The night was heavy with smoke.Ash drifted like snowflakes through the skeletal ruins of the old city, blanketing shattered glass and burnt concrete in a pale, ghostly shroud. Every step Aric took crunched against it, each sound seeming to echo too loudly in the silence. Lyra walked close at his side, hood drawn tight, her hand never straying far from the dagger at her hip.
For hours they had moved cautiously, weaving through the wreckage of toppled towers and collapsed highways. The battle from before still clung to Aric's bones—his muscles ached, his lungs burned, and his mind kept replaying the moment he had unleashed sorrow like a blade. That same emptiness that fed him also haunted him.
But he couldn't stop. Not here. Not now.
They followed whispers. Whispers of something he hadn't believed possible.
A resistance.
Lyra's voice broke the silence, low but insistent."Aric… are you sure about this? People talk. Scavengers will say anything for a scrap of food. What if it's just a trap?"
Aric didn't answer immediately. He adjusted the strap of his tattered satchel, staring at the darkened street ahead. Once, this place had been a thriving district—restaurants, shops, families. Now, only shadows lingered.
"If there's even a chance," he said at last, his voice quiet but firm, "then we have to take it. If there are people out there fighting back, I need to see it with my own eyes."
"You mean we," she corrected softly.
He gave her a faint nod.
The road curved into what had once been an underground entrance. Crumbled concrete steps descended into darkness, lit faintly by the dying glow of a torch wedged into the wall. Lyra tensed, instinctively reaching for him.
"Down there?" she whispered.
Before Aric could answer, a voice hissed from the shadows below."Stop where you are!"
Figures emerged—shapes cloaked in rags and scavenged armor, crossbows and blades raised. In the dim light, their eyes glimmered sharp and distrustful.
"Hands up," one barked. "Slowly. Or you won't live to regret it."
Aric felt Lyra stiffen beside him. He lifted his hands, keeping his voice calm."We're not demons."
"That's what they all say," the man sneered. He stepped closer, the torchlight revealing a gaunt face lined with scars. His blade gleamed as it hovered near Aric's chest. "You reek of death."
Another figure moved behind them, cutting off their escape. Within seconds, they were surrounded.
Lyra whispered urgently. "Aric…"
He didn't move. Didn't flinch. His eyes locked with the scarred man's. "If we were demons, you'd already be dead. We're survivors. Like you."
For a moment, silence hung heavy. Then, a gruff voice echoed from deeper in the tunnels."Bring them in."
The scarred man hesitated, then jerked his head. "Move."
The tunnels smelled of rust and damp stone. Makeshift barricades of scrap metal and sandbags choked the passage, guarded by more armed men and women. Lanterns flickered, casting long shadows across walls marked with symbols Aric didn't recognize.
The deeper they went, the louder the sounds grew—voices, tools striking metal, the faint crackle of a fire. Then the tunnel opened into a cavernous chamber, once part of the city's subway system.
Aric stopped short.
It was… alive.
Dozens of people moved about, repairing armor, sharpening weapons, tending wounds. Children huddled close to their parents. Supplies were stacked neatly in crates. A giant tattered banner stretched across the far wall, its design crude but unmistakable: a broken chain wreathed in flames.
The scarred man shoved Aric forward. "Commander, found these two skulking near the outer steps."
From the crowd, a tall man strode forward. His presence silenced the chamber. He was broad-shouldered, his armor pieced together from scavenged steel, a jagged scar slashing down one cheek. His eyes were cold, but sharp with intelligence.
"Commander Darius," someone whispered.
Darius studied Aric and Lyra with the calm scrutiny of a predator."You don't look like demons," he said slowly. "But I've seen enough tricks to know looks mean nothing."
Aric held his gaze. "We're human. Survivors. That's all."
Darius circled him, expression unreadable. "Survivors don't wander this deep without a purpose. What are you running from?"
"Demons," Aric said simply. "What else?"
A ripple of bitter laughter ran through the crowd.
Darius stopped in front of him again, his face unreadable. "And what makes you think we'll let you stay here? Resources are scarce. Every mouth we feed has to earn its place."
Aric's jaw tightened. "Then let us fight."
Lyra shot him a quick look, but said nothing.
The commander raised an eyebrow. "Fight?"
"I don't care what you think of us. But if you're truly resistance, then you're at war. You need people who can kill demons. We can."
Darius studied him for a long, tense moment. Then, to Aric's surprise, the scarred man from before chuckled dryly."He's got spirit, I'll give him that."
A healer stepped forward then—an older woman with sharp eyes and nimble hands. She inspected Aric and Lyra with quick precision. "They're not corrupted," she announced. "At least, not in the ways I know."
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
Darius gave a curt nod. "Fine. You'll have your chance. But know this—if you falter, if you endanger my people, I'll cut you down myself."
Aric inclined his head. "Fair."
The resistance didn't waste time.
That night, an alarm bell rang through the tunnels. Demons had been sighted near the surface, prowling too close to one of the supply routes.
"Aric!" Darius barked. "You wanted to prove yourself—prove it now."
Lyra moved beside him, her face pale but determined.
They marched with a squad through narrow streets bathed in moonlight. Shadows writhed across broken walls, and every sound felt magnified in the stillness.
Then they came.
The demons burst from the darkness, snarling, claws raking against stone.
The resistance fought with practiced ferocity—blades flashing, crossbows thudding, firebombs igniting in bursts of flame. But the demons were relentless, their hide thick, their shrieks deafening.
Aric's chest tightened. The sorrow surged within him, raw and hungry. He felt it pulsing at his fingertips, begging to be unleashed.
Not here. Not fully.
He gritted his teeth, drawing only fragments of the system's power. His strikes became sharper, his reflexes faster. He cut through a demon's throat, sorrow whispering in his ear, feeding him.
Lyra fought at his side, blade darting with deadly precision. Together, they carved a path through the chaos.
The battle raged for what felt like hours before the last demon fell, its body crumpling to the ash.
Panting, bloodied, the squad regrouped. Several were wounded, but none dead. A miracle.
And all eyes turned to Aric.
Kael, a hot-headed fighter with wild eyes, spat on the ground. "No ordinary scavenger fights like that."
"Enough," Darius snapped. But his gaze lingered on Aric, sharp with unspoken questions.
Aric kept his expression carefully neutral. He said nothing.
Back in the tunnels, whispers followed him.
Some voices were awed. Others wary. But none outright hostile.
They had seen him fight. They had seen him win. And in a world where survival was everything, results spoke louder than suspicion.
That night, as Aric tried to rest on the thin bedding they had been given, Lyra leaned close and whispered."You were careful. They didn't see the truth."
"Not yet," Aric murmured. His eyes drifted across the dim chamber to where Darius stood, speaking quietly with his lieutenants.
Not yet.
But he knew it was only a matter of time.
The next day, Darius pulled him aside. His expression was hard, his voice low.
"You fight like a man possessed. Too clean. Too fast. Power like that doesn't come free."
Aric held his gaze, silent.
The commander leaned closer, his words a warning."I don't know what you're hiding, boy. But if it keeps my people alive, I'll let it slide. Just remember—if that power of yours turns on us, the demons won't be the ones you should fear."
Aric said nothing.
But as he returned to Lyra's side, he felt it—that gaze. Cold. Watching.
From the far edge of the tunnels, half-hidden in the shadows, a figure lingered. Their face obscured, their posture eerily still. But in the dim light, Aric caught it—eyes that glowed faintly, unnaturally.
Not demon. Not human. Something between.
And they were watching him.