The rain fell like shards of glass, slicing through my ragged clothes, biting at every inch of exposed skin.
Each droplet struck like judgment from the heavens, a reminder that I was still here—still breathing in a world that had forgotten mercy.
Thunder rolled overhead, a relentless drum of war, shaking the hollow towers that leaned like wounded giants over streets fractured and twisted beyond recognition.
I froze for a heartbeat—or maybe an hour; time had no meaning—trying to parse the shapes and shadows writhing beneath the storm's fury.
Puddles black as ink mirrored jagged fragments of the sky, shards of a world I could not claim. No faces. No life. No memories. Just me.
"Move," I muttered under my breath, the word barely escaping my lips before the storm swallowed it whole.
Instinct surged like molten fire, driving me forward.
Each step was a battle against slick pavement and jagged debris.
My legs, untested and weak, quivered beneath my weight.
Fingers scraped against glass, stone, and rusted metal—each cut a sharp punctuation in the storm's chaotic symphony.
Pain flared, electric and alive, but beneath it pulsed one undeniable truth: I existed.
A flash of lightning tore the sky apart, white-hot and blinding.
I froze, eyes locked on a tower as it crumbled, falling in jagged chunks like the teeth of some ancient, titanic beast.
Then darkness reclaimed the ruins once more, leaving only the hiss of rain and my ragged breaths as accompaniment.
I stumbled over a half-collapsed car, the impact jarring me as if the city itself had shoved me aside.
Its doors hung like broken limbs, twisted and useless, while skeletons slumped inside, teeth bared in silent screams that echoed through the storm's roar.
My stomach knotted, coiling tighter than instinct should allow, a primal warning flaring through every nerve.
I glanced down at my hands, slick with mud and blood—accumulated, unnoticed, until now—shaking as though they bore witness to the horrors around me.
Every nerve on fire from the stumble, my mind struggled to keep pace with the storm, the chaos pressing in from all sides.
Then—a puddle. A reflection flickered across the black water. Not mine. Or perhaps it was.
A fleeting shadow danced and vanished before my mind could grasp it. Reality and hallucination tangled together like smoke and lightning, impossible to separate.
I swallowed hard, lungs tasting of bitter rain and ash, each breath a shard of the tempest itself.
What is real? What is illusion?
Instinct roared inside me, a wild, unrelenting force. My feet moved almost of their own accord, echoing against the empty walls like drums beating in a ruined cathedral.
Puddles quivered beneath each step, black mirrors trembling with secrets, concealing hidden worlds I could not begin to comprehend.
The wind shredded at my tattered rags, tugging and twisting as if the storm itself sought to swallow me whole.
I pressed forward, muttering again, "Move," a fragile mantra against the storm's furious symphony.
A broken doorway yawned before me—no promise, only a jagged gap in the chaos.
I leaned against splintered wood and fractured concrete, testing my balance as my heart thundered like a war machine in my chest.
Shadows writhed along walls, stretching and contorting in impossible shapes—sometimes reaching, sometimes retreating.
The storm screamed outside, relentless, yet I felt it—the city's gaze, alive, sentient, watching my every move.
Buildings groaned under their own weight, twisted shadows stretching like claws, bending forward as if to peer into my very soul.
Glass windows flickered with lightning's sharp glare, blinking in unison, as though the ruins themselves inhaled and exhaled in time with the tempest.
Beneath my boots, rubble whispered subtle warnings, each creak and shift a caution I could not ignore.
I sensed a pulse beneath the cracked pavement, a heartbeat larger than my own, syncing with the raw rhythm of survival.
Hands and knees carried me forward across wet concrete, each movement a negotiation with gravity.
Every scar, every sting, reminded me that I still existed—that stubborn insistence of life refusing to yield.
My palms burned, my back ached, ragged clothes clinging like chains forged from memories I did not possess. Yet I pressed on, deliberate, measured, refusing surrender.
The streets ended abruptly, walls of jagged rubble replacing the buildings that once scraped the sky, their shadows looming like ancient guardians.
Rain pounded my head, trickling into my eyes, blurring the world into chaos.
Ahead, a shadowed structure loomed—a partially intact building, leaning like a wounded sentinel daring me to step inside.
Shelter. Safety. A fragile promise carved from the ruins.
I crossed the debris-strewn streets, boots slipping in the blackened waters.
Puddles swallowed my reflection, fragments revealing only glimpses of what—or who—I had become.
Veins pulsed faintly beneath torn skin, a quiet heartbeat in the storm's relentless chorus.
Ahead, the building jutted from the ruins, a fractured monument of steel and stone, its darkened windows like hollow eyes daring me to enter.
A broken window offered a precarious entrance.
I climbed, jagged glass slicing into my skin—pain I barely registered, or perhaps couldn't feel.
Inside, the air was thick, heavy with rot and rust.
Broken beams hung like skeletal ribs overhead; splintered wood threatened collapse at every step.
Stones wobbled beneath my weight, glass crunched underfoot, and floorboards groaned their warning.
Shadows flickered and stretched, shrinking and shifting as lightning stabbed through jagged windows in harsh, fleeting bursts.
A sharp cough tore from my chest, rattling through wet, bitter lungs.
Mud and blood coated my palms as I scraped debris aside, each movement leaving a sticky trail, proof of survival—or stubborn persistence.
Something flickered at the edge of my vision—a figure, fleeting, dissolving before my focus could anchor it.
Reality and hallucination collided, merging into a haze. Hunger, pain, and exhaustion weighed on me, clouding every certainty.
Whispers.
A voice emerged from the storm, soft and musical, yet laced with scorn, mocking the very air I breathed.
"You are alone... always alone..."
My heart slammed against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the silent terror.
Lightning cracked, illuminating empty shadows.
Nothing moved.
Nothing breathed.
Only the rhythmic drip of water and the relentless pounding of my own pulse filled the hollow, suffocating air.
Another flash of lightning fractured the room, illuminating faces in broken glass—strangers, friends, enemies? Hollow eyes stared, mouths frozen in silent screams.
They vanished as abruptly as they appeared, leaving only fractured shards of reality shimmering in the stormlight.
The city exhaled, a slow, deliberate pulse beneath the ruins.
Impossible motion. Steel groaned and twisted as if alive, puddles rippled with secrets, windows shimmered—even though no wind passed through.
Shadows stretched across the streets like skeletal fingers, pointing, warning, reaching toward something I could not name.
A leaning tower seemed to edge closer, listening, observing, every brick resonating in tune with my racing heartbeat.
Hands trembling, I pressed them to the wet, cold floor.
Every drop of water hissed at me, whispered some names, pulsed with hidden intent.
A fleeting silhouette darted across the far corner—childlike, painfully familiar—then dissolved into nothing.
I grasped for memories that did not exist, clutching only echoes, fleeting and fragile, like smoke slipping through my fingers.
A corner offered fragile refuge.
I pressed myself against the rubble, trembling hands brushing crumbling walls, seeking the illusion of stability.
Piles of debris formed a makeshift barrier, a splintered plank bridging gaps in the unstable floor.
Blood mixed with rain, streaking grime across my skin, marking each heartbeat with the storm's own rhythm.
Silence.
Outside, the tempest raged with unrelenting fury, but within this hollowed refuge, a fragile calm crept through the chaos.
Shadows leaned closer, dark fingers brushing the walls, reaching as if alive.
Whispers threaded through the air—echoes of a city long dead, voices carrying warnings I could not decipher.
My chest heaved, heart hammering—not from the storm, nor the ruins—but for the body that refused to yield, for the unknown force pulsing beneath my skin.
I sank to the floor, knees drawn to my chest, shivering.
Walls dripped with relentless rain; puddles pooled at my feet, each drop echoing life—or death.
Veins pulsed brighter in the black water's reflection, molten light beneath my skin.
I lifted my hands, staring at the glow.
"Alive... why am I alive?"
Then lightning tore through the room, shards of broken glass scattering fractured reflections of a world I could not remember.
For a heartbeat, I imagined someone standing in the doorway—familiar, a fragment of a lost memory—but the vision shattered before I could grasp it.
Shadows shifted.
Something inhuman skittered across a wall—too fast, too angular. Gone in an instant.
Whispers wove through the thunder:
"Why do you persist?"
"Why do you survive?"
No one was there, yet the questions pressed against my chest, heavy as stone.
Exhaustion claimed me.
Muscles trembled, pain and adrenaline blurring into a haze that threatened to swallow my mind.
I crawled deeper into the corner, wedging myself against rubble.
Shadows danced. Whispers mingled with the storm, yet I could not move. I simply could not.
The wind screamed. Rain hammered the broken walls.
Within my fragile pocket of refuge, I closed my eyes.
Body aching, chest burning, veins glowing like embers refusing to die.
And slowly, darkness crept in, pulling me toward oblivion, until all sensation faded, leaving only the raging storm outside.