The convoy moved through half-destroyed streets, dodging overturned vehicles and swaying lampposts hanging from twisted poles. The afternoon was falling quickly, dyeing the cracks in the asphalt orange and casting shadows that stretched unnaturally far. The group advanced carelessly with the confidence of those who believe themselves at the top, brandishing their weapons as if they were free passes to success, marching toward the shopping mall.
The men and women following Dorian walked like predators, mixing civilian clothing with light armor, weapons slung over shoulders or carried proudly in hand. Some whispered about the effectiveness of the looted weapons from the local store: rifles covered in graffiti, pistols with customized grips, extravagantly decorated knives.
Every conversation, every gesture revealed their nature: violence was a game, and the death of others, a refined entertainment.
"If we run into someone, they better be ready," said one, wiping dust off his rifle with a malicious grin. "I hope those brats can at least entertain me."
"I want to hear them scream before I tear them apart," added a woman, showing off a notebook with names crossed out and others underlined. "I've been bored since no new victims showed up at the gun shop."
"Don't they know the first priority in the apocalypse is weapons?"
"Stupid brats. If they'd come obediently, we'd already be having fun."
"Now it's time to punish them."
"HAHAHAHA!"
Finally, they reached the entrance of the mall.
With vulgar laughter and an expectant gleam in their eyes, they stepped out of their vehicles and advanced.
Dorian walked in front, imposing and confident. Every cloud of dust and ash raised by his boots mixed with the smell of smoke, rust, and dirt. His eyes scanned the mall's façade, partially consumed by flames that had only just died out, leaving behind smoking cracks and shattered windows reflecting the reddish glow of sunset. Blackened signs hung like corpses made of cloth and plastic.
"You sure it's here?"
"That's what the lookout said. He saw them heading this way last night."
"You're telling me a group of kids reached a shopping mall and decided to burn it instead of taking shelter inside?"
"Maybe it wasn't them."
"Or maybe they're our soulmates?"
"That's right."
"HAHAHAHA!"
"Shut up, idiots," Dorian barked, apparently annoyed, though his sarcastic smile betrayed him.
"Let's go in and see. Maybe we'll get lucky." He stepped forward, and his people followed close behind.
...
The group stopped a meter from the entrance, evaluating the scene. Arrogance mixed with an unease some dared not admit. Lorne muttered, staring at the charred remains of the supermarket:
"Shit… where are the kids?"
"Damn it, all these precious supplies!" Dorian roared, slamming a shopping cart that wobbled dangerously. "Search this crap! Get whatever you can, and look for signs the brats fought someone—or each other!"
Some began sifting through the rubble, lifting burned furniture, rummaging through broken display cases, whispering about possible traps. Others mocked the "pointlessness" of the destruction around them.
"Looks like someone forgot to clean up," one man said, kicking a crushed can, his growing unease hidden behind sarcasm. "All this mess and not a soul in sight."
"Relax," Dorian replied, watching as his crew spread through the charred aisles. "Stay alert. Something about this stinks…"
Despite his confidence, unease gnawed at him. The flames had left shadows that seemed to move on their own, and every creak of metal or glass echoed too loudly in the empty mall. The group's arrogance was being challenged by the unknown, and tension grew.
"Even if they were here, it doesn't matter anymore," said a woman, wiping her soot-stained forehead, sweat sticking to her skin. "I doubt they'd come back to useless ruins."
"It doesn't matter!" Dorian raised his voice. "If they didn't mean to shelter here, then only two possibilities remain: either they're heading toward military zones, or they've got a base in the residential sector. All we need to do is—what was that?"
A strange sound suddenly cut him off.
"Boss, that's not funny."
"Shut up, idiot. Listen."
...
In an instant, the atmosphere grew tense.
It started with a metallic creaking echoing down the halls. A sharp stench of rust and glass filled the air. Too strong to be coincidence.
"Boss… there's nothing here. Why don't we just leave?" whispered a woman, a shiver running down her spine.
But it was too late. Soon, the sound sharpened, consistent now—like a flock of chickens running across broken glass.
The group froze, trembling as they tried to aim at what they still couldn't see. Every sound was amplified: a metallic crash, the scrape of glass, a strange crunch that didn't belong to anything familiar.
Then, from what looked like a pile of ash-covered rubble, something rose—what at first seemed like mere debris: fragments of glass and twisted metal swirling in shapeless chaos.
...
Even then, they could have escaped. But their curiosity proved stronger.
A sharp crack cut through the air, reflections of light startling everyone. The tension was palpable: their weapons, once symbols of control, suddenly felt worthless.
Then came the roar: a metallic, choral wail that tore through every corridor and weakened structure. Dizziness, nausea, and primal fear gripped them. It wasn't human. It wasn't a beast. It was rage, resentment, and vengeance condensed into sound. Bodies tensed, some collapsed, unable to stand.
From the ashes, the first Vitrum emerged: arms long like broken glass antennae, torso rattling like a bag of bottles, face a swarm of shining blades pointing in every direction. Its movements were erratic, unpredictable, like a beast whose tail had just been stepped on. Each step vibrated through the floor, shaking the stunned onlookers.
A second Vitrum slowly reformed, sizing up human vulnerabilities with sadistic patience, its presence radiating the same destructive hunger as the first. A third shook itself free, massive and beastlike; its gaze seemed to pierce into their minds.
"Shoot!" Dorian shouted, snapping from his stupor, raising his weapon with a steady but trembling hand.
Gunfire erupted, bullets exploding against the glass in fiery sparks, shards flying at lethal speed, injuring everyone nearby. Each flash blinded and confused, amplifying the terror. Some fell—not from direct hits, but from paralyzing fear.
If only they had known—if only they had aimed for the joints instead of the creature's chest.
But in this world, there is no "if only."
The Vitrum roared again, their hunger for death nearly palpable, moving in a frenzied dance—rage manifested in every slash, every reflection, every sonic shriek that seemed to flay the skin from within.
Then came absolute chaos: gunfire, screams, and collisions drowned the mall in noise.
For a moment, the Vitrum seemed disoriented, overwhelmed by the noise.
But there was something else—rage.
A manifest rage that grew stronger each second, almost lunatic, as if the noise had awakened a terrible memory.
The chorus of shrieks carried a curse. People's ears began to bleed, and covering them with their hands made no difference.
Their movements grew wilder, their spins sharper, arms slamming with reckless force.
Disoriented, yes.
But worse—those massive bodies of twisted metal and glass didn't stay still. They crashed into shelves, into the ground, leapt onto the ceiling—anything.
And in the process, they shredded every living being in their path.
Unrestrained violence tore through everything, cutting and smashing without pattern, madness turned into a storm of blood.
The wails of the dying became an accompaniment to the infernal shrieking.
"Fall back!" Dorian stammered, watching his crew fall one by one. "No… this can't be real!"
Each Vitrum spun and leapt among the ruins, glass arms whipping like lashes, frenzied charges leaving behind clouds of blood.
Dorian tried to hold his people together:
"Cover the flanks!" he shouted. "Form a line!"
But there was no line to form. Every attempt to fire was futile; the Vitrum anticipated each move, shifting with impossible precision and contagious madness. One man tried to shield his companion, but was speared through the legs by a glass arm and hurled into a collapsed shelf.
Panic multiplied. Some vomited from the sonic assault, others collapsed writhing as pain coursed across their skin. Human screams mixed with metallic roars and the Vitrum's sadistic laughter. Each attack was brutal—and yet, a game for the creatures, a dance of torture and destruction.
One Vitrum spun atop central debris, its torso a carousel of blades. Shards flew: a man's shoulder pinned to the wall, a woman's head split clean in two. Confusion reigned: no order, no strategy, only chaos and pure fear.
Dorian saw another man fall, impaled by a whirling arm. The Vitrum's madness wasn't just physical—it was psychological. Human fear, helplessness, and confusion only fueled their frenzy, each strike growing more violent.
"Take cover!" Dorian tried to yell, but his voice drowned beneath the shrieks, the choral roar, and the dying screams.
Finally, in one careless instant, he was reduced to a cloud of blood, crushed between two Vitrum.
Bodies piled up. The Vitrum didn't just kill; they vented their fury, punished, turned fear into sadistic play. Each spin and strike launched fragments that mutilated. Every blow was vengeance and destructive pleasure.
Some tried to flee—only to be skewered by glass tails and dragged back into the curse.
Even after every human had stopped breathing, the Vitrum kept lifting bodies, hacking and stabbing. The thirty-odd corpses still intact were hoisted into the air and torn apart, raining blood into a crimson sea.
Only when no shred of flesh remained did the tallest Vitrum unleash a prolonged scream that reverberated through the building. The others answered, forming a metallic, glassy chorus that pierced the space—both warning and curse. It was a hymn of vengeance, an infernal cacophony proclaiming their purest hatred and their most solemn oath.
...
Rat Kid Chat:
Rat Kid 3: Hey, did you see the livestream of "Apocalypse Fillers"?
Rat Kid 2: You mean those lunatics who hunt people? I laughed so hard.
Rat Kid 4: It was intense. Those were Vitrum, right? I think the papers underestimate them.
Rat Kid 7: Consequences of lacking information, huh? If they'd shot at the joints, they could've escaped.
Rat Kid 10: But those things didn't look humanoid.
Rat Kid 3: When they came out of the ashes, they looked more human, then turned… savage?
Rat Kid 2: A berserk mode?
Rat Kid 3: Could be. We need to study more.
Rat Kid 4: Call the next batch of idiots. lol
Rat Kid 2: lol
Rat Kid 10: lol
Rat Kid 7: lol
Rat Kid 3: lol