Chapter 18
Carter cracked his bedroom door just a sliver. Beyond it, the hallway was devoured by darkness, thick and unnatural, as if sunlight had never touched this house. The air was hollow, empty, and his pulse slammed against his ribs. No one was home—but it wasn't just that. The shadows… they moved wrong, stretching and twitching with intent. From the void came a sound, wet and deliberate, curling into his ears like a snake: a hiss, breath through teeth—but wrong, impossible.
He slammed the door back and fumbled with the lock. His fingers trembled, numb with fear. The street below called to him in fleeting, desperate thoughts—two stories down, a jump that could break him, maybe end him. What the hell am I thinking?
The hiss became a growl, closer, echoing in impossible pitch. Then—crash! The wall beside his door exploded inward. Dust, splintered wood, plaster rained down. He coughed, choked, covered his mouth. Through the haze, he saw it:
Tall. Towering. Wolflike, impossibly long-limbed, walking upright. Its fur slick with a tar-like sheen, glinting as if wet in shadows, face a mask of fangs and eyes burning like coals. Its claws scraped the floor, gouging wood. Its gaze pinned him with patient, hunting intelligence.
Adrenaline surged. Yet beneath it, a strange calm. Normally he would have screamed, collapsed, begged. Not this time. He took in the room in a heartbeat: the creature between him and the door, the wall shattered behind it, smoke coiling like serpents through the haze, plaster raining. Options raced through his mind: survive, don't freeze, think.
His legs shook anyway. His body betrayed him. How can a normal man even fight that? The predator lunged. Carter froze—then muscle memory took over. He ducked, rolled, sprinted toward the hallway, lungs burning, limbs on fire with panic.
The predator pivoted, joints cracking in impossible angles, eyes locked. He ran. Don't look back.
Downstairs, chaos waited. The front door had splintered, sunlight broken into fractured shards across twisted asphalt. Screams pierced the air, bouncing off shattered walls. Cars lay gutted, leaking smoke and embers. Bodies sprawled across the street, some familiar, some mangled beyond recognition. One neighbor's face stared up, frozen in shock, blood seeping into the asphalt black as spilled ink.
Family. Where are they?
He pushed the thought aside. Survival first. He weaved through debris, past burning cars, narrowly avoiding exploding fuel. Behind him, the predator's howl distorted the air, its claws striking stone with surgical precision. Each step sounded like bone snapping, yet it moved with predatory grace.
His mind screamed contradictions: fear, guilt, necessity. He couldn't save everyone, but he had to reach somewhere safe. The school. It has to be.
He ran, lunging between overturned cars and fallen streetlights, lungs burning, vision blurred. Every scream, every shadow, every stinking pool of blood pressed against his skull. And yet a part of him observed—calculated, adapting. The calm remained, alien and terrifying.
Finally, the predator behind him paused, tilting its head. Its black eyes, pits of awareness, locked onto him. Carter didn't look back. He ran toward the school, heart hammering like a war drum. Deep inside, a single thought flickered: I have to survive. Whatever this is… I have to survive.
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He had been running for what felt like an hour. Legs screaming, lungs rasping, the city dissolving into chaos around him—walls crumbled, cars overturned, smoke and fire mixing with the copper tang of blood. Ahead, the street split in shadow and smoke—and there they were.
One wolf-like creature blocked his path. Tall, brutal, matted fur, claws scraping asphalt. Another mirrored it behind him. No way out. Logic evaporated. I'm done.
He stumbled back, chest hammering, sweat blinding him. Jump, fight, beg—nothing made sense. He remembered Varka, the knight from his dreams, swinging through blood-soaked fields, Astarian corpses mangled under his sword. This is the battlefield. This is the nightmare come alive.
The front wolf lunged. Carter froze. The claws seemed to pierce his chest before they even hit. Despair crushed him. This is how it ends.
Then—a sharp metallic ring. Faster than panic, faster than thought, a shadow intervened. A sword flashed in fractured sunlight. Carter's eyes widened: a man stood between him and death. Blonde hair, leather armor fitted to a trained frame, gauntlet gripping a short sword. Every movement precise, deliberate, preternatural.
The wolf's head snapped back, clean cut, body collapsing. The second growled, gaze fixed on the intruder. The man did not speak a word Carter understood, yet his command was unmistakable: Go. Now.
Carter's legs trembled but obeyed, following the shove, stumbling down the broken street. Chaos surged around him, screams and fire, yet the man's presence carved a sanctuary, impossible and silent. The stance, the ruthless efficiency, the cold calm—it reminded him of Varka, of the battlefield, of endless horror he had lived in dreams now mirrored in reality.
Run. Survive. Live. Carter obeyed, not questioning the words. Every step carried him closer to the school. Behind him, the wolf growled once more, then fell silent. For a heartbeat, he dared to breathe. This isn't a dream.
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Carter skidded to a halt before the school. Concrete scarred, asphalt split, debris strewn like the aftermath of a storm. Smoke and iron stung his nostrils. Around the building, soldiers—dark, plated uniforms, helmets glinting—stood with guns ready. Barricades of sandbags and wreckage formed crude fortifications.
Hope flickered. Finally, someone organized. Someone who could stop this nightmare.
He stepped forward, hands raised. "I—I'm just a civilian!"
Suddenly, something slammed into him from above, crushing breath from his lungs. Pain exploded across his back as he hit the ground. Dirt and gravel cut into his palms.
"What—what?" He froze as multiple guns trained on him.
A weight pinned him, arms twisted behind his back. Muscles strained under a grip impossible for a normal man.
"Please… I'm not—"
A voice, sharp and precise, cut through the chaos. Brown hair, brown eyes, an otherworlder woman approached. Calm, measured, terrifying in authority. Carter's face burned with embarrassment and fury. Bleeding, gasping, yet treated like a threat.
"He's clean," she said—words Carter understood.
Relief tore through him. The soldier's guns still trained on him, but tension shifted. The man holding him, black hair, grey eyes, released his grip, patting him on the back, muttering in a foreign tongue. Still, the gesture spoke.
One soldier stammered, voice tight: "S-sorry, kid… some… things aren't human no more."
Creatures. Otherworlders. Exactly like the dreams. Reality colliding with nightmare. Carter let himself be escorted inside, doors thudding behind him. Sweat-soaked, trembling, yet safe—at least for now.
Deep inside, a whisper of terror remained. This was only the beginning. The collision of worlds had just begun.
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