knife,¡± she commanded, her voice sharp as steel. ¡°Maybe I won¡¯t slit your throat.¡±

    He fumbled, letting both fall to the ground without a word.

    ¡°Now, when I shove you, you¡¯re going to run. Straight towards your little friends. Understand?¡±

    He nodded, his face pale with fear.

    ¡°Nice knowing you, Briggs¡±, she yelled with disdain. ¡°I hope you dream of me coming back.¡±

    With a swift push, she released her hostage. He stumbled, then bolted towards the others like a good soldier whose life depended on it. Without wasting a moment, she grabbed the discarded rope and knife and then turned to the door. The handle felt icy beneath her trembling hand. And now for the final act.

    She spun with a cruel, sweeping gaze. ¡°Ask him,¡± she shouted at Briggs¡¯ minions, ¡°ask him how they know what¡¯s outside!¡±

    The door groaned as it swung open. She stepped into the darkness beyond, the voices behind her fading ¡ª swallowed by the echoing silence.

    It was dry inside, at last. But her head spun ¡ª a violent fever burned through her body, each heartbeat a pounding drum in her ears. She staggered, reaching blindly for something to hold her weight. Her fingers found a stone wall and slid down the rough surface as her legs gave out beneath her. She sank to the ground, barely registering the impact.

    I did it.

    She chuckled. Lying on the cold concrete, her mind drifted finally. A familiar warmth surfaced in the haze of exhaustion: the scent of coconut and the touch of Her hand. A wave of sadness and longing ¡ª then a dream.

    ***

 03 - The Boy and His Dog

    The Boy and His Dog

    The sun shone ever so gently on the valley below. A faint melody drifted in the air, blending with footfalls on heavy rocks. The loose boulders shifted as he leapt from one to the next, never doubting his balance despite their wobble. Before each jump, he hummed his tune, then paused just long enough to concentrate for the leap.

    A few hops later, he stopped, tipping his face to the sky for warmth. He closed his eyes to let the sun soak his skin, feeling the wind tousle the strands of his brown hair. He imagined himself drifting with it, free, but a stomach grumble interrupted the moment. Time to eat.

    He set his small backpack on the rocks and ran a hand over its worn fabric. This was a prized possession, collected from somewhere and now covered in stickers from his many adventures. His hand traced his favourite ¡ª a little green monster with orange spikes and a wide grin. Someone had labelled it ¡®Tyrannosaurus Rex¡±, but he knew what a T.Rex looked like, and this wasn¡¯t it. But monsters didn¡¯t look like that either, for that matter.

    He crouched down, slipping his hand into the backpack without even looking. He knew what he¡¯d find in there: his stash of ¡°essentials¡±. Food, of course, but there was more in there ¡ª his beloved red scarf, a leathery notebook and a battered toy car. Its wheels were missing, but it was perfect for pretending, and it reminded him of a real one he¡¯d once seen parked crooked on the side of an old road.

    After a few seconds of rummaging, his fingers brushed against cold metal. Got it. He revealed his prize in the sunlight, squinting as the tin glinted. Etched on it appeared a faded label ¡ª half a picture of a cat and letters long worn away. He made a face. Maybe it was cat meat, but even if it was, he could handle it. Hunger made you brave.

    He dug in without waiting for his friend ¡ª who wouldn¡¯t eat anyway.

    The buildings flanked the road on either side, towering like guardians watching over him. He rose to his feet, glancing back as an emptiness pressed down on him, heavy and uncomfortable, a weight he only felt when his companion wasn¡¯t by his side. He squinted and hoped to see its shadow move through the debris. It would eventually find its way, even if the tangled mess of broken walls and twisted metal slowed it down. Then, a soft clatter made his heart lift. Relief washed over him, and he couldn¡¯t help but smile.

    Dog was his best friend, his companion through every expedition. Together, they were explorers of this forgotten world, discovering secrets in the dust. They had met in a massive building filled with treasures ¡ª glittering jewels, toys, books and strange machines whose purposes were lost on him. But that place terrified him; its endless halls were alive with shadows. He had never returned since.

    He noticed a flock of birds land farther away, a fluttering speck of life against the concrete. He drifted closer, pulled by the gentle chaos of tiny wings, until he crept close enough to crouch and marvel at their antics. He wrapped his arms around his knees and tucked himself in a ball. It made him feel safe ¡ª almost hidden, like the world beyond couldn¡¯t touch him here.

    The tiny brown creatures fussed over crumbs caught in a patch of grass that had forced its way up through cracks in the stone. He swayed a little, watching them, wondering if they could talk to each other and if they had best friends and families. The thought made his heart ache a little. Still, he was glad for them, glad they had each other in whatever way birds did.

    Feeling uneasy, he curiously searched for a distraction. Beyond the birds stood a large opening in the building, the kind that swung in a circle ¡ª he loved those. The excitement sparked in his chest, and the birds scattered in a whirl of feathers as he rushed to the building. He leaned against a window, the glass chilling his palms. Wooden planks obscured his vision, and he squinted, pressing his forehead against the glass to peer in the darkness. What secrets possibly lay hidden inside?

    The doors spun wildly, faster and faster, as he pushed them merrily, running in circles until the whole world blurred around him. Finally, he stumbled to a stop, dizzy. A storm whirled inside his stomach in a mix of giddy joy and prickly anticipation about what lay beyond the doors.

    He steadied himself and caught his breath, eyes wide as he took in the lobby stretching before him. It was massive, a single long desk spanning from left to right, and behind it, twin staircases climbed upward, flanking a wall covered in graffiti ¡ª a giant rendition of Earth, like the one in his encyclopedia. One word was slashed across it in red letters: Doomed.

    It felt heavy¡­ But he wasn¡¯t sure what the word meant. Frowning, he dug into his bag and pulled out his small notebook and the accompanying fluffy pen. Then, he carefully copied the word onto a fresh page, adding a question mark beside it.

    His footsteps echoed in the hollow space, stirring loose papers that blanketed the floor like fallen leaves. It¡¯s a mess. He tiptoed around the desk and wondered if he would find something exciting ¡ª perhaps some strange tool he hadn¡¯t seen before.

    But then, a shape at the centre made him freeze.

    A man.

    His eyes widened. The man sat slumped against the wall, legs sprawled out. He¡¯s sleeping! But there was something off ¡ª patches of yellow moss clung to the skin, sprouting in some places into pale mushrooms. Twisted tendrils spread out from the body, hooked to the floor and snaking up the walls. It emanated around, branching like some strange root system.

    A shiver ran down his spine, yet he couldn¡¯t look away ¡ª he¡¯d never seen it this close before. The man had become part of the building itself.

    An unpleasant smell filled the air. He covered his wrinkled nose with both hands, but still, he felt a pull ¡ª a magnetic tug drawing him closer, daring him to get a better look. Part of him wanted to reach out, feel the spongy patches on the man¡¯s skin as if they might hold a secret he needed to know.

    The sound of doors spinning behind startled him. He glanced back, relief washing over him when he saw Dog had trotted in. ¡°Come, Dog!¡± he called, keeping his voice low just in case, ¡°I found someone!¡± Dog¡¯s cardboard ears flapped as it padded over, halting next to him.

    His stomach twisted with a thrill. The man could suddenly wake up. Beware of strangers. But he had a feeling it was the kind of sleep that could go on forever. So he lowered his backpack carefully to the floor, patting his companion. ¡°Dog, stay!¡± he whispered, a feeling of adventure growing inside. He¡¯d be cautious and quiet.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    He sneaked forward, one careful step at a time, his feet gliding over clear patches without papers to crinkle. Closer now, he could see the man¡¯s skin in detail ¡ª fuzzy and discoloured, sometimes bluish, it shimmered in the dim light. The smell was worse here. ¡°Yuck,¡± he whispered, but he didn¡¯t stop. Fear and fascination bubbled inside, and he wondered if the man needed help.

    He leaned closer, drawn by an urge unexplained ¡ª the heat rose in his cheeks.

    Suddenly, just behind the man¡¯s face, something moved. Legs crawled over the mottled skin. It took a second to understand, but when he did, his heart raced as he lunged towards Dog.

    ¡°Spider!¡± he screamed, all the fascination now giving way to terror. His heart pounded with every step, and it felt like the creature was right behind him, matching his pace ¡ª just a heartbeat away from catching him.

    He scooped up the bag and clutched it tightly as he dashed towards the exit. ¡°Come, Dog!¡± This time, he made only one necessary turn in the carousel before bursting into the open. Sunlight hit him in a brilliant warmth that felt comforting. The fear fizzled, replaced by a sense of triumph. A giggle slipped out, followed by another as his laughter spilt into the empty street. Dog trotted up beside him, and he doubled over with a wide grin. ¡°That was funny!¡±

    <hr>

    A gentle trickle of water joined his song as he wandered carefree along the river¡¯s edge. ¡°Round and round the world we go ~¡± His arms swung joyfully in wide arcs that matched his steps. The river cut a clear path through stone and dirt, and he followed as if the water guided him. ¡°Past the river through the snow ~¡±

    The sun dipped low, casting long shadows that reached him, and he felt the tug of home. He raised his voice, playful but softer now. ¡°Chasing shadows, chasing light ~¡± Beside him, Dog kept pace in steady strides, its gentle whirring a companion to his rhythm. He grinned, pleased to have Dog as his only audience. ¡°Hide before the fall of night ~¡±

    As the last note faded, he looked to the west, knowing he¡¯d have to make it back before the sky turned dark.

    Far ahead, birds burst from a tree, their wings flashing against the dusk. His song caught in his throat. Whatever had spooked them might be close. His instincts urged him to hide, and without another thought, he slid down the slope towards the riverbank in search of cover ¡ª a large rock jutted from the earth, its large shadow promising shelter.

    He huddled behind it, knees pulled to his chest. Dog shuffled in close beside him. ¡°Sit,¡± he whispered, and Dog pressed its body low, folding its limbs as they had practised. They melted into the rock¡¯s shadow, and he felt the cold earth beneath him. They stayed silent ¡ª listening.

    The world narrowed to the shared space between him and Dog. Hide, hide, don¡¯t make a sound ~

    This fear was different ¡ª colder, locking his muscles in place. The kind of fear that pinned him down, like in those nightmares where he¡¯d lie helpless as something crept at the edge of his vision, ready to pounce. He could hear, feel, and breathe but never move to run or even turn to face it. Invisible chains held him still.

    Yet he always woke up at some point, returning to his small bed.

    Now, though, he was wide awake.

    Footsteps echoed down the street, each one a deliberate thud. The men¡¯s voices grated as they spoke about things he couldn¡¯t understand. One of them tossed a stone into the river ¡ª it splashed close.

    He¡¯d seen people before, but always from a distance. Most of them were dangerous, the kind he knew never to approach. Close your eyes and count to ten ~ He placed a hand on Dog¡¯s back; the soft buzz beneath his palm always grounded him. He closed his eyes tight, retreating into the song¡¯s quiet promise of safety. You¡¯ll be safe when light comes then ~

    He wished he could be playing instead.

    The group passed him without noticing, focus locked on each other. Their deep voices carried boisterous echoes through the stillness of the city. ¡°Think we¡¯ll find some food? I¡¯m craving meat,¡± one of them asked. ¡°Stay focused,¡± another snapped, ¡°We¡¯ve got a job to do.¡± His heart raced at the mention of a ¡°job¡± ¡ª recalling the colourful pictures from a baby book he had drawn over. Maybe they¡¯re firemen.

    Curiosity tugged at him, and he allowed himself to peek around the rock slowly. Clad in matching uniforms, they wore helmets and padded armour. Maybe they were firemen, after all. His heart leapt as he watched in awe, trying to memorise every detail. Then, as one man shuffled through his pack, something fell out, landing with a muted clink on the ground. A thrill of excitement shot through him; he desperately wanted to rush towards it, to see what it was, but caution stopped him. What if they catch me?

    He looked down at Dog and whispered. ¡°What do you think they¡¯re doing?¡¯

    When the men had disappeared up the street, he had waited long enough. Moving slowly towards the shiny object, he felt the weight of his decision. The metal caught the last light of day as he picked them up ¡ª keys. Three of them, their worn etchings almost invisible. He ran his fingers over, questions buzzing in his head. Should I give them back?

    Voices drifted from the street¡¯s end, low and fading. ¡°It¡¯s gonna be dark soon; he¡¯s not gonna be happy if we come back empty-handed¡­¡±

    A colder voice replied, ¡°Dude, fuck Briggs.¡±

    He clutched the keys tighter, a shocked little gasp slipping out. That man had said a bad word.

    As he made his way back, the gentle rhythm of the river¡¯s soft splashes calmed his racing heart. Meeting new people always left the world feeling different, as if each encounter added new pieces to the mystery surrounding him. What could the keys unlock? The thought brought a smile that warmed him despite the remnants of fear that lingered in his chest.

    A warm orange light bathed the street, casting the broken buildings in long shadows. As he climbed down the familiar slope towards the central building, he felt the quiet reassurance of the white facade against the impending twilight. Dog padded alongside him, and with a slight heave, he pushed open the heavy door, the familiar scent of dusty books greeting him. He let out a small sigh, feeling the relief of safety wrap around him, knowing he was home.

    The stone hall lay silent. His tiny footsteps echoed softly off marble columns stretching towards the high ceiling. The building brought a place of respite for the night, a vast, abandoned space with rooms he rarely explored ¡ª and one he knew to avoid. But his favourite place was marked by faded letters:

    CARL SAGAN LIBRARY

    In his mind, this was his bedroom; he loved how the wooden furniture gave the space a quiet warmth, and the smell of old books carried the memories of forgotten times.

    The door groaned as he tugged at the greened copper handle. A soft light spilt over the shelves below, stretching through rows and rows of books fading into the shadows. There were books on almost everything here: fantasy novels ¡ª his favourites ¡ª books about space, history, even cooking. He¡¯d explored many of them, yet he always discovered something new, especially when it rained. On those days, he¡¯d settle in with Dog, drawing dinosaurs and dragons or maybe inventing new friends on paper. Sometimes, he¡¯d build things out of cardboard or spring in laps around the room, Dog dutifully trailing behind. It was like a bit of adventure, even inside.

    He moved past his little art corner and the old chest, where his stash of cans from the ¡°Donation Room¡± was stored safely. The fading light in the room brought on a sleepiness, settling over him like a soft blanket. He gave Dog a gentle pat on the back, and a small screen flickered on, showing a clock and a battery icon ¡ª only a few bars left. He didn¡¯t quite get how Dog worked, but he¡¯d learned one thing: it seemed to gather energy during the day and lose it through the night, like a living opposite of himself.

    With a press of the light button, Dog started glowing in soft blue, lighting their space. It was a soothing glow, one that always made him feel safe enough to dream.

    Warm blankets draped over the entrance to his fort, forming a snug cocoon of covers, cardboard, and drawings nestled beneath a sturdy wooden desk. He dropped his bag, grabbed his notebook, and crawled into his safe place. Lying back in the blankets, he jotted down his journal entry for the day ¡ª short and simple, and filled with questions. Then, he reached for the thick book by his bed, flipping to the section marked ¡°D¡±. His finger glided down the page, skimming the words until it paused on the one he was looking for:

    ¡°Doomed, adj.: certain to fail, die or be destroyed. Ex: This is a doomed city.¡±

    ***

 04 - Echoes in the Dark

    Echoes in the Dark

    The metal plate shifted heavily against the concrete, sealing the depths with a final clang. Every muscle in his body ached from the escape, and though he¡¯d be safe for now, his breath still shuddered. At least here, the air held no spores. He tugged the mask off, sinking to the ground, and let his head fall back against a wall to steady his breathing. The smell of rot and damp stone felt suffocating, especially in the quiet, as beneath him, beyond the rusty bars of the ladder, the creature¡¯s disgusting, throaty sounds had faded. But he didn¡¯t trust the silence.

    He lifted his flashlight, casting it over the crumbling stone walls. Shadows leapt and sank into the edges, feeding his unease. He strained to pierce the gloom, searching for any sign of safety or an exit. But in escaping the tunnel, he had only found himself in another one.

    After a moment of stillness, he pushed himself up and advanced in the darkness. Keeping his hand pressed to the right wall, he forced his mind to map the space as he went ¡ª despite the fear that something could still be hunting him.

    He wiped the sweat from his weary brow while he assessed the situation. There had been no sign of an exit, but at least for now, the creature was stuck below. His light flickered, reminding him that his batteries were limited. This was the immediate concern, as food and water would not be an issue for the next few days, but if the light gave out¡­ he might as well be trapped in a grave. The weight of his isolation settled heavily in his chest, but he had faced worse odds before. Right?

    His grip tightened on his weapon, hoping to be ready this time. It was a sturdy, curved Pulaski axe he kept sharp. Though the current threat had receded, he remained on edge, and its solidity was comforting. If it came to that, it would get him through any fight. He would just have to hold up as well.

    But for now, he had to keep going. The only way out was forward.

    Every breath tasted stale, thick like the air hadn¡¯t stirred in years. The network of galleries stretched deeper, more intricate than he had anticipated, twisting in random turns as if designed without purpose. Or maybe their purpose was to keep secrets buried. In this case, they were succeeding. Every passageway blurred into the next, and his bearings slipped under the crush of darkness and fatigue.

    He thought of another time, another place, though he rarely let himself go back there. But the tight, unending spaces pried at the edges of memory: rows of people pushing and shoving, squeezed together in pursuit of promised salvation ¡ª only to find filtering lanes ahead, separating those who could leave to those who couldn¡¯t. A final and futile effort to delay the inevitable.

    A sound behind him sent his mind back to survival mode. His body reacted instinctively, spinning, the beam slicing through the darkness. For a moment, he was sure it would catch the creature, hunched and waiting, just beyond the light¡¯s reach ¡ª instead, nothing. Endless emptiness. Focus. He quickened his pace as if sheer speed could keep the invisible threat at bay.

    Occasionally, he swore he heard footsteps echoing his own, but when he turned, the tunnels were always empty. Waiting. The obscurity played tricks on him. Shadows danced along the labyrinthine halls in a mocking choreography.

    He lost track of time, his sense of weariness mounting as seconds bled into minutes, minutes into hours. He checked his watch, knowing full well it was broken ¡ª the glass was cracked, and the second hand frozen. He had once felt clever for seeking a mechanical watch, thinking it would last as long as he did. One lousy fall had proved him wrong. Now, he kept it as a reminder: a relic of a time long gone.

    Then, a splash of colour broke the monotony of stone. Faint streaks of paint clung to the stone like ghosts, too faded to decipher. But as he turned a corner, his flashlight caught a smear of yellow, bold against the wall:

    PRAY FOR THE CHILDREN OF DOOM

    A chill slid down his spine.

    <hr>

    The rusted gates groaned as they swung open, breaking the oppressive silence he¡¯d grown accustomed to. A cold draft slipped through the gap, prickling his skin. After so long spent in the dark, the sight of doors had sparked a cruel flicker of hope, but when the beam of his flashlight swept inside, his stomach twisted in knots. This was no exit. Rather, a cavernous hall stretched before him, welcoming him inside with its vast emptiness. A wave of despair washed over him, yet there was no time for pity. The only way out is forward.

    The scraping echoes surged through the tunnels as he shut the heavy doors behind him and sealed the tomb.

    The weak beam barely reached the ceiling, only catching the edges of industrial pipes disappearing into the gloom above. This place is filled with tunnels. His boots clicked and scuffed against the damp floor, a thin mist hovering, swirling around his steps; it seemed like the place had developed a peculiar weather system over the years.

    The hall stretched in all directions, and it was hard to guess its purpose ¡ª perhaps a bunker meant to house thousands or some control centre. The remnants of machinery littered the floor, gears and metal fragments scattered like broken bones of a forgotten age, but they gave no deeper insight. And then he noticed the desks. Endless rows, some toppled, some eerily intact, the outlines of abandoned stations frozen in time. Even after society¡¯s collapse, men crave their bureaucratic jobs. Ancient computers sat on each desk, their screens cracked or covered in dust, scattered papers strewn about like the aftermath of a hurried exodus.

    The silence held, save for the rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the dark. He half wanted to shout, to shatter the oppressive silence. Instead, his boot crushed a glass fragment, sending a brief, hollow crack.

    As he shifted his weight, his flashlight caught a pale glint beneath the fog ¡ª brittle bones scattered among the debris. He was walking on a dusty graveyard. He tried not to dwell on it, but the scene gnawed at him. It spoke of a hasty abandonment, of people fleeing in panic. Chaos had seized the occupants, but the details of their fate remained elusive. Each item was a ghostly memory: a frayed backpack, a shattered mug handle, and a set of keys that jingled faintly as he brushed past. The chill of isolation tightened in his chest.

    A half-torn map lay on one of the desks, its edges yellowed with age. Red ink bled across the page, some still legible: Safe zones overrun. His fingers brushed against the desk, disturbing a layer of dust. He swallowed hard. No one had been spared. Not even here.

    The mist thickened, clinging with a damp chill that felt like a warning. He slowed instinctively. Something was wrong ¡ª he knew the feeling. Danger. He could sense it in the subtle breeze shift, now carrying a metallic tang that cut through the stale air ¡ª like a fresh wound in the space around him. The unmistakable scent of blood.

    He paused, searching for his next move. The scattered papers twitched in the breeze, fluttering like dying birds that whispered of some unseen threat. His flashlight sputtered, and in that dying light, he felt laid bare, more vulnerable than ever. He stuffed the flashlight away, his hands moving fast as he grabbed some torn fabric and a handful of papers. He knotted them quickly around a broken metal rod. The air here felt drier; it would have to work.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    He fished out a flint from his bag, striking it with an almost frantic desperation. Sparks lit up the darkness in bursts of hope. Then, finally, flames caught and erupted in a defiant blaze.

    He moved forward, thrusting the torch ahead. The hall seemed to warp and distort in the firelight. The way the surroundings swallowed everything beyond the fire¡¯s reach made his pulse quicken ¡ª how the shadows clung to the walls, how they seemed to shift with every step. Flames danced, and so did his heart.

    The pieces fell into place, and a chill coursed through him. This hall wasn¡¯t a tomb. It was a hunting ground.

    The fog churned, rippling as shapes prowled beneath its white veil. They were closing in, their figure shifting just out of reach, testing him. Axe firm in his grip, he collected himself. The way they circled, there was no mistaking their intent ¡ª they were hunters, and he was prey. Three at nine, two at three. His eyes darted between them, mentally charting their positions. He could afford no mistake, not this time.

    A piercing shriek shattered the silence. A signal.

    Survive.

    One sprang forward, erupting from the mist ¡ª a quadrupedal creature the size of a dog. His body moved on instinct, the blade flashing as he swung. It caught the creature in its momentum, cleaving through flesh with a sickening ease. A guttural screech tore from the creature¡¯s throat before it died, silenced in a brutal arc. Blood splattered across his arm, dark and sticky, but there was no time to linger. More would follow the lead.

    He vaulted over a desk, his boots skidding on the dusty floor, just in time to meet the next one head-on. His shoulder screamed in protest as he brought the axe down with all the force he could muster. The creature¡¯s body crumpled under the blow, and its bones shattered loudly against the desk. Blood sprayed on grime like paint on a canvas. Two at 11, one at 5. He took a step back, recalibrating his stance. Every step was measured, every strike precise.

    With a grunt, he swung upward as another lunged for his head. The blade cut deep, and the creature¡¯s body jerked violently, folding when it hit the ground.

    Then, a sharp pain shot through his ankle. He looked down to see jagged teeth latched onto his leg, ripping through fabric and skin. A deep snarl escaped his mouth as he slammed the torch down, catching the creature across the snout. Flames licked at its body, and it screeched, stumbling back into the fog with the stench of burning flesh.

    But there were more ¡ª eyes glinted in the torchlight, predatory and ravenous. They were closing in from all sides. Too many even for him. Panic clawed at him as he staggered back. He wouldn¡¯t be able to hold them off forever.

    He scrambled onto a desk, using the height to seek an escape. The creatures slithered beneath the white blanket, circling like sharks scenting blood. Each second, they edged closer, and their numbers seemed to grow in a relentless wave of teeth and claws. But there, through the haze, he spotted it ¡ª an opening.

    Leaping from one desk to the next, he swatted away their lunging forms using torch and axe. Every muscle ached, but he could see it now ¡ª a way out, just within reach. He dropped to the ground, his boots pounding against the concrete as he broke into a sprint.

    A low, guttural growl rippled through the mist, freezing him mid-stride. It reverberated through the hall, deeper than any sound he¡¯d heard from the creatures. Time froze. This was different ¡ª bigger. His spine went cold.

    Turning to face it, he glimpsed a hulking shadow forming in the fog, and before he could raise his weapon, a crushing blow struck him with brutal force. He was thrown to the ground, the impact jarring through his skull as the world spun, vision flashing white. The torch rolled away, casting a weak shimmer over the shadow that loomed above.

    Pain lanced through his head, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. Heavy footsteps echoed in his ears, each one a countdown, and he gripped his axe, bracing himself. Come at me.

    It towered over him, a massive, monstrous form barely contained in the torch¡¯s dying glow. A raw power radiated off it ¡ª the same creature that had hunted him in the dark. Every instinct screamed for him to run now, but it was too late. It had come for him.

    <hr>

    He snapped back to awareness, his senses sluggish, grasping at clarity. An unyielding tug yanked at his leg, dragging him. His clothes scraped over rough ground, and his head spun, thoughts muddled in confusion. The last flicker of the torch¡¯s dying light faded somewhere behind him, and he was swallowed in darkness.

    He couldn¡¯t grasp how he was still alive. The creatures should have been tearing into him by now, gnawing through layers of guts as he squirmed. Instead, his abductor seemed to want him somewhere. Alive.

    A chill of raw terror gripped him, stronger than any claw.

    Desperately, he flailed at the floor, scrambling to latch onto something, anything, but his hands slipped uselessly over cold stone. Any remnants of control he¡¯d clung to were stripped away as the atrocity hauled him through the void.

    Blind and disoriented, he had no idea where he was taken. The creature¡¯s wet, ragged breaths echoed through the darkness as his sole sensory stimulation. There was only so much time left to figure out a plan ¡ª precious seconds before he reached whatever hellish place the creature wanted him to see.

    The floor beneath him had changed, transformed into something vile. Each tug sent a squelch through the air, the slick floor squishing under his weight. Each step the creature took landed heavily, splashing through puddles that reeked of decay. He felt bumps under him ¡ª pulsing, like roots alive and writhing over the surface. A disgusting sensation. Cold and slimy, the ground seemed to swallow him inch by inch as he got dragged further, each moment blurred into an endless agony.

    Then, the abductor slowed.

    He seized the moment. Heart pounding, he fumbled in his bag in search of the flashlight. Just as his fingers closed around it, the monster yanked him sharply, slamming him against a wall. With a grunt, his shoulder crashed into a surface ¡ª not stone, but something thick and spongy, like¡­ meat.

    Now.

    He flicked the flashlight on, and the beam burst to life, illuminating the horror around him. The chamber pulsed alive, its walls woven with a sickly network of pinkish-white tendrils. They layered over every surface, coiling over the floor, walls and even the ceiling, like grotesque veins stretched over concrete bones. He felt like he was inside a living organism. Tiny, irregular holes gaped in the flesh-like roots, each exhaling wisps of pale gas that crept along the floor, seeping out from the chamber.

    The creature growled, momentarily stunned by the sudden light.

    In one desperate, swift motion, he scrambled to his feet and made a break for the nearest opening. Torch in one hand, he rushed forward, legs pumping with every ounce of strength he had left. Behind him, a furious roar echoed, but the creature had been too slow to react.

    His boots skidded over the slimy floor, nearly sending him in a sprawl. But, he caught himself, heart hammering against his ribs. He didn¡¯t dare look back. He couldn¡¯t.

    His life depended on it.

    He ran like a madman ¡ª a beast with nothing but instinct. His boots pounded against the stone in a rhythm of desperation, and the walls blurred into twisted shadows as he sped through the darkness. Each frantic movement sent his flashlight beam bouncing wildly ahead, mimicking his chaotic thoughts. In spite of it, he could barely make out a faint noise behind him. It was still there, pursuing him. The creature would not give up. And for now, its presence alone spurned him to run faster.

    The tunnels twisted and turned, endless. How long had he been running? His legs had gone numb; he was moving purely on momentum, driven by a will on the edge of collapse. For one fleeting moment, a chilling thought crept in ¡ª Is this all there is? Running without end?

    But then, as despair clutched at him, he saw a change ahead: stairs, hewn into the stone, leading up. He didn¡¯t hesitate. Taking the steps two at a time, his heart lurched with the faintest hint of hope, a hand tracing the rough wall to steady his ascension. He didn¡¯t know where they would lead, but they led up ¡ª away from the nightmare below. For now, that was all he needed.

    Then, he saw her.

    At the top of the stairs, a figure slumped against the wall. He almost dismissed it as another trick of his faltering mind, a hallucination born of exhaustion and fear. But as he climbed closer, the shape solidified. It was a woman curled up, her face smeared with mud, her clothes dark with stains.

    His breath caught in his throat, ending his flight. The flashlight¡¯s trembling beam washed over her, and in the dim glow, she stirred, barely conscious. Blood had soaked her body, a wound visible on her side. Her chest rose and fell, unsteady from shallow breaths, and with it finally came the sudden realisation ¡ª she was alive.

    The light caught on a patch of fabric, letters embroidered and barely visible on her bloodied shirt: Victoria. Something stirred within him, a rush of unfamiliar urgency, clouding his judgment and taking hold of his reflexes.

    Whoever she was, she needed help. And fast.

    ***

 05 - Victoria

    Victoria

    The end began quietly, faint murmurs on the news, lost among talks of climate and fleeting trends ¡ª until it grew too loud to ignore.

    She remembered hearing about it on the playground; children echoing what they overheard from their parents. ¡°My mom says it¡¯s just another disease because they¡¯re poor,¡± a girl stated during a game of marbles. Another said, ¡°It was created in a lab in China! That¡¯s for sure.¡± This was Ryan, and she didn¡¯t like him much.

    It seemed everyone had a say. Yet, her mom avoided the subject, shifting whenever she started asking questions. Her own parents didn¡¯t know.

    They started arguing after a while, usually late at night when she was in bed. She could make out some words through the cracks of her door. Her dad¡¯s voice tried to be soft, but he wanted to be heard. ¡°We¡¯re not gonna be like those people! We¡¯ll be careful¡­ we can home-school her for a bit if it comes to that.¡± She didn¡¯t like the idea. Her friends would do so many things without her, and they would forget her. She wanted to go to school.

    For a while, she had kept going. But soon enough, they all started carrying a mask. It was scratchy, and she couldn¡¯t smile or stick out her tongue when Ryan annoyed her ¡ª she didn¡¯t like that. The teacher wore it under the nose even though he wasn¡¯t supposed to. She also had to clean her hands more than usual, and the gel dried her skin and made it red. She didn¡¯t like that either.

    One day, her mom woke her up later than usual, the sun already out and the smell of waffles in the air. ¡°Hey, sweetie, you¡¯re not going to school today,¡± her mom said softly while she rubbed her sleepy eyes. ¡°You¡¯re gonna stay home. Just like a holiday!¡± She didn¡¯t think much of it, and breakfast was delicious.

    The holidays dragged on for a long time. They watched TV more than usual, even while they ate. The men on TV talked about a lot of accidents and angry people. First in countries she had heard about in school ¡ª then in places closer to home. She even saw the president on TV. He talked for a long time with words she didn¡¯t really understand, but he looked very serious.

    After that, her parents fought even when she was around.

    She woke up terrified. A loud noise came from overhead outside the house. A bright white light accompanied the sound of blades rotating in the night. ¡°THIS IS AN EMERGENCY WARNING. PLEASE VACATE YOUR HOMES IN ORDERLY FASHION. PACK UP ESSENTIAL ITEMS AND FOLLOW THE EVACUATION PLAN.¡± She couldn¡¯t move ¡ª the noise was horrible. She clung to the warmth of her blanket, curled tightly into herself.

    There were voices outside her room: her mother¡¯s muffled whispers and the rustling of bags. Flashes of orange light blinked through the windows, with distant rumbles almost like thunder. Her father opened the door, a look of anguish upon his face. He embraced her and carried her downstairs. ¡°It¡¯s okay, honey. We just need to walk a little.¡±

    They were outside now, people everywhere ¡ª talking, crying. She was pressed against her father¡¯s chest as they moved, his heartbeat strong against her cheek. There were men in armour, carrying guns ¡ª they reminded her of Saving Private Ryan, but scarier. Her parents followed the orders they gave, the white light blinding them every time it passed. A weird smell was in the air, almost like Sunday barbecues in the garden, yet far less pleasant.

    Every so often, she caught a glimpse of her mother¡¯s face, her eyes darting towards the sky. There was fear all around. The streetlights blinked out one by one, and the crowd around them moved faster. Short screams burst from the moving horde. Her father¡¯s breath tousled her hair as he began to run.

    People down the road had started screaming. She didn¡¯t know why. Her mother¡¯s hand brushed her hair. ¡°Keep your eyes closed, sweetie,¡± she whispered, her voice trembling. ¡°Just keep them closed. We¡¯re almost there.¡±

    Victoria did as she was told. Even then, she could feel the chaos growing. The motors above were louder and everywhere now. The ground beneath her kept shaking. ¡°Daddy, I¡¯m scared¡­¡± she managed to utter against the fabric of her dad¡¯s sweater.

    ¡°Shhh, it¡¯s going to be okay, honey. Everything¡¯s going to¡ª¡°

    The explosion came suddenly. It shook everything with a terrible sound that made her more scared than she ever had been. The air turned cold in her vision, a biting wind.

    She was falling. Her hands flailed, yet no one was there to catch her. Her father¡¯s arms were gone. The pavement rushed up, but she didn¡¯t hit it. Instead, she landed softly, as if sinking into water. The buildings stretched up into jagged angles, and the whole world twisted ¡ª the sky above swirling in crimson and black.

    She spun around her, searching the empty street. ¡°Mom?¡± she whispered, her voice trembling. But the words wouldn¡¯t leave her mouth; they were absorbed into darkness. Her feet splashed through a black oil spreading across the ground. The helicopters were no longer in the sky but on the ground ¡ª twisted blades, frozen, as black smoke rose from their broken shells.

    She tried to move, but her legs were stuck, so she struggled.

    And from the wreckage, something crawled.

    Its eyes were on her, she knew, even though she couldn¡¯t see in the dark. The thing dragged itself closer. It moved unnaturally like it had forgotten how to walk. But no one was there to hear her scream. It reached out for her, its long fingers stretching towards her face ¡ª

    She jolted awake, drenched in sweat. Pain coursed through her side as the nightmare clung to her. The sensation of falling refused to let go.

    For a moment, she wasn¡¯t sure if she had escaped.

    <hr>

    He waited in the shadows, dying embers of a fire cast rays that danced over his face. Slouched in a wooden chair, he looked old for some reason. Years of survival etched onto his face. Still, he was probably not more than a decade older than Victoria. He looked strong, especially in this outfit ¡ª cargo pants and a thick vest. Wearing almost all black save for brown tactical boots. Her eyes immediately went to the axe resting loosely in his hand. If he was a captor, that could prove to be a problem.

    She first took in her surroundings. The room was made of stone, wet and crumbled, and clearly an improvised infirmary. She glanced at the wound in her side, her torn shirt revealing the stitches. It was amateur work but better than nothing ¡ª probably the reason she was still alive. Only then did she feel the fire inside her head, a burning fever that awoke with her ¡ª threatening to drag her back under.

    Wait, where the fuck am I? The thought slammed into her. Panic flared, and for a brief moment, she was convinced Briggs had caught her and dragged her back inside the walls. The anticipation pressed her to get up.

    ¡°You really shouldn¡¯t move,¡± a raspy voice calmly said. ¡°You ought to be dead. So don¡¯t test your luck.¡±

    She froze. The man wasn¡¯t asleep after all. Her arms twitched as she tried to sit up, but her wrists caught on the frame. She was restrained.

    ¡°Yeah, sorry about that,¡± he seemed genuinely embarrassed. ¡°I just don¡¯t know you, so¡­¡±

    Victoria¡¯s eyes met his as she realised. He wasn¡¯t one of them, but someone from outside.

    He placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her back onto the mattress. ¡°Your wound is gonna need some time before you can move again. You want some water?¡±

    Her mind was filled with burning questions; confusion clouded her senses. ¡°Wait, where are we? Who are you? Are there really monsters out there?¡± Her mouth was dry and her voice hoarse, but she needed answers.

    He chuckled, as confused as her. ¡°Hey now, don¡¯t play games with me, Victoria.¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°H-how ¡ª ¡± A spike of fear shot through her. For a second, the idea that they might have sent him crossed her mind again. But then, he pointed at her chest ¡ª a tag dangling from her shirt.

    ¡°I guess you shouldn¡¯t put your name on your clothes if you don¡¯t want people to know.¡±

    He set his axe down against a cupboard. ¡°Here, take a sip. I¡¯ll check your wound.¡±

    She felt like prey again, beaten, captured and confused. But something in his demeanour eased her panic. ¡°I should say thank you for saving my life,¡± she said, testing his reaction.

    He glanced at her with unease. ¡°Oh, no, I only treated your wound. You can thank yourself for the rest. Honestly, I was certain you¡¯d die after a few hours.¡±

    ¡°How long was I out ?¡±

    ¡°Two days, maybe more. The darkness tends to mess with your senses.¡± He pressed his fingers gently around her wound, assessing it with care. ¡°Good news is: it¡¯s not infected,¡± he looked at her in anticipation. ¡°Bad news is: you¡¯ll need a few days before you can walk out of here.¡± A few days was a long time, but she had plenty now that she was finally free. Or outside the walls, at the very least.

    Victoria blinked, letting the thought sink in. She had so many questions but didn¡¯t know where to start. The truth was that the answers scared her. Outside the walls. The phrase hung weightless, terrible. The wall had been her horizon for as long as she could remember. She had planned to escape but never considered what came next. Now, she was adrift in a sea of endless possibilities ¡ª and a devastating sense of emptiness.

    ¡°You know I¡¯m too weak to struggle. Can you untie me now ?¡± she muttered.

    He hesitated briefly before untying her left hand, ¡°If you try anything¡­ Just know, people have tried before, and I¡¯m still alive.¡±

    Victoria nodded silently. Okay, tough guy. ¡°You said I was out for two days,¡± she offered, trying to focus. ¡°Where are we now?¡±

    The man shrugged, his expression distant. ¡°We¡¯re underground; I believe we¡¯re beneath a hill in the city. It¡¯s mostly tunnels down here, and I¡¯ve been trying to find a way out for a few days, maybe. But¡­ let¡¯s say circumstances have hindered my progress.¡±

    ¡°What kind of place is this?¡± Her voice cracked in disbelief. She didn¡¯t like the idea of being trapped beneath the earth.

    ¡°It might have been a control centre or a hub of some sort. A place of hope after the end¡­¡± He pointed to a pile of papers on a desk nearby. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to map the place and track where I¡¯ve been. These tunnels, somewhere, they lead back up. I just need to find the right route.¡± He paused as if the weight of the situation finally hit him. ¡°But it¡¯s easier said than done. Especially with ¡ª¡° His eyes flickered towards her.

    ¡°Especially with what?¡± she asked, impatience seeping into her voice.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± he said, looking away. ¡°You should rest for now; I¡¯ll roam a little while you do.¡±

    ¡°So I¡¯m just supposed to trust you won¡¯t leave me here in the dark?¡± The fever was clouding her judgement.

    ¡°Listen, if I wanted to leave you for dead, I wouldn¡¯t have gone through all this trouble.¡± He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. ¡°I¡¯ll find a way out. I have to. Supplies are already thin, and with another mouth to feed, we don¡¯t have much choice.¡±

    She swallowed, her throat painfully dry. ¡°And if you don¡¯t?¡±

    For a moment, the silence stretched, both expecting an answer they didn''t have. ¡°There¡¯s always a way out,¡± he said with a kind of resigned certainty.

    Victoria softened ¡ª she could only imagine what he had gone through in this world. And despite everything, she did owe her life to him. ¡°You haven¡¯t told me your name.¡±

    He hesitated, pretending not to have heard her. Then he walked away towards a pack resting near the wall. ¡°Alek,¡± he said without turning back. ¡°Not that it matters much anymore.¡±

    Victoria raised an eyebrow as he prepared to leave. ¡°Well, Alek,¡± she said, letting the name roll off her tongue, ¡°please find us a way out. I¡¯m not dying down here. Not after everything.¡±

    Glancing over his shoulder, his tired eyes caught the faint glow of the embers.

    ¡°Neither am I.¡±

    <hr>

    Time seemed to blend into a meaningless sequence of semi-conscious events. The unrelenting darkness was interrupted by Alek¡¯s flashlight with each coming and going. Victoria had lost any sense of day or night, and had she been in better condition, impatience would have started gnawing at her. He had warned her that the search would be slow, but there was something he withheld. Each time he left, his warnings about the tunnels were vague, yet there was a tension in his voice, a flicker of apprehension every time he crossed the door.

    The fever had faded, leaving only the throb of pain that washed over her in waves. Her body felt drained, and she slept so often that everything was a succession of dreams and hallucinations. There was no choice but to let it happen if she wanted to walk again soon. But she wouldn¡¯t lie around forever ¡ª curiosity tugged at her.

    Alek wasn¡¯t very helpful in figuring it all out. He had saved her life, yes, but there was much he was afraid to say. Admittedly, the fatigue had made her too tired to ask the right questions, but even in the smallest conversations, she could sense it ¡ª a silence that carried weight. Once, she had laid there, eyes closed, pretending to sleep as Alek rummaged through his pack. She caught snippets of his muttered words ¡ª ¡°This was a bad idea¡±, ¡°too close¡±. Each time he returned, his brow was furrowed deeper with worry. Or dread.

    Are there really monsters out there? She had always considered them myths ¡ª a children''s story ¡ª something used to keep people in line. But what else would have Alek on edge this way? Unless he was hiding something darker. For all I know, he could be feeding me bullshit. Perhaps he wanted to make sure she stayed obediently inside, under control. But her pain wouldn¡¯t last forever; once her strength regained, she¡¯d figure things out. She had expected the outside world to be open skies and endless plains, however terrifying it could be ¡ª not a crypt. There had to be something more.

    During one of their meals ¡ª if you could call them that ¡ª she had told him.

    ¡°You know, I wasn¡¯t kidding¡­¡± Her voice interrupted the silence hanging in the dark room.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked, his eyes narrowing.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about this. And not just the tunnels; I have no idea what this world is. I grew up¡­ in a community hidden behind walls. I¡¯ve never been outside before this.¡± She tried to meet his eyes, anticipating his reaction.

    ¡°A community? You¡¯re telling me you lived with other people?¡± He sounded surprised ¡ª for the first time, she sensed genuine interest from him.

    ¡°Yes. But they¡¯re not good people. Most of them. That¡¯s why I had to run.¡± She shifted, unnerved by her own words.

    ¡°You should have stayed there.¡± A sadness crept into his voice, the light in his eyes fading.

    ¡°No. I¡ª I couldn¡¯t. You have no idea how it was ¡ª¡° she realised what she was saying.

    He scoffed softly.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean¡ª ¡± She resumed eating the bland mixture, lost in thought. ¡°What¡¯s it like out there ?¡±

    The question hung for a moment. His eyes darkened still, and it took him a while to speak. ¡°It¡¯s not what you¡¯d imagine. I don¡¯t know what they told you in your community, but whatever you think the world looks like now¡­ it¡¯s worse.¡±

    After that, Alek left again, not saying another word. His footsteps faded outside, swallowed by the thick air.

    It was quiet. The oppressive silence pressed against her chest, and she found herself listening to the faintest sounds.

    Sometimes, the drip of water echoed down the stone corridors. Its steady rhythm was almost comforting, but she couldn¡¯t stand the idleness any longer. Her legs ached as she forced herself up. She moved towards the table where Alek had left his maps, a hand brushing the cool stone wall to steady herself. They were a mess of lines and notes hastily scribbled on worn paper. She spread them out, trying to understand it all under dim amber light.

    It took a lot of work to follow the routes he had marked. The paths seemed disjointed, tunnels left unexplored. Parts of the facility were drawn on separate sheets. Something felt off. There was a pattern she couldn¡¯t quite grasp ¡ª a reason behind the apparent chaos. Is he avoiding areas on purpose?

    A low creak made her jump.

    Victoria¡¯s eyes darted towards the door. At first, she thought it was just her imagination. Then, she heard it again ¡ª a faint scraping noise. It wasn¡¯t Alek. It couldn¡¯t be.

    She glanced at the stolen knife lying on the table, the only thing she had to defend herself. Her fingers tightened around the small blade. She strained to hear, holding her breath.

    The sound stopped. While the silence grew thicker, she let out a shaky exhale and momentarily released the tension.

    Then, from somewhere deep in the dark, she heard it ¡ª a whisper.

    It was barely audible, a breath carried on the wind. But it was there. Clear enough to send a shiver crawling up her spine.

    She backed away from the door, uncertain what lurked in the shadows. But for the first time, she wished Alek would return.

    Victoria shivered; the whisper still lingered at the edges of her mind. The air had grown colder, a biting chill, and she retreated behind the bed.

    Then, she saw it.

    A thin wisp of fog curled at the edge of the doorway, almost imperceptible. It snaked into the room, creeping along the stone floor. It felt ominous, moving with an unsettling grace. She backed up, her body pressed against the wall ¡ª nowhere to go. The fog thickened, spilling into the room in long tendrils. It was probing, feeling its way inside.

    The door burst open.

    Alek stumbled in, his face pale. His breath was hard, and his eyes were wide with terror ¡ª but something else was there, too ¡ª a flicker of triumph.

    ¡°Alek?¡± Her voice cracked.

    He didn¡¯t answer at first. He slammed the door shut behind him, leaning against it like he was holding something back. His body was trembling, and his breath fogged the cold air. Victoria¡¯s gaze dropped to his hands ¡ª slick with something thick and dark.

    ¡°What happened?¡± she asked, though her stomach twisted, dreading the answer.

    Alek pushed away from the door and wiped his brow. ¡°It¡¯s a good thing you¡¯re up.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Her mind raced, confusion sinking in.

    ¡°I found it,¡± Alek said, his eyes gleamed with a manic intensity. ¡°I found the way out.¡±

    Victoria took a step towards him, her gaze locked on his stained clothes.

    ¡°But it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s not what you think.¡± He swallowed hard and lowered his voice to a whisper. ¡°We¡¯ll have to go through a place I¡¯ve been avoiding.¡±

    Her blood ran cold as the fog continued to creep towards them; the weight of his words sank in. The truth she had denied slowly unravelled in her mind ¡ª they weren¡¯t just escaping the tunnels; they were heading straight into a nightmare.

    ***

 06 - The Bonds of Family

    The Bonds of Family

    The hill¡¯s crest appeared ahead, dotted with crooked trees and scattered boulders, familiar markers along the climb. His boots sank slightly into the damp earth as he pulled himself up by a wooden post ¡ª an old orientation table that still stood proudly. The stone steps were too big for him, but after countless trips, he knew every uneven spot. Just a few more steps.

    Today, though, each step felt heavier. A deep sense of loneliness weighed over him, sharper than usual, and he¡¯d come here seeking solace and hoping the view might fill the ache a little. From the top, he could overlook the whole patchwork of rooftops of his home and the other houses nestled in the surrounding neighbourhood. His companion followed, trailing him in its usual steady way, offering a silent comfort. Yet, it wasn¡¯t the same. Dog was a friend, and he longed for family.

    Dog¡¯s black, plastic legs extended in smooth movements, adjusting to the rocky slope ¡ª its triangular cardboard panels wobbling awkwardly on the front. As always, he had won the race to the top, so he stopped to catch his breath and look down at the city below. The clouds hung low, thick and grey, spreading a dim light across it, softening the edges of rooftops and streets until they looked almost dreamlike, like a painting ¡ª one where the world stood still under an endless sky. Only the woods moved around him, the canopy alive in a gentle wind.

    He dropped onto his usual bench, the dampness seeping through his clothes. He set his backpack beside him and scanned the sprawl below. He squinted at the roads, his gaze shifting from one block to another. Would he even recognise her if he saw her again? Her face had grown blurry in his mind. Yet, he scanned the empty streets with a habit he couldn¡¯t shake ¡ª other people were rare here anyway.

    A faint whirring pulled him from his thoughts as Dog clambered onto the bench beside him, its plastic body shifting to find balance on the damp wood. He leaned back, resting his hand on Dog¡¯s head, feeling the smooth surface under his palm. ¡°It¡¯s quiet, right, Dog?¡± he whispered, with half a smile. Only his friend never knew how to answer.

    In the hush, his thoughts wandered back to her, and a tune slipped out, soft and wistful. ¡°Far away the mountains sing, but no one hears a single thing ~¡± The lullaby was like a thread linking him to her, to the times when she would sing it softly to carry him into sleep. Even now, he could almost feel her hand pulling him out into the cold, the wind tugging at them both, while he¡¯d grumble and drag his feet.

    ¡°The world¡¯s still here, Milo. Never let the clouds make you think otherwise,¡± she¡¯d say, her voice warm even against the chill. He closed his eyes, letting the memory settle, grounding him like the soft pressure of her hand once had.

    His fingers found the edge of his frayed scarf, a quiet ritual. Its colour had dulled, but once, it had been the same bright red as berries. She would wrap it snugly around his neck, pulling him close and pointing out the rooftops below. ¡°See that one? A family of four lived there ¡ª always screaming. And that one, with the blue door, was full of plants like a whole little forest.¡± She painted the city alive with her stories, her words steady as if the world would always stay just like that.

    His little heart ached from the memory, missing the gentle steadiness she offered ¡ª an anchor in his small world. He opened his teary eyes, taking in the familiar skyline. Sometimes, he came here to remember, like if he stayed long enough, she might appear on the path below, smiling. She might one day.

    So he waited on their favourite bench for her return.

    <hr>

    The wind whipped cold against his cheeks as he barrelled downhill, leaning into the descent with all his weight. This was his favourite part ¡ª the thrill of going faster until everything blurred around him, until it was just him and the wild rush of speed. Bursting from a thicket of bushes, he stumbled onto a muddy path. Each step made a satisfying squelch as his boots sank and lifted with a pop.

    Ahead, he spotted a half-buried wooden plank sticking out of the mud. A grin spread across his face. Perfect. He quickly wedged it flat and hopped on, letting the slick, muddy path do the rest. The makeshift sledge shot forward, mud splattering around him in dark streaks.

    Then, a clod of dirt flicked right into his eye. He jerked back to try and rub it away, blinking through the sting. The plank wobbled, his grip slipping as he fought to keep his balance. He felt himself twisting around; his makeshift sledge turned sharply. He let out a small yelp when his arms hit the ground, scraping through the mud and slowing him down to a muddy crawl.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    His slide came to an abrupt stop against something soft. A tingle of surprise prickled up his spine.

    He blinked, trying to make sense of the shape before him. Two stubby horns darkened with mud, and a single black eye stared back emptily. His gaze traced downwards, where a thick red line trickled from a fuzzy neck, pooling around a rough wooden stake that jutted upward. Milo swallowed, the metallic smell twisting his stomach.

    ¡°Did you see where it dropped?¡± a deep voice called out, close, just beyond the trees.

    Milo¡¯s heart leapt, his breath catching in his throat. He fought the urge to bolt, knowing the movement would give him away. Instead, he crouched low behind the fallen creature. He darted a glance up the path he¡¯d come from. His companion was nowhere in sight, and without Milo¡¯s orders, Dog would eventually come running in this direction.

    Leaves rustled nearby with a crunch of footsteps. He pressed his hand against the ground and edged back, inching toward a cluster of bushes. Just like hide and seek. But this time, the stakes were higher. He ducked low, leaves brushing against his face, and tried to stay quiet.

    From his hiding place, his vision was obscured; only fragments of the muddy path were visible through a thin screen of branches. But he saw the shadow ¡ª a dark figure stretching out across the ground, flickering with the movement of leaves in the dappled light. Whoever it was, they were just a few steps away.

    ¡°Found it.¡± The voice came softer this time, satisfied.

    There was a grunt, then the sound of something heavy scraping over the ground. Milo held his breath, straining to see through the gaps in the bushes. All he could make out was a pair of boots, thick with clumps of dried mud. He pressed himself further into the leaves, feeling every twig and brittle edge dig into his cheek. But he didn¡¯t dare shift. He watched, counting each heartbeat as the man turned, slower now, and started walking back the way he¡¯d come.

    A low clatter shattered the quiet, loud as a shout in the silence.

    The man halted, and Milo felt his stomach plummet. No. Not now. A flash of white at the edge of his vision, stark against the shadows, told him everything he didn¡¯t want to see ¡ª Dog had stumbled out from the bushes. His mechanical friend¡¯s foot had caught on a rock, and his frame jerked awkwardly, struggling to restore balance.

    ¡°Hey! Come check this out!¡± the man called, his voice booming from the forest. He dropped the deer with a wet thud, leaving dark smears across the ground as he stepped towards Dog.

    Milo¡¯s mind whirled, his heart hammering so hard he feared they¡¯d hear it. Run, Dog! His fists were clenched, his body coiled, and he was twitching with the urge to leap out and do something. He felt a swell of desperate, helpless anger. He wished someone would burst out right then, like the heroes in his stories, and find some way to save his friend. But he could only watch, powerless, as the man closed in.

    Fingers curling around one of Dog¡¯s legs and lifting it roughly to its head, the stranger inspected his new catch. Everything went quiet again, the forest holding its breath with Milo.

    The men regrouped with a rough cheer, voices rough and triumphant as they gathered around their spoils. Their laughter cut through the trees while they inspected the animal, loud and grating. It clashed with the low helpless whirrs from Dog. Milo¡¯s eyes were fixed on his friend, limp in the man¡¯s grip, dangling like a scrap of metal and plastic ¡ª like a toy. The man holding Dog gave a satisfied chuckle, holding up his prize for the others to see, as if he¡¯d won something valuable. A jagged scar split across his left eye, giving him the signature look of a villain from Milo¡¯s stories.

    He could hardly contain himself. Dog looked so small in that man¡¯s hand, so terribly helpless. Everything about his companion ¡ª the little whirrs, the way it followed him faithfully through every hill and every danger ¡ª reminded him that he couldn¡¯t protect it now.

    His instincts screamed at him to slink back into the underbrush, to melt into the shadows and wait until they passed. Stay safe, beware of strangers. But something else slowly took hold: an unfamiliar feeling, raw and fierce, coiling tightly around his chest. He¡¯d never felt this way, like a fire he couldn¡¯t quite name. I can¡¯t let them take you.

    Not this time. This was his friend. And he had to find answers to all the questions that haunted him, the strange men he had seen. But more than that, he had to get Dog back.

    The men dragged the deer along the muddy path with careless footsteps, pushing deeper into the forest¡¯s shadows. Milo weakly crept out from his hiding place; his body shook as he forced himself to stand. Her warnings, the constant reminders to stay hidden and be careful ¡ª it all told him to let Dog go and escape while he could. But his only friend had always followed him, never asking why. More than a friend, Dog was family.

    His hands were caked in mud, his heart a wild drumbeat, but he set his jaw, brushing his hands off on his pants. Distressed whirrs cut through the air, piercing and insistent, and his chest ached in response.

    As he took his first step into the forest, the sky split with a growl. Thunder rolled across the protesting clouds. Drops of water slapped against his skin from the heavy rains that now lashed over the woods. He tucked his chin into the folds of his scarf, the familiar fabric a reminder of what he willed to risk.

    At that moment, he felt something shift inside. There was no one else here, no one to protect Dog or stand in his place. He stepped forward, melting in the shadows with a quiet determination. A pearl of tear slid lonely on his shaking cheek. If no one else would help, he would have to be the hero.

    ***

 07 - Reluctant Alliance

    Reluctant Alliance

    ¡°You¡¯re going to have to trust me,¡± he said with words less of a promise than a gamble.

    After keeping her in the dark ¡ª literally and figuratively ¡ª he now expected blind trust from her. Something Victoria couldn¡¯t give. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Alek, but before we do anything, you need to explain.¡± Her gaze sharpened, and her voice was firm. ¡°You say you don¡¯t know me. Well, I don¡¯t know you either. I¡¯m not risking my life without knowing what we¡¯re up against.¡±

    He looked past her, already gathering gear as if her words had bounced off him. Then, he stopped and turned back, his dark hazel eyes settling on her with a touch more gravity. ¡°Fine. Lacking the time, I¡¯ll give it to you straight.¡± He tapped his finger against his palm to drive his point. ¡°There is a lot you¡¯ll have to take at face value, but I¡¯ll make sure you get the gist. Presuming we get out of here alive, I¡¯ll answer your questions then.¡±

    She nodded, waiting dreadfully. ¡°Go on.¡±

    ¡°When I found this place,¡± he began, his voice tense, ¡°I think I woke something up. Something that¡¯s been here, dormant, for a long time. It¡¯s been getting more aggressive ¡ª spreading.¡± He ran a hand over the back of his head and gestured to the walls. ¡°I told you I was exploring ¡ª a half-truth ¡ª I was studying. Watching from the dark, learning their behaviour and how they operate.¡±

    She narrowed her eyes. ¡°What¡¯s they?¡± her voice betrayed a growing worry.

    She saw a twitch across his tired face. ¡°Their form¡­ changes. They adapt to their environment. I¡¯ve never faced this particular kind before.¡± He hesitated, a shadow of uncertainty flickering in his eyes. ¡°It¡¯d take too long ¡ª and answers I don¡¯t possess ¡ª to explain exactly what they are. But trust me, you only need to look at them to understand.¡±

    She watched him warily, but Alek stood his ground and left little room for protest.

    ¡°Now, about the exit,¡± he continued, his voice grim with the weight of reveal. ¡°I believe it¡¯s in the heart of their lair¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh, sure. Let¡¯s wander into their hunting grounds on nothing but a hunch,¡± she mused.

    ¡°It¡¯s more than a hunch. I¡¯ve searched near every other spot in this damn place. If it¡¯s not there, then¡­¡± He looked down at the map, then back at her with reluctant honesty. ¡°There is no exit.¡±

    ¡°But you told me you stumbled upon these tunnels,¡± her eyebrow rose with curiosity. ¡°Then why don¡¯t we go back through there?¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t.¡± He raised his voice ¡ª surprise washed over him as he realised he¡¯d let his emotion speak. ¡°There¡¯s no¡­ there¡¯s no going back.¡± He looked down now, escaping the pressure of her gaze. ¡°It would mean death. More so than trying to face them head-on.¡±

    This again. There was something he wasn¡¯t telling her; his fleeting eyes betrayed it ¡ª information he wasn¡¯t willing to share. But she was out of options. ¡°Alright then,¡± she muttered reluctantly. ¡°So, what¡¯s the plan?¡±

    ¡°We get ready. It¡¯s a race against fate where every second we waste, their domain grows, and our chances shrink. I know the way; you¡¯ll have to follow me. We¡¯ll watch each other¡¯s back.¡± He exchanged a look with her, testing their newly formed alliance. ¡°And if it comes to this,¡± he added, ¡°they die like anything else. You just have to stab deep enough.¡±

    <hr>

    He was rustling through his belongings with an efficiency Victoria couldn¡¯t match. Each movement felt clumsy, and with them, her body¡¯s limit became painfully clear. The wound pulsed under her makeshift bandage, and the mental effort it took to ignore it weighed on her almost as heavily as the storm of questions swirling in her mind.

    The stories spread in her camp featured monsters, but they had always seemed distant, mere threats easy to dismiss from the safety of firelight and walls. But out here, in the dark, their presence felt suffocating. She could almost hear their breath in the crawling mist, fuelling her imagination to invoke the worst possibilities. Her mind raced with images of them, conjuring shadows of horror, yet in her gut, she knew it would be worse than she could ever envision. Still, beneath the fear, something else burned inside ¡ª a defiant resolve. After everything she had survived, part of her still held a stubborn conviction. Once out there, I¡¯ll prove it was all worth it.

    The white mist writhed in the room, dancing along with them. It seemed to recoil with their movements as if it sensed them. Almost alive. Alek slung his pack over the shoulder, interrupting her thought. Calmly, he swept his hand over scattered papers before lifting a metal rod from the infirmary bed. Using torn strips of fabric, he wrapped the rod into a makeshift torch. She admired the disconcerting ease with which he was operating ¡ª a precision unlike anything she¡¯d seen before. No amount of practice could give you the efficiency of someone fighting for survival, definitely not that of someone who¡¯s been doing it for years.

    The fog shifted, shrinking back into the room¡¯s corner as Alek stood, his face flickering in the torchlight. He glanced at Victoria, handed a spare knife ¡ª much sharper than hers ¡ª and broke the silence. ¡°There is one thing I must add.¡±

    She managed a nod, gripping the blade as tightly as her weakened hands allowed. She searched his face, hoping for the confidence he had shown earlier, some sign of reassurance, but instead, his gaze met hers with a sheepish smile. Is he as afraid as I am?

    ¡°I said I was watching them. But¡­¡± He murmured. ¡°In trying to learn their ways, I exposed myself. Moving through their mist as long as I have, so close to them, they must have started watching me in return.¡± He looked down, his fingers brushing the scarred handle of his axe. ¡°They¡¯re just mindless beasts, like everything else I¡¯ve encountered. But sometimes, their instincts¡­ bordered patience.¡± He shook his head, almost trying to push the thoughts aside. ¡°All I¡¯m trying to say is¡­ Let¡¯s be careful out there.¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    The implication settled between them, pressing on her chest like an iron weight. Just mindless beasts, huh? There was only one way to find out. She pushed a strand of scarlet hair away from her brow and nodded, locking her eyes in his to form a silent pact.

    Once they finished gearing up, she tightened the gauze, wrapping it around her abdomen as firmly as she dared. This better hold. Alek moved to the door, seeing she was done. His hand rested on the handle for a moment too long. She noticed his left one fidgeting over something in a pocket of his bomber jacket. His gaze shifted, touched by reluctance¡­ perhaps even shame. But before she could form a thought, his voice cracked like the fire he held.

    ¡°We¡¯re heading to a place called the Administrator¡¯s Ward. Stick close. I know the way.¡± The door creaked open, and the mist surged, almost eager to claim the space. Alek pushed through first, firmly holding his axe as though it could shield them both, and Victoria followed, the torch¡¯s flames casting restless shadows ahead of them. No turning back now. She swallowed hard, her fears knotting in her chest; she had no choice but to place her trust in a stranger.

    Deeper within, something stirred in anticipation.

    She kept pace as best she could, but the constant ache on her side made it difficult for her to stay composed. Memories surfaced of machinery rooms she¡¯d sometimes been sent to help, with the smell of metal and oil that she¡¯d find pleasant in a strange way. The smell here felt similar, rusty and metallic, but it carried something else¡­ more organic. Almost the same as her bloodied bandages.

    She glanced at Alek, hoping to read something in his expression; they hadn¡¯t exchanged a word since leaving the room. His gaze remained fixed ahead, a mask of silent vigilance, but she knew he was right to keep quiet. In the maze¡¯s stillness, they walked exposed and vulnerable ¡ª best their presence remained unnoticed. It suddenly came to her that she wasn¡¯t aware of what senses the creatures possessed, and she found herself hoping they couldn¡¯t smell. She ought to reek of fresh blood.

    A chilling sound echoed from somewhere in the depths. Faint but distinct. A low, grating noise, like something hard scraped across stone, coming in rhythmic drags. Deliberate. The sound engulfed them, filling the darkness with something far more unsettling than the mist. Whatever it was, it moved without urgency ¡ª with a predator¡¯s confidence.

    Her fingers tightened around the knife¡¯s hilt, the soft leather keeping her hand somewhat warm. Alek had stopped instantly, eyes narrowed as he strained to listen. ¡°Something¡¯s down there,¡± he whispered in a voice barely audible ¡ª stating the obvious to break the tension.

    Victoria nodded, whether in agreement or to reassure herself, and her breath hitched in a misty puff. Pulling from distant memories, she inhaled softly to focus ¡ª counting each breath like she had been taught.

    We have to keep going.

    An impenetrable fog wall lifted that swallowed them with each step. Alek¡¯s figure drifted in and out of sight, like a shadow lost in the swirling mass. She hurried to catch up, but for a split second, he vanished entirely. Only the torch¡¯s light remained, diffusing in the mist like a raging furnace. Her heart thudded.

    ¡°Alek?¡± she whispered instinctively.

    Standing near the right wall, he reappeared, his hand trailing over its surface with an eerie curiosity. His axe hung at his side, forgotten for now. She moved closer.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± she asked. ¡°I thought I had lost you for a second.¡±

    He didn¡¯t bother looking at her, his gaze fixed on the wall. ¡°We should turn right,¡± he answered, almost like he was talking to himself.

    ¡°Fine. Go ahead, I¡¯ll follow.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± He shook his head in disbelief. ¡°There should be a passage here. But¡­ there¡¯s only a wall.¡±

    She squinted, inspecting the subject of his contemplation. Great, now he¡¯s lost his mind. As she was about to brush it off, he held the torch closer, and she noticed it, too ¡ª the texture, just slightly wrong. The smooth stone of the corridor gave way to a material similar in every fashion. Almost. Yet it had a subtle grain, a pattern repeated chaotically. Something imperfectly mimicking stone.

    ¡°Alek is this¡ª¡°

    ¡°We should hurry,¡± he cut her off, his jaw tense. ¡°There¡¯s another way farther down.¡±

    As they moved on, something gnawed at her, twisting in her gut. Alek, too, seemed disturbed, glancing over his shoulder every few steps, his expression caught between anticipation and anger. It dawned on her then ¡ª the thing that terrified him wasn¡¯t only what they were up against. It¡¯s the thought that it might have been waiting for them.

    The tunnel walls closed in around them as they rounded a corner. The cables and cracked pipes that snaked overhead cast twisted shadows in the torchlight. Still, the corridors remained stubbornly empty, each step stretching the silence tight around them. Beads of sweat trickled on her forehead, betrayers of her growing exhaustion. But what unnerved her most was the constant, creeping sense of being watched. Something just out of sight waited in the dark, taunting them from the shadows.

    Alek¡¯s voice cut through her thoughts. ¡°We¡¯ve been here already,¡± he muttered, revealing a hint of frustration. Without so much of a glance, he quickened his pace.

    ¡°How do you know?¡± she managed, breathless and determined to keep up in spite of it.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just keep going,¡± he replied tightly. His voice trembled slightly from a fear he tried to hide. But he never turned to meet her gaze ¡ª and maybe it was better that way. She doubted what lurked in his eyes would be pleasant. She had to follow him, but somehow she started questioning his judgment ¡ª maybe his memory faltered. Every shadow looked the same, and every turn was a mirror of the last. How could he be sure of their path when the fog ate up every landmark? Everything looks the same.

    The tunnel widened suddenly, almost to prove her wrong. It opened into a cavernous room with a collapsed ceiling. Alek held up the torch as its light spread over heaps of rubble and fractured machinery. Concrete dust hung in the hair, mixing with the fog. It must have collapsed recently. Two dark passageways yawned open on the far side.

    Alek raised the torch, scanning the wreckage like he¡¯d never been there. She caught his jaw clenching again, his gaze darting between the exits with a look she was starting to decipher ¡ª hesitation, maybe even fear.

    ¡°What happened here?¡± she asked softly.

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t¡ª¡± he stammered, his voice oddly fragile.

    And then, from somewhere deep in the left passage, came a faint whisper. Air escaping from a throat that hated its purpose. Her blood went ice-cold as she listened to make sense of the broken sounds shattering the silence.

    ¡°Alek,¡± she whispered shakily. ¡°We¡¯re not alone.¡±

    They had never been alone.

    Alek stilled, every muscle taut. The whispering continued, just out of reach. It almost sounded like her name stretched and distorted, echoing back from the darkness. But it couldn¡¯t be ¡ª her mind spun weaves of imaginary conclusions, decorating the web of nightmares in her head. The torchlight trembled, mocking them as Alek slowly stepped forward, his hand reaching for his axe. The whisper grew into a groan, wet and painful, slipping beneath their skin.

    And then it stopped ¡ª sudden and absolute. It gave way to a more terrible silence.

    ***

 08 - Desperate Measures

    Desperate Measures

    The oval, egg-like object in his pocket felt cold to the touch. Its compact shape provided an odd sense of reassurance. Still, they couldn¡¯t afford to slow down. Each second that ticked by brought more strain on Victoria. He could see it in her pale face, betraying how she teetered on the brink of collapse ¡ª although, until now, she had been good at hiding it.

    She didn¡¯t know everything he did, which was a small mercy. Another blow would push her over the edge. Still, guilt pulsed through him. When he glanced over his shoulder, it grew more evident that she struggled to keep pace. Quickly, he looked away, hoping to conceal the doubt clouding his eyes, though he sensed she had already picked up on it. For both their sakes, now was not the time for uncertainty. There¡¯s always a way out.

    Yet, something was wrong. His mind circled the possibility ¡ª a terrifying thought he¡¯d tried to dismiss. Things had shifted in the tunnels, and Alek had suspicions about what was happening. But it couldn¡¯t be. This can only be a coincidence. Study the facts and leave nothing to chance. One creature had been tailing them since the infirmary, slipping in and out of sight like a fever dream. Another ¡ª or maybe the same ¡ª had nudged them towards the right tunnel, a pressure that guided them deeper. He clenched his jaw, letting the realisation wash over him.

    He still had a broad idea of where they wandered and waited to stumble upon an indication that he was right. But the paths around them twisted and re-formed, sapping what little faith remained.

    When they halted at an intersection, tunnels branched in every direction, and the paths he had worked so hard to familiarise with seemed to defy all logic. His pulse sounded as he scanned the shadows for anything reminiscent.

    Leading her into the unknown had revealed itself to be a far greater mistake than he¡¯d anticipated, one that twisted like a knife in his gut. Yet, a strange feeling surfaced when he thought about Victoria ¡ª a sense of responsibility. Of caring. It was like recalling an old, painful memory.

    The heavy silence broke with the crack of his voice. ¡°We¡¯re not where we¡¯re supposed to be,¡± he finally admitted with words dragging shame and guilt to the surface. He couldn¡¯t even look at her, couldn¡¯t bear to face her after leading them straight into the seventh circle of hell and managing to get lost there.

    Victoria placed a hand on his shoulder, her cold fingers still reassuring. She slowly caught her breath. ¡°We should go right,¡± she blindly suggested, mustering an unwavering resolve. The news had less of an impact than he had anticipated. She knew.

    Yet here she was, choosing to stand with him in the dark.

    With a strength that surprised even him, she pressed her hand harder against his shoulder. Her voice came as a quiet but fierce rallying cry:

    ¡°Let¡¯s get out of this fucking place.¡±

    The tunnel opened once more into a larger chamber, shrouded in choking fog and cluttered with debris. Alek''s steps hesitated as his eyes scanned the space. It resembled the previous chamber as if the ceiling had partially collapsed. However, the damage was less extensive here, and there was a disorienting sense of discrepancy.

    Then he saw them.

    Dozens of hunched shapes clung to the ceiling, barely discernible through the gloom. Their twisted bodies shifted with an unnatural stillness, muscles ripping beneath mottled skin. They gnawed at the stone with grinding precision, nibbling like¡­ rats. But these weren¡¯t mindless vermin ¡ª they worked with methodical purpose, their clawed limbs anchoring them as they grazed, leaving patches of smoothed rock in their wake.

    His theories were all wrong.

    A deep, resonant sound broke the thought, reverberating down the tunnel behind them ¡ª a guttural growl that carried a dreadful intelligence. The ceiling quivered as the creatures reacted, snapping their heads towards the noise. Their feeding halted abruptly; they dropped to the ground in a sickening chorus of squelches.

    Their eyes gleamed in the flames ¡ª shimmering black opals that reflected the light in unnatural hues. Their elongated jaws clicked softly as if testing the air, and Alek¡¯s heart thundered with instinctive dread. They were pressed between the jaws of a monstrous machination. Now, he had little choice but to confront the truth.

    They hadn¡¯t stumbled here by accident. They had been herded here.

    He glanced at Victoria, who stood paralysed with dread, eyes locked on the creatures. He tightened the grip on his axe and stepped in front of her, shielding her from their gaze. One thought burned through the haze: I won¡¯t let her die in here.

    Whatever it took, however much it cost, Alek would not let his mistake cost Victoria her life.

    His survival instinct, honed over the years, screamed louder than the chaos that surrounded him, drowning out the chorus of shrieks and groans. Rocks clattered beneath a tide of scrabbling limbs. But he had moved before them, showing Victoria the way as he rushed forward. The air felt alive with the creatures¡¯ hatred, and he hated them in return ¡ª hated their loathsome forms, their malicious eyes, and the vile games they played. Let them all burn.

    Flames arched in the darkness as he swept the torch before him. The creatures recoiled with a hiss. He gritted his teeth, forcing the fear down, where it twisted into something fiercer. His axe came down, again and again, shattering brittle bones and tearing through flesh with grunts that echoed in the darkness ¡ª his or theirs, it was hard to tell. The scent of scorched fur and blood filled his nostrils, awakening something in him.

    With a look behind his shoulder, he made sure Victoria followed. Her knife flashed in the dim light as she drove back the monsters that got too close. Her eyes were hollow; her trembling hands barely held her weapon. She walked through a nightmare, bent over her wounded side. Although, somehow, she was still upright, still fighting. She wouldn¡¯t give up ¡ª not yet. He could only admire her resilience.

    The creatures swarmed with relentless speed, their bodies propelled by a raw, hateful hunger. Claws raked across his arms and legs, and teeth found purchase through torn fabric to sink into his flesh. Pain flared hot and sharp, only he kept moving. Tearing at the enemy with an unrelenting rage, he pressed forward, the axe an extension of his fury, carving a path through the writhing mass.

    Alek¡¯s chest heaved with exertion, yet his rage propelled him. Not the calculating anger he had long relied on, but something raw and untamed burning on a fuel hotter than the will to live. It was the spark of a humanity he thought he had lost long ago. At that moment, he fought for her. Not for Victoria ¡ª she was still a stranger, though a welcomed ally ¡ª but for everything she represented.

    It called to the better parts of himself. She reminded him of the man he used to be, of life beyond survival, of dreams and comfort. The flames in his heart whirled, searing through the exhaustion and pain.

    He would protect her ¡ª not because she needed him, but because he needed to.

    They rushed through a tunnel ahead, and Alek¡¯s gaze snagged on something in the darkness. A faint flicker of hope surged, but the moment shattered as the sound he dreaded returned ¡ª heavy and wet, reverberating like the earth itself groaned in despair. Alek knew what it meant. His nemesis approached. The one that haunted his steps with unyielding purpose. And it wouldn¡¯t stop until it had him.

    He risked a look behind him. A towering form emerged from the fog, its shape half-concealed by the gloom yet horrifyingly distinct. It moved in agony, fleshy limbs pulling it forward as they slapped against the stone.

    Victoria was busy fending off one of the smaller creatures. She hasn¡¯t seen it.

    It loomed over the other monsters, grotesquely tall. Slender limbs jutted unnaturally from its bloated, pallid torso, the arms so long they scraped the floor with spiked fingers.

    A bone-rattling growl emanated from its gaping maw ¡ª a grotesque pit lined with jagged teeth. It dripped with blackened saliva, hissing faintly when it hit the ground. Alek clenched his jaw, pushing back the terror.

    She can¡¯t see it.

    ¡°This way!¡± he roared, shoving Victoria ahead before she could turn and see what he already wished he hadn¡¯t. She stumbled but ran ahead while Alek pivoted and sprinted after her. The torch wavered in his hand, illuminating the slick walls and the narrow passage that funnelled them deeper into the labyrinth. ¡°Don¡¯t look back!¡± His voice cracked with despair. ¡°Keep going!¡±

    The creatures had caught up with him, clawing at his clothes. But he couldn¡¯t stop to fight; his axe hung uselessly in his grip ¡ª there was no time to swing it, no room for hesitation. All that mattered now was to run.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    A deep snarl engulfed the tunnel, reverberating in his bones. Keep going, Victoria. We¡¯re almost there. He could see the strain in her strides, the line of blood trailing from her arm as it glistened in the torchlight. But she didn¡¯t falter. Her body moved on sheer willpower, even as the passage narrowed further.

    They approached a crossing, and Alek shouted, ¡°On your left!¡±

    Victoria veered. He hit the wall ahead with a shoulder before changing course aggressively. The orange light spilt forward, casting shadows over the shapes ahead. Then he finally saw it.

    White letters emerged from the gloom, stark and alien in their clarity:

    ADMINISTRATOR¡¯S WARD

    The entrance was twisted, veins and fleshy tendrils pulsing across its surface, slithering against the dark stone. They clung to the archway, snaking outward like vines, stretching far into the shadows. It was like the gaping maw of a foul beast, its breath thick with a fetid stench that almost made Alek gag. Victoria slowed as the full horror of the sight struck her. He saw her hesitate, her steps faltering, but the momentum brought her forward. The snarls and screeches behind them were still loud, promising what would happen if they failed to outrun them.

    Strips of sinewy tissue hung down from the ceiling like curtains, dripping with a dark liquid that pooled around the edges of the floor. Alek slowed, the torchlight flickering weakly in his hand. They stood in the belly of something ancient ¡ª a patient predator waiting to devour them whole.

    Victoria splashed ahead, her steps fading into the distance. She didn¡¯t look back. Good. She needed every second he could give her.

    He turned to face their pursuers.

    The emotions he had been trying to bury since meeting her clawed their way back, spectres of his former self: purpose, hope, and a fear other than the mere fear of dying. It was as though her presence had pried open some locked part of his soul. All these years, he had fought out of habit, a reflex as mechanical as breathing. Survival without meaning, existence without feeling. A creature of the dark, almost like them. He had forgotten what it was to care, to hurt, to be truly afraid.

    Now, his chest thundered with fear¡¯s cruel rhythm, alive and unmistakable ¡ª a strangely pleasant feeling.

    A roar echoed down the tunnel as the wave of creatures surged ahead of their macabre leader. He let the torch fall from his grasp, watching it tumble into a shallow pool of dark liquid, the flames sputtering as they met the wet.

    Alek¡¯s hand slipped into his pocket, brushing the cold metal nestled within. His fingers curled around it like the resolve that hardened in his mind. He drew the object out, the pin scraping faintly against his glove as he removed it with precision.

    He hurled the grenade.

    It arced through the smoky air, disappearing into the tide of limbs and gnarled teeth. The creatures charged blindly like a malformed cavalry before their commander. Claw raked against the fleshy ground, eyes gleaming with animalistic fury as they bore down on him. None of them noticed the object sailing toward their doom.

    Alek¡¯s lips twisted into a savage grin. ¡°How¡¯s that for a trap, motherfucker!¡±

    The explosion ripped through the tunnel in a flash of white-hot light. The sound hit him next ¡ª a brutal, concussive force that drowned out the agonising screams of the creatures. The entire lair seemed to gasp and exhale in violent fury.

    The heat from the blast roared past him, scalding the air and filling his nostrils with the acrid stench of burning flesh and singed blood. The force hit him like a physical wall, his breath torn from his lungs as the shockwave slammed into his chest. He was thrown back, banging into a wall with a crack. His head snapped forward while his vision swam.

    Shrapnel rained down in fragments, bloodied remnants that formed grotesque confetti. An eerie silence settled, broken only by drips of fluid hitting the floor. And by the ringing in his ears. He struggled to draw breath, his chest heaving through the oppressive heat and smoke. His axe had clattered somewhere, its weight replaced by a fatigue that sent tremors through his legs. He staggered forward, barely upright, before falling back into the pools of blood. His hand rested on the weapon¡¯s handle when he caught a movement.

    Through the smoke and flames, a shadow shifted.

    He wiped a streak of blood from his face, his vision blurry and his thoughts fragmented. Did I get you? Before he could rise again, an arm hooked around his chest, pulling him upright with surprising strength.

    ¡°Come on, tough guy,¡± Victoria¡¯s voice rasped near his ear as relief washed over him. ¡°Now¡¯s not the time for a bath.¡±

    He exhaled sharply, a bitter laugh catching in his throat as she half-dragged him towards their escape.

    The flashlight blinked as Victoria clicked it on, its beam flickering weakly on Alek¡¯s last battery. May it hold until we meet the sun, he thought. Their pace slowed, unwillingly drawn into the grim spectacle unfolding before them.

    The ward stretched out in fossilised remains of humanity¡¯s final throes, a freakish museum curated by time and death. Rows of porcelain desks and shattered terminals stood in uneven ranks, the tendrils snaking across the ground to claim their territory. Human skeletons clad in tattered lab coats sprawled awkwardly among the remains.

    The sepulchre of ambition.

    Alek¡¯s eyes darted across the room, the sight bringing an uncomfortable familiarity from a time he wanted to forget. It stirred buried memories of fluorescent labs, sterile microscopes and the false comfort of theory.

    The flashlight in Victoria¡¯s hand caught a row of observation windows lining the walls, their glass smeared with streaks of black and crimson. At the far end of the room, a reinforced door loomed, its surface scored with jagged claw marks that dug into the steel.

    Control panels flanked the door like broken sentinels, their faces cracked, their innards exposed. Alek gestured towards them.

    ¡°I hope we can still open it somehow.¡±

    Victoria nodded but hesitated near a desk. The beam illuminated a clutter: files in brittle stacks, diagrams of misshapen anatomy and jars clouded with discoloured liquids. She plucked a page with two fingers, her voice hoarse.

    ¡°What¡­ what were they trying to do here?¡±

    Good question. His jaw clenched in a nervous tic as he scanned the tanks lining the walls. Each glass panel offered a glimpse into horrors suspended in liquid stasis. Deformed figures floated limp, born from experiments ¡ª some twisting the line between creature and man. Numbers were etched onto faded plates clinging stubbornly to the tanks. The higher they went, the more alien the inhabitants. They¡¯ve charted a deliberate path away from humanity.

    The final observation window stood alone at the end of the room, its inscription barely legible beneath a coat of grime:

    Experiment #1421. Do not engage.

    The chamber behind it dwarfed the others; its glass shattered into fragments strewn across the floor. The containment unit itself had been warped outward, the metal buckled and torn as though something massive had burst free.

    Alek¡¯s eyes lingered on a file dangling from the window¡¯s edge. He grabbed it, scanning the scattered text, pieces of long-buried lectures clawing back into his mind.

    ¡°Artificial selection, accelerated mutation¡­¡± He muttered under his breath. ¡°They¡¯ve used CRISPR-Cas9 to reverse-engineer a way to outlive the End. If I had to guess¡­¡±

    Victoria stood at his shoulder, her brows furrowed in disbelief. ¡°Reverse-engineer? From what?¡±

    He turned to face her with a stern look, the file slipping from his hand. ¡°If you want to stay here and find the answer, I won¡¯t stop you. But we should really get going.¡±

    A sound came from behind them.

    Dragging metal and a pained guttural growl echoed through the ward like a dirge. Their eyes locked as they realised how right he had been.

    From the farthest shadows, its hulking form materialised, riddled with fresh blisters. A faint smoke rose from its scorched flesh, the aftermath of the grenade¡¯s wrath barely slowing its advance. Still, it had split its right arm into two uneven pieces that dangled with each move. Bits of other creatures clung to its frame, dragged along as it approached. So, you¡¯ve come back for another round.

    Its eyes, born from the void, hosted something that resembled malice, locking onto Alek with a predator¡¯s intensity. Victoria stepped back, her flashlight trembling as she struggled to keep the beam steady. ¡°What the fuck is that?¡±

    He grabbed his axe and barked, ¡°Find a way to open the door! I¡¯ll buy us some time.¡±

    <hr>

    Her hands shook as she stared intently at the fractured control. Each sound from behind her stabbed into her concentration; the lingering vision of the monstrosity burned in her retina. She glanced back despite herself. The fog and dim light made everything a blur of motion. Alek was transformed into a shadow caught in a storm, his figure rising and falling in frantic motion.

    Focus.

    The reinforced door loomed ahead, cracked open just enough to taunt her with a sliver of hope. Her fingers fumbled over the worn buttons, smearing grime into the cracks as she tried to coax life from the rusted mechanisms. She pressed and twisted at random, willing something to work. But the inscriptions were faded, their meanings lost to time, and the dim panels offered neither light nor promises.

    ¡°Alek!¡¯ she screamed, her voice breaking under the weight of anxiety. ¡°Hold on, I¡¯m trying!¡±

    ¡°You can do it!¡± he bellowed back through the chaos. The edge of desperation in his voice twisted inside her. She could hear the weight of his breaths, carrying the cost of every blow he exchanged with their jailer.

    She cursed and stepped back, scanning the debris. A broken steel pipe lay wedged between rubble, and she lunged for it, pulling with everything she had left. It gave way, and she staggered back towards the door. With a grunt, she jammed it into the gap, bracing the pipe with her weight ¡ª her muscles screaming, her wound pulsing. The door groaned but held firm. It, too, had turned against her. ¡°Come on!¡± she hissed through gritted teeth, digging her boots into the ground. I haven¡¯t walked all the way through the dark to be stuck behind a door.

    The door shifted, just a fraction, but enough to squeeze through. It would have to do.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s ready!¡±

    ¡°Go!¡± Alek replied sharply. ¡°I¡¯ll be right behind you!¡±

    Her chest tightened as she stared at the gap, then back at him. A wild grin split Alek¡¯s face, his eyes burning with savage determination, more feral than human. Please, hold on. She ducked through the narrow opening, the edges scraping her jacket. On the other side, the air felt cooler, free of the choking atmosphere.

    She turned back immediately, crouching near the gap. The sounds of the fight were muffled now, distant, but she saw them. Their shadows locked in brutal combat. The monster struck out with a massive arm, slashing toward Alek¡¯s face. She gasped as he roared in reply, the sound so primal. And then they disappeared from view. And the chaos left its place to silence.

    Her heart pounded in the stillness. But the doorframe remained empty, and so did the shadows.

    Please come back¡­

    Panic rose, tightening her throat until each inhalation felt like a betrayal. Her mind reeled, conjuring images she didn¡¯t want to see: Alek sprawled on the ground, the monster towering over him, triumphant¡ª

    A hand shot through the gap, filthy and trembling.

    She gasped, scrambling to grab hold. Alek dragged himself through, his movements sluggish. He leaned heavily against the doorframe to catch his breath. Blood gushed from his right eye, dripping from his face in vivid trails to soak the collar of his shirt.

    ¡°Close,¡± he mumbled, a weak grin tugging at his lips.

    ¡°Alek¡ª your eye!¡± she stammered with worry.

    He gave a breathless chuckle, pressing a shaking hand to the open wound. ¡°Yeah¡­ I was jealous of yours, so¡­¡± His knees buckled, and she caught him as he fell forward. There was no time for more words.

    Together, they stumbled up the massive staircase. Each step felt insurmountable, but the faintest hint of light bled from above, driving them with a thin thread of hope. Their shadows stretched long behind them, dark fingers slipping into a void that had threatened to swallow them whole. Alek shifted, and for a moment, she thought he might have fallen unconscious. But his voice broke the eternal silence:

    ¡°Let¡¯s go see the real world, Vic.¡±

    ***

 Intermission

    Let''s start slow! Here''s Milo''s song that he likes to hum every once in a while:

    Verse 1:

    Round and round the world we go,

    Past the rivers, through the snow.

    Chasing shadows, chasing light,

    Hide before the fall of night.

    Chorus:

    Hide, hide, don¡¯t make a sound,

    Close your eyes and count to ten,

    Till the sun comes back around,

    You¡¯ll be safe when light comes then.

    Verse 2:

    Far away the mountains sing,

    But no one hears a single thing.

    Run and run, don''t stop to stare,

    Monsters dance in the open air.

    This is a song made by his mother and that she used to sing to him when he was younger. It sort of acted as a way to both reassure him and also ingraine some survival aspects early on in his childhood. What do you think happened to his mother? Do you believe Milo will get to see her again?

    <hr>

    Here''s a drawing of Alek made by the talented CenturyRobot</a> :

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    What do you think? Personally I find it so cool to have a real image of something that is a product of my imagination. And it''s given me the motivation to get back to drawing to produce art for Whimpers of the Light.

    He looks a bit russian here, we could say it''s a limited edition skin "Metro Last Light" for Alek ~~

    <hr>

    Lastly to get you excited for part 2 here''s a snippet for a chapter that will come very soon:

    <blockquote>

    He stood at the edge of the crumbling skyscraper, his scarred face aglow in the blood-red horizon, where the sky seemed to weep for the sins of the earth. Clouds roiled heavy with sorrow, etching an ominous scene alive with a soft wind. It swept through the remains of this monstrosity of a building, reverberating with haunting echoes that rushed through its rusted frame ¡ª a brutal symphony of chaos laying siege to order.

    It was only fitting for such an occasion. A melody played by nature itself to celebrate the end of an era. Had there ever been a more beautiful way to revel at the prospect of a dying society? One that had held on for too long already. Dead ideas and dead people grasping for an air not destined for them. Pitiful.

    As night descended upon the wasteland, a grim certainty settled over him; the moment had come. Long dormant in their slumber, the Children would awaken tonight and reclaim a world stolen from them.

    </blockquote>

    I''m very excited to share this. Let me know your theories on what it could be about!

    I can also tell you that a Milo chapter is coming right after the first chapter of part 2.

 09 - The Masked Singer

    Part 2

    Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

    Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

    The lone and level sands stretch far away.

    ¡ª

    ¡°Ozymandias¡±, Percy Bysshe Shelley

    <hr>

    The Masked Singer

    He stood at the edge of the crumbling skyscraper, his scarred face aglow in the blood-red horizon where the sky seemed to weep for the sins of the earth. Clouds roiled heavy with sorrow, painting a grim tapestry alive with a tragic wind. It swept through the remains of this monstrosity of a building, reverberating through its rusted bones ¡ª a brutal symphony of chaos laying siege to order.

    It was fitting for such an occasion. A requiem played by nature itself. Had there ever been a more beautiful way to revel in the prospect of a dying society? Dead ideas and dead people gasping for an air not meant for them. Pitiful.

    As night descended upon the wasteland, a grim certainty settled over him; the moment had come. Long dormant in their slumber, the Children would awaken tonight and reclaim a world stolen from them.

    As for him, he was only an envoy. The herald of a lesson to those who lived like roaches under the rubble ¡ª their very ruins a host for the seeds of a new world. Mother had blessed him with the burden of tending it. An honour, really. He would see it to completion.

    And for that, he needed to be perfect.

    The ivory mask glimmering in his hands was itself close to perfection. If not for the reflection of his own shape. Two blood-red tears etched their way down the eye slits mirroring the weeping twilight before him, and when he held it aloft, he could see the burns. And the scars. All carved onto his face like the tracings of a map. A scorched, mutilated map ¡ª no longer of use to anyone anymore except perhaps to remind him. Again. And again. Disgusting.

    He placed the mask tightly over his face, embracing his true form.

    The echo of his boots on concrete announced his descent, spurring heads to lift from their tasks. To them, he was a leader, the commander of their crusade. Some called him Elarion. In their tongue, it meant ¡°eldest¡±. And so he knew them all ¡ª every face and every scar scattered throughout the broken hive.

    They were orphans of the old world, born into the new, and eager to reclaim their home. The eldest had barely survived a score of winters, the youngest no more than eight. Youth hardened by loss, shaped by fury. Resilient.

    Elarion was not much older, but his gaze swept over them with the care of a father. A solemn purpose guided their hands and lifted their feet.

    Helena, a girl young even among them, sharpened the edge of a blade. She had not been gifted a true name yet. If she lives through the night, I shall give her one. Nearby, a boy named Yor, his red cloth tied around the arm, had an expression as blank as the void they had learned to tame. With shaking hands, he rolled bundles of wires and explosives. The old world¡¯s weaponry would serve its undoing.

    Right on cue, a figure approached, head bowed low in reverence. Sylren, ¡°the guide¡±, had endured seventeen cruel years. A reliable and sturdy right arm, he would serve a great purpose in the conflicts to come. Might be someday, he¡¯d stand in Elarion¡®s place.

    Elarion regarded him with a rare respect. The captain¡¯s smooth face, preserved from the harshness of their lives, lay half-buried beneath a crimson scarf. He spoke in their shared language, still primitive in a way ¡ª a combination of hand signs and soft, melodic syllables.

    ¡°The first target has been located, Elarion. Mother¡¯s words were true.¡±

    As expected. He raised a hand to still the captain¡¯s song and, with a deft gesture, gave him the permission to proceed. Although their dialect matched their youth, its efficiency proved remarkable. Simple concepts were conveyed with single-handed signs, while spoken syllables layered meaning and richness. Together, the signing and syllables wove a language capable of expressing intricate ideas with an elegance that far outpaced that of the old tongue.

    Elarion was, among the Children, one of the last few speakers of the old tongue. The tongue of the ancient world. Of the forsaken. He had learned it long before becoming Elarion, and it served a purpose at times. But the sonority it produced rang harsh on the ears ¡ª impure and tainted by broken ideals. Soon its voice will falter, crumbling into dust with the world that bore it.

    His gloved hand brushed against the edges of his crimson cowl, the fabric whispering faintly as it slid forward. Shadows clung to his guise, transforming him further into something¡­ other. Beneath the folds, his breath hummed softly in a rhythm that drew strength from the ritual. The fires sparkling throughout the nest cast his shape long and monstrous against the fractured walls.

    Before one of them, some of the Children knelt in silent reverence. They prayed to a figure etched in prismatic hues ¡ª a masked idol weeping tears of blood. The Mourning Prophet. Elarion himself often sought guidance from him, though he was a silent adviser.

    His coming had been foretold by Mother herself. He would be the one to lead them to their new paradise and show them the way to salvation. Only she could already heed his warnings; and she had done so on many occasions, sharing the insight that swayed their path.

    His current path led him across a makeshift bridge ¡ª a single plank secured between two platforms. As he danced to the other side, he could see the depths of the derelict spire stretching endlessly. A buzzing agitation on the floors beneath created a twisting sensation; the metallic structure shifted and wailed under the weight of so many lives. After decades of weathering and disuse, its suffering would be brought to an end.

    His attention turned to two winded boys ¡ª runners ¡ª halted at a corner, offering rations to the soon-to-be fighters. Their presence could only mean that the supply lines were in motion, the carts ferried from the sanctum. A necessary lifeline. The city had been scraped bare, and their cause demanded more than scraps to sustain them. Fortunately, this year¡¯s harvest had been plentiful. And the reaping had only begun.

    His reverie unravelled when the path beneath his boots had guided him to his destination. Drapings veiled the entrance, and he swept them aside to reveal the interior.

    He had expected the chaos. In her battles against inner demons, the fixtures often bore the brunt. They lay toppled over one another, sputtering the ground in an agonising imitation of war. Only the army had but a single soldier who was laying over the rubble in an impossibly tragic position. Such potential wasted under the grip of wrath and grief.

    What surprised him were the various rations scattered across the tent, still intact. Usually, her fits of anger brought an insatiable appetite ¡ª a hunger extending even beyond the taste of food. It yielded so little yet required so much. The cravings of substance, the passion of flesh. And the killings of foes. Whether he liked it or not, these were parts in which Elarion had a role to play. Feeding a soul that refused to be sated. And who was he to deny her when he, too, had spent so much of himself trying to fill a void rooted so very deep?A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    He could only try to ease her burden.

    ¡°We shall soon make our way to the enemy, Nariel.¡±

    His voice carried the tune to her ears, and she stirred ¡ª her pale hand clutching the half-emptied bottle. Even so, she lingered, and the moment seemed to stretch and engulf her. The scarlet fabric of her tunic clung softly to her frame, its folds tracing the curves of her shape. A shape he knew so well. Often, he found himself contemplating her aspect, where all that is beauty in this world seemed to meet. Lost in the study of her as though it was an art only meant for him, and that no other eye could ever comprehend.

    There was power in her, untamed and dangerous like a blade forged too quickly and left brittle. Yet even in her chaos, she held a role none others could fill. The emotions that moved her ¡ª they were more than burdens; they were fuel, burning bright enough to light the path before so many of them.

    Her eyes finally fluttered open, and she struggled to get up, the hazel in her irises shifting before locking onto him.

    ¡°Have you come to hold me or scold me?¡±

    Her gaze swirled with exhaustion and something worse ¡ª defiance, perhaps. He stepped closer, his gloved hand brushing the edge of a mask secured at his waist.

    ¡°Neither,¡± he said sternly, pressing the mask against her breast with quiet insistence. ¡°The preparations are complete; get you and your group readied.¡±

    Her lips curled into a smirk, and she grasped the white guise. The mask was a reflection of his own, as pale and terrible, but hers bore a crimson eye painted on the brow. As she fixed it in place, the woman faded, leaving behind a harbinger of death.

    She became one with Elarion. No more than a shadow.

    <hr>

    When he ascended through the crimson tide cloaking the hill, he felt their fears and their hopes. Their anger and despair. But above all, he felt their love. A love for everything this world could yet become. For everything they fought to reclaim. They were Mother¡¯s hope and Elarion¡¯s pride. And soon, they would be the shepherds of a reborn world.

    Elarion¡¯s voice lifted from his chest ¡ª deep, resonant, like the murmur of distant thunder. It rippled through the rows of battle-ready children, seeping into the spaces between steel and flesh, plates and hearts. It was a song. It was a cry. It was everything words could not convey and everything they needed to hear.

    One by one, voices joined his. Helena¡¯s, with her trembling hands and sharpened knife. Sylren¡¯s, leading the veterans in a tight formation. And Nariel¡®s, too, her voice raw yet commanding. Soon, the voices swelled into dozens. Hundreds. Each carried their own battles, their own burdens, but tonight, they would converge into a single, raging storm with the might of a hundred warriors.

    At the front of them all stood Yor. Dark eyes and a dark gaze, waiting for Elarion.

    ¡°I used to wear the red like you, boy. Tied around my arm.¡±

    He stopped next to Yor and placed a hand on his shoulder. The whole procession halted behind their leader, waiting. ¡°It guided me on many occasions. Gave me the strength to strike. And the wisdom to hold still.¡± He brushed the edge of a mask that was now his face.

    ¡°Until it became part of me.¡±

    The boy lifted his gaze, looking expectantly. A white line, painted like so many Children, stretched across his quivering lips; his hands barely clutched the tiny Pandora¡¯s box. He was only a child ¡ª shaggy brown hair and beady brown eyes filled with fear. The boy needed the courage. The will to press the button.

    Elarion would give it. That, and more ¡ª so much more.

    ¡°Tonight, we are one. Unified under the red wrath and the white hope. Each crumbled wall, a seed to grow. Each fallen stone, a chain broken.¡± His grip on Yor¡¯s shoulder tightened, anchoring the boy amidst the storm of voices. ¡°Your pain is mine,¡± he whispered.

    Around them, the song swelled, every note binding them together in the rhythm of their cause. Yor¡¯s trembling hand hovered over the button. Such a small thing. Such an immense promise.

    ¡°Let us bury the old world and watch a new one bloom.¡±

    Yor¡¯s lips parted, his painted line cracking. His voice ¡ª so very low¡ª broke into the chorus until it surged with the others and became fierce. The song reached its peak, drowning out everything else. The pleading cries. The desperate sobs.

    The whimpering of doomed souls.

    Capturing them had been almost laughable. A knife pressed to the throat of their youngest, and suddenly, all the fighting in them had been drained. Resistance blown away like ash in the wind. Now they hung like offerings, tied to the foundations of the building. A totem of the old world.

    Dozens of them. Forsaken.

    They wiggled and writhed. Like worms. But no amount of begging would give them back their freedom. This land no longer belonged to them. It belonged to the Children. And only their offspring would be given this legacy ¡ª the chance to join the white lips and the red scarves.

    Perhaps someday they would find their place, much like Helena, Sylren, Nariel. And Elarion. And hundreds of others. Thousands. Perhaps one day, they, too, would be offered the chance to press a button. To chose. And precisely like Yor, they would press it.

    The song ceased, leaving the world quiet. But the sound waited.

    Then, a groan pulsed through the structure.

    The skyscraper quivered under the impact. It gave out, letting go of the memories suffocated in its bones ¡ª so many lives, so many years. Metal supports twisted and shrieked. A banshee¡¯s wail. Elarion stepped back, his eyes fixed on the chaos unfolding before him. Such sweet chaos.

    Cracks spread across the concrete floors, walls and ceilings ¡ª a storm of dust billowing into the air, mixing with the smoke of a hundred torches. Then, with a final roar, the structure bowed before the crowd.

    Stone slabs fell in chunks, steel beams bent under the weight, snapping like brittle twigs. And with each impact, shockwaves rippled through the ground. One after another, the floors caved in, booming like war drums.

    The Children watched silently, their faces illuminated by the fires and the pink hue of the horizon. Then, a wind swept over them, clouding them in ashes and dust. Nariel stood at his side, eyes gleaming through the darkness of her mask. ¡°You do have a sense of spectacle.¡±

    Elarion let his gaze fall on Yor, who stood frozen, the button still pressed as though afraid letting go might undo what had been set in motion. He pulled him away gently, guiding the boy-now-man back to the ranks.

    ¡°You¡¯ve done well,¡± he hummed quietly. ¡°Now, watch what your resolve has wrought.¡±

    The tower had vanished in an instant, but the sound, the sight, and the weight of it lingered still. The crowd fluttered, the red of their scarves and handkerchiefs like drops of blood on the pale landscape.

    The chant returned as they moved in unison, flooding the streets towards their targets. His was decisive. An outpost of the forsaken. Filled with roaches. It was a first step towards their goal, marked with great sacrifice. And so the camp would fall before dawn. Mother had promised as much, and she had never lied before.

    A low hum rose in the distance, faint at first ¡ª wind through hollow bones. Then, it deepened, resonating through the empty streets and broken alleys. Throaty and wet echoes from places unseen, joining the Children¡¯s song. Elarion had expected it.

    It came from everywhere. From nowhere. A chorus not made by human tongues, yet eerily, impossibly, it harmonised. The voices of the old world.

    From the echoes of the earth and the forsaken¡¯s blood: a lure. Deep in the darkness, something had awakened in response. It listened. It sang.

    And it stirred.

    ***

 10 - Of Men and War

    Of Men and War

    Out of all the places he had hidden before, this was undoubtedly the worst. Grey crumbling bricks, holding together despite the lack of cement, seemed to mock his predicament. Their structure rose barely over his crouched figure, casting a holed shadow over him. If not for the lashing rain and the shroud of night, Milo would have been caught long ago.

    Through a crack in the stone, he observed the camp¡¯s frenzied activity, alive with the bellows of strange men.

    He could only admire the confidence they exuded. They seemed not to fear the darkness nor what lurked within it. They were safe. Protected by the security of a roaring fire that teased him with a warmth he longed for.

    Flames writhed against the air, stretching towards freedom before retreating in puffs of smoke. It, too, could not escape. The blaze was forced to lick the surface of a blackened cooking pot; the scent of meat rising from it made his mouth water. But tonight, there would be no distraction. His friend was in dire need.

    Dog had been bound to a stump, tethered tightly with a coarse rope to one of its mechanical ankles. It fought and wiggled, every motion a desperate attempt to break free. But the struggle only seemed to delight its captors; their laughter rose in the storm, blending with the wind¡¯s howl.

    They were so at odds with his own feelings that it filled Milo with a strange sensation. They were almost mocking his silence. Impulsively, his fingers clutched a rough stone. Anger burned with the fire¡¯s intensity inside his chest, and he wanted nothing more than to strike them. As any hero would.

    But Milo could not be a hero yet. Until then, he could scarcely do what he usually did.

    Hide.

    <hr>

    From the relative safety of his hiding spot, Milo plotted. Charting the patrollers'' routes as they watched over the camp¡¯s perimeter, making their way around the remains of houses. Boots squelched in the mud around him, emerging from behind a wall or a tree in steady intervals. I¡¯ll find a way to you, Dog¡­

    Near the fire, others were huddled over steaming bowls of stew, slurping and crunching ¡ª only interrupting their buffet to exchange jokes he couldn¡¯t quite piece together. Snippets floated over the storm: boasts of strength, tales of their feats. Debates that veered into yelling contests.

    Milo¡¯s nose wrinkled. Their games were not as fun as his. Yet, even as unease crept inside him, curiosity rooted him in place. He¡¯d never had such an opportunity to watch the lives of scavengers so closely. With unusual patience, he watched and listened. Absorbing their routines. Bidding his time.

    Silence eventually fell over the men, and one of them broke it as quickly.

    ¡°Always us stuck with the dirty work,¡± grumbled a man whose gut strained against the seams of his coat. He scratched at the patchy remains of a beard and cast a mean look at the downpour. ¡°Why don¡¯t they come out and patrol the wasteland themselves? See if they can last more than a day out here.¡±

    A muscular woman atop a crumbled wall swung her legs lazily. ¡°You know damn well they can¡¯t come out.¡± Her tone carried an edge of amusement as if the thought entertained her. ¡°Besides, they pay us good enough.¡±

    ¡°As long as we do our jobs,¡± chimed in a slim man with hair that spilt over his shoulders and a weird, crooked top hat. His voice was high and piercing, like a whistle. ¡°And if we do it too well, one day, they won¡¯t need us anymore. You know it as well as I do, Keira.¡±

    From her perch, the woman gave a low chuckle, tipping her head back towards the rain. ¡°Sure. But the day this city¡¯s rid of any inconvenience and the Crannies of all their problems? I¡¯ll gladly admit I was wrong.¡±

    Milo crouched closer, peering through the holed rocks. He had never seen someone like her before. Admittedly, he didn¡¯t encounter girls very often anyway. But through the firelight, he caught glimpses of her: wavy hair saved from the rain by a wide hood, dark skin warm despite the cold backdrop of ruins. She didn¡¯t look like the others ¡ª not just in appearance ¡ª there was something softer in her face, a gaze almost¡­ kind.

    The thought made his chest tighten. She looked strong, stronger even than most of the scavengers in the camp, and he wondered if her arms were any good at giving hugs. He figured they were.

    No distractions.

    The booming voice came again. ¡°They oughta pay us better, I tell ya! Spreadin¡¯ us too thin like butter on burnt toast.¡± With each word he uttered came a splash of spit; Milo found himself content he wasn¡¯t closer. ¡°We gotta deal with them rotskins. And fend off the redscarfs! Now they want us babysittin¡¯ on top of it?¡±

    Keira replied instantly, her voice calm but firm. ¡°The Children are of no importance. They merely scrawl their little symbols and scatter their traps, pretending they matter. But once we catch a few, they¡¯ll stop being relevant.¡± She tilted her head towards the big man, dark eyes gleaming. ¡°As for the girl, we need only find her. Then it¡¯s their problem.¡±

    Children. The word echoed through Milo¡¯s mind. He initially thought of himself ¡ª small, alone and hidden in the city''s folds, a sparrow clinging to the eaves. But she didn¡¯t seem to mean that. Could there really be other children? Were they like him? No, Keira¡¯s disdainful tone implied something else.

    He wondered what they could have done to earn the scorn of people like her. A flicker of unease crawled up his spine. He thought of the graffiti he¡¯d often seen across old walls. What did they mean? Why would they leave traps? For the scavengers, or for something other?

    The stew of questions churned inside him. His curiosity had been lit, a spark waiting to catch. And it had only just begun.

    The hat man¡¯s voice interrupted Milo¡¯s thoughts with a scoff. ¡°Winters are less and less cold. Moving around won¡¯t be as easy as it used to be. The rotskins enter dormancy less often, and it is growing delicate. Even more so than before.¡± He paused, then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. ¡°You heard the rumours about the division in sector four a few hours ago?¡±

    The big man barked back. ¡°You mean the explosion? ¡®Snot a rumour, and everybody¡¯s talkin¡¯ about it. I heard the streets are filled with the slimy bastards now.¡± His shoulders shook, and he muttered. ¡°Makes my skin crawl just thinkin¡¯ about it¡­¡±

    ¡°Can you guys shut up and stop whining for a second!¡± The voice erupted from a dimly lit corner. ¡°I¡¯m trying to finish my meal in peace.¡± The light barely exposed his face. A face streaked with a scar.

    Milo¡¯s heart thumped in his chest. This is him. The man who had captured Dog. It was as though that face had been carved into his memory in a scar of his own. He tried to get a better look at him, moving across the wall to find the right angle.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    His foot slipped on the slick earth, and he pitched forward. Panic shot through him as he caught himself against the wall, but the impact sent a loose brick tumbling to the other side.

    The sound was deafening when it hit a puddle.

    The group by the fire snapped their heads in unison, hands instinctively reaching for their weapon.

    Stupid. Milo pushed his back against the wall, hiding in the deepest shadow. Maybe they wouldn¡¯t come. Perhaps they¡¯d dismiss it as an animal or a trick of the weather. But he knew better.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go get a look while you lot finish your precious little meal.¡± A thump came as Keira dropped from the wall, and then he heard footsteps in the mud. Milo¡¯s mind raced, tumbling through plans that led nowhere. If I move, they¡¯ll see me. The patrollers were out there, circling, and she was closing in. He could only hope. But for what?

    An orange light flew over him. Keira stood steps away from the wall.

    Then, almost as an answer to his silent plea, a shout split the air

    ¡°MOVEMENT TO THE SOUTH!¡±

    Milo¡¯s eyes darted towards the source of the sound, careful not to make another noise. Across the veil of rain stood a wiry figure on a heap of rubble, squinting into obscurity. Weapons were drawn in an instant. Patrollers interrupted their paths and started converging, their movements sharp and mechanical ¡ª pieces in a game to which he didn¡¯t know the rules.

    The big man¡¯s low and wary voice cut through the silence. ¡°Rotskins?¡±

    ¡°They shouldn¡¯t be this deep in our territory,¡± Keira answered, listening intently to the sound of the rain, her focus so deep it was as if she could pull answers from the storm itself.

    Milo¡¯s gut whispered what he already knew: this would end badly. The scavengers might have their fires and weapons, but the camp was no fortress. He knew it from all the fantasy books he had read. There was no more safety ¡ª not for them, and definitely not for him.

    Still, this could be the distraction he needed.

    Keira was the first to react, her sharp eyes narrowing as she scanned the camp¡¯s edge. Torchlight flickered erratically through the camp, twisting the silhouette of gnarled branches into clawing hands.

    ¡°Anybody got a visual?¡± She barked without answer.

    Milo pressed his small frame tighter against the soaked wall. His heart pounded so fiercely it hurt. Whenever he believed nothing could scare him more, something new proved him wrong.

    The scavengers moved quickly despite the confusion, forming a defensive crescent around the campfire, their weapons glinting faintly in the dying light. In their haste, someone overturned the stew pot, spilling the contents onto the flames.

    ¡°Fuckin¡¯ hell!¡± A voice cracked while the fire hissed, steam rising in a ghostly plume.

    Then came the first scream.

    A raw, choking sound abruptly silenced as if snatched from the throat of its owner. Milo flinched, but he saw the group spin towards the southern edge of the camp, where the gloom seemed alive.

    ¡°We need more torches!¡± The voice probably belonged to the hat man, cracking with growing unease, but Milo couldn¡¯t be sure. Several scavengers fumbled for their bags, and sparks appeared across the camp like fireflies. But the rain fought them without pause.

    From the darkness, something heavy fell. Milo felt the vibration travel up through his fingers pressed against a rock. It¡¯s close.

    A shape emerged briefly in the torchlight, long, spindly limbs gone in an instant.

    The vision burned in Milo¡¯s vision. His inability to understand what he had just seen sent his mind into a funnel of fear. Yet he wasn¡¯t alone in his terror. The scarred man clutched his blade, but his hands betrayed him ¡ª they trembled with each breath.

    He seemed so much weaker now.

    The fear was contagious, rippling through the camp like a sickness. And chaos soon erupted. One of them swung a crude axe into empty air, only to stagger backwards when a red-streaked figure shot past him. Another man stumbled near, clutching his side as crimson poured between his fingers ¡ª his eyes as hollow as the deer in Milo¡¯s memory.

    The rain extinguished the remaining torches. One by one, the camp plunged into darkness. What little light remained came from dying embers and fleeting slivers of moonlight piercing the downpour. They illuminated the chaos in fragmented glimpses: Keira, teeth clenched, slashing at a figure that moved like smoke; the hat man flailing a whip at the emptiness; and the lookout, tumbling from his perch ¡ª his scream cut short by a wet crunch.

    Milo¡¯s world became a spectacle of shouts and clashing metal. And beneath it all, a strange melody thrummed through the air ¡ª not a sound as much as a presence.

    He pressed his hands over his ears, desperate to drown it all out. Eyes squeezed shut, Milo tried to retreat into himself, into the remaining safe corner of his mind. But even in his usual embrace, the hum reached him, bypassing the barrier with reverberations born from the marrow of the earth itself.

    Hide, hide, don¡¯t make a sound ~

    The familiar melody surfaced unbidden, almost synchronising with the turmoil.

    Close your eyes and count to ten ~

    Milo¡¯s lashes fluttered open, and from his hiding spot, he could still see Dog thrashing violently ¡ª his white frame touched by the dim light of the fizzling campfire. Despite everything, Milo¡¯s heart ached to free him. I have to help him.

    ¡°We¡¯re getting fucked out here!¡± Keira¡¯s voice rose above all else. ¡°Regroup! We need to fall back!¡± But it was futile. The shadows were alive, cutting the scavengers down like rain with torches. One by one.

    The hum persisted; it seemed to be coming from all around, from nowhere. And before long came a whisper, soft and melodic. It seeped into the night, weaving with the rain and the wind and the distant thunder. The language was foreign to Milo, but the rhythm was familiar ¡ª an echo of his own lullaby. But where his song shielded him, this one carried a warning. A call to surrender.

    The song grew louder, its twisting syllables stealing the breath from Milo¡¯s chest. Yet his legs began moving before he would let his mind catch up. He had to reach Dog. Now.

    His companion had stilled, but the faint red glow of its sensors betrayed a focus on something he couldn¡¯t see. Creeping from his hiding spot, Milo slipped into the murk. Shapes emerged in the fractured light, bodies reminding him of broken dolls in the rubble. Their limbs floated in pools of water darkened with a thick fluid. He picked his way around them, knowing better than to run. Don¡¯t look. Keep moving.

    His hand instinctively brushed the texture of his cherry scarf as he got closer to Dog.

    Then, from somewhere came the crunch of boots.

    A figure seemed to rise from the earth, features carved by a fleeting light. The jagged scar running down his face carved a grotesque mask, and the eyes ¡ª one clouded, the other piercing ¡ª locked onto Milo.

    ¡°Another one of you lurking about,¡± the man muttered as if they were the only two left. ¡°Don¡¯t go running for your mum now.¡±

    He took another step forward, the ground squelching beneath his weight.

    Milo would wake up any second now. He¡¯d open his eyes and find himself safe in his makeshift bed. He would be able to move again and think again. Dog¡¯s comforting hum would replace the horrible sound of the night. But the blade. It dripped with the storm and something darker. It drew his gaze, locking him in place. And he could only accept the reality.

    This wasn¡¯t how he had imagined it. He had rehearsed this in his head countless times. From the moment the man had laid hands on Dog and every step of the way. From the forest trail to the camp. In each breath. Each moment. But now, nothing came. No sound. No bold move.

    Milo was no hero. He would never be. He was just a child.

    A flicker of movement came behind the man. With mesmerising grace, the folds of a scarlet cloak danced into the fray. For an instant, Milo glimpsed a striking mask with a single crimson eye painted on the brow.

    The figure struck without a sound, and the scarred man staggered, his axe clattering to the ground while his hand flew to his neck ¡ª fingers grasping at something already gone. His mismatched eyes grew wide with a look of terrible surprise before his knees buckled, and he collapsed into the mud.

    Another deer.

    The hero straightened, turning their guise towards Milo. His body still refused to move, and for a moment, they simply stared, deciding what to do with him. Music spilt from behind the mask ¡ª words too foreign for him to understand yet beautiful, and as quickly as they had arrived, the figure vanished, leaving the scene behind.

    Dog¡¯s whirring snapped Milo out of his trance, and he desperately made his way to his companion.

    One of its legs was severely damaged, jerking uncontrollably. ¡°Come on,¡± Milo whispered, his hands fumbling with the last bindings. There was no time to think nor savour the reunion. ¡°We have to run!¡±

    They both stumbled towards the forest. Dog¡¯s uneven gait thudded behind, its damaged leg dragging through the mud. Hold on, friend. I¡¯ll get you fixed when we¡¯re home. The camp quickly vanished behind the curtain of rain, its fate sealed in the cries of the fallen. Keira, the big man, and the one with the hat, they were nowhere now, swallowed by the storm and the dark.

    Milo didn¡¯t look back. But somewhere behind him, in the drenched chaos left behind, his presence had awakened the attention of something desperate.

    ***

 11 - Glasshouse

    Glasshouse

    Growing up in Noxhold, where the earth swallowed the sun, its touch had been a distant concept. Victoria remembered those rare, golden excursions to the surface, each one stolen from the monotony below. Now, as the pale winter sunlight brushed her back, she couldn¡¯t help but think of those left behind. Dwellers who would never feel its warmth. Never know how it gilded the world.

    She¡¯d learned to live without it, like everyone else in the lower levels. During her apprenticeship ¡ª a rigorous study in survival skills ¡ª she had mastered close combat, the art of foraging or starting a fire. But fear? True fear, the kind she had just experienced, the confrontation with your own fragility, had been left off the syllabus. So had caring. For the world and its simple joys.

    Her knack for learning quickly had singled her out, a coveted asset in Noxhold¡¯s intricate workings. She¡¯d become a ¡°Swiss army knife¡±, sent wherever her aid was needed. Fixing a pipe, rewiring the dim glow of their artificial lights, or planting experimental seeds in the soil above. She had grown fond of it, not of the tasks themselves, but of how gratitude lit up the faces of those she helped. It made her feel necessary ¡ª a purpose in an aimless realm.

    ¡°Hold still,¡± she said, dabbing gauze against the gash splitting Alek¡¯s eyebrow. He flinched, a sharp hiss escaping through his teeth.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Victoria mused. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve lived through worse.¡±

    No clever retort came from him. He sat in silence, his shoulders rigid. She couldn¡¯t blame him. The prospect of losing sight in one eye ¡ª especially out here ¡ª was a blow no amount of resolve could soften. Once the last streak of blood had been cleaned and the torn skin on his brow sutured, she realised the cornea hadn¡¯t been spared.

    Alek would have to face his new reality just as much as she would.

    He raised his remaining eye to her. The searching look caught her off guard, she had no mask to hide behind. Her lips pressed together, and Victoria met his gaze with a sullen sadness. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡± was the only thing she managed to whisper before Alek pushed her hand aside and got to his feet.

    ¡°No need to be,¡± he said, his tone a poor imitation of indifference. ¡°Now that we¡¯re out, we can go our separate ways.¡±

    Her heart dropped. ¡°What?¡±

    The reality of their surroundings hit her all at once: the abandoned street, the silhouettes of nameless buildings, the vast unknown stretching in every direction. Panic coiled tightly in her chest. ¡°What am I supposed to do¡ª¡°

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll figure it out.¡± He didn¡¯t look back, his steps deliberate as though he¡¯d already made up his mind. ¡°But I do things alone.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t survive a day on my own!¡± The tremor in her voice betrayed her growing fear. She didn¡¯t care if it made her seem weak.

    ¡°Let me come with you. At least until I¡¯m healed¡­ Please.¡± The words became softer, almost desperate, the last card she could play.

    Alek stopped in his tracks. He turned, his expression guarded. A fleeting beam of light fell across his face before clouds above stole it away.

    ¡°I have a safe house close by. You can stay there for a few days.¡± His voice was flat, almost rehearsed. ¡°And then you¡¯ll be on your own.¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡± Victoria swallowed. That would at least leave her some time to think. To be prepared.

    Alek resumed his measure pace, his steps carving a path she had no choice but to follow. They had escaped the underground, but the weight of her powerlessness lingered around her like the shadows of Noxhold. That same bitter feeling she had experienced when she¡¯d realised everything they were promised was merely the rotten carrot on a stick.

    Her steps struck the pavement, swallowed by the street¡¯s emptiness. Snowflakes began to drift lazily. One landed on her cheek, melting into a cold trace as her gaze lifted skyward. How small her worries seemed beneath this quiet sky. The flakes tumbled chaotically through the ruins, and for a moment, it reminded her of the snow globe in her childhood bedroom, alive with the shake of a hand. The thought appeared unbidden ¡ª droplets of reminiscence crystallising in the haze of her mind.

    <hr>

    The storm had come and gone, leaving the city¡¯s blanket to melt into the cracks. Yet Victoria remained, dreading the moment Alek would appear to announce the inevitable.

    Days had passed. Her wound fared better, but the one between them festered. They had not exchanged a word since escaping. Victoria had given many excuses for Alek¡¯s silence: the darkness of the tunnels, the weight of his injury. But even now, as the light of day spilt inside freely, his voice could barely be heard.

    It wasn¡¯t for lack of trying. Alek disappeared, sometimes for hours, into the fractured land. And when he returned, he slipped past her with indifference, tending to his business with a determination that bordered on contempt.

    The hideout itself was sparse, perched in the crumbling heights of a tower that time had torn apart. Not so much an apartment as the skeleton of one ¡ª raw concrete floors stretched to bare walls, tarps fluttering in the air. Stairs wound higher still, but they lead to the hollow whistle of the open sky and precarious piles of rubble. Thus, the view was better admired from the safety of their refuge.

    Victoria spent hours of her convalescence gazing out at the world beyond, watching the birds fly free between the fields of stone. Thankfully, the windows were mostly intact, shielding her from the wind¡¯s bite; otherwise, the chill would have been unbearable. Even now, wrapped in layers, the cold gnawed at her.

    While, at first, most of her days were spent resting ¡ª her body too weak to do much else ¡ª she had quickly found new ways to stay warm and busy.

    The space revealed its wonders slowly, each discovery catching her off guard. For all its stark, utilitarian nature, one of the rooms held unexpected marvels. Along one wall, a series of large glass vivariums were connected through tunnels; their interiors alive with the chirping of a thousand crickets. They darted over vegetation and wooden platforms, and occasionally, one of them leapt against the glass with a knock.

    Victoria found herself mesmerised, her fingers brushing the edge of a tank as she leaned closer. It made perfect sense. A steady source of protein in a world where everything was scarce. For all his gruffness, Alek¡¯s survival was precise, almost ingenious.

    Her curiosity carried her towards a strange apparatus in a corner. A dented basin, fixed precariously to the ceiling, was rigged with an intricate network of pipes. The sound stirred unwelcome memories as droplets fell rhythmically into a bucket below. It filled the room with the meditative percussion of water. A rain collector¡­

    The setup felt strangely intimate, a glimpse at Alek¡¯s life, born of patience and necessity.

    She turned her attention to a desk near the makeshift bed. Notebooks lay scattered across in a chaotic sprawl. Sketches of monstrous shapes riddled the pages ¡ª anatomical diagrams, hurried observations, dense writing. A faint smile appeared on her face. How typical of you.

    Victoria found herself returning to those notebooks in the days that followed, wrapped tightly in a sleeping bag. It gave her something to occupy her mind and brace her for the outside world, even if the content dredged up a sinking feeling she preferred to ignore.

    Nightmares still haunted her sleep, and she often woke up from them in sweat. But she had to face the abyss if she was to survive in this world. Plus, it allowed her to avoid confronting another harsh truth: her place in all of this.

    Not all of the notes made sense, and the hurried handwriting certainly didn¡¯t help, but she had learned a few things about the shadows of this world. Some passages stuck, snippets of fascination despite the circumstances:

    ¡°After studying the infection for years with the means available ¡ª which are limited, to say the least ¡ª I have a few theories as to its origin.

    Although early studies conducted when the world still held on suspected it to be Ophiocordyceps, I believe it is another genus entirely. Sarcocordyceps necrosporidium, as I¡¯ve come to call it, isn¡¯t just a pathogen ¡ª it is a sculptor, creating symbiomorphs from its infected hosts.

    A partnership, really. Thus why I wouldn¡¯t be so quick to deem this a parasite. Indeed, necrosporidium seems to extend the activity of the host to an absurd length even after what could be considered a clinical death. Some specimens encountered have been roaming the city for years, infected at the very beginning, and their physiognomy directly reflects it (as described in Part II).The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    The host¡¯s body becomes a vessel as much as a prison. Until all brain activity ceases one way or another, which then marks the beginning of an exponential increase in the mycelium¡¯s development and the ¡®blooming¡¯; a crucial phase in the pathogen¡¯s widespread transmission.¡±

    There seemed to be different types of infected ¡ª stages, perhaps, or cycles. But Victoria couldn¡¯t distinguish speculations from facts. The sketches wildly differed from what she¡¯d seen underground, so she wasn¡¯t even sure if anything was remotely close to reality or a figment of Alek¡¯s imagination.

    What unsettled her more was the tone of his notes. The utter fascination and wonder in the way it had been written felt jarring, as though written by a man she hadn¡¯t met. How long ago did Alek pen these observations?

    Eventually, the dense prose wore her patience thin. Bored with the scientific jargon and the swamp of details she couldn¡¯t untangle. She snapped the notebook shut one afternoon. Whatever awe Alek had unearthed could stay buried for all she cared.

    It was during one of her restless searches for distraction that she found it ¡ª a wooden bow and a single arrow. She turned the bow over in her hands, testing its weight. It had been years since she¡¯d trained with one, but it stirred something inside her, and she decided to try her hand. Her wound had healed enough to manage, and her skill would return just as quickly.

    The confidence didn¡¯t last.

    The first attempt was a disaster. The strain tugged painfully at her side, and the arrow clattered uselessly to the ground, meters away from the makeshift target. Frustration deepened with each failed shot. Her arms shook, her aim wavered, and the burn was relentless, forcing her to pause more often than she¡¯d like.

    By the second afternoon, her hands were steadier, and the arrow began finding its mark ¡ª every other time. By the third, an old rhythm crept back, and her shots grew truer, bringing the faintest flicker of pride.

    Until it didn¡¯t.

    One careless release sent the arrow careening into a concrete pillar. The sharp crack echoed through the space, her embarrassment even louder, and when she inspected the damage, the arrow had splintered.

    That ended her practice for good.

    Thus, her current predicament: she had depleted every source of entertainment. There was no new notebook left to skim, no target to aim for, no distraction to quiet the thoughts. And she wasn¡¯t about to step out and give Alek exactly what he wished for.

    Instead, she was left with nothing but silence. And herself.

    What would she become now?

    Her thoughts churned, circling back to Noxhold, its walls and the faces she¡¯d left behind. Familiar guilt rose to the surface, coiling in her chest. She had told herself she¡¯d made the right choice, that there were no other options. And she had been right ¡ª at least, in a way; the circumstances had been dire.

    But now, she wasn¡¯t so sure anymore. What had she expected she would find out here? Salvation? Purpose? Likely, she¡¯d just become another body swallowed by the dark. An observation in Alek¡¯s notebook.

    The door creaked in answer.

    Footsteps echoed, and Alek¡¯s silhouette filled the doorway. His presence pressed against the room, heavier than the silence he had broken.

    ¡°You¡¯re still here,¡± he remarked with something strange in his tone, almost reluctant.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were done with me already,¡± she shot back, rising from her resting place with careful defiance.

    Alek let the quiet stretch between them, heavy as always. Then, he nodded to the door behind him. ¡°Come on,¡± he said.

    Her heart tightened as a wave of disbelief hit her. She couldn¡¯t believe how cruel he could be. How coldly he would simply get rid of her. He didn¡¯t owe her anything, not really, but still. She had expected better. How stupid you are, Victoria. Tears swelled, shame mixing with anger. She stood frozen, waiting for something ¡ª anything ¡ª to change.

    Alek tossed a bag at her feet. It hit the floor with a thud and spilt open, revealing a dozen wooden sticks jutting out.

    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± His tone had shifted. ¡°Get your coat, we¡¯re going for a walk.¡±

    <hr>

    Victoria curled her fingers tightly around the frame of her bow resting on a shoulder. For the first time in days, she felt alive again, her breath clouding in the crisp air.

    Alek moved ahead with the surety of someone who had walked these streets a thousand times before. The sunlight played tricks on the city, casting rays over puddles and icicles. Each shimmer painted the world in fleeting hues of gold and orange. But his gaze swept past it all, scanning the horizon like a sentinel on duty. Oblivious to the beauty.

    It was hard to imagine this was the world Alek had talked about. That it could be filled with such horrors.

    Victoria picked up her pace, her legs finally responding almost as they once had. Her eyes snagged on the strap running across Alek¡¯s face. She blinked, caught off guard by how the sun lit the faint curve of leather.

    ¡°Is that¡­?¡±

    Alek looked away, body stiffening slightly. ¡°What?¡±

    She stopped mid-step, a grin tugging at her lips despite herself. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, barely stifling a chuckle. ¡°But you look like a pirate.¡±

    He sighed, a hand brushing against the strap of his eye patch as if to check it hadn¡¯t shifted. ¡°It¡¯s practical.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s hilarious,¡± she shot back, the words bubbling out before she could stop them.

    He cast her a sidelong glance. ¡°Laugh it up. At least I don¡¯t look like I¡¯ve been dragged out of a gutter.¡±

    She gasped at first. But then, she thought about it. ¡°Well, technically¡­ I was.¡±

    Alek scoffed softly at the notion. He looked less grim now, the tension between them melting as surely as the ruins around.

    Ahead, the street sloped downward, vanishing into a misty haze where grey snow and light blurred together. For the first time since they¡¯d stepped outside, Victoria didn¡¯t feel entirely out of place.

    ¡°Alright, Captain¡±, she said, stepping ahead of him with a dramatic flourish. ¡°So, where are we headed?¡±

    Alek shook his head. ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡±

    They walked on in lightened silence, but as the minutes stretched, Victoria felt the itch to speak again.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been distant,¡± she ventured, glancing sideways at him. ¡°Not that you¡¯ve ever been not distant. But still.¡±

    ¡°I needed some time,¡± Alek admitted, his eye still examining the horizon. ¡°It¡¯s not every day I stumble across a stray.¡±

    Victoria rolled her eyes, yet she couldn¡¯t help but smile a little. Before she could retort, the street widened into a massive plaza. Her breath caught in wonder.

    Towering buildings loomed around, their facades cracked and overgrown but still regal, standing as proud as the statues of kings long forgotten. Vines twisted their way through windows, cascading down in frosted waves.

    Victoria paused in the centre; her steps slowed and turned in a circle, tilting her head up to take it all in. Mirroring her movement, a flock of birds flew far above, their silhouettes cutting through the thin veil of clouds bathed in the afternoon light.

    She had never seen something so breathtaking.

    Memories inside her suddenly burst like roots through concrete, settling there with refound imagery. She remembered the city of her childhood, long before she had buried it with the fear. In Noxhold, they used to talk about a broken world. A graveyard of old. And yet, here it was, almost twenty years later. Not dead so much as reborn. Alive in ways she could have never imagined.

    Her boots crunched softly against the frost-kissed stone, and she slipped slightly, catching herself just in time. A surprised laugh escaped her.

    ¡°You okay?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said lazily, her eyes already locked on something else.

    Beyond the plaza, nestled under the arch of a bridge between two ruined buildings, stood a glasshouse. Its iron frame, though marred by rust, sparkled in the sun. The panes of glass were fractured in places, but most had somehow survived ¡ª pieces of a transparent mosaic.

    She turned to Alek, her voice quieter than she intended. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    He followed her gaze, his expression harbouring confusion. ¡°Some sort of garden. We can take a look if you want.¡±

    Alek stepped forward and paused when they arrived at the threshold. His hand brushed over a twisted metal beam. ¡°Used to be places like this everywhere,¡± he said almost to himself. ¡°You must have been too young then, but people came here to see what couldn¡¯t grow where they lived. Tropical plants, orchids¡­ even mushrooms. All in one place, behind glass walls.¡±

    Victoria studied him for a moment. ¡°Didn¡¯t you?¡±

    He let out a short sigh. ¡°Sure I did. Curiosity brought us all. Or maybe it was pride. People thought they could cage nature. Keep it beautiful but manageable. It made us feel bigger.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look very manageable now.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± A wistful smile appeared. ¡°We were wrong about a lot of things.¡±

    Victoria frowned and followed him inside. The air changed just as soon ¡ª heavier, warmer and thick with the scent of damp earth. It reminded her of the crops growing in the undergrounds of Noxhold, but here the plants were vibrant. Wild.

    She followed him deeper into the glasshouse, her eyes drawn to the centrepiece of the garden: a statue. Alek stopped beside it, arms crossed in study.

    Victoria tilted her head, her eyes tracing the statue¡¯s delicate features. ¡°She¡¯s beautiful.¡± The words left her quietly, almost an afterthought.

    A sadness pooled in her chest. Memories surfaced with the sight, and without realising, she spoke. ¡°Do you remember your parents¡¯ faces?¡±

    Alek looked at her with surprise ¡ª unsure how to respond.

    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± she added quickly, her voice wavering. ¡°I¡¯ve tried. But all I remember is how they made me feel.¡± The words came out heavier than expected, spilling into the space. She had cracked open a vault that had been closed for so many years.

    Alek¡¯s gaze dropped.

    ¡°I remember¡­¡± his expression tightened as if an old wound had reopened. ¡°The sound of my father¡¯s boots when he came home. They were heavy. Like he carried the whole world on his back.¡± He paused a second to let the memories wash over him. ¡°I remember the way he smelled of sawdust after a long day.¡±

    His brow furrowed at the effort, and then his voice, resounding with the years, surfaced again. ¡°I remember my mother¡¯s hands. Always busy; mending clothes, fixing the smallest things, braiding my sister¡¯s hair.¡±

    Victoria watched as his expression shifted at the thought ¡ª a flicker of something raw bringing a pause in his tale.

    ¡°Laughter,¡± he said finally, softer still. ¡°Not often. But when it came¡­ it could fill the whole room.¡± His voice cracked, and when he spoke again, it was barely a whisper. ¡°Like sunlight.¡±

    He fell silent, his gaze distant; the memory had taken him somewhere she couldn¡¯t follow.

    ¡°I remember the sirens,¡± she continued, joining Alek in support. ¡°The blades in the sky. The screams. The explosions. They¡¯ve drowned¡­ most other sounds.¡±

    Alek lifted his gaze to her, a quiet understanding softening his expression. For a moment, he looked as if he might say something, but instead, he simply nodded.

    ¡°Come on,¡± he finally said, his voice gentle. ¡°There¡¯s more to see.¡±

    Victoria followed him on the path winding around the statue. They stepped onto a narrow bridge where stagnant water pooled below. Algae clung to the edges, painting the banks in streaks of green and brown. It felt less like a river than the memory of one.

    ¡°What happened in the end?¡± she asked softly. ¡°No one ever told me.¡±

    Alek slowed down and turned around with a shy smile. He seemed to carry the weight of someone who had seen too much.

    ¡°Sure¡­ I could tell you a story.¡±

    ***

 12 - Before the End

    Before the End

    ¡°We interrupt your scheduled program to bring you breaking news from the ongoing conflicts in the Middle East.¡±

    ¡°Reports are emerging of a catastrophic event that occurred moments ago. Though unconfirmed, early information suggests¡­¡± A sharp inhale came like a held breath before impact. ¡°¡­that a tactical nuclear weapon has been deployed over Syria.¡±

    The announcer''s voice wavered, straining beneath the weight of his words as a hiss of static interrupted the pause.

    ¡°After years of rising tensions, the situation had reached a boiling point. Russian officials have already issued a statement, reportedly supporting the use of nuclear force in the region.¡±

    ¡°Initial footage depicts a devastation of an unprecedented scale. Casualty estimates¡­¡± The voice faltered, his hesitation louder than the static. ¡°We''re are still waiting at this time for the first estimates.¡±

    Another crackle of static underscored the pause.

    ¡°We¡¯ll bring you updates as they emerge... In the meantime, we urge everyone to remain calm and monitor official channels for further developments. The president-elect is expected to issue an official statement later today as he continues his cross-country campaign, honouring victims of the recent outbreaks.¡±

    The announcer marked a solemn pause.

    ¡°We are witnessing what may be a defining moment in human history¡ª¡±

    The broadcast cut off, swallowed by a burst of interference.

    And nothing was ever the same.

    <hr>

    The world sometimes felt like it was on the brink of collapse. Too many people. Too many faces. All pushing forward with purpose ¡ª goals, friends, lovers, plans¡­ A tide of humanity, each person locked in their orbit yet constantly colliding in the chaos. Enough to feel like drowning when you think about it.

    Were they as lost as he was? Or was he the only one gasping for air?

    The streets churned with motion, a flood of bodies surging in and out of shops with glittering displays. Each transaction was another drop in the endless current of agitation. The noise felt oppressive. Horns blaring. Children crying. Holiday jingles blaring overhead.

    Ants crawling around their anthill.

    ¡°How about a bagel?¡±

    Her voice cut through the haze like a thread of sunlight, pulling him back. He blinked, startled, just in time to sidestep a man twice his size, intent on staying in his lane.

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s fine,¡± Alek said automatically.

    The words felt hollow the moment they left his lips, and he braced for her reaction. And so she cast him the same look he¡¯d grown to expect ¡ª the one threaded with mild exasperation and something she never said aloud.

    ¡°You never want to choose, do you?¡± Her tone was soft, but the reproach was unmistakable. And even though he had expected it, he couldn¡¯t restrain the frustration swelling inside.

    ¡°I said that¡¯s fine.¡±

    ¡°Whatever.¡±

    Her hand tightened on his arm, a brief squeeze that somehow carried all the weight of her disappointment.

    He hated how he couldn¡¯t be the way she wanted. How he couldn¡¯t just make a choice ¡ª any choice ¡ª without feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on his chest. Every decision felt like a trap, a minefield where every answer was wrong no matter which way he turned. Disappointment waiting to happen. And each time, she resented him a little more for it.

    She had never said so. Not directly. But he could feel it. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in how her grip lingered on his arm.

    And it stung ¡ª knowing he would never be enough.

    ¡°We could walk through the park on our way there,¡± she suggested, testing the waters.

    ¡°Sure, if you want.¡±

    Another mistake. She hated that sentence. Her face started displaying the signs a storm was brewing, the slightest hint of hatred. But as they neared the bus stop, crowded with people clutching shopping bags and chatting over the noise of the street, he got offered a distraction.

    ¡°Hey, lovebirds!¡±

    The familiar voice cut through the noise, and Alek turned to see George weaving through the crowd, a grin splitting his face.

    ¡°Hey there!¡± they replied in unison.

    ¡°Have you seen the others?¡± she asked, the irritation in her tone now replaced with warmth.

    ¡°They¡¯re meeting us there. I¡¯ll text them once we decide where we¡¯re going.¡±

    George was about Alek¡¯s height but broad-shouldered, filling the space like he belonged. He¡¯d been Alek¡¯s best friend since high school, their bond effortless and unshakeable. His mop of curly brown hair, gentle smile, and quick wit had cemented him as the easy-going friend of their duo.

    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± Alek asked.

    ¡°Nothing much, good sir,¡± George replied, his voice dipping into a playful tone. ¡°I am doing fine, though perhaps a little under the weather.¡± His voice hitched with the faint rasp of an impending cold. ¡°And yourself?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re having a most pleasant day. Aren¡¯t we?¡± Alek replied while glancing at the little dark-haired fury still holding his arm.

    ¡°Oh, we are! I was just telling Alek we could go for bagels and walk through the park.¡±

    ¡°That sounds perfect. It¡¯s a good thing they lifted the lockdown for the holidays. We could all use some fresh air ¡ª and some not-so-fresh bread and salmon!¡± George replied ¡ª the way Alek should have. It was enough to make her laugh.

    How he loved that laugh.

    George pulled out his phone, thumbs flying across the screen as he fired off a message to the group before stepping confidently into the street.

    ¡°HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU¡¯RE GOING!¡±

    The shout tore through the air, accompanied by the screech of tyres as a beaten-up sedan swerved around George. He had barely flinched, brushing off the near miss with a shrug. The less composed driver leaned on his horn, letting out a series of honks to emphasise his point.

    ¡°What an ass,¡± she muttered, frowning as the car rolled forward and stopped at the red light just ahead.

    ¡°Yup. Hope he burns in hell,¡± George replied, his usual humour tinged with an edge of annoyance. He turned back to them, his expression shifting into something more serious. ¡°Speaking of fire¡­ Did you hear about the guy they found in our dorms?¡±

    ¡°The one who died?¡± Alek asked, his curiosity piqued. ¡°Yeah, I heard some rumours. Why?¡±

    ¡°I was there when they found him,¡± George said, lowering his voice. ¡°The whole room was filled with this¡­ yellow fog. It wasn¡¯t just bad it was¡­ wrong? Like something that shouldn¡¯t exist.¡±

    ¡°Oh shit,¡± she cut in. ¡°What were you doing there?¡±

    ¡°I was hanging around with¡ª¡°

    There was a honk. A long, desperate honk. Then, a deafening crash swallowed George¡¯s words, a thunderclap of twisted metal and shattered glass. Alek spun around to see the sedan crumple like a tin can beneath the force of an oncoming truck. Smoke billowed from the wreckage, the truck¡¯s horn still blaring, mourning its victim.

    ¡°Holy shit!¡±

    Her grip tightened on Alek¡¯s arm, the crowd buzzing with a touch of fear mixed with awe.

    The sounds were strangely muted, muffled by the buildings and the crooked trees. But then the distant screams began ¡ª thin threads of panic that grew louder with each passing second, rushing toward them like a tide.

    ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving, I¡¯m not liking this,¡± Alek muttered, the adrenaline kicking in. His gaze darted to George, who stood rooted in place, staring at the wreckage with his mouth slightly agape. The usual spark in his eyes was nowhere to be found.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, let¡¯s get away from the crowd,¡± Alek cut in, trying to be comforting.

    He nudged George forward through the thickening flow of people. They passed a TV shop, the glow from a dozen screens spilling pale light over a growing cluster of onlookers. Faces hovered in the window¡¯s reflection, slack with concern.

    A voice filtered through the crackling speakers:

    ¡°The president-elect is expected to issue an official statement later today as he continues his cross-country campaign, honouring victims¡ª¡±

    Alek felt the weight on his arm loosen. She had slowed, turning her attention to the screens. ¡°Do you think¡­¡± she began, her voice quiet and uncertain.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Alek interrupted, cutting her off before the thought could take form. He reached for her hand, gripping it tightly. ¡°Let¡¯s just go.¡±

    George coughed. ¡°We should get to the park,¡± he said, waving them forward. ¡°Up through Regent street.¡±

    Alek nodded but couldn¡¯t shake the creeping dread clawing at his chest. The air pressed down on him, the sky darker despite the afternoon light.

    In the distance, another shout cut through the ambient noise.

    His steps faltered. Something was wrong.

    The first wave came, rippling through the air. It wasn¡¯t the sound of a single voice but a collective wail that rose and swelled ¡ª not just heard but felt, vibrating in Alek¡¯s bones.

    There was something utterly primal about hearing thousands of people scream in absolute fear. Your body could never forget something like this. It triggered a response ingrained in human genes. A reminder that humans were prey long before they became more. His body responded instinctively: a thunderous pulse, a quickening breath. Every nerve on edge.

    A moment later, the street erupted into chaos. Transformed into a battlefield. People darted in all directions, some clutching children to their chests, others stubbornly dragging their shopping bags.

    Another crash echoed from somewhere deeper in the city, followed by the shock wave of an explosion. The ground quivered beneath Alek¡¯s feet, the vibrations climbing through his legs and into his gut.

    But despite everything, the screams¡­ The screams persisted ¡ª a background noise the brain refused to ignore ¡ª despair made real. It gnawed at the senses, threatening to drag him with them.

    ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± George shouted, his voice barely audible.

    Alek grabbed George¡¯s arm and yanked him back just as a man sprinted past, wild-eyed and shoving through the crowd.

    On his other arm, she held on desperately, her nails digging into his sleeve as she tried to keep up. ¡°Alek¡ª there¡¯s too many people!¡±

    They were met head-on by a wave of bodies, a human tide fleeing from something unseen. Alek tightened his grip on her and George, pulling them to the side of the street and pressing against the cool brick of a building to avoid being trampled. His chest heaved with the effort and the panic.

    In the madness, Alek¡¯s gaze caught a staggering man. Both hands clutched his abdomen, where his shirt was soaked in a spreading stain. He fell to his knees, gasping for air as the crowd parted around him.

    Alek froze.

    His mind screamed to look away, to move. But his eyes were locked on the man.

    The stranger¡¯s body convulsed, his head snapping back with a sickening crack. A guttural, inhuman sound tore from his throat, and Alek watched in horrified fascination.

    The man¡¯s eyes shot open, now milky and unfocused, as his fingers clawed at the ground. His jaw opened wide, too wide, the skin straining and tendons taut. Like something inside him was trying to burst free.

    A shudder ran through Alek¡¯s spine.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± her voice cut through the fog of his paralysis. ¡°We need to get to safety!¡±

    ¡°Run!¡± George bellowed, shoving them into motion. Alek¡¯s feet stumbled into a desperate sprint as they plunged into the chaos. Behind them, the cries of the man grew fainter. But the dread clung to Alek, thick and suffocating.

    A feeling burned into his memory.

    <hr>

    The infected¡¯s roar echoed in Alek¡¯s mind ¡ª a phantom at the edges of his thoughts. No matter how much time passed, the heat of the panicked crowd and the sweat on his back wouldn¡¯t fade. He could still hear his friend¡¯s voice, urging them forward, drowned by the cacophony of screams. And the press of Sunlight¡¯s grip as she clung to his arm.

    Back when she still trusted him with comfort.

    So much time had passed. So many memories had faded. But this one would stay forever.

    ¡°What¡­ what happened to them?¡±

    Alek blinked, his grip tightening around the rough edge of a stone brick. Victoria stood across from him, her face filled with curiosity. The faint glow of the sun was sinking further down towards the horizon, bathing them in orange light.

    ¡°My friend was infected,¡± Alek whispered. ¡°A few hours later, he ¡ª changed¡­ I had to watch it happen. I just couldn¡¯t do it. I couldn¡¯t make sure he wouldn¡¯t hurt anyone.¡±

    ¡°Jesus¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°It was a long time ago.¡±

    The lie sat heavy on his tongue. Time didn¡¯t matter; the guilt¡­ he carried with him every day. Growing ever more each time he¡¯d let someone down.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t we get infected¡­ down there?¡± she asked.

    Alek exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. ¡°What we stumbled upon, that was ¡ª different than what¡¯s out here.¡± He shifted, resting his weight on one leg and pointing to his other, where the dog-like creatures had bitten him. ¡°Infection comes through bites. It¡¯s the quickest way to turn. Animals can become infected, but they can¡¯t transmit it to us. And they often die quickly from the disease. Not like humans.¡±

    The crunch of their boots against crumbled asphalt filled the void between words. The bridge on which they walked stretched ahead, its arching frame a testament to a world once aspiring to endurance. Nature had now claimed much of it. Frosted vines curled along stone railings in a quiet rebellion against human ambition.

    Alek stopped walking and turned to her.

    ¡°The¡­ things we saw. They should have been dead long ago. We¡¯re lucky the big one didn¡¯t bite any of us.¡±

    He waved a hand and resumed his walk along the broken bridge. ¡°Spores,¡± he said in an educational tone. ¡°That¡¯s the other way it spreads. In some places, you can¡¯t breathe a single breath without a mask. That¡¯s why we should find you one quickly.¡±

    Victoria¡¯s eyes rested on him, her expression between anxiousness and interest.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Alek added. ¡°I¡¯ve got a spare in one of my other hideouts. That¡¯s where we¡¯re headed.¡±

    As they continued, their path was lined with echoes of those who had come long before. Beneath their feet, symbols and slogans adorned the brick. They were painted in frantic strokes of red, black, white and yellow. A scrawled phrase whispered, ¡°We will not fade.¡± Below it, another proclaimed: ¡°Shadows bring rot. Hide in the light.¡±

    He watched Victoria¡¯s gaze linger on the graffiti, her brow knitting as the patterns began to coalesce. Alek noticed the hesitation but remained silent. He had no words to offer her, no comfort to bring.

    Instead, he wrestled with his own unease.

    It was hard to get used to his new vision. Any sense of perspective ¡ª of distance ¡ª was gone. Victoria¡¯s shape shifted in his sight. Whether she walked right beside him or meters away, he couldn¡¯t trust his eye. The disorientation would be a dreadful challenge.

    Out here, such a hindrance was a death sentence.

    ¡°What about¡­ her?¡±

    Alek¡¯s thoughts were interrupted by Victoria¡¯s voice.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Your girlfriend¡­ What happened to her?¡± she repeated a flicker of hesitance in her eyes.

    ¡°She¡¯s a distant memory now¡­ We parted ways a few months after that.¡±

    Victoria nodded and resumed her exploration of the symbols.

    He let out a slow breath, relieved that her curiosity had been sated.

    The paintings grew denser as they progressed. Some were fragments of warning signs. Others were filled with hope, etched when humanity¡¯s flame still burned bright. They were twisted now into something sombre, their meanings warped by time.

    Alek stopped at the bridge¡¯s crest, leaning slightly on the moss-slick railing as his gaze swept over the ravaged city below. Towers that once reached for the sky now sagged in shadows.

    Victoria joined him, her fingers brushing against the worn edge.

    ¡°What was it like?¡± she asked. ¡°Was it just¡­ the end?¡±

    Alek hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t the end, no,¡± he said. ¡°It was only the beginning. Fast, at first. A perfect combination of circumstances. But the end. The real one¡­ that took years to fully take root. Years of torture.¡±

    Victoria¡¯s expression tightened, but she let him continue.

    ¡°This event I told you about. That was the spark that ignited the flame of chaos.¡±

    His gaze bore into hers. ¡°Then there was mass hysteria. Shops were looted, and homes burned. So much chaos... People came to fear not just the dead but each other. That was the time mass suicides happened around the world. Families, neighbourhoods, cities...¡±

    He exhaled, his breath misting in the cold. ¡°Martial law came next ¡ª a semblance of control. For a while, it worked. People stayed indoors, so the spread slowed down. Except in bigger cities¡­ there, the situation grew out of control.¡± He scoffed. ¡° And so governments tried to control it. Some bombed their own cities or built walls to hide behind. Others sent aid that never came back. Nothing worked, as far as I know. Not anywhere.¡±

    ¡°And if it wasn¡¯t enough. Wars raged on. Until there were no longer people to fight the battles or the infected had become the bigger concern. Governments fell or crawled into hiding. Some places burned out in weeks. Engulfed by the shadows. Others¡­ held on longer. Managed better. Some did pretty well, all things considered. But in the end¡­¡± He trailed off, shaking his head.

    ¡°It¡¯s been twenty long years,¡± he said, the weight of time settling into his voice. ¡°I¡¯m not sure there¡¯s anything left anymore. Nothing but what you see here ¡ª a few survivors, death, and dust.¡±

    Victoria shivered before him, bringing her jacket tighter around her shoulders as she gazed at the wasteland. At that moment, she seemed so much smaller.

    Alek studied her, his chest tightening. She would need more than resolve to survive. He¡¯d have to teach her as much as he could about this world. Teach her how to see the dangers before they found her and fight them when they did.

    They walked over to the next section of the bridge, where the crumbled brims revealed the abyss below.

    Some graffiti stood out from the others ¡ª the paint still vibrant. A crescent moon dripped as though it were bleeding. Beneath it, bold letters proclaimed in red:

    FOLLOW THE LIGHT OF THE CHILDREN

    Victoria stepped closer, pointing to it. ¡°They¡¯re not just graffiti artists, are they?¡±

    ¡°No¡­ These ones do little harm. But the other group of survivors¡­¡± he hesitated for a second. ¡°Let¡¯s just say that with the infected, you at least know what you¡¯re dealing with.¡±

    Victoria¡¯s gaze lifted from the bleeding red and washed over the cityscape. ¡°Do you think they¡¯re close?¡±

    His fingers curled tighter over the railing.¡°They¡¯re always close.¡±

    The sun had sunk lower, a smouldering ember over the jagged skyline. And with it, shadows stretched across the ruined city, creeping into every cracked street.

    Time had slipped away faster than he¡¯d realised.

    ¡°Damn it,¡± he muttered, straightening abruptly.

    Victoria turned, catching the sudden tension in his voice. ¡°What is it?¡±

    His eye locked westward, where the fading sunlight had already surrendered to an eerie dusk. Too soon. They should have been moving faster.

    And then it came.

    A distant boom rolled through the city. The bridge trembled beneath their feet; dust and loose stones spilt from its fractured edges. Victoria staggered, her hand shooting out to brace herself.

    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± she demanded, terror flashing in her eyes.

    Before he could respond, another sound cut through the air ¡ª a low guttural chorus of screeches. He knew what it meant.

    The infected were waking.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± Alek said urgently. He grabbed Victoria¡¯s arm, pulling her away from the edge. ¡°We¡¯ve got to go. Now!¡±

    They turned and bolted, the dying light bathing the city in blood-red hues, and behind them, the haunting wails grew louder.

    The broken streets and empty facades blurred as they ran, and Alek¡¯s remaining eye caught shadows darting inside the buildings. Spiralling down towards the streets. The wails of shadows trailed behind them like a sinister melody. One that was all too familiar.

    A melody of death and chaos.

    ***

 13 - Scars

    Scars

    Through concrete and steel, through flesh and memory. Each wail clawed at her, dragging Victoria back into the tunnels where the walls had felt too close, and the darkness had pressed on her.

    She was drowning.

    The sound wasn¡¯t as loud here; it was distant and muffled by layers of rain and stone. Yet it only made it worse. The silence it brought was a blank canvas, her mind painting horrors into the void. What we stumbled upon, that was ¡ª different than what¡¯s out here. Alek¡¯s words echoed in her mind.

    Different. The word carried a weight she hadn¡¯t fully understood until now. She realised she had no idea what they were ¡ª what waited for her in the dark.

    Her chest tightened, her breaths shallow, the damp air doing nothing to quench the heat rising in her throat. She was drowning, and the wails kept coming, rhythmic and relentless, merging with the patter above. A surging sound that gave life to every shadow.

    In the recesses of her mind, behind the chaos of fear, the tunnels loomed. And now she understood. Alek tried to warn me.

    She had expected the promise of sunlight. Freedom. Vast skies and endless plains. Trees and grass, and flying birds painting the air with songs.

    He had tried to tell her that it would be worse up here. But how could it be worse? How could she have known?

    She saw it clearly now. This world had its own suffocating grip. Terror inhabited every corner, thriving in the open. Not confined by walls but unleashed in every shadow, every sound.

    Victoria realised the truth ¡ª she knew nothing of this world. Nothing but the darkness, hunger, pain, and fear. An endless agony. Somehow she still hadn¡¯t learned her lesson, trading one kind of darkness for another, again and again.

    She leaned her back harder against the metal of a car, as though she could sink into its cold surface and disappear. Every inch of her body stayed alert to the emptiness surrounding her. Even in the stillness, she could feel them ¡ª waiting. Only now, they weren¡¯t just waiting; they were hunting. Crawling and running around. And it would be a matter of time before they stumbled upon her. Before they gnawed at her skin, at her flesh, at her gut. Until there was nothing left of her and no one to remember.

    Alek¡¯s shadow appeared again in the dimness.

    ¡°They¡¯re just passing through,¡± he said, his voice quiet but firm. He made it sound simple and logical as if fear had no place here. It was meant to calm her, but Victoria was elsewhere. Drowning.

    The same question circled her mind again, tighter and tighter ¡ª one stupid, useless and entirely out-of-place question.

    What will I become?

    A hand touched her shoulder. Not rough or sudden, but the firmness snapped her back from the thought. Alek crouched beside her, his face partially shadowed. For a moment, his eye wasn¡¯t the calculating thing she¡¯d grown used to. There was concern in his expression.

    ¡°Victoria.¡±

    His hand stayed, weighing softly on her shoulder. ¡°They¡¯re not coming. Just noise. That¡¯s all it is.¡±

    She blinked; his words felt absurd, but there was a silent certainty in his tone. It¡¯s not just noise.

    She wanted to tell him. Tell him about the crawling shadows and the piercing cries. But no words came. Only her shallow breaths, each one trembling more than the last. All she could do was focus on the steady weight of his hand.

    ¡°They hunt when they¡¯re quiet,¡± Alek whispered. ¡°When they¡¯re loud like this? It means they¡¯re chasing something else.¡± He paused to let her process. ¡°We¡¯re okay. Just breathe.¡±

    The tightness in her chest loosened, if only slightly. She wanted to believe him. To let his words carry her to shore. But something still clung to her, dragging her further down in the abyss.

    Her fingers peeled away from the car, and she let her hand fall on the ground. There was a coldness there, biting at her palm.

    ¡°Get up, Vic.¡± Alek stood, his hand brushing briefly against hers before withdrawing. He adjusted his pack, the straps creaking faintly. His hazel eye settled on her with the warmth of someone who understood. ¡°We have to get moving.¡±

    She nodded weakly, their new objective offering a distraction. You¡¯re not afraid of the dark, Victoria. Everything¡¯s going to be alright.

    She pushed herself up, her legs trembling as though they bore the weight of the entire world. But she followed him. She always did. Through the unknown, the darkness and the fear.

    And so the parking lot stretched on as they navigated layers of decayed vehicles sinking into concrete.

    ¡°Where are we going?¡± she whispered, her voice hoarse.

    ¡°Up.¡±

    Up. She clung to the word as she would a lifeline, even as the wails outside echoed through the cavernous space. The shadows closed in around them, but Alek didn¡¯t stop. And so, neither did she.

    They walked through the complex for what seemed like an eternity. Victoria was lost in her thoughts, pulling her between fragments of memory and imagination.

    At last, they arrived at a door. A faded sign hung above it, the image of a man walking through a doorway. Maybe he was running, fleeing for his life ¡ª the chipped white paint a metaphor for his ghostly nature.

    But Alek didn¡¯t seem to care. He placed his hand on the doorknob and turned to look at her.

    ¡°From now on, you stick close,¡± he said sternly. ¡°Where we¡¯re going, it¡¯s going to be dark. But don¡¯t let that fool you. There¡¯s nothing to fear. The explosion probably drew most of them outside. As long as you stay close and follow me, nothing will happen.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t sure if there was any comfort in that. If she should look at him with courage and mutter something like: Don¡¯t worry, Alek, I trust you. But the lie stuck in her throat. All she wanted was to disappear ¡ª to bury deep inside the ground and wait it all out. To hide until the sun rose, and the birdsong drowned out the wails, and the warmth drove away the cold clinging to her bones.

    Alek¡¯s gaze softened. He saw the hesitation in her eyes. The fear.

    ¡°Hey.¡± He pressed both hands on her shoulders, and the world seemed to shrink momentarily. ¡°Everything will be fine. Just stay close to me. We¡¯ll be somewhere safe in no time.¡±

    She managed to nod and immediately regretted it. Because now his hands had parted, and the door had opened.

    And darkness spilt out to meet them.

    <hr>

    Victoria¡¯s footsteps rang hollow in the narrow stairwell. The shadows here were breathing whispers of a forgotten place. They retreated before Alek¡¯s flashlight, letting him go through their shaky path. Cracked tiles and water-stained walls welcomed them into their decaying domain.

    The landing above spilt into a service corridor, its walls smeared with dark streaks like the smudges of forsaken hands.

    Victoria quickened her pace to keep up with Alek, but the sound of his boots had faded, and it wasn¡¯t until she reached an intersection ¡ª a faint break in the dim space where the hall split into two directions ¡ª that she realised he was gone.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    Victoria¡¯s breath fogged white.

    ¡°Alek?¡± Her voice broke the silence. Too tentative to carry far.

    Nothing.

    Panic prickled at her chest. She turned sharply, trying to guess his direction, except the shadows had swallowed every trace of him. Her hand flew to her pack, fumbling to pull out the flashlight he¡¯d given her. Then she clicked it on and watched the weak beam tremble as she stepped forward.

    He was out there somewhere.

    Victoria chose to go left, the decision made without thought. There was no use debating. Alek would notice she was gone soon, and he¡¯d come back for her. She clung to that certainty even as the corridor continued, its air growing thicker. Still, no sign of his light. No echo of his voice.

    Instead, she saw them.

    They didn¡¯t emerge from the dark; they were simply there. As if they had always been part of it. Woven into its very fabric.

    A group of figures crouched in the shadows just ahead. Their pale forms were barely visible in the trembling circle of her flashlight. They didn¡¯t move or speak, but the way they hunched ¡ª their backs arched unnaturally, limbs too thin, fingers splayed against the ground ¡ª reminded her of starving dogs.

    She couldn¡¯t move but shakily let the flashlight sweep across them.

    Their faces caught the edge of the beam; features twisted not with malice but with an expression ever disturbing. Eyes, sunken deep into sallow cheeks, stared at her without recognition or intent. Their cracked, chapped lips parted slightly, and a faint, pained whimper escaped one of them.

    They looked human. So painfully human.

    Their skin clung to brittle bones, stretched taut as the fabric of a worn drum. Scars laced their arms and torsos ¡ª marks of a lifetime spent in suffering. One of them ¡ª a woman, perhaps ¡ª shifted slightly as if even the light scraping her shape was an unbearable torment.

    Victoria took a step back, her heel scraping against the gritty floor.

    The sound made one of the figures flinch. Its head snapped toward her, and the eyes that met her¡­ were empty, void as the space around them, and yet behind the veil, there was something she barely recognised. Fear? Recollection?

    Or was it anger?

    The beam caught another figure scuttling hastily across the light. It vanished into the shadows, and then it reappeared ¡ª closer this time. With the slow movements of a predator gauging whether to strike, he advanced towards her.

    The faint whimpers grew quieter, the air thick with the weight of unspoken agony.

    Then, suddenly, it paused. There was hesitation in its eyes.

    A hand slid onto her shoulder.

    ¡°They won¡¯t hurt you.¡±

    She almost jumped as Alek¡¯s mellow voice interrupted the silence. He walked before her, clenching his axe until his knuckles turned as white as their skin. And they seemed to retreat slowly. Painfully.

    Soon, they had returned to the darkness from whence they came, and Victoria realised she had been holding her breath.

    ¡°Are those¡ª¡±

    ¡°I call them the Hushed,¡± Alek said, answering her untold question. ¡°People who¡¯ve abandoned their reason for the darkness.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she whispered.

    ¡°I¡¯m uncertain about the cause of their condition ¡ª trauma, perhaps, or the aftermath of surviving the infection, which may have prevented their brains from fully recovering. All I know is¡­¡± He glanced at her, his eye filled with something that might have been pity. ¡°They¡¯re still human. In a way.¡±

    ¡°But he¡­ he was ready to¡­¡± Her words faltered, slipping into the silence. She looked at the obscurity, where they had vanished. The shadows rippled with the memory of their twisted forms. Then she turned to Alek, searching his face. ¡°Wasn¡¯t he?¡±

    The words left her lips raw and incoherent. And yet she knew he would understand. That somehow, he¡¯d have an answer.

    He merely presented her with the axe, its blade catching a faint glint. Of course.

    ¡°Come. We¡¯ve got to reach the centre.¡±

    She didn¡¯t answer, her mind racing to process what she¡¯d seen. What had they been ready to do? Victoria could only guess what would have happened had Alek not found her. But he was already turning away, and so she chased the distraction.

    This time, she didn¡¯t trail behind him. Her steps quickened, deliberate, until she was at his side, and her hand found the hilt of her blade. The leather grounded Victoria against the pull of the shadows pressing like a whispered secret she couldn¡¯t unhear.

    After some time, they reached a narrow passage lined with broken crates and rusting delivery carts. Alek stopped at a stack of wooden planks leaning haphazardly against the wall. He slid one aside, revealing a narrow gap barely wide enough to fit through.

    ¡°This way,¡± he said as he stepped inside.

    Victoria hesitated, peering into the opening, then took a deep breath and followed, the planks¡¯ edges scraping lightly against her jacket.

    Inside, the space was even smaller than she¡¯d imagined. Alek lit a single candle, and its light flickered from a wooden crate, dancing against the rough walls to reveal the makeshift shelter. A pile of worn blankets and tattered cushions had been shoved into a corner to form a crude bed. Rusted tins were stacked neatly to one side, and in the corner opposite the bedroll, there was a bucket.

    ¡°It¡¯s not much,¡± Alek admitted, his voice low as he crouched beside the melting wax. ¡°But places like this¡­ they¡¯re what kept me alive. When things go wrong.¡±

    Victoria¡¯s gaze wandered around the cramped hideout. It was a far cry from the underground rooms of Noxhold, but there was undeniable purpose in there. Every inch of space had been used with survival in mind.

    ¡°Do you have these everywhere?¡± she asked.

    Alek leaned back against the wall, the candlelight catching the faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. ¡°Enough of them,¡± he replied. ¡°You never know when you¡¯ll need to disappear.¡±

    He placed his axe within arm¡¯s reach and gestured for her to sit. ¡°We¡¯ll rest here until sunrise. I¡¯ll keep watch so you can get some sleep. Then we¡¯ll cut through the shopping centre and head for my other hideout. A bigger one ¡ª there¡¯s food there, gear and supplies. I¡¯ll be able to give you what you need to survive on your own.¡±

    Victoria lowered herself onto the blankets, their coarse fibres scratching her skin. The tension in her chest began to loosen, but with it came an unwelcome weight. She was reminded that he didn¡¯t want her there in the first place. That if something were to happen to him, she would be the reason.

    Out here, she was nothing but a liability, a burden for Alek. And she resented the feeling.

    ¡°Do you ever feel safe?¡± she asked suddenly.

    Alek¡¯s eye drifted to the candle, watching the flame as if it might hold the truth. ¡°Safety is a choice,¡± he said finally. ¡°It¡¯s a moment, a combination of circumstances. And it doesn¡¯t last.¡±

    I don¡¯t know what answer I expected.

    Victoria pulled her knees to her chest, her mind racing with everything she¡¯d seen and had yet to understand. In the flickering light, the hideout felt like a fragile bubble ¡ª a brief pause in a world that refused to stop.

    ¡°Here.¡± Alek extended a protein bar, the wrapper crinkling as he held it out. ¡°Eat. Then rest. You need it.¡±

    She took it without protest, the stale taste forgotten in her hunger. But when the last bite was gone, and the silence settled once more, sleep eluded her.

    Instead, she remained perfectly still, locked in a protective embrace. Her eyes were closed, but she could see clearly. Shapes swirled in her mind ¡ª nightmares, memories, hallucinations. Only now, she knew they were all too real.

    At some point during the night, something stirred her awake.

    Her lashes parted reluctantly, catching the faint glow on Alek¡¯s face. He sat with his back against the far side of the hideout, his axe balanced across his knees. His fingers moved absently over the steel, tracing the sharp contours in slow motions. Whatever thoughts visited him were locked behind his usual walls.

    But something else caught her attention.

    A glimmer outside. Just beyond the planks, through a narrow crack, the moonlight reflected on something smooth, wet. Her sluggish mind fumbled to grasp the image, and then it clicked.

    Two eyeballs. Staring.

    Something bound her in place, her body locked beneath the blanket. The gleaming eyes shifted ever so slightly, the figure crouching just beyond the shelter. Breathing.

    She blinked.

    The form had disappeared. The eyes were gone. Swallowed by the dark.

    She stared at the crack for an eternity, her senses straining for any hint of movement. But it had left, for now. And when she finally closed her eyes again, it was not to rest but to pretend she hadn¡¯t seen at all.

    <hr>

    A deep creak echoed through the familiar space as Milo pushed open the heavy wooden door. Rain-soaked to the bone, each step left a trail of muddy footprints on the once-polished marble floor. Dog limped in behind him, its mechanical leg dragging with a painful screech.

    ¡°Sit here, Dog,¡± Milo whispered, guiding it to a corner where an old rug offered some semblance of comfort. Dog¡¯s eyes, usually a soft blue, now dimmed, flickering in and out like fluttering fireflies.

    Milo knelt beside Dog, his small hands trembling as he examined the damage. Then, he rummaged through his belongings, pulling out rusty tools, broken screws and frayed wires. Satisfied with what he had found, he approached his injured friend.

    His fingers fumbled and twisted until frustration welled up inside him. ¡°You¡¯re hurt, Dog, I need to do something,¡± he pleaded, his eyes starting to sting with unshed tears. But nothing he attempted seemed to hold. The leg dangled in his hands.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have the right stuff,¡± Milo admitted, his voice small and defeated. He looked around the rows of books and the corners of his furniture. Searching desperately for anything that might help. But he knew there was only one place where he could find the parts to fix his friend.

    His gaze drifted to the rain-streaked windows. The thought of going back to that place made his stomach churn.

    Although the memories of his meeting with Dog were found, they had been tainted by his dangerous encounter. A fear that had kept him away ever since. But now, he was left with no other choice.

    He stood, wiping his hands on his wet clothes and got ready, starting with putting on dry, warm clothes. Once comfortable, he put on his usual parka and crouched next to his friend. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Dog. I¡¯ll be back as soon as I can. Just stay here.¡±

    As he turned to leave, the weight of the task ahead pressed down on him. Yet, he had survived a close encounter with the scavengers. Only someone brave could have done that!

    The night was dark, clouds blocking the moonlight, but Milo¡¯s eyes adjusted quickly. He set out into the street, ready to face whatever lay ahead, and looked for his usual landmark, a crooked sign. Dark letters were printed on a white background announcing his target:

    ¡°GRAND RIVERVIEW SHOPPING CENTRE¡±

    ***