The rain fell with a sharp metallic scent, soaking the cracked streets of East Jakarta. A greenish fog hung low in the air, not cold, but deadly.
The sky was overcast, as if the world already knew that tonight, everything would change.
On a silent sidewalk, a man in office attire suddenly stopped walking. His body trembled. His fingers clawed at his own face, eyes wide and bloodshot, and a guttural, inhuman howl erupted from his throat.
Then came the sound—Thud! Thud! Thud!
His head slammed against a lamppost over and over, blood spurting from his temple. People around him screamed, rushing to help. But the man was beyond saving. His eyes blinded themselves, yet his ears... twitched. As if listening—responding to even the faintest whisper.
In less than five minutes, more began to collapse. Green foam poured from their mouths. Their bodies arched backward unnaturally, as though broken by an invisible hand.
The Green Atomia Virus had spread.
And in just one day, the world became an open grave.
Berlin fell. East Jakarta drowned in blood. The great cities went silent. Those infected became blind creatures, yet able to hear a breath from two blocks away. They hunted by sound. Even a heartbeat could bring death.
Amid the chaos, a boy named Izagiri Amselman hid beneath an old wooden dining table. His hands covered his mouth and nose tightly, his body trembling. Outside, dragging footsteps echoed... closer... and closer...
The creature passed by. Its face was ruined, eyeless, and its ears twitched like a wild rabbit's at every sound. A teenage scream rang out in the distance.
Then, silence.
The sound of bones breaking and flesh being torn replaced the human voice.
Izagiri didn't cry. He couldn't.
His parents were gone. His home was ruined. And out there, the world no longer deserved to be called alive.
But he knew one thing.
He would not die here.
Then, Izagiri dashed out from his hiding place. The heavy rain that night became his ally—each drop striking the ground and rooftops created a chaotic symphony that masked his footsteps. Lightning split the sky, thunder rumbling like drums of death, covering the sound of his breath and pounding heart.
He ran with everything he had, through puddles and past decaying corpses and burning vehicles. Every step was a risk—but also, a chance. As long as the rain fell, as long as it deafened the world's silence, he had hope.
His feet carried him to an old ruin—a collapsed communications tower, fallen since the virus outbreak began. Rusted steel jutted from the rubble like the fingers of a dead god, but to Izagiri, it was temporary sanctuary. He slipped inside, hiding behind a slab of broken concrete, his breath ragged but controlled.
He dared not cry. He could only grit his teeth, staring out at the rain through a crack in the ruin.
Far off, the sounds of the creatures still echoed, drifting in the storm, searching. But this time—they couldn't hear him.
For the first time since the world ended, he felt one step further from death.
Izagiri leaned against the cold concrete wall, his body shaking from exhaustion and the biting night air. Rain still dripped from the leaking ceiling, creating a gentle rhythm—both calming and haunting. Sometimes, his eyes closed, lulled by the sleepy quiet that followed the storm. But his sleep was light—any sound could yank him back into a world where peace had no meaning.
And that's what happened.
A footstep—soft, but enough to trigger every survival instinct in his body. His muscles tensed. He reached for a rusted iron bar beside him, pressed himself against the wall, and waited behind a half-intact door in the ruins.
He knew that sound. It wasn't a Dread—the name people gave to the creatures that were once human. Others called them Living Corpses, eyeless beings with hearing sharp enough to pierce through storms.
Izagiri was now in what used to be called Potsdam, the former capital of Brandenburg, once beautiful, now a whispering grave.
He held his breath. Grip tightened on the makeshift weapon.
When the door creaked open, he prepared to strike.
But it wasn't a Dread.
It wasn't a monster.
It was a girl—disheveled blonde hair, face smeared with dirt and cuts, clutching a knife that looked more like a desperate tool than a weapon. Her eyes were wide with fear, but her body forced itself forward as if she had no other choice.
"Who are you?!" she cried, trying to sound brave though her voice trembled.
Before she could take another breath, Izagiri lunged, clamping a hand over her mouth while the other motioned for silence.
"Shhh… You'll bring them here, idiot!" he hissed, voice tense.
The girl froze, eyes wide but compliant. Izagiri slowly released her mouth, making sure she wouldn't scream. When no noise stirred outside, he quietly shut the door and dragged a large metal drum in front of it as a barricade.
Silence returned, broken only by their shallow breaths among the rubble and fractured shadows.
They stared at each other—two strangers brought together by a ruined world, united by the simple, desperate need to stay alive.
Suddenly, a roar shook the sky. Lightning struck again, briefly illuminating the debris-strewn city with flashes of terrifying silhouettes. Then came the sharp crash of shattering glass.
A head burst through the broken window above the tower ruins.
It wasn't human.
The skin peeled away, jawbone exposed, and thick green-black fluid dripped from its gaping mouth. Its eyes were empty, black and unseeing, but it didn't need to see. A Dread.
Izagiri yanked the girl down beneath the rubble, right below the broken window. They froze, clinging to the cold floor.
The creature didn't enter. Not yet. But it sniffed the air, twitching its ruined head from side to side. Its breath was a ragged growl, hoarse and agonizing, like pain and fury given voice. It searched. It listened.
Its mouth opened slightly, letting out a deep, sickening rumble. The air tightened. Seconds stretched like hours.
Izagiri glanced sideways. The girl was trembling, struggling not to sob. He gently took the knife from her shaking hand, pressing a finger to his lips again, silence.
The knife was worthless against a Dread, but still... if he had to fight, he would. Or die trying.
Time passed. The Dread lingered, sniffing, growling. Every breath felt like a gamble with death.
Then, Craaaw! Crrraaa! A crow screamed from afar, wings flapping wildly. Its caw echoed through the broken cityscape.
The Dread snapped its head toward the sound. Its ears flared.
Then, in an instant, it leapt down, chasing the bird's cry, vanishing into the rain and ruin.
Silence.
Izagiri waited a few more seconds before daring to exhale. The girl kept her mouth shut, still trembling with muffled sobs. Eventually, the two of them collapsed onto the cold floor, trying to calm their racing hearts.
In the tense silence, Izagiri slowly turned toward the girl beside him. Her face was still pale, her breathing uneven. His voice came out as a whisper, low enough not to draw attention to whatever might be lurking outside.
"What's your name?" he asked softly.
The girl glanced at him briefly, hesitating. Her eyes still carried the traces of tears that hadn't yet dried.
"…Feona," she finally answered. "Feona Leonhart."
Izagiri gave a small nod. The name etched itself into his mind, even though the situation allowed little room for memory.
"How old are you?" he asked again, still gently.
Feona stared blankly at the floor before replying in a quiet voice, "…eleven."
Izagiri fell silent for a moment. Then one eyebrow raised slightly, and he murmured with a hint of surprise.
"Huh, so you're older than me," he said flatly, unclear whether he was joking or not.
Feona didn't respond. Her gaze returned to that hollow stare—like her soul was still stuck amidst the screams, blood, and shattering glass from moments before. She looked fragile, like a flower withering under a storm too big for it.
Izagiri didn't force her to speak. He understood the feeling of loss—of losing everything. He took a slow breath and introduced himself in a calm, almost mumbled voice.
"I'm Izagiri Amselman. Ten years old."
No laughter. No smiles. Just two children amid the ruins of a broken world, trying to survive a destruction far too vast for their age.
Izagiri slowly stood, lifting his body from the cold, dusty floor. He stepped carefully toward a partially cracked window, letting his eyes peer into the night.
His sharp blue eyes scanned through the lingering mist and the drizzle falling gently from the sky. The wind carried the scent of iron and wet soil, but no footsteps, no groans. Just thick, pressing silence.
His black hair was wet, blending with the shadows within the tower, making him nearly invisible, if not for the occasional flash of lightning that lit his face. The contrast between the darkness and his eyes was striking, as if they were the only things still alive amid rubble and ruin.
"Looks safe," Izagiri said quietly, still gazing outside. "Wanna go?"
Feona, leaning against the wall, turned toward his voice. Her body was slightly calmer now, though her gaze remained alert. She stood and walked slowly to his side, having to slightly look down at him due to her height.
She looked outside as well, paused for a moment, then nodded faintly.
"Hmm… seems safe," she whispered, as if afraid that speaking too loudly would summon danger again.
They stood side by side, just a pair of children forced to grow up too fast in a world turned into hell. Yet in the midst of the fear, something began to bloom slowly—trust.
Their small footsteps echoed down the wet road, leaving behind the old tower that had sheltered them briefly. The streets were deserted, abandoned by a crumbling world. Trees along the roadside swayed gently in the wind, and the night sky loomed dark and heavy above their heads.
Izagiri chose to walk down the center of the road. It was more open there, allowing a better view of anything that might approach—and more space to run if necessary. Feona followed closely beside him, clutching a small knife tightly—as if it were the only thing she could rely on, aside from the boy she had just met.
They walked a few more meters before Izagiri suddenly stopped. His eyes locked on one side of the sidewalk—at a yard now in ruins. Deflated balloons, muddy colored ribbons, and overturned tables. There were traces of a birthday cake, ruined and mixed with blood, and scattered children's toys—everything stained with chaos.
It had once been a birthday party.
Feona stopped too, watching the scene. "What is it?" she asked softly, approaching.
Izagiri didn't answer right away. He simply stared at it with hollow eyes, then let out a long sigh, as if trying to contain something deep inside.
"…Today's my birthday too," he murmured. "But it turns out, on the day that should've been happy, I lost everything."
Feona had no reply. There were no words that could answer something like that. She remained silent, staring at the remains of a celebration turned nightmare. Then, she saw Izagiri's back as he began to walk again, not looking back.
A moment later, Feona followed, chasing after him in silence, leaving behind the birthday that was never finished.
The sky darkened further, shifting into a deep gray that marked the arrival of true night. Izagiri and Feona walked slower now, following the edge of the road until they reached a vast open field spreading wildly before them. Tall grass swayed like an endless green ocean under the wind.
But just a few steps in, Izagiri suddenly stopped and yanked Feona's arm roughly, pulling her behind a bush and the wreck of an abandoned car.
"What are you—!?" Feona nearly cried out, but Izagiri pressed a finger to her lips, face stern, urging silence.
Feona turned to look in the same direction as Izagiri.
There, in the middle of the grassy field, moved dozens of terrifying figures—slow but full of menace. Their bodies were rotted, torn, and covered in dried blood, yet they still moved. Or more accurately… still wandered. Dread.
But one creature drew Izagiri's full attention. Much larger than the others, it crawled on all fours like a beast. The most disturbing thing—it had two heads, both grinning in opposite directions. One looked like a melting human face, the other like a long-fanged beast. Its movements were jerky, and the other Dreads gave way as it passed.
"Anomalies…?" Izagiri whispered under his breath, voice tense.
He'd heard rumors through broken radios that sometimes picked up fragments of broadcasts. That there were creatures beyond the Dread. Things no longer called zombies—mutations of the GA-Virus in its most extreme form. They were called: Anomalies.
One thing made them especially dangerous… high-frequency sounds—the only effective defense against Dread—didn't always work on Anomalies. They evolved. They adapted. And not all of them could be defeated, not even by soldiers or seasoned survivors.
Izagiri gripped Feona's arm tightly, his whole body tense. They could only stay still, hidden, waiting for the creatures to pass. Because if even one of them noticed…
Tonight could be their last.