Smell is the most loyal kind of memory. Before this world fused into a single pile of garbage, smell was a sacred hierarchy for Leo: the nutty aroma of brown butter, the freshness of just-caught fish, the elegant complexity of red wine.
Now, that hierarchy has been replaced.
At the top now is the stench of blood and filth. Then, the metallic tang of something burning from battles happening a few blocks away. The worst of all is the sweet-rotting smell drifting from them—those creatures from a horror dimension they called "the Tasters."
But today, Leo focused on a completely different smell: garlic and devil's bird's-eye chili scorching on a pan.
"Don't let it burn," he muttered to a woman kneeling beside a portable stove, holding a blowtorch hooked to a dying generator. Her hands—hands that used to hold lab pipettes—shook while gripping the torch. "If it burns, it turns bitter. They can detect that."
"Amazing how you can still think about flavor at a time like this, Leo," said Dr. Aris Thorne. His tone was flat, but his sharp blue eyes watched every move Leo made in their makeshift kitchen—the former linen storage room of the restaurant Le Céleste.
Leo didn't answer. He scooped a shimmering purple oil they had extracted from strange flowers growing out of sidewalk cracks. The oil hissed violently as it hit the pan, releasing a piercing mint-and-petrichor aroma.
"There it is," Aris whispered, his scientific nose detecting the shift instantly. "The terpene concentration just spiked."
"Not the time for lab vocabulary, Doc. Stir it." Leo handed him a wooden spoon. Aris obediently stirred the clumping red paste in the pan.
That was their dynamic. Leo was the art. Aris was the science. And in this insane Amalgam world, the combination was the only reason they had survived the last two weeks trapped inside a once-luxurious restaurant turned fortress.
A scream broke their focus, followed by the spray-shot blast of shards smashing glass on the floor above.
"They're coming in through the roof!" yelled one of the survivors, a security guard named Ben, his face pale and blotched.
Leo exhaled sharply. He grabbed the pan. The paste had crystallized, forming red granules like oversized firecracker powder.
"'Spicy Death Powder,' batch two," he said, pouring the granules into small cloth bags. "Perfect."
"You're going to kill it?" Aris asked, standing up.
"Doc, you saw what those Tasters did to Miller yesterday," Leo said without looking at him, hands moving fast as he tied the bags. "He didn't die. He just… stopped being Miller. His brain turned into soup, and his body became their puppet. So yes, I'm killing it. That's called mercy."
No time to argue. They already heard dragging footsteps and wet clicking sounds climbing down the stairs toward the kitchen.
"What's the shape?" Leo asked Ben.
"L-like a human… but its mouth… split all the way to the ears!" Ben gasped, panting hard.
"Good. The human-shaped ones are more vulnerable to irritants." Leo tossed two powder bags toward Ben and Aris. "Throw them at its face. Don't inhale. Don't let it touch your skin."
Leo grabbed his own "weapon"—a spray bottle filled with the neon-green chili oil he had fermented himself. He called it the "Devil's Sambal."
He stepped toward the kitchen door and peeked. The hallway was dark, lit only by the emergency red lights. Something that used to be a waitress in Le Céleste staggered unsteadily. Her skin was gray, and just like Ben said, her mouth had split unnaturally wide, lined with rows of fish-like teeth. Her eyes were empty—pitch black. She knelt beside another fallen survivor, her long fingers "tasting" the person's wounds, touching the blood, then licking her fingers as if evaluating a dish.
Leo didn't hesitate.
He pushed the door open and walked quickly. The creature turned. Its black eyes locked onto him, tongue clicking hungrily.
"Dinner is served," Leo growled, then sprayed "Devil's Sambal" onto its face.
The reaction was instant—and horrifying.
It screamed—a sound no human throat could produce—as its face bubbled and blistered. Green fluid burst out from its pores. It clawed at its own face with sharp nails, trying to scrape off the unbearable agony.
"Throw it!" Leo shouted.
Aris, face twisted between disgust and determination, hurled his powder bag. It hit the creature's chest and burst open. The red granules ignited instantly like fireworks, hissing and popping. A sharp blast of garlic filled the hallway.
The creature fell, thrashing helplessly. Its body slowly decayed from both outside and inside.
Leo approached the dying body. Its black eyes still watched him, as if still wanting to "taste" him.
With a swift, efficient motion, Leo pulled a cleaver from his belt and drove it straight into its forehead. The body went still.
"Rotten ingredient," he muttered, pulling the knife out and wiping it on the creature's uniform.
He turned and caught Aris staring at him, conflicted.
"Something wrong, Doc?"
"No," Aris sighed. He crouched beside the unfortunate waitress. "I'm just… taking notes. The effect of irritable compounds on interdimensional biological tissue is surprisingly similar to the effect on humans. Fascinating."
Leo almost smiled. That was what he appreciated about Aris. In the middle of chaos and death, the scientist still hunted for patterns and explanations.
"What's more fascinating is how we're getting out of here before we run out of food or before they send something bigger," Leo said as he walked past him toward the kitchen.
Then they heard it.
A low hum, echoing through the air—not from below, but from above. From the sky.
They rushed to the broken window in the main dining hall. The usually purple-reddish sky was illuminated by blue-white formation lights. A fleet of hovering ships—sleek, metallic, clean-lined warships—flew overhead. Their technology far surpassed anything Leo had seen in his original world.
"WHO ARE THEY?" Ben shouted behind them.
"Not our friends," Leo replied coldly. He watched how the fleet casually cruised past their district, ignoring screams and explosions below. They were giants stepping over fighting ants.
One smaller ship broke away, diving toward a battle zone in the distance, firing a beam of energy that vaporized an entire city block into a glowing crater.
"See?" Leo said to Aris, voice dripping with bitterness. "They don't care about us. They're just clearing pests. Or maybe hunting."
Aris observed like a scientist. "Their technology… it's from a reality far more advanced. They might have a way to control or even reverse the Convergence."
"Or maybe they're the ones who caused all this," Leo shot back, jaw tightening. His chest burned—not with fear, but cold fury. Fury at being ignored. Fury at being treated like an insect.
He watched the ships disappear behind half-collapsed skyscrapers.
"Get our ingredients ready, Doc," Leo said, his voice low and steeled with resolve. "We're not staying here like rats. We're getting out. We're finding the source of all this. And if the people in those flying ships are part of the problem…"
He turned. His normally cold eyes were blazing with heat.
"…then we'll find the perfect seasoning to cook them."