He tried again.
His fingers dug into the splintered wood, nails already cracked and filled with dirt and blood. The surface of the beam was rough, jagged in places where it had snapped, biting into his skin as he forced his grip tighter.
He pulled.
Every muscle in his arms strained, trembling violently as if they might tear themselves apart under the pressure.
Nothing.
Not even the smallest shift.
His breath hitched, chest rising sharply before collapsing in on itself as he sucked in another lungful of smoke-filled air. It burned going down, clawing at his throat, settling deep in his lungs like it wanted to stay there.
Still—
He tried again.
A desperate, broken sound escaped him as he pushed harder, his shoulders locking, his entire body shaking from the effort.
His vision blurred.
Tears mixed with ash, turning into muddy streaks that ran down his face.
"Move…!"
The word came out strangled, barely human.
But the rubble didn't care.
It stayed exactly where it was.
Heavy.
Unmoving.
Absolute.
His strength gave out all at once.
His arms buckled, and he nearly collapsed forward onto the beam. He caught himself at the last second, hands slamming against the debris, sending sharp splinters deeper into his palms.
Fresh blood welled up instantly, warm and slick.
He didn't even react.
"What… am I supposed to do…?"
The question slipped out in a whisper, hollow and empty, like there was nothing left behind it.
He looked around.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
More frantic.
His eyes darted across the ruins—over broken walls, collapsed roofs, burning beams that snapped and cracked as flames consumed them piece by piece.
Over bodies.
So many bodies.
Some half-buried.
Some torn apart so badly they didn't even look human anymore.
A hand lay a few feet away from him—just a hand—fingers curled slightly as if still trying to grasp something that wasn't there anymore.
There was no help.
No tools.
No one coming.
Just destruction.
Endless.
Unforgiving.
His heart sank deeper with every second.
Because he could hear it.
His mother's breathing.
Faint.
Uneven.
Wet.
Each inhale came with a soft, broken hitch, like something inside her chest wasn't working the way it should.
Each exhale lingered just a little too long… like it might be the last.
"Mom… stay with me…"
His voice trembled violently now, barely holding together.
"I can do this… I can… I just—"
He swallowed hard, his throat tightening painfully.
"I just need a second…"
He didn't know what he was saying anymore.
Didn't know what he was promising.
"I'm gonna get you out… okay?"
He forced a weak, desperate smile she probably couldn't even see.
"We'll leave… we'll go somewhere far away…"
"Somewhere safe…"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Like none of this ever happened…"
The words hung in the air for a moment.
Heavy.
Wrong.
Even he could hear it.
The lie.
There was no "safe."
No "after."
No world where this just… didn't happen.
His chest tightened painfully.
He couldn't save her.
The thought crept in quietly—
Then sank its claws deep into him.
And it hurt.
More than the cuts.
More than the smoke.
More than the exhaustion tearing through his body.
Then—
Voices.
Faint.
Distant.
But real.
His head snapped up so fast his vision spun.
There—down the street.
Guards.
Relief hit him so suddenly it almost knocked the air out of him.
"HELP—!"
His voice tore out of his throat, raw and desperate, cracking halfway through.
"OVER HERE—PLEASE—!"
There were three of them.
Or what remained.
Their armor—once polished, once something he had looked up to as a child—was now barely holding together. Plates were bent inward, edges cracked, straps hanging loose or completely torn away.
Blood coated them.
Not just splattered—
Soaked.
Dark patches spread across their uniforms, some still wet, dripping slowly onto the ruined street below.
One of them limped heavily, dragging his leg behind him. Each step left a thick smear of blood, the trail uneven, stuttering—like he might collapse at any moment.
Another clutched his side, fingers pressed deep into a wound that refused to close. Blood slipped through the gaps between his fingers, dripping steadily despite his grip.
The third—
He stood.
Barely.
His posture was straight, but stiff—like his body had locked itself in place just to keep from falling apart.
His weapon hung loosely in his hand.
His head turned slightly—
Toward the boy.
For a brief moment—
Their eyes met.
And the boy felt it.
That same fear.
Not control.
Not confidence.
Not strength.
Fear.
The same kind he felt.
The same kind that meant—
Even they couldn't win.
Then—
Something moved.
The air shifted.
A shadow stretched unnaturally across the broken ground.
The boy's breath caught.
Too late.
A tentacle shot forward.
It didn't make a sound at first.
Just a blur—
Then impact.
The first guard didn't even have time to react.
His body was lifted off the ground instantly, slammed sideways into the wall of a half-collapsed building.
The sound—
It was sharp.
A crack that echoed too clearly.
Bone breaking.
The second guard followed a heartbeat later.
His body twisted midair from the force before colliding with the stone. Something in his arm bent the wrong way on impact, snapping with a dull, sickening pop.
They didn't fall right away.
For a second—
They just… stayed there.
Pinned.
Then slowly—
They slid down.
Leaving thick, dark trails behind them.
The third guard froze.
Completely.
His body locked in place, every muscle refusing to respond.
His weapon slipped slightly in his grip.
His breathing turned sharp, uneven, panicked.
He knew.
There was nothing he could do.
Nothing anyone could do.
The creature didn't rush him.
It slowed.
One of its massive mouths opened slowly, stretching wider… wider… until the skin around it split slightly at the edges.
Rows of teeth shifted, clicking faintly against each other.
The tentacle moved again.
Slow this time.
Dragging across the ground with a wet, scraping sound.
Closer.
Closer.
The guard finally broke.
"No—!"
His scream cracked, raw and desperate, echoing through the ruined street.
"PLEASE—SOMEONE—!"
He looked around wildly.
Waiting.
Begging.
Hoping.
But nothing came.
No one answered.
The tentacle wrapped around him.
Tight.
Too tight.
The pressure alone made his body jerk violently as his ribs began to give way—one after another—sharp cracks echoing out as his chest collapsed inward.
Then—
It pulled.
His body stretched unnaturally, limbs jerking as the force tore through him.
Skin split open first.
A thin line—
Then wider—
Then—
It gave.
Muscle followed.
Tearing.
Snapping.
Separating.
Blood poured out in thick, heavy streams, splashing across the stone in dark, spreading patterns. Something heavier spilled out after—organs sliding free, hitting the ground with wet, heavy sounds that seemed far too loud in the moment.
The noise—
It was unbearable.
A deep, tearing, wet sound that seemed to sink into the ears and stay there.
The kind of sound that made your stomach twist violently.
That made your throat tighten like you might throw up just from hearing it.
But the boy—
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't make a sound.
Because the help he had just called for—
The hope he had just clung to—
Was gone.
Just like that.
Destroyed.
Erased.
Meaningless.
Just like everyone else.
His hands trembled weakly at his sides, blood still dripping from his fingers.
His body felt hollow.
Empty.
Because now—
There was nothing left.
No one coming.
No one saving them.
Not the guards.
Not anyone.
Not even him.
Behind him—
His mother's breathing hitched again.
Weaker.
Slower.
And behind that—
The creature began to move.
Closer.
Closer.
Toward him.