Lucian's ears were still ringing from the crash when he clawed his way out of the elevator wreckage. Dust coated his tongue, every breath tasting like rust and concrete. His body screamed at him to stop, to lie down, but adrenaline drowned out the pain. He renewed his efforts to get home. That was all that mattered: keep moving.
The gutted office tower behind him groaned like a dying animal, its windows rattling in their frames. Somewhere far above, The Harrower's piercing shriek split the air, a sound so sharp it made his teeth ache. More glass rained down into the streets, shattering against pavement, but the monster didn't dive again. It still thought he was trapped inside.
That small mistake was the only reason he was still alive.
Lucian stumbled out into the open and froze. The city he knew was gone. In its place was chaos made flesh. Fires spread unchecked across shattered buildings, their smoke blotting out what little light remained. Cars lay abandoned at crooked angles, some still burning, some crushed flat under rubble. Sirens wailed distantly, swallowed by the greater noise of screaming — thousands of voices crying out in terror, echoing off collapsing concrete. The very ground seemed untrustworthy, cracking in places like brittle glass.
And through it all rolled the sounds of the monsters. Echoing roars. Screeches that rattled windows. Inhuman voices that didn't belong to this world.
A group of survivors stumbled past, their faces pale, streaked with ash and blood. A man in a torn suit tripped, calling out for help as he was trampled under the stampede. Lucian hesitated for a heartbeat, his instincts whispering that helping would only slow him down. Then the decision was made for him — a shadow swept over the street, and the Harrower snatched one of the screaming survivors into the air. The rest scattered like ants. Lucian didn't watch what happened next. He turned sharply into a narrow alley, ducking under a sagging fire escape.
The shadows swallowed him whole, cutting off most of the noise, though his heart pounded loud enough to make up for it. His lungs burned with every step, but he forced his body to cooperate.
At first the shortcut felt like salvation. Then something skittered across the wall ahead, a pale blur that clung to brick for a second before vanishing into the dark. Lucian froze, his grip tightening on the bent length of pipe he had scavenged earlier, his stomach twisting. The sound of claws on stone lingered above him, faint but deliberate. Something was pacing him along the rooftops. He forced his legs to move again, faster this time, sweat dripping cold down his back. He didn't wait to see if it returned.
At one cross street, he flattened himself against a wall as the Harrower glided low overhead, its feathers trailing like tendrils through the smoke. The monster's eye — large as a man's torso — turned toward the main road. Lucian didn't move a muscle as it plucked a screaming survivor from the crowd and carried him shrieking into the clouds. Only when the shadow passed did Lucian press forward, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
Cold logic. Always forward. Never look back.
The closer he came to his block, the worse the city broke apart. Roads had split into jagged rifts. Entire intersections had sunk into fiery sinkholes. His usual route was gone, reduced to rubble and flame. He cursed under his breath, doubled back into another alley, and ran harder. Smoke scraped his throat raw. His calves screamed. His knees felt like they might give out at any second. Still he pushed forward.
Through the haze, he glimpsed other shapes moving in the distance — hulking silhouettes that bent lampposts as they passed, shadows that skittered unnaturally along rooftops. They weren't close, not yet, but the city was teeming with things that didn't belong.
When the familiar outline of his block finally appeared, he almost collapsed from relief. His building stood crooked but intact, scarred by falling debris. Home. He didn't let himself hope until he was sprinting the last block, dodging toppled trash bins and sparking power lines.
His hand slammed the front door shut behind him, the noise cutting off the outside world like the lid of a coffin.
For a moment, he just stood there. His chest heaved. His arms shook. Every bone in his body throbbed, but he was alive. Somehow, impossibly, alive.
Then survival instinct returned. He forced himself to move, dragging an old dresser across the floor until it wedged against the door. Every scrape of wood on tile was thunder in the silence, but he didn't care. He pulled the kitchen table next, chairs, anything heavy he could find. Sweat poured down his face as he jammed it all into place.
At one point he stopped, panting, debating if it was even worth the effort. If a monster really wanted in, furniture wouldn't stop it. But the act of barricading felt necessary — like a ritual to keep his mind from unraveling. He thought of his parents, how his father used to say, "Secure your space. A safe room means a safe mind." The memory hit like a knife twist, and he shoved the thought away before it could linger.
When he finally stepped back, the door was barricaded, the hallway dim, the air thick with dust. Lucian sank against the wall, sliding down until he sat on the floor with his knees to his chest. His hands wouldn't stop trembling. His heart wouldn't slow.
The city outside howled with death, and he was trapped inside his small, battered apartment. Alone.
For now, it was enough.
His head lolled back against the wall. His eyes slid shut for just a second, every muscle in his body begging for rest. The silence inside the apartment was almost unbearable after the chaos outside, so complete that it felt unnatural.
That was when he heard it.
A click. The faint static of an old television set, though he didn't own one. His eyes snapped open. Across the room, his laptop screen flickered to life on its own, white light spilling across the darkened space.
Words appeared, typed one keystroke at a time.
[STATUS: ACTIVE]
Lucian's throat tightened. His hands curled into fists.
Then a new line blinked into existence:
"Well played, Lucian. You ran fast. You survived. That makes you… interesting."
The cursor blinked. Waiting.