Long before humans walked these streets, there was a cycle.
A cycle of darkness and light.
Legends spoke of devils who ruled with terror and angels who rose to challenge them.
Every time darkness returned, chaos followed. Every time light appeared, hope survived.
And at the center of it all… the Devil Eye, an artifact of unimaginable power, hidden and sought by both sides.
No one alive truly remembered the last time it appeared. But its shadow lingered, whispering through history, waiting for the next hero—or the next monster.
The city wasn't quiet. Not really.
It was just… pretending.
Kavish perched on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the void. He stared at the skyline swallowed by creeping darkness.
"Great," he muttered, brushing dust off his jacket. "Another Monday. Only this time… apocalypse style."
Dax groaned behind him. "Dude… can you stop talking? You're making this worse."
Vishwa, his cousin, stepped closer. "Guys… why is it so quiet? Too quiet."
The streets below were a nightmare. Zombies—slow, fast, some grotesque—stumbled through the streets, hunting humans. Civilians ran, screamed, some fell, some didn't make it. The city was unrecognizable.
The government had tried to contain the chaos. Military barricades, evacuation camps, safe zones… but it wasn't enough. Too many zombies. Control slipped through their fingers.
Then the announcement came. A broadcast flickered on screens at every camp:
> "Attention survivors: Standard measures have failed. Any group of 3 or more may form a gang to fight zombies or rival gangs. Survivors willing to participate can receive rewards and protection. Humanity's survival depends on you."
Kavish leaned back, watching the crowd in the camp. "So… the government basically handed the apocalypse over to ordinary people."
Dax groaned. "And we're supposed to sign up?"
Kavish smirked. "Yep. Step one: survive. Step two… call ourselves something cool. Like… The 37."
Vishwa blinked. "The… 37?"
Kavish shrugged. "Temporary code name. Sounds cooler than 'Random Apocalypse Survivors.'"
Somewhere, in the shadows of the city, the first stirrings of something ancient moved again. Darkness had returned.
Days passed. The streets were no longer safe. People formed gangs to survive, to fight, and sometimes… to dominate others.
It wasn't long before The 37 faced their first real challenge.
A gang of twenty approached, confident and brutal. Their name: The Masters.
Their leader, Raj, stepped forward, eyes sharp and calculating.
"We don't like new gangs," Raj said. "Join us, or disappear."
Kavish narrowed his eyes. "Neither option sounds fun."
The fight began. Kavish moved fast, dodging and striking, but he was alone. Dax and Vishwa hadn't trained enough to keep up.
Ten of Raj's men fell to Kavish, but fatigue crept in. Raj's gang saw the opening and surrounded him. Smoke bombs, coordinated attacks—Kavish could only fend off so much.
Dax and Vishwa pulled him away. The 37 escaped… but first loss was already recorded.
Kavish leaned against the wall, bloodied and panting. "This… isn't going to be easy."
Vishwa looked at him, worried. "How… how are we supposed to fight them?"
Kavish's jaw tightened. "We'll figure it out. We have to. Because if we don't… humanity loses."
Above them, shadows pulsed darker. Somewhere, the Devil Eye's legend whispered again, stirring the ancient secrets of darkness and light.
The legacy had begun.