A persistent nausea churned in John's gut, a grim souvenir of the recent encounter and actions. Yet he forced one foot in front of the other, the acrid scent of his own fear a bitter taste in his mouth as he left the dim, blood-stained nurse's office behind. his goal to get across the desolate school yard, aiming for the gardener's shed at the end of the school field. His goal was to scavenge for useful supplies before other survivors who could still be in the area who he hoped had not yet fully been claimed by the escalating madness could beat him to it. Time was a luxury he couldn't afford.
As he emerged onto the expansive school field, a chilling tableau unfurled before him. Patches of an unnatural, inky blackness stained the once-green turf like fresh bruises, interspersed with the flickering remnants of small, hungry fires. Within these macabre pyres, the charred husks of bodies lay twisted and contorted – undeniable proof of the 'mother dragons'' devastating passage. Some had been reduced to nothing more than blackened bone fragments, their forms barely discernible against the scorched earth. The air was thick with the stench of ash and something metallic and faintly organic that clawed at his throat. He took a ragged breath, the cold steel of his knife a small, comforting weight in his clenched hand with the scalpel in the other as he slowly advanced across the field, his gaze fixed on the corrugated metal roof of the shed. Every shadow seemed to writhe, every distant sound a potential threat and even the school building seemed charred.
Reaching the shed he paused, pressing his back against the cool, rough wall as he drew in a slow, deliberate breath, his senses on high alert. The memory of the nurse's office, of the sudden brutal necessity was a raw wound that no matter how much he tried to ignore still filled his mind. He steeled himself, fully prepared to face another lurking presence that might be within. With a swift movement, he pushed open the creaking door, knife held ready. The interior was dim and smelled of earth and old oil but proved to thankfully be empty. Tools hung on Peg-Boards, their silhouettes stark against the dusty light filtering through a grimy window. Garden tools, a rusty riding mower, a weed whacker and various repair implements—all symbols of a peace that had been violently shattered. He carefully stowed his knife back in his backpack, then began to assess his options.
His eyes fell on a coil of thick rope and a heavy crowbar. Practical and Essential for a range of situations. He quickly gathered them, making several loose, efficient knots to secure the crowbar to his back so it would be easily accessible yet not cumbersome. Next, a machete caught his eye. Its broad, gleaming blade promised a satisfying reach, a crucial advantage in the absence of a proper firearm or as his mind still sometimes drifted, a "magical" weapon. He gripped its hilt, feeling its balance, imagining its arc. With his makeshift arsenal secured, he recentred his thoughts. His immediate objective remained clear, to reach the main hall now, the dagger at his side remaining unused by choice, he knew nothing of its possible effects and chose to not use it unless absolutely necessary. He knew he needed water, cold drink bottles would suffice once filled and there could be some snacks. Scavenging for snacks was a desperate attempt to distraction he knew but didn't care, it was a fragile shield against the fresh trauma that gnawed at his sanity.
The journey to the large hall, once the vibrant venue for a school reunion, was a gauntlet of grim realities. Outside, the parking lot was a graveyard of twisted metal and shattered glass. Cars lay mangled, some still smouldering, others completely consumed by fire, their husks like skeletal monuments, a few even half melted. Bodies were strewn everywhere, chillingly displaying various stages of transformation well others burnt or clearly slaughtered. Some had been mercifully killed before the change fully manifested, their faces frozen in expressions of terror. Others lay in grotesque and unfamiliar forms or in still-recognizable clothes. A few baring the tell-tale signs of a more complete, agonizing metamorphosis before their final demise. A heavy wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm John again seeing all of it. He shook his head, a futile gesture against the horror as he pushed through the main doors, seeking refuge in the hall's equally chaotic interior.
Inside, the grand hall was a scene of utter devastation. Tables were overturned like fallen giants, broken bottles crunched underfoot and the celebratory banners hung in tattered shreds. Shattered windows gaped like empty eyes letting in a cold, unforgiving light. The air was still thick with the scent of stale liquor, fear and something else, a strange lingering scent of the unnatural. More bodies lay scattered across the floor either burnt or half transformed, acting as silent witnesses to the reunion's terrifying end. Carefully and slowly, John navigated the debris, his movements deliberate and with purpose. He made his way to a corner where a large refuse bin had been. Emptying its contents with a grimace, he retrieved three empty 2-liter bottles before tucking them under one arm, keeping his dominant hand free.
Approaching what remained of the snack table, he gently placed the bottles down. He pulled out a still-intact chair and sank into it, the mundane act a stark contrast to the apocalyptic landscape around him before tearing open a pack of barely intact chips, the salt and crunch a momentary anchor and escape from the storm of his thoughts. Despite the circumstances, his focus remained razor-sharp as his eyes constantly darted around, scanning and cataloguing every shadow and sound. He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over Fae's contact. She was his closest confidante, his unwavering support. He had to tell her what he had done, the carnage that had become of his old school. He had to confide and vent.
His fingers, trembling slightly, began to type with one hand. "I knew at some point we would probably have to kill, no matter how many times we've done it in dreams this is now reality and the weight of taking a life is heavy, I... I'm only mentioning it since I don't know what to actually do now. I feel like I lost a part of my soul taking that life, like a piece of me died with them…" He finished the pack of chips, his hand shaking so violently he nearly dropped the phone. Tears welled in his eyes, hot and stinging as he hoped desperately, that Fae, the one person he could always trust would somehow pull him back from this precipice as she always seemed to do. He grabbed another pack of chips, chewing with frantic urgency, trying to cope with the unbearable truth that now defined his existence.
"Oh god, John listen," Fae's reply came almost instantly, a digital lifeline. "I can't say I know or even understand how it feels. I have no doubt I will also be forced to do the same eventually, so I hope you will be here for me like I am here for you and kick my ass out of it. But let me tell you, you did nothing wrong. I know you wouldn't have done something like that unless you had no choice and had no alternative so get a grip and focus. tell me honestly, did you enjoy taking that life? Did you get a kick from it? Tell me honestly!"
Reading her words, John was momentarily speechless. No, he hadn't enjoyed it. There had been no twisted thrill, no perverse satisfaction. If anything, it had made him feel violently ill. "No to all that," he typed back, his fingers smashing against the screen with frustration, "it made me feel sick. Worse still, I will probably need to do it more often in the future. I hated it. I hate that I had to do it. That I had no choice!" he wanted to scream rather than type in the silent, ruined hall.
"Good! Then remember that anger, that hatred and sick feeling. Get a grip on it and channel it," Fae commanded, her words cutting through his despair. "Like you said, you're probably going to need to kill again in the future, so get a grip and work through it till you have a chance to properly face it! Take all that you're feeling and aim it at those responsible for this. You told me you would help me and I will be helping you as well through all this! If I was there, I'd give you a proper kick in the ass for allowing it to get to you like this! John, you're my best friend. You've been my rock and even helped me with my relationship and given me strength to keep going, so don't you dare give up now for something you were forced to do and had no choice in doing! Things have only just begun. If you need more reason to face the asshats that caused this, then let it be how this may bridge to our dreams, this may be how you find those mysterious people you met in your dreams, those that would help us through the tough times. You need to keep going! please…"
Reading Fae's raw, passionate plea caused something inside him to shift. A few tears escaped, but this time they were not of despair, but of a fierce resolve. Fae was right. He couldn't give up. He had to push forward. The world had changed, mirroring the fantastical and challenging landscapes of his dreams. He had to accept these consequences. "Never forget the lives you take but never let them become chains to hold you down," he whispered to himself, his voice raw. "Rather, let them be the steps you must take to reach the top. Stepping stones and needed sacrifices." With a sharp and swift movement, he gave his cheeks a strong stinging slap. "So, snap out of it, get it together. This is your world now! This is where you will thrive! Face forward and never back. Hesitate and you will die. Get up if you stumble, but never stop going forward even if you reach the top!" He all but yelled the words, the conviction ringing through the desolate hall.
Visibly, the air around him seemed to crackle, his slumped posture straightening as his shoulders broadened. A new, grim determination settled upon his features as he nodded, a silent vow to himself as he typed back to Fae: "You're right, I need to focus. I need to keep pushing. This world isn't forgiving anymore. Law and order, morals and restraint are all gone now but I won't fall, I refuse to! Thank you Fae, for knocking some proverbial sense into me. How's the situation over there by you? Have you guys managed to cope so far? What's the area like now by you?" He asked, part of him genuinely concerned, part seeking to change the subject before the despair could reclaim him.
"Well, the house is a bit more secured now," Fae replied, the speed of her response a testament to her constant vigilance. "We blocked the windows and most of the doors. Power is still on for now, thankfully. We've begun to fill any bottles we can find with water just in case, so the situation isn't too bad. But the sky is odd, John it's pitch black here unnaturally so and the moon has been letting off a blood-red glow that well helping me use my power has made me feel unsettled. It also doesn't seem to have moved much, just hanging there in the sky like some malevolent eye. Jay went out to explore a bit; says he wants to get some experience to level up and also items to sell to his system shop. I'm in a party with him, so passively getting a little experience from his hunting. He messaged a moment ago telling me our area has become some kind of vampire-like area. Thankfully, from what he can gather we're on the very edge of the outer zone, so it's mostly ghouls and very weak thralls that we have to deal with. We don't know much else other than that though, but I'll keep you posted if anything else comes up."
John absorbed the information, the bizarre details of Jay's "system shop" and the "vampire-like area" only further cementing the new reality. "Keep me posted, take care and be safe, also know there should be a buying or selling system for us as well according to my patron, unless it was full of shit" he typed back, finishing the last of the chips. A sense of calm, albeit a grim one had settled over him. His focus was sharper again, his purpose annealed by Fae's words. "I'll let you know what happens this side when I get to wherever I'm going." He finished as he stood up, the chair scraping loudly across the broken glass. He restocked his backpack with more snacks – a pragmatic necessity he told himself – then gathered the empty bottles firmly. The time for hesitation was over. His eyes scanned the hall one last time, taking in the desolation, before turning with a determined glint in his eyes as he set out towards the cars. The journey home and whatever new horrors it held, awaited him.