Unto the City's Heart
Dawn crept over the horizon, the first light cutting through the shattered glass of the mall's upper windows. As Laine's group marches toward the south, the survivors of Jeric's group, together with Marko and Ara, stand gathered in the atrium, packs slung over their shoulders, weapons in hand. The air was heavy with exhaustion, but beneath it ran a current of resolve.
Jeric scanned the group one last time, his voice steady. "This is it. Once we step out, there's no turning back. Stay close. Watch each other's backs. If one falls, we all feel it."
Marko's spear gleamed in the early light. Ara adjusted her bow; frost was still faint on the tips of her arrows. Behind them, the group shuffled forward—roughly sixty souls who had chosen to leave the false safety of the mall fidgeted with makeshift blades, axes, salvaged shields, and scavenged gear, nervous but unwilling to back down. Among them, only five could wield awakened power, their auras faint but unmistakable, ready to back the spear and arrow with force that could turn the tide.
The mall's barricades groaned as they were pried open, the clang echoing like a bell of departure. Beyond the threshold, the city stretched in silence. Buildings stood hollow and broken, streets littered with abandoned cars, the air thick with the scent of rust and ash. Above it all, the gate pulsed, a living wound in the sky, spilling its glow across the Capitol.
The group hesitated at the threshold, the weight of the world pressing on them. Jeric's voice cut through the stillness. "We move."
Their footsteps rang out on cracked pavement as they filed into the streets. Every sound felt sharper—the crunch of glass underfoot, the flap of loose metal in the wind, and the distant groan of something stirring. Yet for the first time, their fear was not aimless. It had direction.
Jeric exhaled, shoulders straightening. "We may be few in number, and few among us can channel the power to fight monsters head-on. But every hand, every move, every heartbeat counts. Today, we fight not just for ourselves, but for the city—and for every life depending on us." A ripple of determination passed through the group.
Marko glanced once at Ara, their eyes meeting in silent understanding. They were no longer just survivors stumbling through ruin. They were a force, however small, stepping into a war they could no longer avoid.
Behind them, the mall loomed like a fading refuge. Ahead, the Capitol waited, crowned by the monstrous gate. Its glow bathed them as they marched, not as prey—but as challengers.
And though the city lay quiet, it felt as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for the clash to come.
Meanwhile, high above, on the cracked rooftop of the mall, Rodney and his minions leaned against the crumbling parapet. The early sun caught his smirk, making it sharper and colder. Below, Jeric led the survivors into the streets, moving toward the Capitol. The five awakened fighters stood at the front, the others following, fragile but determined.
Rodney's dark eyes glimmered with anticipation. So, Jeric finally leaves the mall... he thought. The walls, the food, the supplies—they're all mine now. A low, satisfied chuckle escaped him. He watched the group form up, their purpose clear, their backs turned.
For a moment, he felt almost regal, overlooking a kingdom abandoned by its rightful protector. "They'll fight; they'll risk themselves," he mused, fingers tapping a jagged pipe like a metronome. And when they're gone—or broken—they won't be coming back here. This mall is mine.
Rodney straightened, letting his grin stretch wider. Let them play heroes. Let them risk everything for that gate. This fortress, this prize... belongs to me now.
Then, with one last lingering look at the departing survivors, he slipped back into the shadows of the rooftop, silent and calculating, already planning how to make Jeric's absence work entirely in his favor.
Across the Broken Span
The road narrowed as the group pushed toward the heart of the province. The Capitol lay somewhere ahead, its silhouette hidden by the rolling hills and distant smoke. Marko kept his grip tight on his spear, the haft digging into his calloused palm. Ara walked at his side, bow slung across her back, while Jeric led the way, machete loose but ready in his hand.
They slowed when the bridge came into view.
Or rather, what remained of it.
The span had collapsed in the middle, a jagged wound across the gorge. The far side was unreachable, cut off by twisted girders and the carcasses of rusted cars piled together like broken bones. The air reeked of oil and river spray. The current below rumbled like a warning.
Mothers clutched their children tighter. Men carrying salvaged weapons stepped forward, scanning the ruin for danger.
Jeric's jaw tightened. "So close to the Capitol... and blocked." His machete hung loose in his grip as he peered over the edge. "No way across the top. We'll have to go down."
Marko leaned his spear against the railing, eyes following the slope. It was steep and littered with loose stone and debris, but survivable. "We can climb. Follow the riverbed until it curves back up."
Ara crouched, her sharp gaze sweeping the overturned vehicles tangled in the wreck. One car had its roof peeled back, its steel door bent outward as if torn by claws. "This isn't just collapse. Something's been feeding here."
The survivors stirred uneasily. Whispers rippled through the line.
Then came the hiss.
It was faint at first, slithering through the silence. From beneath the twisted heap of cars, eyes gleamed—small, pale, and too many. Scaled bodies slithered forward, low and lean, their limbs coiled with wiry strength. Reptilian mouths gaped wide, lined with teeth jagged as glass.
The first one burst into the open, skittering on claws that scraped sparks from concrete.
"Monsters!" someone shouted.
Chaos rippled, but Jeric's voice boomed above it. "Form a line! Shields up front, spears behind! Children in the middle—move!"
The warriors answered, veterans and farmers alike. Wooden shields were raised, blades drawn. A mother pushed her boy behind the line, then hefted a hunting knife, jaw trembling but firm. Awakeners, their powers raw, stepped forward with hands flickering faint light.
The reptoids came fast.
Marko's spear thrust met the first, piercing its throat and pinning it to the asphalt. He ripped the weapon free just as another lunged from the side. Ara's arrow whistled past his shoulder, sinking into its eye before it could strike.
"Keep moving!" Marko shouted, his voice cracking but resolute. "Down the gorge!"
The column shifted, stumbling down the rocky slope. Stones slid underfoot, and children clutched close as the fighters formed a ragged circle around them. Reptoids leapt after them, jaws snapping, claws raking the dirt. One nearly caught a boy's leg before an old hunter drove his spear through its chest, grunting with effort.
Battle at the Riverbed
At the riverbed, the current roared, white spray rising where water smashed against boulders. But the reptoids followed without hesitation, scrambling over wet stone, their scales gleaming in the crimson dusk.
Jeric planted himself on a rock, machete raised high. "Hold them here! Buy the weak a path forward!" His blade came down, cleaving into a reptoid's skull. Then with his free hand lifted a slab of rock with invisible force. The stone shuddered, hung in the air, then shot forward, crushing a second reptoid against the cliff wall.
The strain showed immediately—veins rising at his temple, his breathing ragged—but he didn't falter. "Hold formation!" he roared. His machete flashed again, finishing the creature he had staggered.
Marko fought beside him, spear sweeping wide to keep the monsters at bay. Ara's ice arrows cut down any that slipped through the cracks, each shot buying a heartbeat more for the children pressing on through the shallows.
Around them, the survivors became warriors. A farmer with nothing but a rusted bolo hacked at a reptoid's snout, driving it back. A young awakener's hands flared with fire, sparks sputtering wildly, but enough to scorch one beast into retreat. Even the elders chanted at the rear, their voices weaving calm into fear, a rhythm to march and fight by.
At the rear, Jun struck the reptoids with a thrown stone, cracking bone as another survivor stabbed with a kitchen knife. Together, they dropped one of the beasts before it could lunge at the children.
A trio of reptoids slithered from the far side, eyes glowing faintly. Jeric planted his feet, one hand outstretched. Metal groaned—the twisted husk of a car door wrenched itself free from the rubble above. With a furious shove, Jeric sent it crashing down the slope, bowling over two monsters. The third leapt over the wreckage, only to meet Ara's ice arrow in midair, driven straight through its chest, and then freeze to death.
The battle raged in flashes of steel and grit, every survivor fighting with desperation. Shouts mixed with the shrieks of dying reptoids, the riverbed echoed with the clanging of weapons against scale.
When the last creature fell, silence returned—broken only by the panting of the group and the soft whimpers of the children. The rocks were slick with blood, the water running dark in places.
Jeric lowered his machete, his shoulders heaving. His hand still trembled from the weight of telekinesis, but his eyes swept the survivors with steel resolve. "This is only the beginning. Stay sharp. Protect the weak, no matter what."
Marko planted his spear against the stones, nodding grimly. Ara pulled the children close, whispering comfort. And slowly, the survivors straightened, battered but unbroken.
Together, they moved on—toward the Capitol, where an even greater shadow awaited.
To the Capitol
The group lingered on the rocky riverbed just long enough to catch their breath. Survivors sat in clusters, weapons still in hand, while Ara checked over the children for scratches. Jeric wiped the blade of his machete clean on a strip of cloth, his eyes flicking toward the dark water as if expecting another ripple.
"Five minutes," he said. "No longer."
When the time came, they rose as one. Together they pressed forward, boots scraping against slick stone until they reached the far embankment. The climb was brutal—loose gravel, jagged roots, and the weight of their packs dragging at every step. Marko planted his spear deep, using it as leverage to haul one survivor up after another. Jeric, straining, guided fallen chunks of concrete aside with a twitch of his hand, clearing a narrow path.
By the time they scrambled back onto the road, sweat clung to every brow, and the sky had deepened into bruised red. The air grew heavier with each stride south, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
Then the trees thinned. Asphalt widened into a broad square, and there it was—the Capitol grounds.
The park stretched before them, its once-proud statues broken, its fountains choked with moss. Yet no eyes lingered on the ruins. All gazes, every heart, were drawn upward.
The gate.
It towered above the Capitol like a wound torn through the sky, its light blinding yet terrible—veins of searing crimson and violet crackling along its edges. It pulsed in rhythm, a slow, hungry heartbeat that seemed to pull at the air itself. The ground beneath their feet vibrated faintly, as though the earth recoiled.
No one spoke. Even the children fell silent, their small hands clutching tighter at their guardians.
Ara broke the stillness, her voice hushed but sharp. "It's... alive."
Jeric's jaw tightened. "It's almost fully formed."
Marko stepped forward, spear clutched in both hands, his gaze locked on the swirling abyss above. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, but inside him burned the fire of decision. "Then this is where we stand."
Around them, the survivors slowly raised their weapons, eyes wide with fear but lit by something stronger—resolve.
And then they noticed—others.
Scattered among the broken walls and toppled lampposts stood figures hardened by survival. Hunters in mismatched armor, their bows strung and blades ready. A few awakened warriors, their weapons pulsing faintly with dormant power. Each group had fought its way here, drawn by the same terrible call above the Capitol.
Their gazes shifted toward Jeric's band—measuring, weighing—but beneath the wary stares flickered recognition. Not rivals. Not strangers. But comrades in a war, none of them could fight alone.
The gate pulsed again, its crimson glow searing the ruined square. And beneath that dreadful light, warriors of the north gathered, silent but resolute, bracing themselves for the storm about to break.