His plan was simple: grab some food, stop by his favorite accessory shop, and pick up a book to read over the weekend. Easy. Uneventful. Ordinary.
So… how did things spiral into this?
At the far end of the street, something blue and blinding lit up the area. A large crowd had gathered, buzzing with confusion. Some people ran, clearly terrified, but most stood still—frozen, filming the glowing object with their phones, whispering nervously among themselves.
But for Ângelo, none of that mattered.
"What the hell is that?" he muttered, trying to make sense of it.
It was clearly some kind of strange blue energy, hovering dozens of meters away. It was massive, unmistakable. But… What exactly was it?
A ridiculous thought surfaced in his mind—one he tried to suppress, but it kept growing louder and louder.
"This feels like something straight out of a fantasy novel…" Portals opening. Monsters invading. The kind of cliché that fueled Korean webnovels he read in his spare time.
But fiction shouldn't bleed into reality. That was absurd. Right?
Yet the portal—if that's what it was—remained, glowing ominously. And if he looked at it through the lens of a reader… wasn't this just like a dungeon?
"This can't be real—" Ângelo began, but was abruptly cut off.
The portal moved.
A monstrous claw ripped through the energy field, staining the blue light with a deep, threatening red. Another claw followed, and together, they tore open the glowing mass like crimson curtains.
"Shit." He couldn't stop the curse from escaping. It was all happening too fast.
He wasn't some hardcore reader obsessed with apocalypse tropes, but he had read enough to know one thing:
They were all doomed.
Monsters would pour out. Hundreds, maybe thousands, would die. And he was one of the unlucky ones—right there, right now.
Even if this was all a misunderstanding, that thing was clearly dangerous.
His heart pounded in his chest, lungs tightening with fear.
"Why isn't anyone running?" Ângelo muttered, stumbling back, drenched in cold sweat.
People were still frozen in place, recording, laughing nervously. A few smart ones had started backing away, but the rest? Oblivious.
How were they not panicking? Didn't they see the danger right in front of them?
Ângelo didn't waste another second.
He ran.
They could get themselves killed—he had no intention of joining them. He was just some random guy. A nobody.
Not some heroic protagonist who could rally the crowd and save the day.
This wasn't a story. It was real.
As he sprinted away, he glanced back—and saw it.
The claws had become full arms. A humanoid figure stepped through the portal, tall and terrifying.
Its body was pitch-black, smooth like obsidian, its face featureless—no mouth, no nose, only two glowing white dots where eyes should be. Its limbs were long and thin, bones sharp beneath skin stretched too tight. Its fingers ended in jagged claws, glinting with deadly promise.
Its legs didn't end in feet, but in cloven hooves. And it towered over everything. Well over two meters.
Even standing still, it radiated death.
And like prey sensing a predator, the crowd finally froze. Phones fell. People trembled. Some collapsed where they stood.
The creature raised one claw to where its mouth should be… and drove it in.
Black ichor oozed from the wound.
Then, it ripped its own face open.
A horrific, unnatural scream erupted as a grotesque mouth tore through its skull. Flaps of skin hung loose as more black blood splattered onto the street, pooling beneath its hooves.
People clutched their ears, shrieking in pain. Blood dripped from their noses, their ears. The scream shattered their eardrums. It was pure audio torment—a hellish screech, like static from a corrupted tape.
And then… they dropped.
Bodies spasmed on the ground. Their eyes turned jet-black. Blood leaked from every hole.
And one by one—they stood up again.
Awkward, unnatural. Bones cracking. Heads twitching. It was just, wrong.
Ângelo saw just enough before slamming the door of a nearby shop shut, throwing his back against it, chest heaving.
"What the hell was that?!"
It happened too fast. Too surreal. Children had been in that crowd—now just more victims.
His panic was peaking. Breathing too fast. Vision swimming.
"No, no, no—" He grabbed a nearby shelf for support, willing himself to calm down. "If I pass out… and it finds me… I'm dead."
Survive.
That was the only thing that mattered now.
Fear. Panic. Guilt. All useless.
He had to stay focused—even if he'd never done anything like this before. There was no other choice.
Deep breath in. Exhale.
Ignore the chaos outside. Ignore the screams. Block it all out.
Slowly, the storm in his mind settled. The panic didn't vanish—but it became manageable.
He stood, turned, and scanned the shop. It looked like a basic novelty store. No one inside. Maybe the staff had gone to see the portal—or had run.
Good. Less noise. Easier to hide.
Still shaking, Ângelo searched for something heavy. In the corner, he spotted a cheap samurai armor replica on a mannequin.
Perfect.
With effort, he dragged the mannequin to the door. Barricading came first. Escape plans could wait.
Then, shelf after shelf. He pushed everything he could in front of the entrance. His muscles burned, and every second felt like a countdown to death.
Would the noise attract attention?
Was he too slow?
The sounds outside only grew worse. Screams became roars. Bones crunching. Something horrific was happening out there.
And finally, the last shelf blocked the view from outside.
Ângelo collapsed to the floor, back aching, arms limp.
But the door was sealed.
He had done it.
His semi-fit body had held up. Maybe those annoying gym sessions were worth it.
Should he thank his friends that forced him to work out?
"Friends…" he muttered weakly, staring at the store's ceiling. He shook the thought away. "I should turn off the lights."
He stood, found the switch behind the counter, and flipped it.
Darkness.
Only the faint blue glow filtered through cracks in the barricade.
Would it stop anything from breaking in?
No. But it was better than nothing.
So… now what?
He hadn't thought this far. He'd acted on instinct, running, hiding, barricading.
But then what?
Praying for the government to show up felt… naive.
This wasn't going away.
Normal life was over. That was almost certain.
Ângelo found a chair behind the counter and sat down slowly, head bowed.
His thoughts, previously buried under panic, rushed in like a flood.
"…Should I call my dad?" His hand reached for his phone.
He stopped.
"He wouldn't care if I vanished. Why bother?" he muttered bitterly.
It was true.
No family drama to deal with, at least.
And friends? More like acquaintances who dragged him along without listening to him.
He was alone in this.
Completely alone.
And he had to figure out what to do next—on his own.